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thankskenpenders · 11 hours ago

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Thoughts on two specific areas of the writing in Sonic X Shadow Generations

The best new 3D Sonic game in over a decade (or even two, depending on who you ask) dropped late last year. And I didn't write anything about it! Sometimes life happens. Well, I've finally sat down to finish Shadow Generations, and by now everyone has already been singing its praises for three months. This is the rare instance where the entire Sonic fandom, and even mainstream reviewers, are in agreement on something. The level design is the best it's been in a long, long time and the cool factor is off the charts, embracing Sonic's peak cringe era in an incredibly confident way. It's great. If you're even reading this post, you probably don't need me to tell you that. So I won't!

No, what I'm really interested in here is the writing. Because this is me we're talking about. But I actually don't want to talk about the main narrative of Shadow Generations, which is really solid little story about Black Doom trying to mold Shadow into his perfect soldier. No, I'd like to zero in on two other aspects of the writing here: the revisions made to Sonic Generations, and Gerald Robotnik's unlockable journal.

The updated Sonic Generations script

The new package mostly presents Sonic Generations how you remember it. There are some tweaks, but it's not a major overhaul. Graphically, I don't think the game has been touched much, if at all. I certainly can't notice any difference without a side-by-side comparison, despite playing it on a PS5. The most notable update is that the game's script has been rewritten by Ian Flynn.

Naturally, this caught my attention. Generations always had a nothingburger story, so with Ian rewriting Pontac and Graff's lame dialogue there was nowhere to go but up. (I don't like to pin the blame for those games' stories entirely on them, as a ton of it was dictated to them by Sonic Team, but, well, I don't think they're very good dialogue writers.) But it's less a complete rewrite and more like Ian was brought on as a script doctor for some minor touch ups here and there. Many lines of dialogue are completely identical to how they were originally written in 2011, and many others only have slight wording changes. Ian was clearly not allowed to request additional scenes or extend the ones that already existed. He has to match the original beat for beat so that they can reuse 99% of the cutscene animations. Don't expect it to be a whole new experience compared to the original.

Still, I think the new script is an improvement, albeit a minor one. Various things have been tweaked to maintain characterization consistency. Cream calls Sonic "Mr. Sonic" instead of just "Sonic." Instead of calling Sonic "buddy," Rouge uses the pet name "Blue," like she tends to do in things like the IDW comics. Espio doesn't have to remind you in the dialogue that he's a ninja, and he no longer has a line making it sound like he has some kind of soul reading power. I also like that Modern Sonic now actually has responses to what his friends say when he rescues them, rather than being silent like Classic Sonic. They won't blow you away, but they make Sonic feel a little more engaged with everything.

In general, the altered dialogue just seems tighter to me, and some of the more childish or trite wording of Pontac and Graff's script has been altered. Here, let's actually make a direct comparison, just because this stuff is interesting to me as a writer. Here's a couple lines from after the Egg Dragoon fight late in the game, in the original script:

Modern Eggman: Ooooh... I can't believe this! I was supposed to beat you this time. Modern Sonic: Aw, I'm sorry! I didn't get that memo. I beat you every time! [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat this guy every time. It's like it's our job or something!

This is a simple exchange. Eggman is mad that he lost. Sonic is unflappably confident because he always beats Eggman, and he explains this to his younger self. But the wording here isn't particularly good. Eggman's simple and direct wording makes him come off like a little kid who's mad because his older brother beat him at Mario Kart, rather than a mad scientist who just had his plans foiled. It's making light of the situation.

And I've never liked Sonic saying "It's like it's our job or something!" That doesn't feel like a thing Sonic would say, it feels like a thing an outside observer would say about Sonic. This is a frequent problem with so-called "MCU dialogue," where quips meant to echo the commentary of a casual, somewhat disinterested audience are inserted into the story itself so that the writers can be like "See? We get it. We're genre-savvy, too!" It also just reminds me of bad Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric lines like "Rings! It's like they're made for me!"

And then here's Ian's rewrite:

Modern Eggman: I recalibrated everything! This was supposed to be my time! Modern Sonic: Oh, please, keep dreamin', Egg-head. I beat you every time. [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat him every time. Our score card's flawless.

Eggman's still mad about his defeat, but the line "I recalibrated everything!" makes it more specific. He put all this work into the engineering side of his latest scheme and got tunnel vision, thinking if he got his creations just right there'd be no way he could lose. "This was supposed to be my time!" also turns it into a time travel pun, which is a bonus. He's still pitching a fit over losing, but it feels more like Eggman pitching a fit, rather than sounding childish.

And then instead of saying that beating Eggman is "like his job or something," Sonic says he's got a flawless score card against Eggman. He doesn't take Eggman seriously as a threat—at least, not to his face. He acts like it's all a game. But he conveys this in a way that feels truer to the character, rather than feeling like the words of a real world observer poking fun at the tropes of the Sonic series.

Is this amazing, A+ dialogue that blows me away? No. Again, it's not a completely different scene from the one we already had. Ian had to fit the beats of what was already there. He couldn't go all out and write an all new story confirming his longstanding headcanon that the Time Eater is a remnant of Solaris or whatever. But the wording here makes the existing story land a little better and feel truer to the characters in subtle ways.

But to me, the main change is that the Sonics and Tailses seem to have a more solid understanding of what's going on with the timeline and the Time Eater, compared to how idiotic they sometimes seemed in the original game. Which is good! No more standing outside Green Hill and wondering why it seems so familiar. Thank god. As part of this, yes, there are a few more references to past games in the dialogue, like Sonic briefly being confused about the fact that they're time traveling without the Time Stones, or South Island and Westside Island being acknowledged as the normal locations of Green Hill and Chemical Plant. Yes, ha ha, insert joke about how Ian loves references here. Look, it's Sonic fucking Generations. It's a game built entirely out of nostalgic references. Just own it! And, again, in this instance Sonic and Tails come off as less stupid when they make it clear that they do, in fact, remember their adventures from presumably less than a year ago in-universe.

Eggman, too, seems to have a better understanding of the powers he's toying with. Where in the original vesion his focus was simply on going back in time to undo his previous defeats and he seemed kind of oblivious to how much the Time Eater was actually fucking up the universe, here Eggman says he wants to use the Time Eater to give himself complete control over the entire timeline. Eggman also makes way fewer references to his own failures and shortcomings. Of course he won't admit that Sonic has defeated him time and time again. To him, he's never truly lost—Sonic just keeps delaying the inevitable total victory for the Eggman Empire.

So, yes. The new Sonic Generations script is better. It won't blow anyone away, but it's better than it was. It's been elevated from "kinda lame" to "fine." No, if you really wanna see Ian flex his ability to breathe new life into old Sonic stories, look no further than...

Gerald Robotnik's Journal

Hoo boy.

The story of what happened aboard the ARK has always been... a bit confusing, to say the least. Fans with encyclopedic knowledge of the script for every route of Shadow '05 may disagree, but it's the truth. We've had all the pieces to understand the story for a long time now, but that info was given to us out of order by a pair of unreliable narrators—Gerald, who became a vengeful lunatic shortly before his death, and Shadow, who was subjected to multiple rounds of amnesia and altered memories. Some of the ambiguity left by Sonic Adventure 2 was cleared up in Shadow '05, but that game also retconned in a bunch of new elements to Shadow's backstory (aliens!) that lead to further confusion. Not to mention the fact that that game had multiple routes and only revealed the truth about Shadow if you sat on the ultimate final boss battle for WAY longer than the fight would normally last. Or the fact that Sonic X made its own tweaks in its telling of the story. Or the fact that none of these things ever had the best English translations. I can't blame anyone who hasn't played those games in two decades for not remembering the truth about these characters and getting some details mixed up.

What we needed was something to piece together all of the info we have into one coherent backstory, told in chronological order. And thanks to Shadow Generations, we have that, in the form of an official journal tying together what we knew from Sonic Adventure 2, Shadow '05, and Sonic Battle into the tragic tale of Gerald's rise and fall.

Ian Flynn was the perfect man for the job here as the guy who started his career by tidying up the mess that was the first 159 issues if Archie Sonic. This is what he excels at: taking disparate bits of weird Sonic lore from multiple different sources, boiling them down to their most interesting elements, and connecting it together in a way that will make the audience see the dramatic potential he's always known was there. Rather than feeling like a cynical exercise in franchise building, going back and explaining things that never needed explaining so that people can add more bullet points to the wiki, he puts a new spin on things that retroactively enriches those past stories. The story here means something to the characters involved and gives us a better understanding of them as people, rather than as plot devices to motivate Shadow.

(And, of course, Ian didn't do this journal alone. He wrote the story, but I also have to give a huge shout out to Evan Stanley, who made the final product. All of her handwritten journal entries, sketches, and "photos" included throughout. The physical damage done to the journal over the course of 50 tumultuous years, passing from Gerald to Eggman to a certain special someone at GUN. The way Gerald's handwriting gets less and less legible as his mental state declines. So much love was put into what could have been a mere text dump in a menu, and it really elevates it to the next level. Congrats on officially getting hired by Sega, Evan, you've sure as hell earned it!)

The main idea the journal conveys is that Gerald was under a lot of pressure from a lot of different parties—GUN, the President, his colleagues aboard the ARK, Black Doom, even his own family—and boy did it get to him. The known incidents aboard the ARK mentioned in previous games are put together here to form a story where everything slowly spirals out of control as Gerald keeps compromising his morals to further his research, thinking he'll eventually find some way out of all this because he's a genius. I won't recap that whole story here (if you haven't already played the game and read the journal entries, I would highly recommend at least reading it on the Sonic wiki), but I'd like to highlight my favorite elements of the story, as Ian tells it here.

1) The Eclipse Cannon

Here's something that never quite made sense in Sonic Adventure 2: why does the ARK have a laser that can blow up the Earth built into it? It was supposed to be a peaceful research colony. Sure, Gerald went crazy and swore revenge on the Earth, but, like... when did he have an opportunity to go back up to the ARK and modify it? Did he have someone else do it? How? The ARK was raided by GUN and shut down! And then they arrested him, held him in prison for an unclear period of time, and executed him by firing squad when he was no longer useful! It doesn't add up. Shadow 'the Hedgehog '05 would give its own answer by introducing the Black Arms and saying that the Eclipse Cannon was always supposed to be a secret trump card against the Black Comet. But, like... we know that's kind of a bullshit answer, right? You don't need enough power to blow up a whole planet just to destroy a comet.

Well, the new journal retains what we already knew, but it paints a much more complete picture.

See, long before Gerald ever made a Faustian bargain with Black Doom, he had already made one with an even greater evil: the military. GUN gave Gerald much of the funding for the ARK, Gerald's personal utopian research station in space, but it didn't take long for GUN to start pressuring him to design them weapons. Gerald tried to get GUN off his back by personally contacting the President of the United Federation, and the President gave him an alternative: how about, instead, you just use your genius brain to figure out the secret to immortality for us, so our soldiers can be immortal? Gerald was initially sickened by the notion and found it completely absurd, like chasing a shadow... but given no other option, the sarcastically named Project Shadow soon began in earnest. (Maria would later put a more positive spin on the name after Shadow's awakening, pointing out that a Shadow can show us the direction of the light, like she says in the game itself.)

Of course, this search for the ultimate life form didn't go very well, and without any results on that front GUN kept hounding him for weapons. Gerald would throw them a bone here and there to get them off his back. His research on Chaos resulted in the Artifical Chaos prototypes, which he worried would be used for warfare but could at least theoretically be used for search and rescue missions in floods, in his mind. But that wasn't enough. So he gave them Chaos Drives to power their mechs. And that still wasn't enough. He's got Emerl. He'll give them Emerl. They're not impressed by Emerl. They'll shut the whole ARK down if Gerald doesn't give them something big.

Fine! GUN wants something big? Gerald builds a huge fucking laser cannon into the ARK. However, as a middle finger to GUN, Gerald makes it so powerful that it would destroy the Earth if it was ever fired at any target on its surface. In other words, GUN now has their ultimate weapon of mass destruction, fulfilling his contract, but they can never actually use it. Oh, the delicious irony. (And also Shadow will blow up the Black Comet with it in 50 years yada yada yada.) Is this perhaps extremely shortsighted and naive of Gerald, to believe that such a weapon would never actually be used just because of the risk? Of course. But hey, that's Gerald for you. And I love this as an answer.

(Also, this, uh, kinda echoes something from real life! Remember the bit in Oppenheimer where he says all nuclear war will become unthinkable, and Edward Teller responds "until somebody builds a bigger bomb"? Yeah, Teller went on to conceptualize a superweapon codenamed Project Sundial that would have been able to kill all life on the planet, as the ultimate deterrent for war. This was never made for obvious reasons, but hey, there's a basis for this sort of thinking outside of heightened sci-fi! There's a whole Kurzgesagt video about this if you're interested.)

2) The Biolizard

The Biolizard is, of course, brought up as the initial failed prototype of the ultimate life form, from before Gerald met Black Doom. We don't really learn all that much about it that we didn't already know, but I just love the way it's framed in the story.

As you can see above, we actually get to see a picture of Maria holding up the cute little salamander that would end up mutating into the Biolizard through Gerald's experiments. (Researchers want to figure out how to replicate salamanders' regenerative abilities for humans in real life, too, so this was a natural starting point for the project.) And then, after it grows to a monstrous size and goes out of control, Gerald has to lock it away in an unused sector of the ARK. He needs to keep the poor thing alive for his research into harnessing Chaos Energy, building life support systems directly into it, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Maria what happened. So it just becomes this first dark secret weighing on his conscience. The Biolizard becomes Gerald's Tell-Tale Heart beating beneath the floorboards of the ARK. I love that.

3) Lost Impact was the breaking point for the ARK

Remember the level Lost Impact in Shadow '05? The flashback level on the hero path where Shadow is running around fighting Artificial Chaos enemies on the ARK 50 years ago? Yeah, that wasn't just a random incident. That was important, as we now know due to its placement on the timeline.

See, Emerl's rampage aboard the ARK that was chronicled in Sonic Battle and Dark Beginnings set off a domino effect. Emerl riled up the Artificial Chaos, causing Gerald to lose control of them. They became violent, and so Shadow had to stop them, as depicted in Lost Impact. The thing is, that incident sent an SOS signal to GUN telling them that shit was going down on the ARK. Gerald didsn't fully understand the trouble he was in and assumed that he'd simply be reprimanded by the higher ups, or maybe face legal action. But, well... the next time he heard from GUN, armed troopers were raiding the ARK.

So Lost Impact was the straw that broke the camel's back. I just really like that detail.

4) Maria

And, of course, there's Maria herself. Maria has often been more of a symbol than a character, this perfect embodiment of everything that's good and pure in this world who gets killed to motivate Shadow and Gerald's revenge plots. But I really like the wrinkles this journal adds to her and Gerald's story, and their relationship. This is the most fleshed out they've ever felt.

For one, the journal leans into the idea of Maria's intellectual potential. The rest of the Robotnik family is all geniuses, after all, and she was proving to be a really bright kid. She excelled in her studies on the ARK, and she even helped design Shadow's jet skates and inhibitor rings. When Maria died, the world didn't just lose a symbolic personification of purity. She genuinely could have been a hugely influential scientist who did so much good for the world. That's what Gerald wanted for her. But we'll never know, because GUN killed her.

Speaking of her family, their presence isn't just mentioned for the sake of fleshing out the Robotnik family tree. It's mentioned that as Gerald struggled to find a cure for Maria's illness through his genetic research, he faced mounting pressure from his family. They didn't want Maria to be up on the ARK forever. They wanted Gerald to hurry up and find a damn cure, or otherwise just send her back home to Earth so she could be with her family again. She'd been up on the ARK for so long that Gerald's coworkers started thinking that she had been born up there. Eventually she gains a baby sister on Earth who she's never met. A rift forms between Gerald's two sons, and he's unable to really deal with it because he's so consumed by his work. There's this sense that the family is falling apart, and that everyone is dreading the possibility that Gerald will never find a cure and that Maria will just spend her final years up in space and die far away from her family, because Gerald just couldn't let go. If that happens, it'll break the whole family. But he can't stop now. So he just keeps working. Curing Maria is the only way to win his family back, in his eyes. It can't all be for nothing.

But my favorite detail regarding Maria is this one paragraph:

Maria is growing into a lovely young woman. It breaks my heart that someone as bright and energetic as her is diminished by disease. There are no visible effects, and I've caught my fellow researchers muttering to each other, doubting her illness. It is infuriating. I find all my reason and restraint vanishes when she's slighted.

This is SUCH a great addition to the story! It's always been true that Maria doesn't really seem all that ill, just looking at her in cutscenes. With this one little comment, Ian flips that issue on its head and turns it into a story about invisible disability. She doesn't act like she's in chronic pain, so she must not be, everyone thinks. And this really, really gets to Gerald, as does the pressure from his family. He's dedicating his whole LIFE to saving her, and they think she's faking it?! It's such a small addition, never referenced elsewhere in the journal, but it adds so much flavor to the story, as does the implied family drama. It grounds Gerald and Maria and makes them feel more like real human beings, rather than being pure archetypes. It's just enough info to let my imagination run wild filling in the blanks.

You also get the feeling that Maria being such a walking ray of sunshine was the only real source of joy Gerald had left in his life before Shadow was awakened, and the only thing keeping him from snapping under pressure sooner. All this stuff just keeps piling on, everything's spiraling out of control, but at least Maria is keeping her chin up, right? It makes so much sense that losing her would make him go off the deep end when it's framed like this.

It's just... man, I never thought I'd care so much about Gerald and Maria. But that's the Ian Flynn touch. After years of less than stellar Sonic writing that seemed to be embarrassed of itself, I'm so happy to have new games coming out that fully embrace the history of the series like this, making its world feel so rich and real instead of just serving as an excuse for a string of platforming levels. I don't even like Shadow '05, but I'll be damned if Ian and the rest of Sonic Team didn't make something amazing by "yes, and"-ing Shadow's cringe past here. Sonic has truly reached levels of "we're so back" never thought possible.

#tkp post #other media

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txrully · 27 days ago

Note

hii can I request blue lock boys comforting their s/o thats on her period? (if your uncomfy w this than jst ignore it)

Thank you! 💕💕

YOU'RE MY COMFORT!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ summary when they comfort their s/o who's on her period

·˚ ༘ ꒱ characters isagi yoichi , bachira meguru , itoshi rin , nagi seishiro , mikage reo , chigiri hyoma , hiori yo , shidou ryusei , itoshi sae , michael kaiser , alexis ness

·˚ ༘ ꒱ warning fem!reader implied , lowercase intended

·˚ ༘ ꒱ a/n eeeek i took a kinda long hiatus after exams so sorry this was late- TT

·˚ ༘ ꒱ isagi yoichi

isagi would be so sweettttt. like he’s 100% the type to google how to make your girlfriend feel better on her period and then go overboard. he shows up at your door with snacks, a hot water bottle, and a look of absolute determination.

“babe, i got chocolate, tea, and this random teddy bear i found. will that help??”

he also tries to distract you with soccer highlights and ends up ranting about strategy while you just cuddle into him. lwk adorable.

"yoichi, i don’t need all this, i’m fine—"

"nope. it’s my job to make sure you��re 100% okay!"

"…you’re too much."

"too much in love with you? absolutely."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ bachira meguru

bachira treats your period like it’s an adventure. he calls it “battle week” and declares himself your knight in shining armor. he’s running around like a maniac, making you laugh so hard you forget the pain.

he also makes you random art to cheer you up. one time, he drew a stick figure comic of you fighting a “period dragon” with a sword made of chocolate. you almost cried laughing.

"meguru, what is this??"

"you slaying your period. literally."

"you’re so dumb… but i love it."

"mission accomplished!!!!! >:D "

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi rin

rin is… awkward. but he triessss. when you first tell him, he just blinks and goes, "okay. what do you need?" and when you say “nothing,” he goes into silent problem-solving mode.

he might not say much, but he’ll keep you company, bring you your favorite drinks, and make sure you’re comfortable. he’s like a walking checklist. it’s so sweet how seriously he takes it.

"rin, you don’t have to—"

"you said you have a headache, so i’m staying until it stops."

"you’re so stubborn-"

"you’re welcome."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ nagi seishiro

nagi is… so chill. you tell him you’re on your period, and he’s like, "oh. okay. do you wanna nap?" because in his mind, that fixes everything.

but the second you actually need something? he’s ( surprisingly ) up and moving faster than you thought possible. he’ll even let you steal his hoodie and hog all the blankets.

"sei, can you pass me the—"

"already got it. now come back to bed."

"why are you so good at this???"

"because i'm used to this by now."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ mikage reo

reo treats it like a high-stakes situation. he buys you EVERYTHING—snacks, heating pads, your favorite drinks, and even a blanket that looks like a giant burrito.

“what else do you need? should i call a doctor? a masseuse? build you a pillow fort?”

he’s over the top ( *cough* more than usual *cough* ), but it’s so sweet you can’t even be mad.

"reo, you don’t need to do all this—"

"yes, i do. you’re in pain, and i don’t like it."

"you’re insane."

"insanely in love with you, yep."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ chigiri hyoma

chigiri is so calm and collected about it. he’s like, “i got this.” he makes you tea, rubs your back, and lets you vent about how annoying it all is.

he also takes you on peaceful walks or sits with you by the window, brushing your hair and talking about random things to keep your mind off the cramps. it’s giving romance movie vibes.

"hyoma, you’re like… weirdly good at this."

"i have a sister. i’ve trained for this moment."

"oh my god, of course you have."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ hiori yo

hiori is the gentlest bean. he’s like, “do you need anything? want me to get you soup? should we watch your favorite movie?” he’s so soft and accommodating, it’s almost ridiculous.

he also writes you little notes to cheer you up, like: “you’re stronger than cramps 💪 i believe in you!!”

"hiori, this note is so cheesy—"

"but did it make you smile?"

"…yeah, it did."

"then it worked. :D "

·˚ ༘ ꒱ shidou ryusei

shidou is chaotic as ever, but surprisingly… thoughtful? he shows up with junk food, a heating pad, and an attitude like, “let’s beat this period’s ass together.”

he’s also the type to jokingly pick a fight with your u t e r u s ( you read that right ), yelling things like: “how dare you hurt my girl?! square up, you coward!” it’s dumb, but it works.

"ryu, stop yelling at my uterus—"

"not until it apologizes."

"you’re so stupid."

"but you’re laughing, so i win."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi sae

sae is quietly attentive. he doesn’t say much, but he notices everything—like the way you hold your stomach or wince when you move. suddenly, you’ve got a hot water bottle and your favorite drink in your hand, no explanation needed.

he’ll sit with you in comfortable silence, scrolling on his phone until you’re ready to talk. it’s subtle, but you feel so cared for.

