#and if i say they had the vibe and by vibe i mean ince- (large hook drags me off stage)

[whorrorfag]

Dexter & Debra in episode one DEXTER: ORIGINAL SIN (2024-)

[ak-vintage]

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.

[roninkairi]

And Now, for Pride Month, A Story I Have Always Wanted To Tell But Never Had The Time To Do So Until Today. And There Is A Toaster At The End.

She laid back on the plush red chaise longue sofa with a sigh. The situation she was in was something someone of her intelligence was not used to, but she was going through a bit of a identity crisis and right now, Velma could use all the help she could get.

Velma Dinkley, youngest member of the 5-member team known as Mystery Inc (Or the Scooby Gang for the general public) had a lot of this going for her: she was a highly motivated young woman, excelled in many different fields of study (and surprisingly enough, hockey and pro wrestling), had gained numerous awards in her academic pursuits and had even developed a large following of admirers over the years.

However, there was one thing that was a mystery to many: her love life. Or rather at this point, her lack of one. She had been spotted with many a potential suitor, but she barely showed any interest in anyone beyond a romantic one. She even admitted to one possible man she met that her work with the team had taken precedence over the matters of the heart (he was kinda cute in his own boorish way, she had admitted to herself afterwards).

That all changed one year ago after the latest case.

Velma’s first glimpse of the career criminal known as Coco Diablo (the woman responsible for just about every costumed villain the team had encountered over the years) had set off an immediate chain reaction of emotions that she was not properly ready to comprehend rationally in a coherent sense.

“In other words, as Daphne would probably put on it, I was going gaga for Coco big time!” Velma explained to the therapist she was with this day. “I’m not used to having affection for another person like that…especially another girl! It was just so SUDDEN and I’m still trying to deal with it!”

“There there Velms. It’s perfectly natural to feel anxious about this sort of thing. If you didn’t I’d be worried it was going to be a sign of something WORSE. I mean really bad, like Ivo Shandor level kind of worse.”

The therapist in question was someone that no one ever expected Velma to seek out but for the sake of plot building, we will say this was both done at the behest of Daphne and a certain caped crusader. Sitting in the seat behind Velma, holding a notepad was one Dr. Harleen Quinzel, aka Harley Quinn. Despite her most recent crimes and misadventures, she was still a very good psychoanalyst/therapist. Pushing her glasses up, she said to Velma patiently “I’m still surprised Daph and Bats referred you to me though, especially since I thought the Justice League had a good support group. But that was before a certain incident. Maybe they thought this would be good for both of us, hard to tell with them.”

“You think?”

“Believe me, I have gone through odder things. But we’re getting off track. This is about you. How are you adjusting these days since you met Coco?” Harley wanted to know how Velma’s mind was assessing her current situation. Keeping her focused was step one.

“To put it bluntly, it’s been a very taxing time,” Velma sighed. “I’ve found myself thinking a lot about Coco, more so after the case was finished. She’s got this very self-confident vibe going for her, and she knows how to take control of a situation when she needs to. Her deductive skills, proficiency in engineering and advanced mechanics, the way she can describe the molecular components of a basic combustion engine—”

“And her smoking booty.”

“Oh hell yeah her smoking booty—wait I mean her physical attributes---you did that on purpose didn’t you?”

“Totally,” Harley snickered. “Having a physical attraction to her is something you should not be ashamed of, you two are both young and healthy adults. Seriously, I still can’t get over people still calling you all meddling kids. At least two of you are legal drinking age now.”

“Anyway, I do think about her a lot. I kind of hope when she does get out of prison we could have some real quality time together but, well, this is still something I’m trying to navigate. I still can’t believe Daphne was able to catch on faster than me that I’m…well…”

“Still having a bit of a hard time admitting it, huh Velms?”

“Yeah.” Velma sighed.

“It’s ok. You’re here with me now and believe it or not, that is more important than you realize. Not everyone awakens to certain aspects of their psyche and it can come out in different ways. Some people try to distract themselves by throwing themselves head-first into a task. Take me for example. Believe it or not, I had started collecting a shit load of Beanie Babies when I tied to deny having feelings for Denise Whitbourne back in my days of high school.”

“Wait, I thought your first female crush was—”

“No. Technically speaking, Ives was my 3rd. My second was Tall Dark and Amazonian.”

Velma nodded her head. She could not blame her.

“So, accepting that part of yourself is very crucial because if you don’t, it can hurt ya in many ways, trust me. At the worst, you could date someone and try to trick yourself into believing it’s the best thing for you.”

“Yes, I ALMOST did that with Shaggy,” Velma admitted.

“Really? I never really could see you two together, I’ll be honest. If anything, I would have bet you’d try to hook up with Daph at least ONCE.”

“I know, I know,” Velma agreed, rubbing her temple “and while the occasional naughty thought did go through my mind, I don’t think she is my type. Maybe a one-night stand at best, but it would probably get AWKWARD the day after. And then there would be the temptation to resist thinking about her in that one nightgown over and over.”

“Do tell.” Harley smiled, eagerly scribbling. The notes she had for her Daph x Velma fanfic were getting juicier.

“This…just feels natural all of a sudden.” Velma admitted.

“GOOD! Progress. See, all it takes is just one good day.”

“I recognize that but…people…”

“People can suck, I know,” Harley picked up a can of soda and drank from it quickly as she continued “Sexual identities are still a hot button topic no matter what era we are in. There will always be someone who thinks they can speak for everyone and try to make them conform. Those are the kind of people I like punching in the face really, REALLY hard. They’re like, number 5 on my list!”

“