"sae, you didn’t have to get all this—"

"you’re in pain. of course i did."

"…thanks."

"don’t mention it."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ michael kaiser

kaiser is so dramatic about it. the second you tell him, he’s like, “mein gott, my poor love! what can i do?!” he acts like you're about to be taken from him.

but honestly? he’s surprisingly good at making you laugh and keeping your spirits up. he’ll even let you boss him around for the day.

"michael, stop being so dramatic—"

"i can’t help it! your pain is my pain!"

"you’re ridiculous."

"and you love me for it."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ alexis ness

ness is the sweetest little bean. he immediately offers to make you tea and snuggle on the couch with your favorite blanket. he’s like a human heater—so warm and comforting.

he also sends you texts like, “you’re doing amazing, sweetheart 💖 cramps don’t stand a chance against you!” pure angel.

"ness, you’re being so extra—"

"only because you deserve it!"

"you’re such a dork."

"your dork 🥰."

copy/translate/plagiarize/repost my works in any way and i will be under your bed 🥰

likes + reblogs always appreciated <3

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figmentforms · 1 year ago

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Part 246 of “A Tale of Two Rulers” (Oct 26, 2023)

THIS IS SO LATE!!! My brain finally kicked back on. I'm sorry, but thank you so much for understanding and being patient as always.

Thanks so much to all my amazing supporters that help make this comic happen! ♥

Also special thanks to loud-monotone-screaming for the great name suggestion for Duskar! Much appreciated! That's his name now.

And also thanks to biggaymatt for suggesting Bidna for "Boy Midna". Simple. Powerful. Good middle name for him.

★ Webtoon- https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/a-tale-of-two-rulers/list?title_no=292453 ★ - I’m still building up this archive.

★Patreon- https://www.patreon.com/LorIllustration ★

★Store - www.etsy.com/shop/FigmentForms

for those that wonder how the medical stuff is going, I'll put that below the cut so anyone who doesn't want to see it can skip it easier:

Three of the 12 eggs made it to blastocysts and are now frozen! One is a boy, one is a girl, and one is a ninja who's test results came back 'unknown'. Unknown is a excellent gender. Very proud of all my little frozen snow babies. I really hope they live. Hopefully I will only have to do one more surgery before I can see if my body is fit to give these kids life. If you happen to pray, please send prayers to make these kids powerful. I really really really want them to live. I'm kinda worried sick.

#The irony of the dog and bird and such looking down on vaati for being a mouse is not lost on me XD #A Tale of Two Rulers #Zelda #Ganondorf #Vaati #Midna #turns out it's hard to draw mice #Duskar Bidna

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akanemnon · 2 months ago

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Sorry things have been kinda quiet here when it comes to posting art outside of the comic. I try to do asks all the justice they deserve, but it's been hard lately.

Recently, there's been a big change in my life that has been affecting me a lot emotionally. I'm doing okay now, but It was a lot to process.

I feel like you guys at least should get some kind of update. My biggest fear is that it's affecting the way I talk. And I don't want to accidentally upset people. That's like my biggest fear.

I don't want to get into what upset me so much. But it made me realize that I should probably reach out more. I feel secluded in how things are and have been. All this sadness and loneliness isn't good. Stepping out of my comfort zone is gonna be something...

#life #update #feel free to ignore #ramblings

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vanteguccir · 2 months ago

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── ୨୧ !　SAILOR SONG

matt sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N and Matt have a comfy indoor date; baking together.

WARNING: Making out.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by an anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

'I saw her in the rightest way'

The kitchen was an absolute mess, a delightful, chaotic swirl of ingredients strewn across the counters, flour dusting the air, and the aroma of vanilla mixing with the sound of their favorite playlist softly drifting in from the living room. The afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the scene as Y/N stood at the counter, carefully measuring flour into a white-ish ceramic bowl. Beside her, Matt was leaning against the counter, his eyes fixed solely on her, watching her with an intensity that could have melted chocolate.

"Okay, so you just, like, throw the flour in, right?" Matt asked, breaking the comfortable silence, reaching for the open bag with the kind of reckless enthusiasm that spelled disaster.

Y/N’s eyes widened, her hands instinctively darting forward to stop him.

"Wait, wait- Matt, no!" But it was too late. A poof of flour erupted like a mini explosion, covering both of them in a soft, powdery cloud.

Matt froze, blinking through the haze, and then burst into laughter, his shoulders shaking.

"Oops." He said with that boyish grin of his, the one that made Y/N’s heart do a little flip every time.

She tried to glare at him but failed miserably, laughter bubbling up as she brushed flour off her cheek.

"You’re such a mess." She teased, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling.

"And yet, here you are teaching me." He shot back, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Guess that says something about you, huh?"

"Yeah." She said with a mock exasperated sigh. "That I’m a hopeless romantic who thinks you can actually learn how to bake."

Matt just grinned, leaning in to steal a quick kiss on her flour-dusted nose, making her scrunch it up adorably in response.

"Alright, lover boy." Y/N said, shaking her head with a smile. "Let’s try not to blow up the kitchen, okay? I need you to grab the sugar next."

"Yes, ma’am." Matt replied, snapping a playful salute before turning to rummage through the cupboard. He managed to grab the sugar jar without spilling anything this time - progress, she thought with a fond smile.

They continued to work side by side, the kitchen filled with the sweet scent of vanilla and sugar. Y/N would occasionally reach out to correct Matt’s technique, her touch light but effective. Every time their hands brushed, Matt would flash her that lopsided grin that always made her cheeks warm. She tried to stay focused, but with him being so close, so effortlessly charming, it was a losing battle.

At some point, they both reached for the vanilla extract at the same time. Their fingers tangled, and Matt shot her a playful look.

"Hey, who’s the baker here?" Y/N teased, nudging him aside with her hip, her laughter light and teasing.

"I don’t know, I don't see them anywhere." He joked, pretending to search around the room, making her roll her eyes though the grin on her lips was impossible to hide.

They kept mixing and measuring, Matt’s enthusiasm both endearing and chaotic. Just when everything seemed to be going smoothly, he made his biggest blunder yet. He grabbed the baking soda and dumped a generous amount into the bowl, not bothering with a measuring spoon.

"Matt, no!" Y/N gasped, her eyes wide with horror. "That’s way too much! You’re going to ruin the batter!"

Matt looked from the bowl to her, then back at the bowl, his eyes comically wide. But instead of panicking, he simply shrugged and started laughing, his laughter so infectious that Y/N’s frustration began to dissolve.

"Matt, I’m serious." She groaned, burying her face in her hands. "This was supposed to be perfect, and now they’re going to taste like-"

"Hey, hey." Matt said softly, reaching out to gently pull her hands away from her face. "Come here, sweetheart. I'm sorry, yeah?"

Before she could protest, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his warm embrace. Y/N sighed, trying to hold onto her annoyance, but the way he was looking at her - with that soft, adoring gaze - made it nearly impossible.

As if the universe was observing them closely, te next song on the queue started playing, and when Matt realized that it was one of their favorite - Sailor Song by Gigi Perez, obviously - his body started swaying gently, bringing her with him.

"What are you doing?" She asked, trying not to smile, her voice softening as her hands found home against his biceps.

"Distracting you." He said, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Is it working?"

Y/N tried to stay annoyed, but the tenderness in his eyes melted her defenses.

"You are so ridiculous." She said, but her words were softened by the smile that tugged at her lips.

"Ridiculously in love with you." He murmured, resting his forehead against hers. "Can you forgive me?"

Y/N’s heart fluttered, and she let out a soft, defeated sigh, leaning into him fully.

"Fine." She whispered, her voice barely audible over the music. "But you’re still fixing the batter."

"Deal." He said with a grin. And before she could pull away, he spun her around in a quick twirl, eliciting a surprised, joyful laugh from her, her apron flowing around her body.

As she came back into his arms, breathless and giddy, her eyes met blue soft ones, shaking her head.

"You really are something else, Mr. Sturniolo."

"And you love me for it." He replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. He lingered there, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, the warmth of her against him.

"Yeah." She said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I really do."

With the playful moment fading into a comfortable silence, they returned to the counter, side by side once more. Y/N sighed dramatically, surveying the batter that was now slightly too foamy from Matt’s over-enthusiastic addition of baking soda.

"Okay, let’s see if we can salvage this." She said, her voice taking on that determined tone Matt found so adorable.

"How bad did I mess it up?" He asked, a wince escaping his lips.

"Not too bad." Y/N admitted with a small, fond smile. "We can balance it out with a little extra flour and sugar."

"Got it." Matt said, nodding eagerly as he grabbed the bag of flour, waiting for her instructions.

They worked together to fix the batter, Matt actually listening this time, his focus unwavering as Y/N explained what to do. After a few minutes of adjustments, Y/N dipped her finger into the batter for a taste test. Her eyes lit up in pleasant surprise.

"Hey, it’s actually good!" She exclaimed.

Matt’s face broke into a proud grin.

"See? I knew I could fix it." He said smugly.

"Mm-hmm." Y/N hummed, rolling her eyes playfully. "Pretty sure I did most of the fixing."

"But it was my idea to fix it." He countered, leaning in to press his lips against her warm cheek.

"Alright, let’s get these in the oven before you mess up anything else." Y/N said, lifting the tray carefully.

Her fingers were nimble as she adjusted the rack, carefully placing the cupcake tray into the preheated oven.

Matt couldn’t help but stop for a bit and just stare, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, his eyes never leaving her. There was something about watching her work, so effortlessly absorbed in what she loved, that made him feel as though the entire world had slowed to a gentle stop just for them.

It wasn't his fault. He reasoned to himself. It wasn't his fault he found everything she did so endlessly endearing, so worth watching with that starstruck gaze that his brothers teased him about. The way her brows furrowed in concentration, her fingers dusted with flour, her lips pursed slightly as she adjusted the oven dial; it all made his heart swell.

Y/N stood up, wiping her hands on her yellow apron and closing the oven door with a soft clink. She turned to grab the timer, only to notice the way Matt was staring at her, eyes sparkling with that familiar, dazed expression. He looked as if he were lost in a dream, his gaze so soft it made her heart skip a beat.

Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, she tilted her head slightly and smiled shyly.

"What?" She asked with a soft laugh, setting the timer up. "Do I still have flour on my face?"

Matt didn’t answer right away, his eyes never wavering from hers. It was like he was in some kind of trance, completely mesmerized. After a few seconds, he finally blinked, his lips curling into a soft smile.

"Yeah." He said simply, his voice so low and gentle it made her stomach flip.

Before she could ask where, Matt stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a few strides. His hands found her waist, pulling her close. Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly as he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin.

"Right here." He dipped his head and began to trail soft, lingering kisses along her jaw. His lips brushed tenderly against her skin, and with each kiss, he pulled a soft, breathless giggle from her lips. The sweet sound made him smile against her cheek, his eyes closing as he continued his path to her chin, and then to her cheeks, where he left playful kisses that were so light, they were almost ticklish.

"Matt." She breathed out, half-laughing, half-sighing, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. Her fingers traced slow circles over his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric.

He paused, hovering just above her lips, so close that she could feel the ghost of his breath on her mouth but not quite touching her. His eyes were locked on hers, and there was a playfulness mixed with adoration in them that made her knees feel weak. He knew exactly what he was doing, teasing her like this.

"Matt." She repeated, her voice a whisper now, filled with a hint of impatience.

"Yeah?" He murmured back, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, her lips twitching as she tried to suppress a smile.

"Kiss me properly." She demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.

'Oh, won't you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?'

He chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving hers as he leaned in just a fraction more, brushing his lips against hers, still not quite giving in. But Y/N, never one to be outdone, closed the remaining distance, pressing her lips to his in a soft, sweet kiss that sent warmth blooming through her chest.

Matt’s arms tightened around her waist, pulling her even closer as their kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. Y/N’s hands wandered from his chest to his biceps, squeezing slightly at the firmness there, before sliding up to his shoulders and finally into his hair. She tugged gently, earning a soft sigh from him that she could feel warming up her face.

Their lips curved into smiles as they kissed, each touch and movement so full of affection it made Y/N’s heart feel light. Matt blindly started to sway their bodies again, following the slow rhythm of the indie song, his hands exploring the small of her back, fingers spreading wide as if he wanted to memorize every curve.

Y/N sighed into his mouth, her fingers threading through his hair, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, no kitchen, no baking, just the soft, sweet connection between their lips and the feel of each other’s warmth.

But the intimate moment was abruptly interrupted by a sudden, loud DING! from the oven.

The sound made Y/N jump slightly, pulling away from Matt with a startled gasp. Matt couldn’t help but laugh, the joyous sound filling the kitchen as he pressed one last, playful kiss to the tip of her nose.

"Guess that’s our cue." He said, still chuckling as he gave her a quick eskimo kiss, their noses brushing together.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she gently pushed him away.

"Goofball." She muttered affectionately, her cheeks still flushed.

Reluctantly pulling away, Matt released her from his embrace, giving her one last, lingering look before letting her turn her attention back to the oven. Y/N leaned down to peer through the glass, her hands resting on her knees as she checked the cupcakes.

Matt watched her from behind, unable to resist the fond smile that tugged at his lips. The sight of her brows knitting together as she inspected their work made his heart swell.

"They look perfect." Y/N announced, turning back to him with a triumphant smile.

"All thanks to you." Matt came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "I love baking with you." He whispered, his voice soft and sincere.

"Even if you’re terrible at it?" She teased.

"Especially because I’m terrible at it." He replied, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Gives you more reasons to stick around."

'And we can run away to the walls inside your house'

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661 notes · View notes

demonicbaby666 · 10 months ago

Note

Dom Emily prentiss x intern fem reader is all i ask!! Smutty ofc, a lil bit of a humiliation kink if you’re comfortable!!! Thank yewww

Packing Heat

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 4.8k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, strap-ons (r!receiving), semi-public sex (office sex, again…), praise, degradation, mommy kink, kind of dub-con at one point, top!Emily, bottom!reader

Summary: Interning at the BAU means you don’t interact with the person in charge a lot. Of course, this doesn’t mean you haven’t seen the section chief in passing or exchanged pleasantries; it's that they’re simple, short-lived and often anti-climatic. However one evening, you find yourself in the desolate office with no chance of going home, work to be done, but no one to sit with you through the process. With only one other soul residing on the sixth floor, it seems Emily may be your best bet for company.

A/n: Listen, could she be more dom? Yes. Is there any humiliation? Not really... But I got lost while writing, so please don't be mad at me... Hope you still enjoy!

When you'd first started at the BAU, it was safe to say you hadn't seen much of the woman calling the shots. There were always updates about when the team were taken out of state, what their cases would entail, the steady progress being made, and the brief comical encounters Garcia spewed around the office. When they were back, everyone made an effort to small talk. They welcomed you well and continued to appreciate the little things you did for them daily. Emily, however, was constantly on the go, meaning every encounter you'd had with her consisted of one-way glances and hopeful smiles in the event she decided to notice her surroundings and the human lifeform less than two metres away.

She never did, though, until one uneventful evening.

Almost everyone had vacated the building. The only remaining souls left on the sixth floor were you, Emily, and a one-person cleaning crew—whom you watched exit through glass doors before approaching the brunette's office with shaky knees. Peeking through the window, you saw her attention dart to and from the bright computer screen to the mountains of bureaucratic paperwork lying atop her desk. It was easy to get lost in the little creases between her eyebrows, brought out by the deep scowl she wore, the delicate way her fingers were woven together, and the pads of her thumbs skirting against one another as she pondered in deep thought.

It was nearing eight, and you were struggling to understand how someone could appear so put together at this late hour, given that their day was most certainly jam-packed with non-stop slog.

Emily's eyes suddenly flashed up. She squinted toward her door, trying to figure out who'd be here this late other than herself. When she appeared to have worked it out, she leaned back victoriously in her chair, a smug smile on her face, when she called out, "Are you going to stand out there all night?"

You could have done two things: scurried off like a teenager caught peeping or held your chin up high and walked into the older woman's office with little to no shame. Somehow, you managed to do a mix of both, scurrying in with sagging shoulders, a guilty smile plastered on your face and trembling hands clasping your laptop over your chest.

"Well, it's eerily quiet out there, and I would go home to write this paper. It's just that my roommate and her boyfriend have an awful tendency to forget about volume control when they're—" You cut yourself off, realising it probably wasn't appropriate to talk to your boss about your roommate's over-the-top borderline pornographic soundscape. "I was wondering if I could, you know."

Emily, satirising as ever, waited with a raised eyebrow and a relaxed smile for you to continue your purposefully unfinished question.

"Sorry, I should let you work." You surrendered to your weak resolve with flushed cheeks and began to turn around.

"Sit," she ordered before you had fully turned back around to the door, nodding to the available chair on the other side of her desk. Her eyes followed your journey to the seat, watching as you placed your laptop down and opened it with shaky fingers. Satisfied, she turned her attention back to her work. "I could do with some company."

The following silence, starting as unsettling and stagnant, blossomed into something warm and comfortable. There were occasional glances thrown your way and vice versa. Their acknowledgement and appreciation were shown in the form of timid smiles on your end and double takes followed by teasing smirks on Emily's.

When half an hour had passed, your shoulders had finally relaxed, your fingers had stopped their infernal twitching, and your paper neared its completion. There was a proud smile cresting, and you were trying to prevent it from forming, knowing how dorkish it made you look. But you knew there was no hope when your cheeks ached and your jaw locked. You granted yourself the freedom to display your gloating smile.

Just as expected, Emily had a questioning look on her face when you dared to look up from the document. There was a playfulness to the upward quirk of her lips - the superiority of a predator knowing the power they have over their prey, ready to prove it at any given moment.

"I've almost finished," you timidly admitted, feeling obligated to explain as heat infiltrated your jutted-out cheeks.

Without a second thought, the ravenette stood up and made her way around the desk. She could have easily chosen to turn the laptop around. Instead, she took the far more intimate route.

Soft curves grazed your shoulder blades, causing you to shiver. The weight finally settled, soft padding pressed flat against your back as Emily read your paper, and suddenly, your stomach had worked itself into looping knots, and your heart was racing.

The struggle continued as you fought not to fidget, if only to alleviate the growing tension mounting between your thighs. This was only made worse when Emily's right hand left the back of your chair to drop down over your shoulder and land comfortably on your thigh.

"Such a smart girl," she whispered sultrily into the shell of your ear, squeezing generous flesh between her fingers.

With a scrambled brain, there was little fight to be put up against the meek whimper that crackled against the constricted lining of your throat. Subconsciously, your thighs tensed, and your pussy fluttered as you were reminded how close Emily's hand was to where you could only dream she'd touch.

You'd thought you imagined it—the subtle shift in the room from breezy and light to torrid and all-consuming, but with Emily's fingers veering off course, inching higher and higher, reality came crashing down.

"Thank you," you struggled to get the words out, and when they did come out, they were tremulous and feeble.

Turning to look at her may have, in hindsight, been a mistake because where her gaze should have been fixed on the laptop screen, it was glued to your lips. Unexpectedly, your stomach flipped, and you felt dizzy. She was still superbly perfect up close, skin smooth like silk, cheekbones sharp as a razor, and lips cut from velvet. It was too close, dangerously so, you had to look away. Outside the window, you spotted a swarm of birds barely visible against the night sky. You ignored the clanking of your heart as you focussed on their synchronicity, watching them circle each other until they became one big blur of messy movements.

The hand resting on the leather backing of your chair rose, skirting up and over your neck, until a firm grip was established around your dangling ponytail. She was gentle when she tugged, aware that though she wanted to educate you in the art of being owned, you were delicate.

"I think a pretty thing like you deserves a reward," she baited. "Don't you?"

Her grip on you may have been physical. However, a stronger pull was coming from deep within you, an unimportant piece of scrap metal drawn in by a powerful magnet. It was useless to deny her. The mesmerising glow of her chocolate eyes and the promise of being made to feel special was too powerful. So, you nodded slowly but eagerly, desire painting your eyes dark shades of lust.

"That's a good girl."

Emily didn't miss how you preened at the praise and safely stored that information away for further use. She shifted to your side, hands migrating to the small of your waist, guiding you to your feet. The act of it was far gentler than you'd expected, like a gentleman asking a maiden to dance, sweeping her off her feet to whisk her away into a fairytale land filled with magic and romance.

Certain the benign treatment would be short-lived, you granted yourself the leniency to enjoy it whilst it lasted, refusing to get too caught up in the dull ache between your legs that craved the form of savagery Emily displayed in the field.

There was nothing short of passion in how she worked. It drove you crazy. As wrong as it felt, you couldn't help but envy the dirtbag the team was working to catch because you saw how badly the brunette wanted them. The look in her eyes, gratification and disgust all at once, when she'd achieved what she set out to do and was staring the devil right in the face - it made your heart race, your palms sweat and your cunt throb.

The memory kickstarted what could only be described as a brutal attack upon the older woman's lips. To her credit, Emily indulged the outburst for a lot longer than you'd have thought. As if she'd expected it, she quickly responded, pulling you into her body and tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss. The lead was stolen promptly from your grasp when Emily wedged a leg between your thighs, backed you up against her desk and tactically slid her tongue into your gaped mouth. You would have gasped if not for the fact you were immediately indulged in the minty taste of your boss's tongue skirting over the roof of your mouth. So much so that you scarcely noticed the pressure coming from your core was no longer just a phantom need manifested but taut clothed muscle pressing you further and further into the sharp wooden edge of the desk.

"Emily," you breathily moaned, pulling back and separating your kiss-swollen lips from the brunette's. Ordinarily, you wouldn't have allowed what happened next to occur, but this was Emily, after all, the BAU section chief, and if you were to let anyone order you about, it would be her.

She backed away from you with a final nip to your bottom lip, letting it go with a pop, and you fought the urge to reach out and pull her back to you. You knew you'd already tried to take things into your own hands once, and doing so again may undermine any chances you had of keeping the ball rolling on tonight's affairs.

You could feel the tight pull of your ponytail and all the places where hair had been lead array from the confines of your hairband, and it truly dawned on you how out of sorts you must have appeared. Tracing your fingers over your lips, you could make out how swollen they were - puffy and hot, yet desperate and pouted, begging for more. Your breathing was laboured, filling the room's silence, and your shirt suddenly felt too tight as your chest expanded with each intake of oxygen. It almost came as a relief when Emily opened her mouth to finally speak until you heard what she'd said.

"Take your clothes off," she mindlessly ordered, walking around to her chair and sitting back in it. Her eager eyes trained over your body with the faintest shimmer of mirth.

Initially, it was a shock. Of course, it was. You were in an official government building, personnel still sparsely spread throughout, and a goddess of a woman was asking you to bare yourself to her.

For the longest time, revealing your body to someone always felt like giving up something. Perhaps some kind of purity. The moment you gave it up, it bred only guilt and shame that twisted and pulled at the pit of your stomach until you felt sick. You stood there, waiting for that feeling to come. It never did.

Remaining still, your body pulsed not with nerves but with exhilaration and anticipation. It took a few seconds to realise this was precisely what you wanted. You wanted to give this false sense of purity away. There was not a sudden influx of courage soaring through every living cell of your body. However, there was enough for you to put on a front and do as you were told.

"Slowly." Emily sat further back and placed her elbows neatly over the arms of her chair. She laced her fingers together, offered you an encouraging nod, and then was back to watching you raptly.

Feeling like a glutton, you followed a path of desire and heeded Emily's request, fingers increasingly fumbling over each button of your shirt.

"So obedient." And in no way was it said negatively; the adulatory smile she gave you only sought to prove that further.

The way she looked at you made you feel as though you were already naked. Maybe that was why it was so easy to get lost in the subtlety of undressing. It was art, and you were a performer. That's what you told yourself. And for the most part, it worked.

With closed eyes, you trailed your fingers over your shoulders, letting your shirt drop to the floor. The AC raised goosebumps over your chest, pebbled your nipples under your plain bra, and you smiled. You smiled because this was the most alive you had felt in months. The thrill of moving on to your slacks and deftly unclasping your belt felt like being on a rollercoaster, like missing a step and laughing fear in the face afterwards. You felt utterly fearless.

In the back of your mind, you could sense Emily's eyes still on you. You could hear her moving around but didn't think to check her reaction. You were in your element, and far be it for a look of appraisal, or lack of, to stop you. That was until your trousers hit the carpet with a soft thud, and a sharp breath was heard from across you.

Your eyes snapped open, and you found Emily's smile was absent. The brunette now had her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she looked you up and down, knuckles white from her deadly grip over the armrests.

She lifted a hand, palm facing the ceiling as her index and middle finger crooked. "Come here so I can get a proper look at you," she said, slightly breathless.

The desk had conveniently covered the lower half of Emily's body, which meant that when you circled around and came to stand next to her, you could see exactly what the earlier ruffling had been about.

"Is that?" You froze, both shocked and utterly intrigued by the thick black dildo jutting out from the older woman's opened slacks.

She didn't need you to finish the question, already nodding as she followed your line of sight. Leaning forward with an outstretched arm, Emily coiled her fingers around your wrist and pulled you forward, causing you to almost stumble over your own feet. At this closer distance, you could tell the faux cock would give you a run for your money. It was thicker than anything you had taken before, though that was not a hard trophy to earn, given that the most you had let anyone put inside you was three fingers.

"Do you want to come sit on mommy's lap?" Emily asked with a tilt of her head.

She didn't miss how your breath caught in your throat, how you seemed to stop blinking, stop moving, stop existing.

"Are you scared?" the lioness asked, sights set on her prized fawn.

You shook your head and placed one foot in front of the other, eyes downcast as you took in the size of Emily's additional appendage. The shake of your jaw gave you away.

"I don't like being lied to," she snapped, eyes dimming to an even darker shade of brown.

She pulled you in by your waist and sat you on her lap, cock brushing over the thin material of your underwear. Instinctively, you wedged your bottom lip between your teeth to quiet yourself. But Emily wasn't having any of it. Her thumb came to your captive lip, where she helped release it with a soft flick.

The smooth texture of Emily's cock through your sodden panties was a needed relief. Its head purposefully pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves evoked a flurry of shivers to run down your spine. And with nothing holding you back, you moaned in gratitude.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Emily smirked, watching you rut against her.

"Yes," you uttered, breath caught in your throat.

Happy to watch, Emily relaxed her shoulders and leaned back, enjoying the show you were putting on for her. Only when she recognised the tell-tell signs of frustration wash over your features, from your creased brow to the bite of your lip between your teeth, did a sick smirk lick the edges of her lips. With a mischievous glint shining in her eyes, the older woman shifted her position, pointedly ignoring the sound it pulled from you.

"Something wrong?" she asked with a hitch of one eyebrow, adamant to appear oblivious.

You gave no reply, only held tight to her shoulders in defiance and continually ground down on her, trying so hard to pleasure yourself to no avail that your eyes began to sting with the emergence of tears.

With sweat threatening to spill down the side of your face, the tension between your legs starting to ache, and your release nowhere near in sight, you threw your head back with a sigh and whispered a quiet 'please' to the ceiling.

"Please what?" Came the dull reply, tone bored, unamused, unimpressed.

You tried to impale yourself, failing as strong hands held you down. It was driving you crazy—pleasure being so close yet so far.

With one hand removed from your hip, Emily gripped your jaw and turned your attention solely to her stern gaze, "Are you going to stop being a brat and tell me what you want?"

When no answer came, she let go, jerking your head back as if disgusted with the lack of compliance.

"Get up."

Ice, you were made of ice. Sat still, shocked, speechless and slightly mortified.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Emily's voice was no longer flat; it was not roaring either. Instead, it was layered, resembling the same barbed tone a teacher might use with a disobedient student. It was enough of a motivator to get you to rise to your feet.

Following you closely, the older woman, too, rose to her full height, hands meticulously reaching behind your back to expertly relieve you of your bra. Never once did she look you in the eye.

With the same callous approach, you were turned and pressed against the desk, papers sticking to your heated chest. Emily was quick to loop her fingers through the hem of your underwear and slip them down your thighs, allowing gravity to do the rest.

The full-bodied presence behind you lessened, and you took it as the opportune moment to glance back.

The brunette had let her trousers drop to the floor, allowing you to see how her porcelain skin was directly contrasted by the black leather of her strap-on. Unlike yourself, she did not appear nervous or afraid. As she kicked the tailored pants aside and met your gaze, you realised how in control she was.

Her gaze moved down your body, hands running down your back, until finally, she pressed herself against you and lowered her body atop yours.

"I can feel how wet you are," she teased, running two fingers through the mess between your legs. "Are you always this wet?"

"Emily, please," you begged.

"I asked before, please what?" She raked five fingers down your side, moving them back up till they wound tightly in your hair and gripped your neck to an uncomfortable arch. Two fingers pushed inside you but did no more than that, remaining still as stone. "If you're going to be a baby and refuse to tell me what you want, you'll get nothing."

"Fuck me!" You no longer had the sound of mind to acknowledge shouting something vulgar could attract attention. Logic had evaded you, allowing you to play right into your boss's hands. "Please just fuck me."

Sliding her slick fingers out of you, she proudly stated, "That wasn't hard, was it?"

If the older woman wanted an answer, she did not allow for one. In one fluid motion, she rose from over you and snapped her hips forward, sheathing the entire length of her cock into your cunt. Your breath caught in your throat, resulting in a strained groan tumbling out of your open mouth. The pit of your stomach dropped, and try as you might have not to clench around the toy inside you, you did precisely that.

It was new, the foreign feeling of being filled so fully that one slight move would summon pleasure that sent shivers through your whole body. It wasn't unwelcome, especially when Emily started to move, and heat engulfed your entire body. Her pace was languid, allowing you to feel each slide of her cock along your slick walls, how each push of her hips ended in the tip hitting the spot within you to cause the furling in your stomach to expand tenfold. It was all you could do not to scream when the push and pull and Emily's hips moved with more purpose, jerking your body into the edge of her desk.

"I've barely started, and you're already dripping down your thighs." Her voice was laced with mirth, finger smearing your mess as if to prove an unnecessary point that had your cheeks burning up. "How long have you been thinking about this?" Emily finished her question with an arduous thrust. "How many times have you sunk your fingers into your pussy and thought of me?"

The questions continued, each hitting the nail right on the head. Your cheeks were scorched with the embarrassment that comes with having your desires known and exposed, but it did not take hold of your conscience as the event of falling in front of a large crowd might have. It was comparable to how a blushing maiden may feel when caught by a suitor in only their undergarments. It excited that small part of you that gave in to demoralisation and encouraged you enough to meet Emily halfway as she thrust into you.

As your pleasure mounted, the need for more grew. Your clit, swollen and needy, begged for relief, and you beckoned to its call, sliding one hand from above your head to the juncture between your legs. It was when the tips of your fingers brushed against your sensitive pearl and you gained the briefest taste of the euphoria that Emily removed her hand from your thigh and snatched your hand away, halting all movement.

You could have cried, having everything, then nothing, so quickly.

"Did I say you could do that?"

Abruptly pulling out, Emily stood tall and proud, staring down at you with curiosity and disappointment lining the brown of her eyes. She heard you whimper and acknowledged your sniffle.

"There's no need to cry," she tutted, flipping you onto your back and lifting you by your shoulders. "You're going to listen to me from now on."

You nodded, and she once again lined her cock to your opening, only now she waited, taunting you with possibilities.

"Beg," she instructed.

And you heeded.

"Please. I need you."

"You can do better." She sounded bored, and this struck a nerve within you, one that begged you to impress her, show her you could be a good little girl, and beg as though your life depended on it.

You took a heaving breath and looked into Emily's eyes, sporting your best puppy eyes. "I need you. I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me with your big cock, mommy. Make me scream out your name. I need it."

"There's a good pet," she cooed, mesmerising you with the bating of her lashes as she looked down to where your bodies were so close to touching.

It all happened in a blur. The next thing you knew, your nails were digging into muscled shoulders, legs wrapping around a slim waist as the brunette filled you, wasting no time in picking up a brutal tempo. You barely recognised the sound of your voice as high-pitched obscenities spilt past your lips. You felt your whole body light up, heard blood pulse in your ears, and saw in real-time just how easy it was to aid Emily in calling upon your impending orgasm.

Your vulgar mouth, luckily, seemed to amuse Emily enough for her to let you continue rutting your hips against her. The corners of her lips curled, and her smirk lasted only so long for you to see before she inched forward and kissed you with passion and hunger. It was easy, so easy, to melt into the brief moment of intimacy. The butterflies felt tangible, and the sparks crackled in your ears; it felt so fucking good you'd almost forgotten just where you were. Of course, bubbles eventually popped, and this one was demolished by rustling outside Emily's office.

What little movement Emily allowed, her hands holding you firmly against the desk by your waist, was not enough to wriggle free and glance behind to see what was happening. Instead, the possibility of being caught weighed heavier with each drawled-out second.

"Emily," You tried but were cut off by a tongue sliding into your mouth. "Emily, stop."

With a bite to your lip, the older woman backed off, confusion marking her features, "What is it?" she punctuated her question with a hard thrust.

"Someone's o-" another hard thrust. "Someone's outside."

Emily smiled, picking up her pace, forcing you to breathe so deep you felt your lungs expand.

"You'd better be quiet then."

Whatever protest you were about to give died in your throat when nails skirted up to your chest and dug painfully into your breast, and Emily pushed herself so deep within you that you felt her hitting your cervix. A strangled cry was briefly heard before you managed to clasp your hand over your lips and silence your own mewls. She was fucking you as if her life depended on getting a reaction out of you that would draw attention. Nevertheless, you held firm and stayed as quiet as your muffled sobs would allow you to be.

"Emily, please," you were pleading for release and for the brutal fucking stop because you knew there would be no chance you could keep a lid on your volume; there would also be no chance you would survive not cumming.

Taking note of this, the older woman took the route of giving you your release, dragging a thumb down over your clit and applying the right amount of pressure to have your tense legs turn into a shaky mess of tremors. She didn't stop there; with a brief slide, she ran your slick over your bundle of nerves and started to circle steadily.

"Fuck!" You screamed out, missing the way the ruffling outside suddenly stopped. "I'm cumming. I'm cumming."

"That's it," the brunette encouraged, her fingers coming up to crook and tangle through the mussed mess of your hair, nails slowly working against your scalp. "Let everyone hear what a slut you are, letting me fuck you over my desk."

She didn't stop, though, not when your clit felt raw and your pussy tender, not when you begged and not even when you reached out and tried to grab her wrist. Emily only yanked you down by your hair, relishing the thud the brutal move made. She fucked you harder till stationary fell to the floor from your thrashing arms, and by then, her lips were already wrapped around a nipple, sucking firm whilst you cried through a second orgasm.

When you finally felt empty, you didn't even try to open your eyes. You knew your vision would be blurred if not blacked out. Instead, you focussed on coming back down to earth, steading your breath and not thinking about how you strangely missed being filled by Emily despite being so fucking sore.

"Are you still alive?" a smug voice asked from above, and you pried your bleary eyes open to weakly smile.

"I think so," you whispered, peeling your sweat-slick back from the desk. That was when you remembered the unknown personnel outside and shot a look at the door.

"They're gone," Emily said, cupping your chin and turning you back to her. Again, you were greeted by that conniving smirk. "After your commentary, I think they understood we didn't want to be disturbed."

"But-"

"Uh-uh." she silenced you with a finger to your lips, the smell of yourself still narrowly fragrant. You took the digit into your mouth, patting yourself on the back as you watched Emily's eyes turn dark. "You want to make Mommy feel good now, don't you?" She knew the answer, but oh, how she loved to watch you sink to your knees and eagerly nod anyway. You helped unclasp the straps of her harness, then set to pealing the last barrier keeping you from her heat down her legs.

"My good little pet," she said, smiling down at you and happily watching you beam. Her hand cupped your jaw before moving to the back of your neck, where she pulled you to her core and began singing a melody of moans.

Tags: @ssa-sapphic @aws-l @babygirlscout @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @jenna-ortega-is-pretty17177 @supercorpstan97 @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @summoned-lust-demon @maxinehufflepuffprincess @whosprentiss @asolitaryrose3 @imlike-so-gaydude @maybe-a-humanbean @taylorswiftsboyfriend @bossofcriminalminds @asphodelvamp @jareguiromanoff @lilfartbox1 @lovelyy-moonlight @patronagrona @lostenby @storiesofsvu @mrs-prentiss @romanoffsho @paulilvsremus @waitaminutebaby @jarexuslover @lesbodietcoke @homo-oddity @milfsincrime @noahrex @pnsteblnme @asolitaryrose3 | click here to be added to my taglist

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds #emily prentiss x y/n #lgbt #Emily Prentiss x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #cm

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froggiewrites · 3 months ago

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Midnight Guest

Pairing: Vampire!Law x Reader

NSFW

Summary: Your roommate is strange, you’ve always known that. Most of his habits seem like harmless eccentricities. His insistence that you lock your door when you sleep, due to his “sleepwalking,” confuses you more than anything. But when you forget one night and awaken to him standing over your bed, teeth bared, you start to think maybe there’s more to Law than meets the eye. Warnings: AFAB!Reader (no pronouns or gendered language used), Smut, Vampirism, Biting, Blood Drinking, Possessive/Obsessive Behavior, Vaginal Sex Word Count: 3.2k Halloween Special 2024

Your roommate was a strange man.

You had always known that, of course, from the moment you stepped foot into the house. It was old, built to be so beautiful and grand you could have confused it for a temple, a place of worship. And the rent he offered was far too good to be true. You couldn’t afford a studio for what he asked you to pay, let alone half of a gothic mansion to be shared with a mysterious and handsome man. There had to be something wrong with him, some reason he would give this offer to you of all people. He insisted it was just too big of a house to live in on his own, too lonely for one person.

“I just…hate being alone,” he had admitted.

You didn’t believe that, not from someone as quiet as him.

You were extra sure he was strange when you had your first real conversation. He remained flat and reserved until you mentioned you had seen his comic collection, which made him light up like a Christmas tree. He told you about Sora, Warrior of the Sea for two hours after that, with a boyish enthusiasm you had never expected from a perpetually exhausted man covered in tattoos. It was cute, though he didn’t appreciate it when you pointed that out, cheeks growing pink and lips growing into what he would insist was not a pout. Yes, you had always known Law was strange, but in a fun way, the kind that brings more fond smiles than exasperation.

But some of his habits were starting to make you think he wasn’t quite as harmless as you had convinced yourself.

The first time you awoke with him standing over you, eyes flashing in the dark, you screamed. He had the nerve to jump back as well, as though you had scared him. Sleep walking, he had called it. You don’t know many people who sleepwalk with their eyes open and their teeth baring down on you. But he was so apologetic, you couldn’t help but let it slide.

“I’ve just been so tired from work lately,” he had admitted quietly, cheeks pink and voice tight with embarrassment. “That hasn’t happened since I was a kid. I’m sorry. I…don’t really know how to stop it, but I’ll try. Maybe I need to get more sleep.”

“I think you should,” you had agreed, dripping with good natured concern. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you look like you haven’t slept in years. I’ve been worried about you, honestly.”

He chuckled. “I appreciate it. Maybe I do need a bit more rest. But…maybe you should sleep with your door locked. Just in case I sleepwalk again. I wouldn’t want to give you such a rude awakening twice.” He had said something else, but frankly you were a little too focused on his hands flexing nervously, showing off his long, tattooed fingers, to catch whatever it was.

And since you had taken his advice, you hadn’t woken up to any more men lurking over your bed. You had, however, woken up to the jiggling of your door handle more than once. One time, you had even heard a knock echoing through the room, though he didn’t answer when you called out to ask him what he wanted.

You also couldn’t help but notice how empty the fridge and pantry were, or how little you saw him eat. He had a small snack here or there, but he seemed to subsist mostly on coffee and whatever he keeps in those tumblers he always has nearby. You had asked once, but he brushed it off, changing the subject not-so-subtly. You assumed they were protein shakes, or some other supplement he used to avoid having to sit down and enjoy a real meal. A lot of Law’s life seemed like he was actively trying to avoid living it. He had his hobbies and friends, of course, but any of the mundane pleasures of life, like eating, sleeping, or even human interaction outside of his chosen few people he avoided like the plague. He focused on his work, and anything else was either carefully penciled in or discarded entirely.

Every conversation you had about it was unproductive. He insisted he was fine, that this was just how he was, but there was always a tension around him, one you can’t help but think would disappear if he would only allow himself to live for once. But you can’t say that to him. How can you ask a man if he even enjoys being alive?

But tonight was the night you would learn your concerns were all for nothing, due only to a lack of information, and nothing more.

You try another conversation about your concerns when he wanders into the kitchen while you’re cleaning up. You know it won’t lead anywhere, but you have to try. “Do you think you’ve been sleeping better, Law?”

He hums noncommittally.

“...Have you actually been trying?”

“I’ve…had a lot to deal with.”

You frown, turning around to face him. “Has work not let up at all? You’ve been running yourself ragged for months.”

He avoids your eyes. “It’ll pass soon.”

“That’s what you said two months ago.” You reach across the counter for his hand, fingers brushing lightly against his, and he frantically pulls his hand back as though he’s been burned. You try not to show your hurt on your face, but from the guilt on his, you know you’ve failed. “I’m…I’m just worried about you. I feel like things have only gotten worse for you since I moved in. Maybe I should just–”

He jumps at that, quick to correct, to move you away from that train of thought as fast as he can. “No, no, that’s not true. And you shouldn’t do anything different. Having you around has been…this is the most alive the house has felt in years. I’m just tired, really.”

“You’re still sleepwalking.”

He tenses. “Am I?” Something about his tone is strange. He doesn’t seem like he’s surprised, or at least not surprised that he is. More surprised that you know.

“Yeah. You really didn’t start doing that until I moved in?”

“Well, no one would be able to tell me if I had.” He still isn’t looking at you.

You sigh. Even knowing how unproductive these talks are, it’s always a disappointment to learn he won’t open up to you. You honestly can’t figure out why he keeps you around. Your presence clearly stresses him out, even if he won’t admit it. “Just…try to get some rest, please. And eat a real meal for once. You’re a doctor, you should know how to take care of yourself.”

He finally looks at you again, self deprecation radiating from his tight smile. “Right. I’ll try.”

He won’t.

But you can. After you finish wiping down the counters, you get ready for a long night of sleep. No point in staying up worrying over things you can’t control. A long, warm shower and comfy pajamas are sure to fix your problems.

And they do, really, for the few hours you remain asleep.

But then you hear the door open.

No jiggling handle, no knocking, nothing. Just the quiet creak of the hinges, and footsteps approaching. You’ve barely opened your eyes before you can feel the bed start to shift, and you look up to see the same sight you did months ago: Law, eyes feral and needy, his mouth open, teeth looking particularly long and sharp in the moonlight. Before you can open your mouth, you can feel his body against yours, every inch of him stiff, his hands clutching your shoulders, his teeth growing closer and closer to your neck.

“Law?”

His eyes are still hazy, his mouth still approaching.

“Law!” You try to push his arms away, but you find you’re not strong enough to make him budge for even a moment. But the fear in your voice when you realize you’re about to feel his teeth against you makes him stop midair, his eyes focusing a little.

“Huh?” He looks down at you in his arms, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes, and he throws himself back with a speed and strength you didn’t know he had. You can hear him slam against the wall behind him, knocking all of your wall decorations askew and making the wall make a concerning creak. He stares at you, arms out, as though something is pinning him down, and he looks absolutely beautiful bathed in the moonlight that sneaks through your curtains. His eyes are hungry, and you can see his canines peeking out from his lips, almost looking like fangs. He’s naked except for a pair of gray sweatpants, hair mussed and tattoos on full display.

“Law?” He stares at you, still torn between hunger and fear. As you shift to sit up, you can see his eyes flicker between your neck and your breasts, your pajamas giving him a clear view of your cleavage. Normally you would be embarrassed, but the tension in the air makes you forget your vulnerability for a moment. “Are you alright?”

“You forgot to lock your door,” he murmurs, voice thick and deep. He hasn’t looked away from you for even a moment, and he hasn’t moved an inch.

“You were going to bite me.”

He licks his lips, something he often does around you. You had always thought it was a nervous habit, but combined with the look in his eyes, you’re starting to suspect perhaps there’s another reason. “I told you to keep your door locked.” It sounds like speaking takes effort, and you notice his hands trembling slightly.

“Why were you going to bite me?”

“I need to leave,” he says, not moving, staring intently at your exposed skin. He’s breathing heavily. His canines seem to have grown even longer. “Or maybe you should leave.”

“You’re…you haven’t been sleepwalking at all. You’ve been trying to get in every night. To bite me. With your teeth.”

“I…have.”

“Are you…” You can’t bring yourself to say the word, even with all of the evidence in front of you. It feels unreal, so ridiculous you feel as though you’re watching someone else live through it all.

“Yes.”

“And you’re hungry?”

His chest is heaving with the effort of holding himself back. “Very.”

“And you asked me to live with you anyway?”

He forces his eyes closed, pushing his head back against the wall. “It wasn’t very smart of me. I…I knew I couldn’t let you leave the moment you walked through that door. I needed you to stay. You don’t know what it’s like. …I thought I would have more self control than this, really.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

“Why couldn’t you let me leave?” You hate that your voice has a tinge of hope in it, like you aren’t in terrible danger, like your silly little crush on your roommate is more important than the very real threat he poses.

“You’re…you. And god, I need you.” He huffs out another breath. “You need to leave, really. Before I lose control.”

That should not have sent a shiver of excitement up your spine. “What if I didn’t?”

“Then I’d bite you.”

“And what if I wanted that?”

His eyes shoot open, and before you know it you’re pinned to the bed, a starving animal holding you down, every muscle in his body taut. “You…you shouldn’t…” He struggles to even get the words out, to keep up his good guy act when you can see the hunger in his eyes.

You lean up, exposing your neck fully, and just smile.

You’re pierced in a second.

The sensation is colder than you expected, and for a moment it really and truly feels like you’re going to die. Like you’ve made some horrible mistake for a pretty face and you’re going to pay the price for it. But before long, the ice in your veins fades away, leaving behind a pleasant warmth. It almost feels like you’re drunk, as your eyelids droop and an easy smile comes to your face.

You can feel every inch of Law pressed into you, from his warm tongue against your neck to his solid chest against yours and, most importantly, his hard and aching cock rutting against your thigh as he drinks. He hardly takes any time away from your neck, but whenever he does he’s panting, practically moaning against you. One of his hands goes to your chest, palming clumsily at your breasts, which easily spill out of your flimsy top. He looks down to see them, and groans from deep within his chest. “God, look at you.”

You try to respond, but in an instant he’s against your neck again, suckling, while his hand finds your nipple and pinches it between his fingers. You moan, far louder than you would ever admit, and your hips rut up into his. You can feel a wetness soaking easily through your pajama shorts, which he finds as well as he rubs against you, forcing the fabric between your folds and rubbing it against your clit. Your nails find his hair, gripping for dear life, and you hear him moan again. You can’t see them, but you can practically feel his eyes rolling into the back of his head. You try to speak again, to tell him to please fuck you, to complete the pleasure of the moment, but the only thing that leaves your lips is a pathetic cry of, “Law!”

He pulls himself back from your neck, lips dripping with your blood, staring at you ravenously. You fear he might swallow you whole. You fear you might enjoy that. His hand comes up, fingers gathering the blood dripping from his lips and chin. He maintains eye contact as he slowly and deliberately licks his fingers clean, refusing to waste even a drop of you. You clench your thighs together, which once again rubs the fabric against your clit just right, making you moan softly. His pupils blow out even further at the sound, his eyes nothing but inky blackness and desire.

You aren’t sure if it’s the warmth in your veins or your desire for Law that leaves you so pliable, so vulnerable underneath him. Either way, you find your thighs falling apart and your arms wrapping around him, begging him to take you. You whisper to him, “Please, Law, please. Finish what you’ve started. Have me.”

He leans down to clean the rest of the blood off of your neck with his tongue. “I want you,” he groans. “I have since the moment I saw you. God, you’re so delicious.” You feel his teeth graze against you again, desperate for a second taste. “You taste even better than I imagined, better than I dreamed.”

“You dreamed about me?”

“Every goddamn night. You’ve been haunting me.” He nips at your neck gently. “I couldn’t let you leave, no matter how much better it would be for you. I’m sick.”

You thrust your hips against his again, making his eyelids flutter and a soft choked noise escape his throat. “I’ve wanted you just as long.”

“I’ve never lost control over myself like this. You’ve done something to me.” He says it almost like an accusation.

You wrap your thighs around his waist in response, forcing your hips together again. “You’ve done something to me, too. I’d like you to finish it, if you don’t mind.”

He growls against your skin, something feral finally unleashing from him, and in one smooth motion he’s ripped off your pajama pants and underwear, leaving you bare and dripping for him. He thrusts into you in one smooth motion, making you nearly scream as your eyes roll back from the sensation. His pace is frantic, like if he stops for even a moment you’ll change your mind, or he’ll come to his senses, and it will all be over.

“Need you,” he mutters. “Need you to stay. Say you’ll stay.” There’s some deeper thread of desperation here, his voice pleading, nearly afraid. Like after all of this you’ll see him for what he is and leave him all alone in this house again, to be forgotten by time and left to rot.

“I’ll stay,” you moan. “I won’t leave you, Law.”

His hand finds your clit, a reward for giving him what he needed. His hands are as skilled as you had always hoped they would be, callused and moving exactly how you want them to. He makes you clench around him, ready to come undone so quickly under his attention. “You’re so alive,” he whispers. “So beautiful. And mine.”

“Yours, yes, yours!”

“Forever,” he insists.

“Forever!”

With your promise, his thrusts quicken, growing sloppy as he loses what little control he had left. His fingers and hips work frantically, bringing you to the edge easily, causing you to tighten around him as your vision goes white. At the same time, his teeth come down on your neck again, and he spills inside of you, filling you to the brim as he freely takes what he wants.

You’re panting, your heart pounding out of your chest, your blood flowing freely into Law’s waiting lips. Once he’s had his fill, he licks you clean again, before raising his head to look you in the eyes. “Forever?” He asks again.

“Forever,” you confirm.

He smiles. You watch as he bites his bottom lip, his fangs easily piercing the soft flesh, and he kisses you deeply and desperately. The taste of iron fills your mouth, at first repulsive but quickly growing into something sweet and irresistible. You lean further into him, sucking on his lip, taking whatever you can get, only stopping when he pulls back, pinning you down so you can’t chase his lips.

“Forever,” he whispers, tone filled with wonder. He kisses you again, tenderly, almost worshiping. “And you won’t have to spend a moment of it alone.”

You’re starting to grow unbearably hot, but even as you squirm, Law doesn’t allow you to move. He holds you there, under him, cock still inside of you. “Law, it’s hot. I need–”

“I know. It’ll pass.” He grins, teeth flashing dangerously in the light.

“What?” The haziness from blood loss and whatever endorphins came from a vampire’s bite start to wear off, and you start to tense. “What’ll pass?”

He doesn’t give you a straight answer. “It won’t hurt much, I promise.”

“Law, what did you do?”

He smiles, nuzzling you affectionately. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know. You won’t have to try to figure it all out alone. It’ll be the two of us, figuring it all out together. And we’ll have forever to do it.” He kisses you again as the heat overtakes you, turning swiftly from discomfort to pain.

But you’ll be alright, of course. Law is right there to walk you through it.

And he will be forever.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @saturogojosgirl

#law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece smut #trafalgar law #law x y/n #law x you #op #one piece law

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pretty-little-mind33 · 10 months ago

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Kraven The Hunter x fem!reader

Summary: You meet a dangerous stranger in the woods...

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: kinda dark but still tame, cheating (reader), unprotected sex (pls use contraceptives in real life!), oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, degradation kink, rough sex, riding, he spits in reader's mouth 👀, kissing (duh), fingering, light misogyny, ik he has a name but i use Kraven in this, bad russian google translate maybe (I AM SO SORRY I DID MY BEST—if you speak Russian and have any suggestions… please 🙏 ) LISTEN…I'M SORRY LIKE I COULD NOT RESIST WRITING FOR HIM…HAVE YOU SEEN HIM? Probably NOT comic accurate…

SERGEI KRAVINOFF MASTERLIST

You don't know what you hate more at the moment—your boyfriend or the continuous sweat forming on your hairline from the dampness and heat. It's becoming dark outside, which should cool the air and help with the heat but not as much with how pissed you are at Chris.

With a small squeal, you stumble on the roots of a tree, gasping as your ankle twists awkwardly in your hiking shoes and the buzz of an insect flies around your ear. You swat your hand near your cheekbone. You're holding the branches you'd found in one arm now as the stickiness of the air makes your skin feel heavy.

Screw you bugs!

Screw you woods!

And most of all screw you Chris!

You're too immersed in your hatred that you don't realize you've fallen into an animal trap until it's too late. You scream, the branches falling from your arm as your body folds and the net wraps around you, pulling you up into the air. The rope burns your exposed skin as you squirm. This had to be a nightmare, some sick cruel joke Chris is playing on you. You half hope he'll jump out from behind the bushes and laugh in your face.

You wait in silence for a moment but your boyfriend doesn't show up.

"Help!" You scream out helplessly, "Is anyone there? Please, I-I'm trapped," you call.

"Hmm, yes, that is the point of one of those," a deep voice drawls from behind you and you wince. You try to strain your neck to look at the newcomer but you can't move enough to see who it is. It certainly isn't Chris. Chris doesn't sound like that.

"Please, can you help me?" you plead shamelessly now.

Your heart is beating so hard. You hear the creak of leaves and dirt as whoever stands behind you walks closer to you. You feel them turn the entire net around and soon you're face to face with dark piercing golden eyes. A color you can only describe as supernatural.

"Now why would I help you? You stumbled into my trap—that makes you my prize."

The man is tall and strong. His shoulders are broad and his hair curls messily across his forehead. He's wearing an open vest made of brown leather and adorned with fur, thick leather bracers, and a necklace where three animal teeth hang.

You concentrate on the sharpness of the teeth for a while, ignoring how very much shirtless the man is against them, but eventually you lose focus as with a swift motion, he uses a knife he'd taken from his belt to cut the net and you crash to the ground.

Immediately, the dirt sticks to your sweaty skin as you scramble up onto your feet. You brush hair from your face and stumble back, almost falling again until the man's large, calloused hand finds your forearm and he holds you still. "Calm down," he says hoarsely, his eyes narrowing and his grip tightening.

"You don't wanna run from me, gorgeous. Clearly, you don't know your left and right around here but I do. So, stay still for me so I can think about what I'm gonna do with you."

He has a thick accent and you find yourself nodding. He drops your arm and you don't move. You look up at him as he looks around, rubbing his hand over his jaw like he's debating his next moves. You can see his knife, which he has secured into his belt again, glistens with blood and your stomach churns.

"Please don't hurt me," you whisper.

The man stares at you blankly, his eyebrows crease as he looks you up and down. After a moment, the corners of his lips curl upwards and he moves closer. You squeeze your eyes shut, scared, and you gasp inaudibly as a tear escapes you.

The man's thumb wipes it away, his hand cupping your cheek and he speaks a language you don't understand—russian you assume—"Я бы никогда не подумал причинить тебе боль, (I would never dream of hurting you)," His tone seems sweeter than how he'd spoken before but all hopes of him translating what he'd said disappear when he asks:

"Why are you out here all alone?"

You recover from his touch as it leaves you and you try and explain, "I'm not alone. My boyfriend," you turn to look behind you but all you see is the trees and hear the rustling of animals in the shadows, "is around here somewhere," you finish.

"He left you? Alone? Now? It's almost dark," the man accuses as if it had been your choice.

"I- I was supposed to bring branches for the fire," you say quickly, gesturing to the branches that had fallen from your arms. The man looks where you're pointing and chuckles darkly.

"Oh, милый (darling), those aren't branches. Those aren't even twigs."

You glare at him, not finding it funny at all, "Well, I couldn't carry the heavier ones," you defend and the man interrupts with another chuckle.

"Ah," he smirks, "so why was it you who went out? Can your man not care for you properly?"

You scrunch your nose, "What's that supposed to mean?"

The man's smirk turns into a smile, his teeth showing, and you can't help but feel butterflies in your stomach as he smiles. He's handsome—almost too handsome for someone who looks like they live in the woods.

"I mean," he drawls, leaning in even closer, "what kind of man allows his woman to do all his labor, leaving her on her lonesome and vulnerable to bad men like me?" Your breath hitches and your eyes widen when he finishes, "Your man is a pathetic little boy who doesn't deserve a woman like you."

Your mind races. You want to defend Chris, tell this man that Chirs is an amazing, loving, boyfriend—but another part of you can't deny Chris had basically coerced you onto this hike, on your birthday nonetheless, and then promptly abandoned you to fend for yourself.

However, those details weren't what your mind latched onto. No. As you stare at the handsome stranger, his words ring in your ears; "bad men like me"

The man can tell and he chuckles, "Don't look so scared. I like you. You're the most entertainment I've had in a while. Come," he beckons you over, turning around and gathering his net over his shoulder. When you don't follow instantly he calls out, "I can offer you shelter and food, and a fire," he adds with a glance over his shoulder, "Unless you'd rather find your way back to your boyfriend. Your choice, милый (darling)."

So, you end up in the man's home. The man—who had finally introduced himself as Kraven— lives in a small cabin that's obviously been worn out by time and weather. All the furniture looks barely used—as if there hasn't been life inside this cabin for a long time.

Kraven's hospitality is coarse and oddly demanding as he pours you some honey tea he made himself and hands you some bread. You don't complain, you're starving. As Kraven makes a fire, he mumbles things in Russian and occasionally he'll look over at you, sending a shiver up your spine. Your hair is wet from the shower you just had and the strands stick to your cheeks.

Your mind wanders to Chris. Is he okay? It is a warmer night—so he really shouldn't freeze to death. You feel guilty for having accepted Kraven's offer but your thoughts are interrupted by the fire starting and Kraven stands. He runs a hand in his curls and drops his vest on the couch near you. You look up, suddenly extra aware of how shirtless and toned he is.

"Продолжай смотреть на меня так, и у меня не будет другого выбора, кроме как трахнуть тебя прямо здесь и сейчас, милый, (Keep looking at me like that and I'll have no choice but to fuck you right here and now, darling)," Kraven says in a growl and the only word you recognize is the last one since he's used it a few times.

"What does милый mean?" you ask, attempting to pronounce the word but fumbling it. Kraven smirks and tilts his head as he walks closer until he's sitting next to you.

"It's a term of endearment," he chuckles, "like darling—or honey."

You feel your cheeks burn. It's almost worse to hear him explain the term rather than just using it. You look down at your hands, feeling Kraven's warmth next to you. He smells like pine-wood and ashes and the scent is invading. You feel safer near him then you'd ever felt in Chris's arms. Guilt settles in your stomach again.

"Ты так сладко пахнешь. (you smell so sweet)," Kraven says again and his hand comes up to move some stray hairs behind your ear. The air shifts and sexual tension settles around you and the feeling dances across your skin with fervor.

You don't dare turn your head to look at him, afraid of how he's staring. "What does that all mean? The Russian?" you mutter.

"It means I want to kiss you, doll," Kraven chuckles and his hand cups your chin and he turns your head so you're staring at him. Your eyes are round and he chuckles, "what do you say милый (darling)? Will you indulge me? I wanna see if you taste as good as I think you do."

Your heart jumps in your throat and suddenly you feel very small compared to him. Your eyes flicker to his lips and then up to look into his eyes. They sparkle darkly and you wonder if anyone has ever been able to say no to those eyes. You surely won't be the first. You nod.

Kraven leans in and captures your lips with passion so fierce you're afraid your lips will bruise. Still, they slide across his easily and it's as if you've been molded for one another. Kraven's hands tighten in your hair, bunching up the strands so he can control your head movements. Control. His entire demeanor screams control.

"Good girl," he mutters with a smirk against your lips and his hands move to grip your hips. You're wearing some shorts and a shirt you found in the bedroom when you changed from your shower.

You gasp as he helps you up and you straddle him now. With a humph, he lifts up his hips and slides his knife holster to the side so it isn't digging into your thigh or his. He grins wolfishly, continuing to kiss you. His lips trail up your neck and near your ear.

It never felt like this with Chris. Sure, it had been fine—it had been good even in the beginning—but this? No, nothing could compare to this.

Kraven's hands are large and strong against your skin as he kneads your waist and ass. "Ты такая хорошая девушка для меня (You're such a good girl for me)," he whispers, his voice hoarse, and as attractive as it is, you whine and furrow your brows.

"Please, don't talk in Russian anymore. I can't understand you," you pout, pulling him closer as you unconsciously grind your hips into his for more friction. "I wanna understand you,"

Kraven grips your hips harder and rolls them onto him, earning him a soft moan that falls from your lips. "Alright, darling, alright," he smiles and kisses you again. "Tell me, do'you want more from me? Seems like you do," he grinds your hips again, punctuating his words as he teases you mercilessly.

You are at loss for words. This is wrong. You're cheating on your boyfriend, you try to remind yourself, with a man you met in the woods. But if this is so wrong, why does it feel so good? You moan. You desperately want to slide your shorts and panties down to allow even more friction on your clit. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you must look so needy.

Kraven hooks his fingers in your waistband, running his thumb over your hip, reading your mind, "Is this what you want, darling? You wanna rub yourself on me like a little slut?"

The insult shouldn't be as hot as it is, but when it's followed by a searing kiss, the word is honey on his tongue. You moan and drop your head in the crook of his neck, grasping onto his shoulders as you lift your hips so he can easily slide your panties and shorts down. "Please," you whisper, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders.

Kraven smirks and, as he holds your nape with one hand, he uses the other and finds your pussy. He explores your folds, wanting to make sure you're wet and ready for him. He rubs your clit, earning him smaller, more high pitched sounds from your parted lips as your wetness seeps over his hand.

Kraven teases you for a little while longer, murmuring praises in your ear until he suddenly spreads his legs and you fall to your knees in front of the couch. You gasp, looking up at him from the ground.

He looks majestic, sitting there, as if the couch was his throne and he was a King.

Kraven's smirk widens as he fists one hand in your hair, using his other hand to lick his fingers clean of your arousal and then swiftly unbuckle his belt. He stares at you as he does this and tilts his head. "D'you do this for your boyfriend, gorgeous?" Kraven seems amused by the word boyfriend, as if it's some game to him.

You nod, sinking onto your heels as you watch Kraven pull out his cock. He's big and hard and your eyes widen. "D'you like doing this?" he asks, his voice low. You catch his eye and shake your head honestly. You didn't like giving Chris head—but Chris's dick didn't look like this. Your eyes snap up to Kraven's cock.

"You'll like it with me," he adds, smirking, and guides your head to his cock. You let him, having no complaints as you take him in your mouth. You're nervous at first, unsure of what to do, but soon you gain more confidence as you try and take him even deeper.

You gag a little and Kraven just tightens his hand in your hair.

"You can take it. I know you can, doll. There," he coos, clearly enjoying your work as you adjust your mouth around him. "There, yeah. That's my good girl." Kraven grunts out the word "my" and warmth pools in your stomach. You moan around his cock, sucking faster as if to respond yes, I am yours.

With a pop, he pulls your head away and tilts your chin. He helps you up to straddle him again, keeping you eye level as he positions his cock at your entrance. He squeezes your cheeks, opening your lips, and then spits into your mouth before claiming your lips again. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel him against you and he sinks you down onto him.

"Can you feel me, милый (darling)?" he grunts, moving you on his cock slowly, torturing you. He chuckles darkly when you whine.

"Mmh," is the only sound you make as he fills you up. It feels so good.

"You feel full, hm?" Kraven taunts, moving your hips a little faster as his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise. He pulls one away a moment and rips your shirt, attaching his lips to your hardened nipples as you squeal.

"Yes, oh, I feel so full," you whimper, bouncing up on him, helping him so you can go even faster and deeper. "Shit, you're so big."

"Шлюха (slut)," he groans, the word slipping past his lips in ecstasy as he kisses and sucks across your chest. You whine, wanting him to tell you what the word means so you can understand him but Kraven smirks. He kisses your collarbone and then, using his strength, he easily flips you over so you're laying on the couch and he's on top of you now.

Kraven sinks his cock back into you as he snaps his hips hard. You gasp, wrapping your arms around him and your nails slide up and down his back, and he groans with pleasure at the sting.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck please," you plead, eyes rolling as your body shivers.

"You're so tight around me. As if you were made just for me," he says as he continues to fuck into you. "Does your boyfriend fuck you this good?" Kraven asks, his accent thicker as he loses himself in the pleasure. His hand comes to wrap around your jaw as he holds you in place under him.

You shake your head.

"Слова (Words)," he growls but then curses and says, "Words, darling. Tell me."

"N-no. He doesn't fuck me this good," you whisper as Kraven's cock slides into you. You're so wet and he's so hard and this is so so wrong.

"Yeah? You gonna run back to him now, bunny?" he snarls and nips as your earlobe. He thrusts harder and smirks at the pet name. "Hmm. run little bunny, back to your poor excuse of a boyfriend? No," Kraven grunts, as if he's made a decision, "I'm keeping you, doll. I can take care of you better than he can."

You moan at this and nod, "Please," you whisper, feeling your thighs clench around him as you can feel your orgasm approaching.

Kraven feels it too. "You're squeezing around me, Шлюха (slut), do you wanna come?" Kraven teases and his thrusts slow. You whine and look at him, your eyes becoming teary from need. You nod.

He laughs and kisses your lips with a grin, "Alright, you can come. Go on, let yourself come all over my cock," he smirks against your skin as his sharp teeth nip at your neck.

You whine, letting your body finally relax as you come. You gasp, your eyes rolling from pleasure as your legs feel like jello. Kraven finishes inside you with a grunt and you whimper at the feeling.

He smiles as you sink into the cushions and your eyes flutter. His large hand comes to hold behind your head as he pulls you up and leans you against his chest.

While Kraven's touch is comforting, it's also possessive and claiming. His thumb strokes over your hair and his lips kiss your head. He's holding you so close you're almost afraid he'll never let you go. You sigh when he slides out and picks you up in his arms as he stands.

"Good girl," he mutters as he walks you to the bathroom and adds, "You did so well for me." You let yourself relax in his arms as he promises he'll be here from now on. You're his now.

You're so blissed out from your orgasm that your mind doesn't understand what that truly means. Instead, you shut your eyes and let him take care of you and, with a small smile, you think,

Happy. Fucking. Birthday. To. Me.

#kraven the hunter #kraven x reader #kraven the hunter x reader #kraven the hunter x y/n #kraven the hunter x fem!reader #kraven the hunter x you #kraven the hunter movie #marvel #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson fic #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #marvel kraven the hunter #marvel movies #sony movies #spiderman #tw smut #tw dark themes

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dulcento · 4 months ago

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cw ۫ ꣑ৎ actor satoru gojo x fem. reader, angst, foul language, hurt no comfort, feminine pet names, mentions of cöck, he just sucks ◟ 2.3k wc

lola’s lip service : beta read by the lovely @kisstoru, thx bunny xxx

as the music in the club shifts to a sensuous beat, it pales in comparison to the steady drum of anger coursing through your veins at the scene filling your vision.

if the grip on your martini glass was any tighter, jagged shards would scrape your hand, vodka searing each gash as if they were set on fire.

and yet… that’d be nothing compared to the sting of watching your boyfriend, a famed actor satoru gojo, flirting with another woman twenty feet away from you.

your relationship with the white-haired man started rocky, for obvious reasons. coming from two different worlds would cause a strain on any relationship. satoru, being used to the limelight and attention, saw nothing wrong with late nights out in los angeles, liquor, and various women throwing themselves at him under the guise of being his ‘fans’. after all, it came with the lifestyle of being ‘the sexiest man in hollywood’.

you, on the other hand, saw everything wrong with it.

you’ve lost count of how many times you and satoru would argue over the violation of your boundaries. yes, your boundaries because if you’ve learned one thing while being in a relationship with satoru… boundaries? he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. like now, as you gawk at the sight of satoru’s slender fingers gingerly tucking that girl’s hair behind her pierced ear, fingertips grazing over the industrial bar through her cartilage.

bile rises from your gut, threatening to make your dinner reappear in chunks at the lustful gleam in his eyes as his cerulean attention flints to that girl’s cleavage. your body heat reaches scorching temperatures, a thin layer of sweat materializing on your flesh from the maelstrom of emotions clouding your psyche. fury, sadness, with a heaping dose of disappointment crawls up your throat, constricting your airway, making it hard to breathe, pressure building behind your sinuses.

damn it, not now, not—

your thoughts short-circuit when you catch a glimpse of that girl pressing her tits against satoru’s sculpted chest, his sizable hand resting on her waist, pulling her closer. it was as if your tears disintegrated from your very eyes, filling your scleras with flames, pupils dilating in ire. slamming your glass on the round table, you shoot up to your feet, saint laurent heels heavily clicking against the vinyl flooring as if they’re made of lead, bringing you closer to the object of your vexation.

“yeah? you wanna taste, pretty gi— hey!” satoru yelps when your hand curls around the back of his leather jacket, yanking him away from the disgusting atmosphere he created with that girl. “‘toru, let’s talk outside,” your tone signifying no question was asked, and judging by his threaded brow raising at said tone, he knows it was a demand.

“hm? what about?” satoru teases, playfulness dancing in his cyanic irises. your gaze hardens into an ominous glare, “now, satoru,” ice wrapping around each syllable of his given name. his lids widened slightly, a shiver of fear running up his spine before retracting to their relaxed state. he can feel the eggshells cracking under his feet. satoru decides it’s better to tread lightly as to not spur you on… for now.

he nods, leaving cash on the bar top for his tab before rising to his feet from the uncomfortable stool. as he moves to walk behind you, a hand lands on his bicep, the muscle dwarfing the sickly appendage almost comically. “leaving me already, handsome?” a voice, akin to nails on the chalkboard rings in your ears, making your nose scrunch up in distaste.

satoru’s attention catches hers, a stupid smirk curling up on his face. “sorry baby, gotta talk to her real quick,” he replies, coyness infesting his tenor, your neck cracking with how hard you did a double take. hearing ‘baby’ roll of satoru’s tongue, all honeyed and sweet, towards some trollop, makes smoke come out your ears.

“i’ll be here,” she giggles, the sound making your ass itch. satoru winks… winks! at her, turning around to face you. he flinches back once he sees how close you are to him. “whew, you scared me, baby,” his blood pressure leveling once more. he should be scared, you think to yourself, eyes scanning his frame before walking towards the exit, satoru trailing behind you.

the velvet-padded door opens, causing the autumn breeze to kiss your skin, tapering off the jitters in your bones a tad. silent tension blankets you and satoru as the constant thump of footfalls fill the dead air. satoru, can’t help but admire you from behind. you can almost feel his eyes fucking you from top to bottom as you both walk together towards the parking lot.

is he that fucking clueless about your mood?

leaning your ass against the hood of your bentley, crossing your arms over your ample chest, “explain,” stern vocal cords slicing through the air like a katana through flesh. satoru’s features screw up in mockery, “whaddya mean, princess?” faux ignorance laced through each vowel, creases forming in between your brows. your acrylics dig into the plump flesh of your tricep, leaving crescent marks on your once unblemished skin.

it’s times like this when you wonder how you fell in love with satoru.

letting out a huff, pinching the bridge of your nose, you utter, “this is not the time to act like something’s funny, satoru.” a child-like frown downturn on his face, grumbling, “you’re no fun, baby,” as his spine straightens. you feel a sliver of your irritation subside at him taking this conversation seriously. you try not to get your hopes up too much. one minute he’s communicating and listening, the next minute he’s cracking jokes, dismissing your worries as quickly as they came.

“it was jus’ a little flirting, baby. what of it?” satoru nonchalantly smiles, his mitts residing deep in his jean pockets, indifferent. you scoff. so much for him taking things seriously.

“seriously?” you question, annoyed.

“why? jealous? awww, don’t be jealous, baby. you know—” you cut satoru off by slapping away his hand as it was about to cup your cheek. “jealous of who, exactly?” you spit, vexed by his mocking tone. he chuckles, “oh come on, you’re a smart girl. figure it out,” twirling a stray lock of your hair around his finger. you push his hand away once more, fed up with his antics.

“do you just not give a fuck about me?”

satoru’s grin drops from his face at your pained expression. exasperation covered his own as you snapped at him. “what’s wrong this time?” he inquired, shifting his weight to his other leg. with how hard you rolled your eyes, you’re surprised they didn’t fall out of your skull.

this time?!

the vein on the side of your neck bulges at his complete lack of awareness. “just answer truthfully. why were you flirting with that girl?” at this point, you’re over it, over him. there’s no use in beating around the bush. no use in acting unbothered when you are bothered. satoru stares at you, boredom etched on his face. “it’s not rocket science as to why,” he scoffs.

if you didn’t have self-control, you would’ve punched him square in his gums. “apparently it is ‘cause i don’t understand it,” looking into his eyes, demanding an answer. the fact that after a year of being his girlfriend, having the same fights over and over, he still can’t comprehend why you’re upset right now.

and that fact hurts you.

“i felt like it. besides, she made it easy for me,” satoru shrugs, adjusting his sleek rolex before smoothing down his black shirt. “i mean, i can’t help that i’m handsome, baby,” pearly white grin spreading across his soft lips, singular dimple making an appearance.

a harsh laugh rips through your sternum. did he just say that out loud? you think to yourself. in this moment, friends, family, and media blogs warning you about this man, come back to haunt you in despicable ways. you feel like a fool. a complete bozo for thinking he had a shred of respect for your relationship.

what did you expect from a man tmz calls ‘satoru hoejo’?

“why did i ever bother with you, huh?! what made me think you, out of all people, could fucking understand how a fucking adult relationship fucking works? a fucking man-child is what you are, asshole,” you belittle, red hot disdain slinking into each dig you bark.

blood sloshes in your ears, your ragged breathing louder than normal as you try to uncurl your hands from their white-knuckled fists. satoru’s cool gaze studies your demeanor, chiseled arms crossing over his chest. internally, he is reveling in your outrage. he can’t help the way his cock stirs behind his fly at the fiery pitch your tone adheres to.

before he can stop himself, satoru teases, “heh, you’re so cute when you’re mad.” at his verbiage, you freeze, feeling as if a bucket of cold water was dumped over your head, clothes sticking uncomfortably to your shivering skin. you just don’t understand. how can someone who’s supposed to protect your heart, continually handle it as if it’s not fragile? you wanted so badly to believe he was different, so badly to hope he’d give you what you’ve been searching for. but as you notice that playful arrogance twinkling in his light irises, you’re made keenly aware that he’s not who he portrayed himself to be.

“and on that note, we’re done satoru. tell that girl, with the change machine between her legs, to take you home,” rounding the front of your car, reaching the driver's side door, wanting to be alone and forget about the last hour of your life.

try the last year of your life.

you couldn’t even curl your hand around the door handle before satoru grabbed your arm, halting your movements. “what are you telling me?” tightening his grasp on your elbow, agitation seeds planting in his voice. snatching your arm away from the beginnings of a vise-like grip, “fuck you,” you fume.

a cracked chuckle vacates his larynx, “fuck me? is that what you’re telling me? after i gave you things the next woman would kill for?” satoru can’t believe how irrational you’re being right now. he doesn’t know what this is. are you jealous? insecure? or just downright insane, acting this way over something so small? sure, he flirts with other girls. so what? it’s not like any of those girls meant anything to him. it’s all fun and games to him. and if he pisses you off in the process, that’s fine with him. nothing like a good pounding into the mattress to dampen your fury. and it works, every. single. time.

except now.

“what did you give me?! a fucking migraine? yeah, that’s about as much as you’ve given me throughout this entire relationship.”

“yeah? so that necklace with my initials on it, those fucking diamonds on your fingers, that fucking car! you got that all by yourself?” he scoffs, snidely.

“here, take it all back!” you seethed, ripping off your necklace and chucking it at his face. he will not have that kind of hold on you. it’s all fake. the love, the care, the feelings… none of it was real. “what else do you want? my shoes?” slipping out your heels, throwing them at his feet. “my purse?” shoving your prada bag roughly into his chest. “w-what else huh? you… you already took my heart. not like i’ll ever get that back,” fresh crystalline drops filling your eyes as they burn with the weight of your fractured heart.

satoru stands there, statue stiff, regarding the scene in his eye line. a pang of… something pierces his chest seeing you cry, fat tears gliding down your cheeks, leaving streaks in your makeup. he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, throat tight, feeling as if he scarfed down a wine cork. satoru has never seen you cry, the sight so foreign, urging that pang to sink its fangs into his heartstrings, tugging on them brutally.

as you wipe the salt water away, satoru’s fingers twitch. his nerve endings screaming at him to comfort you, to be the first man to dry your tears instead of causing you to produce more. but, he stays glued to his spot, helplessness encasing his aura as he rubs the back of his neck, fingers grazing the buzzed hair contaminating his undercut.

“(name), i—”

lifting your manicured hand, you cut off his verbiage firmly, done with him. “don’t. i’m done with your empty words, your empty apologies, your empty fucking heart. i’m done with it all,” you reiterate, voice nasally as your tears invite all your congestion to come out and play. sniffling, you strap your heels back on your feet, cringing from the gravel stabbing your feet as it gets compressed by the sole of the torture devices.

snatching your purse out of satoru's mitts, he grabs your wrist to stop you. “you’ll… you’ll miss me,” satoru spoke, as if he was trying to convince himself of that fact more than you. his azures narrow at how ridiculous his feeble attempts echo through the still atmosphere, gritting his teeth as that feeling of desperation rears its ugly head.

“i’d rather adjust my life to your absence than lower my boundaries to allow your disrespect.”

the finality of your tone is like a dagger through each chamber of his heart, with each palpitation bursting like a balloon. satoru’s clutches slacken, urging you to remove your wrist from his calluses and enter your car. through the cotton stuffed in his ears, all he can recall is the rumbling hum of the engine, tires screeching from speeding away as the distance, both proverbial and literal, between the pair increases.

nippiness pricks at satoru’s skin, creating goosebumps to rise. whispers of his regrets flirt with the breeze, each insensitive action he bestowed upon you coming home to roost. tension formulates behind his sockets, his stomach dropping as the heavy lead of despair stacks in his gut.

“dammit…”

#˓ ✒️ ⤸ 𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 ◞#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo angst #satoru gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk angst #jjk x fem!reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru angst #jujutsu kaisen angst

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ak-vintage · 5 months ago

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I'd Like To...

Pairing: Modern DILF Din Djarin x Plus Size F!Reader

Summary: Din has always struggled to prioritize his own happiness, even more so now that he is a single father. When some well-meaning friends create a dating app profile for him without his knowledge, he finds himself on his first date in years with a woman who seems determined to bring some much-needed softness to his life.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Present-day AU, dating app AU, dual POV, no use of Y/N, private security Din, photographer reader, reader is a plus size woman but otherwise minimal descriptions provided, age gap (unspecified but enough to be noticed), Grogu is a human toddler, Cara is the ultimate wingman, good dad Din, touch-starved Din, fluff, SMUT – exhibitionism, semi-public acts, brief oral sex (m! receiving), protected p in v sex, dirty talk, rough but sweet, switch-y vibes for both Din and reader

Word Count: ~18.3K (I have no excuse...)

Written for @hellishjoel's Hot DILF Summer Challenge. I am unforgivably late to this event, and I’m so, so sorry. I hope the truly preposterous length makes up for it – it really got out of hand!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Cara Dune had never been good at subterfuge.

She was loud, decisive, commanding – a “do no harm but take no shit” kind of person who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty in a risky situation or to stick her neck out for what she believed. Cara didn’t have the constitution for stealth. She didn’t do subtle or – god forbid – sneaky; it simply wasn’t a part of her DNA. All of her colleagues were well aware of this, of course, so why, out of all of the consultants of Fett Security, Inc., she was the person that the group had selected for this particular mission was something she would never understand.

But, as a former soldier, if there was one thing Cara knew how to do, it was follow orders, so when the task fell to her, she took it on the chin and threw herself into it headfirst.

Which was how she found herself awkwardly hunched over at her desk, broad shoulders rounded protectively around her phone as she scrolled through various social media accounts, screenshotting as she went. A suspicious behavior for anyone, but even more so knowing that the images she was grabbing were all of the same man – her best friend and coworker, Din Djarin.

Nearly a decade ago, Din had been one of the first people Boba Fett had recruited to join his private security firm, and ever since, he had been the kind of man who ate, slept, and breathed the job. There was no doubt that Fett Security owed a great deal of its growth and success in the industry to Din’s expertise, but that hadn’t left him with a lot of opportunity for a full life outside of work. Or, perhaps more accurately, Din simply hadn’t made such a thing a priority.

When pressed about it, he would say that it hardly mattered; all of his friends eventually came to work for the firm anyway, Fett collecting them all like trading cards over the years, so he saw them plenty. What more could he need?

Of course, he came to eat his own words about a year ago when he rather unexpectedly became the foster parent – then adoptive parent – of a little boy, a tiny thing with no living relatives in a part of the city that had had a severe shortage of foster families for years. Din himself had grown up in the system, a fact he talked about rarely, but nevertheless, the experience had shaped him in a fundamental way. He had jumped at the opportunity to take in the kid, and overnight, he transformed from a man who buried himself in his work to a man who lived for the whim of a little boy with floppy, sandy-brown curls, wide, dark eyes, and comically large ears.

It was clear to anyone who knew him well – Din had been meant to be a father, and as his closest friend, Cara had found a great deal of joy in watching the new role shape and soften him into a version of himself that felt truer and more authentic to who he was at his core. But all of his friends agreed: when it came to his personal life, having a child had done nothing but exacerbate the problem. He was still working just as many hours as he had before, only now, when he did have time to himself, he rarely left the house without his son in tow. He had stopped joining the team for drinks after gigs, his appearances at company barbecues were fewer and farther between, and who knew how long it had been since the man had been on an actual date?

Din was lonely – Cara could tell. He loved his job, and he adored his son, but it wasn’t enough anymore. There was a hollowness to him, a shadow around his eyes. Something had to give, and so during their last group outing, the team had come together and formulated a plan. A plan which involved Cara harvesting a selection of photos of Din from various corners of the internet, writing up a quick bio, and creating an online dating profile for him.

Without his knowledge.

Cara hardly relished keeping this secret from her friend, but she knew that if she or anyone else had broached the subject with him beforehand, he would have dismissed it out of hand. He would have made up some excuse about doing just fine on his own, that he didn’t need anyone else when he had his son; she could almost hear his low, rasping scoff now. His refusal would be swift and final, and that would be the end of that.

But sometimes, being a good friend meant doing something in the best interest of the other person even when that person would disapprove.

And Cara had found that sometimes it was better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.

Sending a surreptitious glance around the open office space, Cara breathed a quiet sigh of relief at Din’s empty desk. The man didn’t have any of his own social media accounts, finding the whole concept frivolous and a little bizarre, so she was stuck scrolling through her own and those of their friends in an attempt to harvest a few that would be acceptable for a dating profile. It was taking longer than she had anticipated, and she still had to set up his age, gender, and location preferences and write up a brief bio for him before she was due at a job in an hour. The time crunch had her clenching her jaw as she worked.

Tonight at the bar, she planned to recruit some of their friends to help her get Din set up with a selection of matches. And all of them would owe her a beer for her trouble.

Din, the profile read. 45, 5’11”, Private Security Consultant.

Hardworking, outdoorsy, handy. Love vintage cars and motorcycles. Former boxer, teach self-defense classes at the community center on the weekends. Single father to a little boy who is my whole universe. Looking for someone to give me an excuse to get me out of the house, curb my workaholic tendencies, and show me the softer side of life.

“‘The softer side of life?’” Bo smirked around the rim of her beer as she read, Cara’s phone in her hand sticky from being passed around all night. “Cara Dune, you’ve been holding out on us. Who knew you were such a romantic?”

The crew gathered around the end of the bar all laughed as Cara rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her own drink. “What can I say? A bitch contains multitudes,” she replied with a shrug. “But the profile’s good, right? We can start swiping?”

The redhead nodded, neat bob brushing her sharp jaw as she passed the phone back to its owner. “Yeah, I think you’ve got him down.”

“Good call including the bit about the motorcycles,” Axe quipped with a grin. He waggled his dark eyebrows significantly, adding, “Ladies love that stuff. Speaking from experience.”

From her place tucked into his side, arm wrapped around his waist beneath his leather jacket, Koska offered him a tongue-touched smile and butted her head against his chest affectionately. “You’re not wrong.”

Paz returned from the other end of the bar then, shouldering his way through the crowd with six overflowing pints balanced in his massive hands. “What did I miss?” he asked as he passed each of them out to his waiting friends.

Fennec curled her lip in mild disgust as he sloshed a portion of her beer down the side of her glass, soaking her hand. She sat the pint down on the edge of the well-worn bar and drug her fingers demurely across her black jeans as she said, “Nothing, we’re just about to start picking matches.”

“Good.” He downed half of his own pint in a single glug, thick neck working in the low light. “Let’s do this. The guy needs to get laid.”

With a mock-salute of his glass, Axe groaned his agreement. “Maybe if he loosens up a little, he’ll get off my ass about taking over the Organa account. I swear to god, if I have to spend one more fucking charity dinner trailing after those stuffed-shirts, I think my head is going to explode.”

Fennec shot him an icy, closed-lipped smile. “We both know that was my suggestion, not Djarin’s. You’re a good fit for it, Woves. The sooner you learn how to play ball with the politicians, the sooner we can start putting you on more high-profile jobs.”

“Yeah, babe.” Koska’s dark eyes flashed teasingly. “Maybe then you can come join me and Bo on the Skywalker account. Finally start playing with the big boys.”

Bo snorted into her beer, sending a fine spray of the stuff flying as the rest of the group broke into peals of laughter.

“All right, all right, settle down,” Cara urged, passing Bo a napkin. “This has nothing to do with any of us, right? This is about Din. He’s busted his ass for every one of us for years – it’s his turn to catch a break. So let’s stay on task, okay? Now…” With a few taps and a swipe, she brought up the app once more and flipped to the matches tab. “What do we think of her?”

“Dune.”

“Djarin.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

The dark-haired, hawk-eyed woman quirked an eyebrow at him, phone in hand, the thing still extended toward him, waiting for him to take it. “I could do that. But then I’d be lying, and we both know that doesn’t fly with you.”

Din Djarin gritted his jaw and turned his back to her, focusing instead on tossing his towel, lifting gloves, and empty water bottle into his gym bag and slinging it over his shoulder. It wasn’t unusual for Cara to join him for his daily pre-shift workout. She was a reliable spotter, and he liked the playlists she piped through the Bluetooth speakers in the company gym, but there had been something off about her that morning – something cagey and distracted where she was normally the picture of focus. After one too many attempts at getting her attention had resulted in a distant “huh?”, he had decided that enough was enough and demanded an explanation.

With only the faintest traces of guilt shadowing her gaze, she had made her confession. A dating app. She had signed him up for a fucking dating app, and apparently, the whole team was in on it. The bunch of traitors.

“You can go ahead and delete it,” he growled, casting a scathing glance over his shoulder as he made for the locker room. “I’m not interested.”

A strong, blunt-nailed hand wrapped around his elbow, pulling his retreat up short. “Oh, come on, lighten up a little,” Cara entreated. “When was the last time you went out with someone, huh?”

He shrugged her grip off of him. “I go out with you and the team all the time.”

Behind him, his closest friend groaned dramatically. “You know that’s not what I meant. But, while we’re at it, you haven’t exactly been doing much of that, either, big guy. In fact, maybe if you did come out with us once in a while, you could meet a nice girl at a bar or a sporting event or a festival like a fucking normal person, and I wouldn’t have to resort to mining photos of you off our friends’ socials and making you a dating profile in secret.”

“That isn’t fair,” Din snapped, whirling around to face her. “I can’t just be out until all hours of the night anymore. I have my kid to think about. I thought you understood that.”

“Of course, I understand that! No one expects you to be there every time. Not even most of the time! But Din…” Cara let out a sigh, and he watched as that contentious spark fizzled out of her dark eyes, fading into something softer and more earnest. “You are an amazing father. Anyone who has ever seen you with that little boy knows that. But that isn’t all you are. Just like work isn’t all you are. How long have we known each other?”

He ground his teeth and ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair, pushing it back from his face. “About eight years.”

“Eight years,” she echoed, nodding. “I know you, Din Djarin, and I can tell. You’re burning out.”

Something squeezed in his chest at the raw honestly of his friend’s words, and he found himself having to look away. She was right, of course, as she often was. He had always struggled with giving too much of himself – first as a boxer in the ring, then as one of the founding members of Fett Security, then as one of its most senior consultants, and now as a father. As a younger man, he had thrived on it; the busier he was, the harder he worked, the more he proved himself, the better he felt.

But now, knocking on the doors of middle age, he found that the breakneck pace of his life was starting to fray him at the edges. He felt worn through in places and dangerously thin in others, and although he would never admit to anyone, his bed had never felt colder. The small handful of meaningless, one-night flings he had permitted himself over the last few years had left him feeling ill-used and unsatisfied, and when he took his son out to a new restaurant or to the zoo or to the beach, he couldn’t help but feel the distinct absence of another person.

There ought to have been another person holding his kid’s other little hand in the park, patiently walking the unsteady toddler between them. There ought to have been another person feeding the boy ice cream afterward, singing him songs, telling him stories, settling him down for a nap.

There ought to have been another person in his bed – holding him close, playing with his hair, whispering his name in the dark as soft lips traced down his neck…

Fuck. Din Djarin was lonely.

“Listen, I’ll tell you what,” Cara said eventually, pulling him out of his musings. “We’ll get the app set up on your phone, you can log in to your profile, and you can just…take a look at the matches we already got for you. You don’t have to go through any on your own, just the ones we’ve already found. And if you hate them all, we’ll delete your profile and be done with it. But if any of them look even remotely interesting, I really think you should try to connect with them. There has to be more to your life than work and your kid. There has to be, or you’re going to run yourself into the ground. I’m not going to let that happen on my watch.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, blunt and painfully sincere, and then Din was squeezing the pressure points on the sides of his nose and releasing a reluctant sigh.

“Fine,” he groaned. “I’ll take a look at them over lunch. Happy?”

She grinned victoriously and cuffed him on the shoulder, the gesture warm and fraternal. “Ecstatic. Now hit the showers, Djarin, you stink.”

Cara was at his desk at noon on the dot, barely waiting for him to finish sending off an email to a potential client before she was closing his laptop, dragging him bodily out of his chair, and escorting him out of the building and across the street to their favorite sandwich shop. A few minutes later, equipped with a pair of overstuffed Reubens and a couple bags of chips, the two were settled into a back corner booth with Din’s phone between them.

“Okay, there you go,” she proclaimed, sliding the thing across the table to him with a triumphant grin. “App’s installed, and you’re all logged in.”

The man wiped a napkin across his face and fought the urge to sigh. “Let’s get this over with.” Thumbing through the interface, he fumbled for a bit before finally landing on the tab that contained his list of users with bright pink heart icons next to their profile pictures.

“Now these are people that already matched with me?” he asked, suddenly feeling a bit out of his depth.

“Yep! Me and the crew did some swiping for you the other night.”

Din simply blinked at her. “Swiping?”

Cara’s mouth twisted into a thin line, as though she were attempting to swallow a smirk and failing miserably, and he felt the distinct desire to melt into the plastic cushion of the booth and disappear. “It’s how you indicate whether you’re interested in matching with someone. Swipe right for yes, swipe left for no.”

“So these are the people you…swiped right on?”

“Not quite,” she clarified with a shake of her head. “These are the people we swiped right on who also swiped right on you.”

Din’s brows nearly met his hairline at that. “They wanted to match with me, too?”

“Yeah, dumbass, they did.”

“Hey. Watch it,” he growled, jabbing a finger in her direction as he felt his hackles raise. “You know I don’t know anything about this shit. Cut me a little bit of slack, okay?”

Cara sighed, and her expression shifted from needling to softly exasperated. “Yeah, no kidding, I’m aware. I didn’t call you a dumbass because you don’t know anything about online dating. I called you a dumbass because you act like you’re surprised that people want to match with you.”

Oh.

Cocking his head at her, he replied, “Why wouldn’t that surprise me?”

“Umm…” All of the softness in her face disappeared, and instead she glared at him like he had just grown a second head. “Have you seen yourself? I don’t even like men, and I recognize a DILF when I see one.”

“A DILF?”

Cara smirked lasciviously. “Yeah, a dad I’d like to – ”

“I know what a DILF is, Cara, fucking hell, can you keep your voice down?” Din instinctually ducked his head, his gaze darting around the sandwich shop as he prayed to whatever deity might be listening that no one had heard them.

The woman let out a bark of laughter, dark hair swinging and eyes crinkling with mirth. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist, old man. No one’s paying any attention to us back here.” Gesturing at the phone in his hand, she added, “Now quit stalling and start scrolling. I think we ended up with ten or so matches before we called it a night? And we were really picky about it, too. There’s gotta be at least one lucky lady in there that tickles your fancy.”

“Hmm.” He hummed dubiously to himself as he opened the first profile in the list, a blonde woman a couple of years his junior with her head tilted back, face in the sun as she posed on some tropical beach. Pretty. Nice smile. Looked friendly. “Suppose I just didn’t think so many women would be interested in dating a single father.”

“Like I said,” Cara shrugged with a wink. “Ladies love a DILF.”

Nearly an hour later, and Din couldn’t help but feel a bit…underwhelmed with the selection of matches his friends had chosen for him. Not that any of them were bad choices, per se. They were lovely women, all of them, with their sunny smiles and their glossy, perfectly-posed photographs and their quippy bios. They were from a variety of backgrounds with a variety of interests, though all struck him as approachable, intelligent, witty. He couldn’t find a red flag in the bunch, which he supposed was a credit both to them and to his friends for sifting through the masses so thoughtfully.

No, it wasn’t the women. It was him, he was sure. What else could explain the…nothingness he felt when he looked at them? The utter lack of interest? Perhaps he had missed his opportunity for such things, he thought to himself. Perhaps he had waited too long, been too content with his own company for too many years.

He could feel Cara’s eyes on him across the table as he came to the last few matches, could sense her impatience at his silence, at his steady, unenthusiastic scrolling. Their plates sat picked over and abandoned between them, chip bags empty and crumpled, sodas drained dry. They were due back in the office any minute, the lunch hour quickly expiring around them, and as reluctant as Din had been to agree to this entire endeavor, he somehow still felt a twinge of guilt at leaving Cara to report back to the rest of the group empty-handed.

But at least he had held up his end of the bargain. No one could say that he didn’t give the idea a chance. It simply wasn’t meant to be.

Of course, that was until he reached the second-to-last match on the list.

Absently, Din tapped on your picture, opening your profile, and almost immediately, he felt himself straighten in his seat.

You were…stunning.

Wide, bright eyes. A warm, mischievous smile that teased him through the camera’s lens, as though you had a secret you were taunting him with, daring him to ask, to figure it out. Your photos were unique – mostly candids, the focus soft, enhanced with a touch of grain and flawlessly lit. And you had a lot of them, more than any other profile he had viewed. As he swiped through them, he came upon one of you in an easy, flowing blouse, hair windswept around your face, a DSLR camera with a colorful, well-worn strap slung around your neck.

He quickly scanned your profile header, taking in your name, your age, your distance from his location. Photographer, the profession field indicated.

And…shit. You were young. More than a decade his junior, on the very edge of what he would consider an acceptable age difference in typical circumstances. The gap wasn’t enough for it to be an immediate disqualifier, but it certainly was enough that if the two of you were to walk down the street together hand-in-hand, others might take a second glance.

He should un-match with you. It would be the right thing, the responsible thing to do.

And yet…

Din swiped through a handful of your other photos. Fuck, but you were sweet. Full, soft curves with wide, plush hips, heavy breasts, thick thighs. Little glimpses of soft skin peeking through comfortable clothing, airy cottons and silky satins and well-loved denims that his palms itched to touch. He wanted to feel the texture of you under his hands, the lush and the give of you beneath his fingertips…

Your last photo was one taken of you at sunrise, your soft body clad in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a pair of barely-there spandex shorts. Your limbs were stretched and bent into some strange configuration he recognized as a yoga pose, your leg pressed back near your face at an angle that had blood rushing to his cock, his head immediately filled with images of your body contorted in a similar position as he pressed you into his mattress.

New to the city, looking for someone to show me all the best places to get a couple drinks and people watch. Professional photographer living my dream of documenting the most important moments of people’s lives. In my spare time, I like to get out in nature and go hiking, practice yoga, and travel. Excellent home cook, terrible at karaoke. Love dogs, love kids. Let me take your picture so I know it’s real.

Damnit.

You were perfect.

“Okay over there, Djarin?”

Din’s gaze snapped up to meet Cara’s over the table, taking in the quirk of her brow, the suspicious twist of her mouth, and he felt a flush of heat rush up the back of his neck and settle high on his cheekbones. He had been staring. Really staring, and with his mouth open, he realized, mortified. He slammed his jaw shut, his teeth clicking unpleasantly in his skull, and he shifted in his seat.

“Uh,” he muttered dumbly. This throat was so dry, his voice crackled around the syllable as though he hadn’t spoken all day. He cleared it quickly and nodded once. “Yeah. Fine. Uh – ” Flipping the phone around to face his companion, he slid it back across the laminate tabletop. “Her,” he said, tapping the screen with the tip of his finger. “I’ll go out with her.”

Had he not already been blushing, the cat-like grin of victory that Cara sent him certainly would have done it.

“Gonna have to message her first, big guy. Think you can figure out how to do that, or you want me to show you?”

Din’s flush darkened as he yanked the phone back toward himself, feeling a muscle in his jaw tick. “I can manage,” he snarked, and she scoffed a laugh.

However, as it turned out, as he opened the messages tab from your profile, he discovered that you had already taken the initiative and messaged him.

hey din – such a cool name! looks like we have a few things in common. i’d love to get to know you if you’re interested! 😊

Short. Sweet. Polite. Direct.

He swallowed thickly, feeling something suspiciously like butterflies take up residence in his gut. Scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he looked back up at Cara sheepishly.

“Actually…yeah, maybe I could use some help.”

You were sitting cross-legged in your oversized office chair, headphones on and iced coffee leaving a ring of condensation on the surface of your desk, when you saw the dating app notification pop up on your phone screen.

1 New Message, it read.

You glanced back and forth between your phone and your computer screen for a moment, debating. You had promised yourself you would be heads-down today, having started to accumulate more of an editing backlog than you typically preferred. The shoot you were working on this afternoon – an engagement session taken in the gardens outside the local art gallery – was due to the clients by the end of the week, and if you wanted to meet that deadline, you couldn’t afford to get distracted.

And yet you couldn’t help but wonder whether the message was a response – finally – from the man you had matched with a couple days ago. The one with the unusual name, the dark curls and even darker eyes, the strong nose and the sharp jaw and the soft, gentle smile. Broad shoulders, big, masculine hands, and a handful of pictures featuring a little boy, no more than two or three years old, his face either turned away from the camera or covered with a little green frog emoji for privacy.

Din the security consultant. Din the vintage car enthusiast. Din the self-defense instructor.

Din the DILF.

You had fired off a message to him as soon as you had gotten confirmation that he had liked you back, and he had been taking up space in your mind ever since. You had always preferred your men a little older, a little more experienced, and the fact that he was a dad, and a proud one at that, had gotten your motor running immediately. He looked like the kind of guy who knew the best bar in town to get an old fashioned and how to grill a good steak. He looked like the kind of guy who would open your car door for you, who would drive one-handed while the other rested calmly, possessively on your thigh. He looked like his palms were calloused and like his skin smelled good even fresh from the gym.

He looked like he had a big –

Fucking hell. It had been a long time since a man had given you this kind of brainrot without ever even meeting him. It was embarrassing and very much not consistent with your independent woman-about-town image you wore like a suit of armor. But you had never been the type of person to deny yourself. If you saw something you wanted, you went for it – full speed ahead. And Din…you definitely wanted Din.

If there was even a slight chance it was him…

Before you could overthink it any further, you saved your progress on your current edit, dropped your headphones around the back of your neck, and scooped up your phone. Tapping the notification, you brought up your messages tab and found one unread message staring back you.

It was from him.

Hi there. It’s nice to meet you. You seem like an interesting person. I would like to get to know you, too. Where is your favorite place you have traveled?

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, smothering a grin as though others might spot it and tease you despite being alone in your apartment. Something about the way he wrote – the dry punctuation, the complete, grammatically-correct sentences, the lack of emojis – all of it screamed someone who didn’t spend much time communicating electronically, let alone online dating. It was a refreshing change from the men you typically met on the apps, the whole thing endearing rather than off-putting and doing nothing to discourage your impression of his “dad” persona.

Poking out your tongue a little in concentration, you tapped out a quick response before you could lose your nerve.

ooo good question! hard to pick a favorite, but if i have to choose, i’d say thailand. i went there with some friends after we graduated college and we got to volunteer at an elephant sanctuary for a few days. coolest experience of my life hands down! what about you? are you a traveler?

His response came much faster than you expected, certainly faster than his response to your initial message.

I used to be. When I was first getting started, I used to travel a lot for work. I have been all over. I am more settled these days. It’s difficult to travel with a toddler on my own.

You nodded to yourself. That made sense. His boy looked young, and he was a self-described single father. You wondered what the story was there, but that was a level of personal that you didn’t need to dive into just yet. For now, your focus was on making sure this conversation didn’t fizzle out.

Frowning slightly, you realized he hadn’t really included anything in that message to prompt much of a response. However, before you could begin to fish around for something to send in reply, another message appeared.

Your profile says you’re a photographer. Your pictures are very unique. I don’t know much about photography, but I can tell that you have an eye for it. What made you interested in that field?

With a huff of a laugh and a mortifyingly strong flush, you closed out of Lightroom and abandoned your headphones on their stand. You weren’t getting any more work done for a while – you could already tell.

The two of you messaged back and forth several more times that day, then again in fits and spurts over the next three days.

You shared how you got your start in photography and the way your best clients were the ones who embraced your photojournalistic style. You didn’t care for shots that were staged or overly posed, you told him. You liked capturing people’s authentic feelings in the moment, and he quipped that he had never been comfortable posing for photos anyway, so you should get along just fine.

You talked about how both of you desperately wanted a dog but neither of you were in a place where getting one would be a responsible choice. You compared your favorite local hiking trails and determined that although he had lived in the area for far longer than you, you had significantly more experience trekking through the nearby national park. You learned a lot about the ’81 Honda Goldwing that he had lovingly restored, how he used to ride it to and from work every day but that now it sat under a protective tarp in the back of his garage most of the time. It wasn’t exactly a toddler-friendly form of transportation, he explained.

In a moment of vulnerability, you confessed that you had moved to the city as a result of a breakup, in an attempt to get a change of scenery far from the place where you had made a home with another man. He confessed that he had never really made time for relationships in the past, but that his son had made him realize that there was plenty of room in his life for love. He finally felt ready to try, and you finally felt ready to try again.

You told him you thought he was stupidly handsome, that you had no idea how he was single if he didn’t want to be. He told you that he had thought the same about you.

Except I would call you beautiful. Not handsome. I guess unless that’s what you prefer?

no lmao, you wrote back. beautiful is fine. beautiful is perfect.

On day four of…whatever this newfound acquaintance was, you spent the full day shooting a wedding – from getting ready to first looks to family photos to the ceremony to the reception. You swore you could feel your phone burning a hole in your pocket the entire time, but you managed to stay professional and present throughout the length of your contracted hours. By the time you stumbled into your apartment, you were so exhausted, you couldn’t have been more eager to pour yourself some wine and melt into the couch with some trashy reality television. You were changed into your pajamas and a glass and a half deep by the time you allowed yourself to check your phone.

Buried beneath all of the other notifications you had gotten throughout the day, there was a single pop-up from your dating app.

1 New Message, it read. Received four hours ago.

Skipping past all of the other demands on your attention, you opened that notification first.

Hi sweetheart. I know you were photographing that wedding today, so don’t let me interrupt you. We can talk tomorrow, but if you could please message me when you’re done for the night? It would make me feel better to know that you made it home safe.

Hi sweetheart, he had said.

Sweetheart.

A rush of heat passed over you at his words, and you swallowed thickly, wine burning its way down your throat at the thought of Din at home thinking about you, worrying about you. Had this been any other man, you might have found the message a bit overbearing, especially this early on, but rather than feeling controlled or stifled, instead you felt only warmth and safety. You felt…cared for. Protected. Important.

The sensation had you shifting in your seat, gulping down the remainder of your glass in a single go as you felt the apex of your thighs pulse with interest.

Din was so fucking hot, and he had no idea.

Setting your now-empty wine glass on the coffee table, you typed out a rapid reply and hit send.

heyy! made it home okay, thanks for checking in!

Fatigue pulling at your eyelids, arousal burning low in your belly, quickly-consumed wine flushing your limbs with a soft weightlessness, your thumbs seemed to move of their own accord as they tapped out a second message.

din idk how much longer i can keep this up without meeting you. i wanna see your handsome face in person. can i take u out sometime soon? please say yes.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, then immediately tossed your phone to the other end of the couch as though it had burned you. It disappeared into the stack of throw pillows there, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You couldn’t look at it, couldn’t stand to wait for his reply knowing that it was after midnight, knowing that he likely had been asleep for hours and wouldn’t see your messages until morning. Taking a deep, calming breath to steady your nerves, you forced yourself to refocus on the television. One episode, you promised yourself, and then you would get some sleep.

Less than 10 minutes later, you felt the faint vibration of your phone travel through the couch cushions to where you sat, and your show was abandoned without question.

You tossed several of your unnecessarily large throw pillow collection onto the floor in your hasty search, and though you knew you would be annoyed at having to tidy them in the morning, in that moment, you could hardly bring yourself to care.

1 New Message, your phone screen read as you recovered it from the pile. With something akin to nausea roiling in your stomach, you opened the notification and resisted the urge to physically cross your fingers.

Glad to hear you made it home safely.

…

That was all. “Glad to hear you made it home safely.”

Your stomach sank like lead in your abdomen, all of the soft, fuzzy warmth of the wine and your arousal evaporating from your body like sweat on a hot day. Only exhaustion was left in its place – exhaustion and the surprisingly poignant hurt of rejection sitting heavy on your limbs. You had come on too strong, it seemed, stated your desires and intentions too boldly and directly. You ought to have held back more, ought to have waited longer before asking or maybe couched the question in a joke or a suggestion of something more casual first. Or maybe you shouldn’t have asked at all and instead waited for him to ask you out. You supposed men probably preferred that – to be the one to initiate, the one to take charge. Fuck, you were always so impatient, so goddamn eager –

In your sweating palm, your phone buzzed once more, interrupting your string of self-curses.

Nerves roiling beneath your skin, you risked a glance down at it.

1 New Message

You had no control over your body as you opened it, watching the action from inside your own mind as though walking through a dream.

As for your other message, of course my answer is yes. I want to meet you, too, sweetheart. But be warned. Even though you did the asking, I WILL argue with you if you attempt to pay for the whole date yourself. It’s against my personal creed to let a lady pay my way without contributing.

All of the breath left your lungs as you took in his words, reading them over and over again until you could recite them from memory.

He wanted to meet you. He wanted to go out with you.

A high, breathy laugh bubbled over from your chest, spilling through your lips into your quiet apartment like the glistening champagne tower at the wedding this evening. You laughed as you typed, as you hit send. You laughed as you turned off your TV and as you completed your evening skincare routine. You laughed as you crawled into bed, as you burrowed under the covers, delirious and giddy.

i think i can allow it just this once. wouldn’t wanna violate your creed.

It took a handful of messages to determine the best place to meet. Din had offered to pick you up, wanting to treat you right, to be a gentleman, but he did not hold it against you when you turned him down. He understood that meeting a stranger from the internet, particularly as a woman, came with a particular set of risks, and he had no desire to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. He was happy to simply meet you there instead if that would make you feel safer.

Eventually, you settled on a moderately popular restaurant not far from your neighborhood. Din had never been there before, but over the last several days, he had discovered that the two of you shared a love of spicy food, and you had promised that the “modern Mexican fusion” menu did not disappoint.

they also have the cutest patio so we can sit outside if the weather’s nice 😊 , you had said, and he had been sold.

Under the assumption that Din would have a difficult time finding a sitter on a weekday evening, you agreed to wait until Friday to meet. However, the moment he had attempted to discretely broach the subject with Cara while on a jobsite, he immediately had three additional volunteers in Bo, Koska, and Axe, all of whom assured him that they hadn’t been eavesdropping and insisted that he had just been “really fucking loud” with his question.

So perhaps finding a sitter would not have been as challenging as he presumed.

Regardless, the two of you continued to chat throughout the week leading up to your date, first using the dating app’s messaging platform and then, eventually, via text. Din had grown weary of the limitations of the messaging interface days before, but he had been concerned about coming across as too forward if he were to ask for your number. But he needn’t have worried. You offered it freely late one night when the two of you were deep into a discussion about your favorite music artists, and something about getting to put your name and phone number into his contacts made the whole situation feel startlingly real. It had felt…personal, almost intimate. And it was nice.

If he was being honest with himself, it made him nervous – how much he liked you, how quickly he had begun to think of you as part of his daily routine. A text good morning after his pre-shift workout, when he knew you were just rolling out of bed. Checking his phone over lunch to find a whole stack of little videos you had found on the internet during your morning scroll, watching every single one of them as his coworkers rolled their eyes and laughed at how quickly he had fallen into line for you. Countless late-night conversations after he had tucked his son into bed, his tired body sprawled out on the couch or propped up against his headboard and wishing you were there with him.

He wanted to experience the laugh that went with that stunning smile from your photos. He wanted to hear you talk for hours on end about whatever crossed your mind while he just…listened. And fuck, did he want to touch you. It had been almost two weeks since he had first matched with you, and that need he had felt deep in his gut that first day he had seen your pictures had only gotten more acute over time. He had to know – for certain – whether the skin at the small of your back was as soft and warm as it looked. He had to know whether your plush thighs and generous hips would give beneath his hands.

He wanted you in his arms, in his lap, in his bed. He wanted you in his life, and he had never even met you.

He needed to rein it in, he knew. He didn’t want to come on too strong, and he didn’t want to dive headfirst into something without the proper consideration. It had been over a decade since he had last been in a relationship, and he was a completely different person now than he had been then. Not to mention his son. His boy was his top priority – the most important thing in his world. He would need to be cautious about dating anyone seriously with him in the picture.

But something told him that he had nothing to worry about with you, that you wouldn’t resent his priorities or demand things of him that he couldn’t give. And if things went well, and he liked you as much in person as he did online… If after a while, you earned his trust, his commitment…

You and the kid would get on like a house on fire. He could sense it.

But.

Before you could meet his son, before Din could welcome you fully into is life, he had to meet you.

Din beat you to the restaurant that Friday.

You wouldn’t describe yourself as the type of person who was chronically late (though some of your friends might have had a different opinion on the matter), but in your defense, you had had a new client intake call right at the end of the day that had gone on for longer than you anticipated. Thankfully, you had gotten yourself ready before the call so that by the time the talkative new parents were done describing in great detail their precise vision for their new baby photoshoot, all that was left for you to do was slip on your shoes, grab your purse, and run out the door.

The walk to the restaurant was brief but pleasant, the weather having worked out perfectly for an outdoor meal, and as you approached, you spotted him immediately. Tall and absurdly broad, posted up outside the restaurant’s main entrance with his hands on his hips and one leg popped in a stance that absolutely screamed “dad,” even from a distance. He wore a long-sleeved, charcoal gray henley with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows and a couple buttons undone at the collar, well-fitting, dark-washed jeans, and a pair of black boots with thick soles that you had a feeling he favored when riding his motorcycle. A classic pair of dark sunglasses perched on his prominent nose, and in spite of the warm weather, he had a black leather jacket grasped in one fist, hanging down by his side by its collar.

In the golden hour sun against the worn brick of the restaurant’s exterior, he looked like something out of a movie. Or maybe a men’s cologne ad – something clean but rugged, so masculine you could die. Taking a deep breath against a sudden wave of nerves, you made a mental note to bring your camera the next time the two of you went out. If he was going to look this fucking delicious every time you saw one another, it would be a crime not to document it.

You were in the middle of crossing the street when he spotted you, and you watched with heat rising in your cheeks as he visibly paused and swept you from head to toe with his gaze. His adam’s apple bobbed, and then he was straightening himself and eating up the sidewalk in a handful of long strides to meet you when you arrived.

“Din?” you found yourself asking as you came to stand before him, as if you didn’t know, as if you wouldn’t recognize that striking face, those powerful shoulders anywhere in the world.

He offered you a gentle half-smile, ducking his chin in a single nod, and you took notice of his free hand balling up into a fist at his side, like he was physically holding himself back from reaching for you. After a beat, he replied, “It’s…good to see you, sweetheart. Happy you got here safe.”

His voice. Low and rasping, worn and manly, strangely reminding you of metal scraping against leather. It was painfully attractive, and you felt your cheeks darken further even as a grin spread across your lips.

You had been right. The man was a certified DILF, and he couldn’t have been any more your type if you had designed him in a lab yourself.

“Same to you,” you said, your voice sounding a bit breathless even to your own ears. “Should we go get a table?”

Din made an affirmative noise and gestured for you to precede him down the sidewalk. “I put our names in when I got here. The table should be ready any minute.”

A small thrill went through you at the realization that he must have gotten here at least 45 minutes ago if your table was nearly ready. This place notoriously didn’t take reservations, and there was always a wait, especially for the patio. Which reminded you…

Before you could think better of it, you asked, “Oh, did you request the patio by chance? Sitting out under the lights is the – ”

“ – best part, I remember,” he interjected, his tiny smile quirking up in one corner. “Yes, I requested the patio. They should text me when the table’s ready.” No sooner had the words left his mouth and he startled unexpectedly, glancing over his shoulder as though to look at his own back pocket. He reached behind himself and pulled out his phone, the sleek, black thing dwarfed in his broad palm, and you caught a glimpse of his background picture as he unlocked it.

A little boy with floppy, too-long, sandy-brown hair, huge dark eyes, and big ears, grinning up at the camera with a toothy smile. He was adorable.

“Ah. Speaking of. It’s ready,” he said, showing you the automated text. “After you.”

He gestured again for you to walk ahead of him, and you drew your lower lip between your teeth as you acquiesced. Not a moment later and you felt the soft, warm press of his palm against the small of your back, the steady, unobtrusive pressure gently guiding you toward the entrance to the restaurant. The sensation had something low and hot simmering in your abdomen, the way the heat of it sank through the fabric of your dress into your skin, the way your body listened to his touch instinctually. It was protective in a way that felt comforting rather than overbearing, and it occurred to you that such a thing would be easy to grow accustomed to.

You had always needed to be the one to look out for yourself. How freeing would it be to be able to trust another person to carry that for you, even if it was only every once in a while?

Your restaurant recommendation proved to be a good one; the food was rich and delicious, the atmosphere was lively, and Din indulged in a couple of their house cervezas throughout the evening, which he found pleasantly light and refreshing. As the sun set behind the city skyline, casting long shadows across the flagstone patio, colorful strings of lights crisscrossing the seating area flared to life. The effect was charming, particularly the way the lights cast a warm glow over your face, arcs of gold and red and green streaking across your hair and illuminating your eyes. You were so pretty – even more than he had expected, even more than in your photos. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt “enchanted” by a person before, but he would say that was close to describing how he felt sitting across the table from you.

To his great relief, Din found that the time passed just as quickly while talking to you in person as it did over the phone. You were sweet, funny, and quite talkative, so even when he found himself dipping into introverted lulls or long silences, you were there to pull him back out of himself. You seemed to have an endless fount of things to chat about, which was perfectly fine with him, as it meant he didn’t have to wrack his brain for things to say, and he got to listen to your voice.

You also seemed to find him funny, snorting cutely into your glass every time he said something even faintly amusing, and he would be lying if he said that didn’t have his ego swelling a bit. He liked the idea of being able to make you laugh. And when your eyes flashed at him over the rim of your margarita, when you drug the tip of your slick, pink tongue across the line of salt there, when you offered him a slow, knowing smile with just the barest flash of sharp little teeth…it wasn’t only his ego that threatened to swell.

That was one thing he had not accounted for, he found, one facet of your personality that he had only barely glimpsed over text that was now staring him in the face as the two of you wrapped up your meal. You were powerfully, blatantly flirtatious in a way that felt completely foreign to Din after more than a decade of singlehood. Your lowered lashes, your intentional eye contact, your sweet compliments. Your little touches across the table, burning the backs of his hands and the insides of his forearms with the warmth of your skin. And that wasn’t even mentioning the surreptitious peeks at your ample cleavage your dress kept allowing as you leaned and shifted in your chair. That one, perhaps, wasn’t intentional, but it was still making it difficult for him to avoid embarrassing himself in the middle of this restaurant.

When it became clear that the two of you could no longer draw out your meal, the debate over the check began. Thankfully, you did not propose to pay for both your meal and his, seemingly taking his warning to heart. However, you did suggest that you pay for your own meal and drinks, and something about that still rankled. Eventually, after much back and forth, you compromised and agreed that Din would pay for the meals while you would cover the drinks. The waitress had looked at you a bit oddly when you made the request, but she hadn’t protested, and a handful of minutes later, the two of you had paid and were making your way back out onto the sidewalk outside.

Din wasn’t ready for the night to end. Spending time with you was the most fun he had had with anyone that wasn’t a coworker in…well. Too long. You were sweet and funny and full of life, and every moment he spent in your presence, he could feel warmth and vitality being breathed back into his lungs. He wasn’t ready to let that go just yet.

Thankfully, neither, it seemed, were you. Slipping one of your manicured hands into his, you said, “You know, there’s a park a couple blocks from here with a really nice walking path. You want to go check it out?”

He glanced down at your joined hands, dragging the pad of his thumb across the ridge of your knuckles almost absently as he reveled in the feeling. You were so fucking soft, just like he knew you would be, and the sensation of your skin under his almost distracted him from his response. After a beat, he nodded, and you hit him with a thousand-watt smile that Din couldn’t help but return.

You kept up a steady stream of conversation as you made your way to the park hand-in-hand. Din had proven just as easy to talk to in person as he had online, and although the evening had confirmed your suspicions that he was much more introverted than you, he was by no means reticent. He had matched you beat for beat all night, and even in the moments where he seemed to need a bit of prompting, you chalked it up to him simply being out of the game for a while and didn’t hold it against him.

More than anything, though, your impression of him as you made your way down the block was one of an old-fashioned gentleman. There was an earnestness, a seriousness about him that you had never really seen in a guy your age, and it made you feel like you were the only person in the world to him. It was a heady feeling, to be the center of such focused attention. You wondered if he knew that if he wasn’t careful, that attention was going to give you ideas. Ideas you weren’t certain someone with his sensibilities would be interested in on a first date.

Just when you thought you might need to pull him to the side of the walkway and give him a little taste of what you had in mind, his phone rang, and he dropped your hand to fish it from his back pocket.

You couldn’t stop yourself from taking a glance at the screen as he examined it. CARA DUNE, the caller ID read, and the photo that lit up the background was of a striking woman with raven black hair, sharp eyes, and smug smile.

Oh. You felt something in your chest deflate a little. Another woman.

Din pulled up short, looking at you with dark, apologetic eyes shadowed by the streetlamps. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he said, and you found yourself nodding your agreement even as your stomach sank further. And to think, you had been convinced that this man was nothing but a bundle of green flags held together by a gap-necked henley and a pair of slutty black combat boots…

Turning away from you slightly, putting one of his broad shoulders between you and the view of his phone, he swiped up to answer the call.

“Dune? Everything okay?” he asked, a flavor of urgency to his tone that had you frowning.

Wait – Dune? He was calling her by her last name?

You couldn’t hear what the voice on the other side of the line said in reply, but you watched as Din’s shoulders dropped from up around his ears, and he brought his free hand up to squeeze the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, put him on.” A pause then, and he sighed deeply. “No, I don’t mind, really, you just scared the shit out of me. A call from you at this time of night? I thought something was wrong.” Another pause, and you could hear what you would swear were several voices talking over each other ringing from the phone’s speakers even as they were pressed against his ear. “Okay, yeah, that’s fine. Put him on.”

Din pulled the phone away from his face then and tapped the “video call” button on the glowing gray call interface. Half a breath later, the screen flared to life, blinding you a bit in the darkness, and the image of a little boy with unruly hair and dark, sleepy eyes blinked at him from the phone.

“Daddy!” the boy cried, a toothy grin splitting his chubby little cheeks as he seized the phone from whoever was holding it on his end. He was too close to the camera, the angle giving Din a spectacular view directly up the toddler’s nose, and you smothered a giggle as you watched the boy make faces at himself in the viewfinder.

“Hey, kiddo,” Din said softly, and oh, but you could hear the smile in his voice, could feel the fondness radiating off of him in waves even though you couldn’t see his face. Every sinking feeling that had taken over your body disappeared at the sound as you realized what exactly you were witnessing. The other woman was his babysitter.

“Are you being good for Aunt Cara? Hm?” he asked, and you could just melt at the gentleness in his low, rasping voice.

“Good!” the little boy replied, nodding vigorously in a way that bounced his floppy curls across his forehead.

Another face appeared on the screen, the same woman from the caller ID photo, and you watched as she scooped the squirmy kid up into her arms with an exaggerated, theatrical groan. “Tell him,” she prompted playfully. “Say we played with your airplanes and your cars.”

The little boy grinned toothily. “Yeah, cars!”

“And we wrestled with Uncle Axe and Aunt Koska,” Cara prompted, to which the kid giggled.

“I winned!”

Cara nodded with a fond smile. “That’s right, you won.”

From somewhere off-camera, another voice – this one male – called out in protest. “Debatable! I still say the ref was biased!”

The boy laughed again, the sound high-pitched and full of joy, and even the woman holding him seemed to be fighting back a chuckle as she plowed on. “And then Aunt Bo made dinner, and this little dude ate alllll his vegetables!”

“You did?” Din replied, genuine surprise coloring his words. “That’s great! I’m so proud of you!”

“Daddy! When you come home?”

From your angle slightly behind him, you could see your date’s shoulders fall slightly at the question, so sweetly and innocently asked in that little baby voice. On the other end of the line, Cara offered him what you would call an apologetic smile and shook her head. “Someone doesn’t want to go to bed without Dad.”

“Kiddo, Dad’s not going to be home until after your bedtime,” Din sighed. His words were slow and patient on the surface, but you swore you could hear a note of guilt underlying them, and it made your heart ache in your chest. “Remember, we talked about that before I left tonight? Aunt Cara is going to do bedtime tonight, and then when I get home, I promise I will come give you kiss, okay?”

The boy was clearly disappointed by this response, his eyebrows pulling up in the center and his wide, dark eyes shining pitifully through the screen, and he let out a wordless little whine that you were sure would have had you caving in an instant had it been directed at you. However, Din held strong. Voice low and gentle, he offered, “How about this – let’s say goodnight to each other right now instead. Is that okay? Just for tonight?”

He seemed to weigh that response for a moment, uncertain, but after a beat of silence, the kid tucked himself snugly under Cara’s chin and sighed. “Okaaaay.”

“Okay. I love you so much, kiddo. Get good sleep, have good dreams, and I’ll be there in the morning when you wake up.” Din’s words, so soft and intimate, sounded almost rehearsed to your ears, and you realized that this man was completing a long-standing bedtime ritual with his son via video chat in the middle of a darkened sidewalk on a Friday night. The thought had your heart swelling behind your ribs, the core of you warming and softening with a rush of fondness that you were helpless against.

Fuck. Din wasn’t just a DILF. He was also just a really good dad.

On the other side of the connection, Din’s little boy yawned widely and snuggled his curly head deeper into his babysitter’s chest. “Love you, Daddy,” he murmured sweetly, and you knew that if it were possible to die of cuteness, you would have done so that those words.

“I love you, too,” Din replied softly. “Good night, buddy.”

“Night night.”

Cara shifted the phone away from the kid’s sleepy face then, refocusing herself in the frame. “Okay, that should do it. I’m gonna go tuck this guy in while he’s still feeling cooperative.”

He was quick to nod his agreement, clearly not wishing to make this task any more difficult on his friend than he needed to. “Yeah, go. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

“Hey.” She sounded rather serious then, making intense eye contact with Din through the phone screen. “Take your time, ‘kay? I got this.”

“Have fun, Djarin!” another woman’s voice chimed from a distance, off-camera and seemingly getting further and further away as Cara carried Din’s son to bed.

There was a chorus of good-natured laughter, then the man’s voice from earlier returned. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do, eh?”

This, of course, was met with an uproar on the other side of the connection, none of which could be seen. All you could really make out was a stern woman’s voice, one you hadn’t heard before, groan, “Axe, I swear to god – ”

You laughed softly at that, hiding your smiling lips behind one of your hands and Din quickly started to fumble with his phone. “Oookay, that’s enough of that,” he muttered, and with a swipe of his thick thumb, he ended the call.

Slipping his phone into his back pocket once again, he finally turned back around to face you, guilt and embarrassment tightening the corners of his eyes. Even in the dark, you swore you could make out a flush high on his golden tanned cheekbones as he said, “I’m…sorry about that. My kid, he’s got some separation anxiety issues. He’s not used to me being out of the house at bedtime. Tried to talk to him about it before, but he’s not even three yet, and – ”

“Din,” you interjected, closing the narrow distance between the two of you and resting your palm on his arm. “You don’t have to explain. Or apologize. You’re a dad. Your kid comes first.” With a slow, sly smile, you slipped your hand into the crook of his arm, holding tight to it as you proceeded down the sidewalk once more. “Besides, that was an interesting look at your family dynamic. Or were those your friends? The one called Axe sounds like a character.”

He huffed a laugh at that. “Friends. Well, also my coworkers, but they were friends first. I’m an only child, so they’re the only aunts and uncles my kid has ever known.”

“How many of them are watching him tonight?”

“Four,” he replied with a grimace. “I had originally only asked Cara, but the others overhead and…wanted to support me, I guess. I think I mentioned, I don’t exactly do this often. I haven’t been on a date in…well. Let’s just say it’s been a long time.”

You smiled to yourself, feeling your cheeks heat at the idea that this man who didn’t date had decided that he wanted his first date in however long to be with you. You would be lying if you said that wasn’t going to go to your head a little. Leaning your forehead against his bicep so he couldn’t meet your eyes, you asked, “And how are you finding it?”

With a low, rasping chuckle, Din brought his free hand up to cover yours, wrapping his long fingers around the back of your hand where it cupped his elbow. “I’m thinking…if it means I get to spend time with you, I should do it more often.”

Not even an hour later, Din found himself in the back of a cab, arm around your shoulders, fingers linked together, your beautiful face flushed and grinning wildly as you traced the very tip of your nose along his jugular. Your voice breathless and on the verge of laughter, you gave the driver what must have been the address of your apartment, but he couldn’t have repeated the words you said if you had paid him. He was far too distracted, too overwhelmed with where the night was heading to pay attention to such details. You were so soft against him, plastered up against his side. Your mussed hair on his cheek, your breasts against his chest, your round hip snug against his, and fuck, your lips – plump and swollen and glistening with his kisses, the ones he had stolen under the lamp light during your stroll through the park. He couldn’t believe he had done that. He couldn’t believe you had asked him to.

When the two of you had planned this evening, he had had a firm talk with himself – he would keep the physical contact to a minimum, he would not allow his eyes to wander inappropriately, he would be a perfect gentleman, he would treat you like a lady. First of all, because it was the bare minimum of what you deserved, and second of all, because tonight would be your first ever in-person meeting, and he wanted to be very clear that this meant more to him than just some casual hookup. Din had had plenty of those over the years to know that what he felt for you ran so much deeper than that, and he was loathe to give you the wrong idea about his intentions with you.

The moment he saw you walking across the street toward him – backlit by the golden hour sun, hair dancing in the breeze, all your perfect, curvaceous softness swaying with your perky stride – all of that chivalry had nearly been abandoned by the side of the road. And he had been fighting tooth and nail all evening to keep hold of the reins of his desire for you.

But the two of you had meandered through that park for a while. You had stopped along the shore of a little pond to admire the water, and you had looked up at him with these wide, soft eyes, your long lashes casting intricate shadows across your cheeks, and god, it had nearly killed him to keep his hands balled up in the pockets of his jacket.

And then you had taken the smallest step forward, eating up what little distance still remained between you.

And then you had whispered, in a voice so low he could barely hear you, “Will you kiss me, Din? Please?”

How could he have refused you?

Now your breath was on his neck, your lips softly brushing his skin, and he was slithering his arm down from around your shoulders and instead pressing his palm to your thigh. His fingers dug into the softness there of their own accord, tucking the tips inward and brushing his thumb across the cap of your knee firmly, possessively. He felt you exhale against his collarbone at the sensation, the softest, faintest sound of need reaching his ears, and then he was ducking his chin, finding your mouth again, pressing his lips to yours with an urgency that ought to have felt out of place with the poor cab driver sitting right there but somehow didn’t.

Your kiss tasted like lime from your margarita, like salt from the rim. Your fingers threading through his hair felt like heaven. Your body under his hands melted like putty, warm and pliant and so fucking soft that it had blood rushing to his cock, the swell of it pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans.

And it wasn’t enough. You needed more. He needed more.

Breaking the kiss with a soft gasp, Din pressed his forehead against yours, brushed the tip of his nose against yours. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and gravely in the hot, moist air between you. “We’ve got to slow down, or I’m going to embarrass myself.”

You shifted beneath his grip on your thigh, hips squirming in your seat, thighs pressing together, and when he met your heavy-lidded gaze, he was struck with how dark your eyes looked just now, how wide your pupils had blown. Shaking your head, you whispered, “Don’t care.”

He bit back a curse at the way his cock throbbed at your words, at the soft, panting tone of your voice. “Not going to fuck you in the back of a cab, baby.”

Giggling breathlessly, you tucked your face into the side of his neck to hide your blush. “You can’t talk to me like that and not expect me to be all over you, Din Djarin,” you huffed, the tip of your tongue darting out to taste the little patch of skin just beneath his earlobe. “S’not fair.”

“Not fair?” With gritted teeth, pure electricity running through his veins, he returned the favor and buried his nose in the soft, fragrant skin of neck. The scent of you there was intoxicating – warmth and musk with a touch of floral, a touch of sweetness. He wanted to sink his teeth into you, might have had you been alone. “Fine. You want not fair? I’ll give you not fair.”

Shooting a furtive glance at the driver, who mercifully seemed committed to keeping his eyes on the road, Din delicately slipped his leather jacket from where it had been tucked around your shoulders and instead draped it over your lap.

You pulled away from him slightly at that, meeting his gaze with bright, burning interest in your eyes as you realized what he was about to do.

“If we’re doing this,” he whispered, “you have to keep your eyes forward and your mouth shut. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Din watched as you swallowed hard, your swollen lips parting with lust. You nodded wordlessly, and your thigh muscles tightened under his hand, now hidden by the drape of his jacket.

“Okay then. Not a sound.” He cocked his head toward the front of the cab. “Now face forward, behave yourself, and I’ll take care of you.”

He felt the sharp exhale of your breath against his face, and then you were obeying – shifting your hips square to the front of the car, turning to face the windshield, and balling your fists up at your sides. Din shifted, too, turning to face forward and tapping into every ounce of discipline his profession had ever instilled in him to school his expression into something carefully blank and neutral. Beneath his jacket, however, was a different story.

He started with a soothing caress of his palm from the cap of your knee to the top of your thigh, using the heat and the weight of his hand to ease your tense muscles. After a couple of passes, he could feel that softness return, and unprompted, your knees eased apart – not quite spread, not yet, just parted slightly as you relaxed into his touch. The realization sent a surge of satisfaction through him, and he could not stop himself from slipping his fingers down, down, down to the very edge of your knee and slowly starting to gather the fabric of your dress in his grip.

Din heard your breath catch for a moment as you realized what he was doing, and then it sped up, and your knees dropped even further apart. Before he could wrap his head around what he was about to do in the back of a cab car, he had hiked the skirt of your dress up far enough to slip his hand underneath.

Now it was his turn to not be able to breathe. Fuck, your thighs were soft – smooth like silk, supple and pillowy and forgiving as his calloused fingers traced slowly across your skin, seeking your warmth. He could feel a muscle in his jaw jump as his fingers drew higher, as you subtly adjusted yourself in your seat so you could open your legs even wider, permit him even closer to where you both knew you needed him. Every instinct in him begged him to go faster, to give you more, to whip the stifling cover of his jacket off your lap so he could take in the sight of his fingers reaching the smooth, cotton gusset of your panties with his own eyes. Instead, he pulled his face into a scowl of concentration and kept his pace measured.

By the time the side of his pinky bumped into the apex of your thighs, Din felt ready to combust with urgency. He could feel the heat of you there through the fabric, could feel the slickness seeping through it to dampen his skin, could feel the tension in your hips as you tried desperately not to arch into his touch. You were being so good for him, staying silent, never looking his way, just sitting there, the picture of innocence as you let him touch you. It had something hot and nearly feral rising in his chest, the fact that he could give you such impossible instructions in such an impossible scenario and you would drive yourself mad in an attempt to obey them.

It made him wonder what else you would do, if he asked, and just the question had his cock pulsing in his jeans. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Din tucked his fingers under the seam of your panties and slipped them softly, gently through your folds.

A groan bubbled up in his chest, and he allowed his eyes to fall shut for a moment as he collected himself. You were absolutely dripping for him – hot and wet and slippery, trim little curls sticky with it, underwear soaked against the back of his hand. It coated his fingers, and it took every ounce of restraint in his arsenal to stop himself from pulling his hand from under the jacket and popping his fingers directly into his mouth. But no, he told himself. There would be time for that later. Now, you were practically vibrating in your seat trying to keep yourself together, and he needed to watch you fall apart before the cab arrived at your apartment.

Din allowed himself to gently pet you for another moment, reveling in the feel of your soft wetness, and then he was seeking your clit, finding it swollen and puffy and begging for attention near the top of your folds. With the first delicate caress, you lost the battle with your own vocal chords and let out a quiet, breathless whimper, and a rush of pride raced through him at the thought that he had finally overwhelmed you to the point where you couldn’t keep silent anymore. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning over into your space and murmuring into your ear, “I said keep quiet, sweetheart. Or I stop right now. Understood?”

You let out a shaky exhale, and Din felt more than saw you nod your agreement.

“Good girl,” he growled, and he swore he felt your clit pulse under his fingertips at his words. Interesting. That was something he was going to need to explore more later.

For now, he offered you a few more gentle caresses, a few soft, tight circles around your clit as acknowledgment of your suffering, and then he dipped down to your entrance and slowly, sweetly slipped his middle finger into your throbbing pussy.

God, you felt incredible – hot and wet and so fucking tight that he could feel his cock leaking in his jeans at the idea that he might have the opportunity to be inside you with more than just his fingers. Your velvet walls fluttered around him in desperate little waves as he gently thrust inside you, in and out, in and out, pressing deeper on each pass, seeking that elusive spot inside that he knew would make you see stars. After a handful of strokes, he added a second finger, and your hips stuttered at the stretch, hitching against his touch in a way that felt both needy and overwhelmed. You were so tight, and his fingers were so thick; it was no wonder it was a shock.

Din turned and dropped a tender, comforting kiss to the crown of your head. Fuck, you were so good, just sitting there in the back of the cab, letting him touch you, letting him finger you, letting him make you feel good. The ease with which you gave it all up to him was driving him insane. How long had it been since he had been with someone like you, someone who seemed to know innately what he needed, who fit with him so perfectly it was as though some divine being had had a hand in your introduction? Had it ever been this good? Had he ever needed someone as badly as he needed you?

Grinding the heel of his hand into your clit, Din sped up his thrusts. In and out, in and out, pressing, stretching, seeking. Your knees fell farther apart seemingly of their own accord, as your eyes had taken on a faraway look to them, staring unseeingly out the front windshield as you took what he gave you. In your lap, his leather jacket began to slip, and one end of it fell suspiciously down between your spread legs. Although his hand and the apex of your thighs were still hidden, if the driver were to take a look in his rearview mirror, he would clearly be able to tell what was happening in his back seat.

The same idea seemed to occur to you then, because in that moment, you broke his second rule – you glanced over at him with a fucked-out look of urgency on your face, and Din could swear he felt you starting to tighten. Fuck, this was turning you on. The near-exposure, the precarious position the two of you were in, it was making you drip around his fingers, making you clench around his thrusts.

You were a wild thing; Din had known it from the moment he laid eyes on you. Now here was the proof. You were going to come on his fingers in the back of a cab car, and then you were going to invite him up to your apartment and let him fuck you senseless –

“Here we are,” the driver said, his voice slow and unaffected, almost bored as he pulled the cab off to the side of the street and turned on his blinkers.

No matter how nonchalant his words, the sound of them sent a bolt of terror through the both of you, and in a flurry of limbs and fabric, each of you scrambled to put yourselves back together as the car came to a stop. Din yanked his fingers from your body, the quick withdrawal pulling a little hiccupping whine from your throat, but he paid it no heed as he tugged your skirt back down where it belonged around your knees. You gathered up his jacket and draped it over your arm, running your fingers through your mussed hair. By the time the car rolled to a complete stop, each of you were looking mostly put together, save Din’s raging hard-on tenting his jeans and your flush-cheeked, glassy-eyed stare.

Although he had already paid for the fare, as the two of you slid out of the back of the car, Din pulled a wad of cash from his wallet and discretely slipped it into the driver’s hand.

“Thanks for the ride,” he murmured hoarsely, and before the man could reply, he threaded his fingers through yours and followed your lead to the door of your apartment building.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been hoping that this would be where the night would end – Din’s broad, calloused hand in yours, your dress askew and your thighs damp, the two of you moving with urgency down the hall outside your apartment, breathless laughter on your tongue. You had never been strictly opposed to sex on the first date, if the chemistry was there and you felt comfortable and safe with the person, and he had checked all of your boxes and then some from the moment you spotted him outside the restaurant that night. You had decided then and there; if the date went well, and he seemed to be on the same page, you would be taking him home with you that night.

You had worried that your advances might be a bit much for Din, but clearly, those fears had been unfounded. He seemed a bit overwhelmed, a bit in disbelief, but that hadn’t stopped him from jumping at every chance you had given him – holding your hand as you walked, kissing you down by the pond…

Giving you one of the hottest experiences of your life by stealthily fucking you with his fingers in the back of the cab while you struggled to stay perfectly silent and still…

Your pussy clenched at the memory of his thick fingers inside you, the perfect stretch of them, the way they had both soothed your ache for him while also somehow making it worse, knowing how much better it would be if it were his cock filling you up like that. Fuck. You needed this man, and you needed him now.

Thankfully, Din seemed to have no interest in stopping. When you finally reached your door, he wasted no time in crowding up behind you as you fumbled for your keys, hands slipping around your waist as he dropped hot, open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck. Your eyelids drooped at the sensation, your hands halting in mid-air, keys dangling from your grip, and you felt more than heard him chuckle against your skin.

“Don’t get distracted, sweetheart. Open the door,” he murmured, breath hot on the shell of your ear, making you shiver. What a little shit.

After another second of fiddling with your keys, you finally were able to work open your door, and the two of you nearly fell inside. He slammed it shut behind you as you tossed your keys onto the nearby countertop, and then he was on you – one hand gripping the swell of your hip, one hand slipping along the side of your face to cup your jaw, fingers tangling in your hair at the base of your skull as he cradled you. You could smell yourself on him, the scent of your arousal clinging to the hand that now held your face, and god, you could swear your insides turned molten at the idea. His mouth was covering yours before you could comment on it, and then every lucid thought evaporated from your mind.

For a man who claimed to have been out of the dating pool for a while, Din certainly knew how to kiss – he was passionate, meticulous, and completely relentless in the way he took you apart. His lips were soft, his tongue precise, and the single-minded focus with which he stroked your jaw, coaxed you open, and devoured you was enough to make you blush.

Almost absently, you realized his other hand had swept around the crest of your hip and taken a palmful of your ass, and you whimpered into the kiss, your hips hitching toward him of their own accord. His hands were fucking huge, warm through the fabric of your dress, callouses on his palms catching on the fabric. You needed them all over you – on your skin, in your hair, between your legs –

Pulling his lips away from yours with a gasp, he groaned, “If this is too much – if this isn’t what you want – ”

You shook your head, digging your fingers into his dark brown curls, pulling his neck down to your mouth so you could suck on the skin there. “I want it, Din. I want it,” you reassured him.

You felt a shudder pass through him, and then both of his hands were on your ass, dragging you closer, pressing the full length of your torso along his. “Know it’s early, know we just met, don’t have to do anything you don’t want – ”

“Din!” Yanking his hair sharply until he hissed, you watched as he finally seemed to focus on you, eyes darkening as he took in your flushed face, your swollen lips, your glossy, heavy-lidded eyes. “I want to fuck you,” you proclaimed bluntly. His mouth dropped open, just slightly, pouty lower lip trembling as he stared at you. “Do you want to fuck me?”

The man blinked a few times, seemingly taken aback, but he didn’t allow the question to hang in the air for too long. With a heavy, audible swallow, Din replied, “Yeah, baby, I want to fuck you.”

A bright, electric thrill of victory surged through you, and you couldn’t have smothered the grin that split your face if you tried.

“Okay, then fuck me. And don’t hold back.”

You winked at him playfully, and a dangerous smirk that had your pussy fluttering pulled at the corner of his lips. No sooner had you registered the expression and he was toeing off his boots, leaving them abandoned in front of your door, and driving you backward into the apartment. A breathless yelp followed by a laugh escaped you as you allowed him to push you into your living room, shedding your own shoes as you went, and then you were kissing again, and just like before, all of your surroundings melted away.

A rush of cool air met your thighs as balled fists pulled up the hem of your dress, gathering the fabric in worn palms as more and more of your body was revealed, and you let it go gladly. Lifting your arms above your head, you allowed him to pull the whole thing off over your head, and through the wild, fluffed-up strands of hair dangling in your eyes, you watched as he took you in – your blushing cheeks, your heavy, heaving breasts cupped in a black cotton bra, your soft, rounded belly, your thick thighs and wide hips, the narrow strip your black cotton thong completely soaked through and clinging to your pussy lips. You had no name for the expression on his face, but if you had to relate it to something, you would say it was close to awe.

Din was in awe of you, completely and utterly gone for you, and the surge of power that sent through your veins was like a drug.

“Take off your shirt,” you murmured, lip between your teeth, and as he rushed to obey, you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you don’t – ” he groaned, but your hands were already working his belt buckle open, already thumbing at the button of his jeans.

“But I want to.” Looking up at him through your lashes with wide, soft eyes, you held his gaze as you slipped his zipper down, as you felt the hardness poorly concealed behind it swell and surge against your palm. “So let me.”

He gave no further protests, simply watched as you tucked your thumbs into the waistband of both his jeans and his charcoal gray boxer briefs and shoved, pulling them both down around his knees in one, smooth tug. One more push and they were pooled around his ankles, and then Din was stumbling out of them, holding onto the back of a nearby armchair for support as he kicked them aside.

He was naked now, staring down at you with dark, heated eyes, broad, muscled chest rising and falling with every labored breath, and fuck, if he wasn’t the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Thick and strong with long, powerful limbs and a soft stomach, a fine dusting of dark brown hair from his bellybutton down, and miles and miles of golden tanned skin decorated with a heavily curated collection of black and gray tattoos that you hadn’t been able to see earlier. They looked like beautiful work, and you were eager to examine them later, but for now, something else was begging for your attention, and you couldn’t ignore it any longer even if you wanted to.

Inches from your face, long and thick and curved, flushed and leaking precum, his cock was just as beautiful as the rest of him, and you needed it in your mouth. Now.

Holding yourself steady with one hand on his narrow hip, one hand around the base of him, you leaned forward and dragged your tongue along the underside before taking the tip of him in your mouth and suckling gently. Slick musk coated your tongue, and you moaned at the taste, immediately surging forward and taking more. Above you, Din let out a colorful string of curses and dropped a hand to the back of your head, cupping the bowl of your skull in his palm as you worked yourself over him. He never put any pressure there, never thrust himself deeper than you were choosing to take him, but you could feel his restraint in the tension in his hips, in the grip of his fingers in your hair.

He was trying so hard to be a gentleman for you. You kind of wished he would give it up already.

Pulling back, letting his cock fall from your mouth, you took up your strokes with your hand and said, “S’okay, baby. You can take what you need from me. M’not gonna break.”

Din groaned, low and gravelly in his chest, and then he was using his grip on your head to coax you up and back onto your feet. “Need to fuck you, sweetheart – I can’t wait any more.”

Your cunt bottomed out at that, the swooping sensation deep inside you almost leaving you dizzy, and although you had been looking forward to sucking him off, you found yourself nodding your agreement anyway. “Where do you want me?” you asked, and the question had him tugging you forward into a hard kiss.

“On the couch,” he growled. “Just need to feel you around me.”

Pulling him deeper into the living room, you shed your bra as you went, tossing it who-knows-where in your eagerness. You could feel his eyes on you – on them – as your breasts swayed with your movement, and perhaps such direct attention ought to have made you self-conscious, but instead in made you bold. The moment the backs of your knees collided with the couch, you stripped your thong from your body while holding his gaze, and the pure, molten want in his stare had you feeling like the sexiest woman he had ever seen.

“Lie back,” he rasped, and you were quick to obey, laying down with your head at one end and your legs stretched out along the length of the couch. Snagging one of your many throw pillows, Din tapped the side of your hip twice, adding, “Lift your hips for me, pretty girl.”

You did, and he slid that pillow underneath your ass. Then he was clambering up onto the couch with you, all long limbs and big hands and sweat-damp curls, kneeling between your legs, urging one of them up to drape over the back of the couch, nudging the other down to drip limply onto the floor. You went where he guided you, happy to arrange yourself however he pleased as long as it meant you got to feel that gorgeous cock inside you.

But he started with his fingers first, coaxing and petting and caressing your dripping folds in much the same way that he had in the back of the cab, only this time, you were free to arch your hips into his touch and let out soft, breathy moans with every delicate stroke.

Din seemed to realize this at the same time you did, as he began to nod slowly, encouragingly as he slipped two fingers into your quivering, grasping pussy. “That’s it, let me hear you now. You don’t have to be quiet anymore, sweetheart. Let me hear you feel good.”

And fuck, but it did feel good – his fingers stretching you, filling you, pressing steadily against that soft, elusive spot inside you with every thrust, making you want to thrust against him, to drive him deeper, to take even more of him.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking wet. Is that good? Is that what you need?” he groaned, and you nodded furiously, too overcome to speak, just knowing you needed him to keep going…needed him to give you more.

Again, it was like Din realized what you wanted at the same time you did. Gently slipping his fingers from you, he used the thick coating of your wetness on them to stroke his cock as he shuffled forward on his knees. Pressing down on the blunt, swollen tip with his thumb, he dragged his length through your folds collecting your slick, starting at your entrance and sliding smoothly up to your clit. You let out a low, startled moan at the feeling, and you couldn’t help but grind against him, letting the tip of his cock press and circle against your puffy, throbbing clit. Shit, when was the last time you had hooked up with someone and been this outrageously turned on? You felt like you were on the ragged edge of your orgasm already, and he had barely touched you.

However, just as Din began to trail the head of his cock back down to your entrance, a shock of reality broke through your dazed, lust-fogged mind, and you found yourself pressing your hand against his stomach, stopping him from thrusting in.

“Condom,” you panted, sex-addled and breathless. “We need a condom.”

His dark brown eyes widened with a sudden wave of awareness, and you felt him pull back immediately. “Shit. You’re right, I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I wasn’t thinking.”

You let out a winded laugh and shook your head. “Me, neither. Did you bring one? I have some if you need.”

Din nodded, hopping up from the couch and crossing back over to where the two of you had abandoned his jeans. Digging his wallet out of the pocket, he slid a conspicuous foil packet from inside then dropped the wallet back onto the pile of denim. A moment later, he was settled back between your legs, perched up on his knees with his hands on your thighs and the condom tucked securely between two of his fingers.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asked, and you nodded urgently.

“So ready. Beyond ready.”

Your eagerness seemed to be all he needed to get back into the moment. With a few quick strokes of his cock, he ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth and slid it on. You watched with hooded eyes, lower lip trapped between your teeth, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to stroke him yourself as the latex stretched over his skin. Din groaned at your touch, and then he shooed your hands away and lined himself up with your entrance.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl. Want to see your face while you take me,” he groaned, and with one long, smooth thrust, he filled your cunt with his throbbing length.

“Ah! Fuck, Din!”

It took everything in you not to let your eyes fall shut as he thrust inside you. The stretch was incredible – just the slightest burn, but even with his size, it wasn’t too much after how he well had prepared you, how long he had teased you in the cab, how turned on you were. It was enough to feel truly full – stuffed to the brim, the weight of him absolutely gorgeous as he bore down on all your most sensitive spots. Above you, your date was gritting his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his nostrils flared, as he dug his fingers into your thighs with a grip so hard it would likely bruise. He seemed to be fighting very hard to keep himself together, and you immediately felt the sinister urge to clench around him just to watch him struggle. Instead, you chose to take mercy on him and simply roll your hips against his, driving him deeper.

“No – shit, baby, you can’t – ” he stammered, hands tightening on your legs even harder, hips surging forward in the smallest of thrusts completely out of his control. “I am…hanging on by a thread here, and if you – ”

“If I what?” you taunted, the power you had over him flowing through you like an aphrodisiac, making you bold, making you reckless. “If I do this?” You rolled your hips against his again, smooth and lazy, and you could actually feel his cock throb and twitch inside you.

Deep in his chest, Din released what could only be described as an animalistic growl, and in an instant, he had one hand tucked behind the back of your knee – the one up on the back of the couch – and the other gripping the couch cushion beside your head. Arching his broad, muscular body over yours, bringing his face down to your level, he pressed your knee back toward your head and thrust so deep into you, you couldn’t help but whine at the feeling.

“Naughty girl,” he rasped.

You nodded with a smile. “You like that about me.”

He huffed a laugh into the hot, humid space between you, shaking his head at you exasperatedly. “You’re right, I do. But right now – ” He pulled back his hips until just the very tip of his cock remained inside you, brows drawn low in concentration. “ – right now, I really just need to fuck you. Can I, sweetheart? Can I just fuck you?” He thrust back in, all the way to the hilt, and you could swear your cunt was literally dripping at the intoxicating feeling. Your body was writhing beneath him, completely out of your control, and you swore that if he didn’t just fucking rail you in the next three seconds, your head might explode.

“I swear to god, Din, if you ask me one more time – ”

His mouth sealed over yours before you could finish your sentence, and then he was finally – finally – fucking you.

With swift, firm thrusts, he drilled you into the couch cushions, all hesitance and restraint fully evaporated. The angle was perfect, the extra height and the little tilt added by the throw pillow exactly what you needed to have his cock dragging against your G-spot on every thrust, and that combined with the way his pubic bone ground against your clit had you moaning and whimpering and digging your manicured nails into his shoulders in your ecstasy. Din was like a force of nature, the way he fucked – gripping your thigh, driving your leg back toward your head, holding your eye contact, watching with deep, unflappable intensity as you trembled and shook beneath him. Every once in a while, he would drop his gaze to trace over your soft, folded stomach or to watch the hypnotic bounce of your tits, but mostly, he kept his eyes on yours, and rather than making you self-conscious, it simply drove the heat between you higher, made it more powerful.

“Thought about this,” he confessed, a whine creeping into the edge of his low voice as his thrusts sped up. “All those fucking pictures of you – doing yoga – all bent and twisted and – flexible.”

A smirk made its way onto your face, and you ran your fingers through his hair, brushing his limp curls out of his eyes. “Yeah? You like a bendy girl, Din Djarin? How’s it live up to the fantasy?”

He groaned, leaning even further forward to press his sweaty forehead into yours, driving your leg even further back toward your face. Tucking your knee up onto his shoulder, the angle of his cock inside you deepened. “Even better,” he admitted. “You’re perfect – so perfect.”

“P-Perfect?” God, that soft, spongy tip was hammering your G-spot now; you could barely comprehend any of the words he said to you, let alone string together any of your own.

“Perfect body,” he elaborated, gritting his teeth, groaning loudly. “Sweet, soft, perfect p-pussy. Perfect – hnng fuck – perfect girl.”

“Din!” you gasped. That low pool of heat in your abdomen was starting to tighten, starting to pulse. You could feel it rising inside you, threatening to take you over. It felt…massive, life-altering in a way you hadn’t known orgasms could be, but fuck, if this one wasn’t promising to do it.

“Shit, baby, can feel you,” Din groaned. “You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my cock? Hm?”

“Y-Yes, I’m gonna – you’re gonna make me – ” You hiccupped a sob, raking your fingernails down his arms in a move that had him hissing and his hips stuttering as he thrust. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

“What do you need? What’s gonna get you there?”

“My clit – can I – ?”

He cursed, dropping a wet, sucking, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Yeah, baby, touch yourself. Make yourself come. Need to feel it.”

Wiggling one of your hands into the tight space between your bodies, the tip of your middle finger found your throbbing clit and immediately began to play. You wouldn’t need much more – just something a little more direct, a little more concentrated, a little more –

“Yes! Fuck, Din, right there!”

And then you were gone – that tight, wet heat inside you bursting, dripping down his cock and flinging you into the stars on the edge of the event horizon. The walls of your cunt pulsed around him as you rode out your high, and Din was quick to follow you into his own abyss, unable to hold back anymore the moment he had felt you start to fall apart. With one final, deep surge of his hips, you felt his cock pulse and twitch inside you, and for a brief, wild moment, you regretted the use of the condom. You would have liked to have felt the warmth of him spilling inside you.

In the aftermath, Din was tender, as you had had no doubt he would be. After the two of you had taken a moment to catch your breath, he reached a hand down to hold onto the base of the condom as he pulled out. A low, husky groan escaped him as he withdrew, and you felt a sympathetic throb deep inside you at the sound. Even now, everything he did was unthinkably hot.

A moment later, he had removed and tied off the condom and retreated to your kitchen to toss it, returning with a warm rag he had clearly dampened in your sink. He was gentle and methodical as he cleaned you, wiping between and around your swollen pussy lips with steady hands before he moved on to cleaning himself.

He would need to go now, you realized. He had likely already stayed out later than he had planned, already imposed upon the generosity of his friends long enough. His little boy was waiting for him, and as much as you wished he could stay, you knew it would be unreasonable to ask him to.

So without prompting, you pulled yourself up to sitting, and when he came back from tossing the rag back into the kitchen, you rose to your feet.

You had to admit, you felt a bit exposed, a bit awkward, but even now, as Din looked at you, you could see all of the same warmth and affection you had seen in his eyes before the sex, and that eased your nerves a bit. The first real nerves you had felt since the start of the night, you realized.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, but I have to – ”

“I know,” you interrupted, giving him a smile you weren’t certain would reach your eyes. “I understand. It’s late. You have to be getting back.”

“I do,” he agreed. Crossing to stand just in front of you, he reached out a hand and traced the backs of his fingers down your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “Thank you for tonight. I had a great time with you. And not just…this.” He gestured awkwardly at the surrounding room, at his own nakedness that matched yours, at the trail of clothes between the couch and the apartment door. You giggled in spite of yourself, and he joined in, the whole mood lightening considerably as the two of you found your way back to laughing with one another.

“I had a great time with you, too,” you said, draping your arms around his neck. “I’d like to do it again sometime, if you’re interested.”

Din smiled, soft and genuine, and pressed a kiss to your hairline. “I’m definitely interested. And, ah, maybe next time I’ll call in a few favors. See if I can arrange an overnight sitter.”

You snorted, tucking your face into his neck as joy began to bubble beneath the surface of your skin, making you feel light and filling you with an impish energy in spite of the hour. “Hey, if you can swing it, I’m definitely not going to say no. I’d like to actually, I don’t know, make it to the bed next time? Maybe?”

He playfully squeezed your sides in response, and you let out a squeal. “Can you blame me?” he quipped. “Driving me insane all night.”

Offering him a tongue-touched smile, you pulled away and started collecting his clothing from around the room. “Again. You like that about me, baby,” you teased. With a wink, you dropped the bundle of clothes into his waiting arms. “Now get your cute ass back in these jeans. And go kiss your son good-night.”

A handful of minutes later, Din was fully dressed and hovering by the door to your apartment, the scent of you still lingering on his skin, his heart lighter and freer than he had felt in years. You had gone and gotten yourself a robe to cover up with while he dressed, and now you stood, hip leaning against your kitchen cabinets, arms crossed over your ample chest, watching him attempt to delay the inevitable of having to say good-bye.

He didn’t want to leave you – he hoped you knew.

He didn’t want to sleep away from his son, but he also didn’t want to leave you. An impossible conundrum, and one that didn’t bear examination seeing as this was only your first time meeting in person. It was far too early for the direction his mind was heading; he headed it off before it could travel any further down the road.

Instead, he gathered you into his arms one final time for the night, cradled your face in his hands, and planted a soft, gentle kiss on your swollen lips. “Good night, sweetheart. Can I text you in the morning?”

“You can text me anytime,” you replied with a smile. “You could even, um…call me. If you wanted. When you have some free time.”

Din drew back for a moment, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, if that’s okay with you. I’d like to call you.”

Your smile widened, and he could swear he felt a piece of his heart leave his body and lodge itself in you at the sight. “Great. Then I’ll look forward to hearing your voice again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, and with one final kiss, Din slipped out the door.

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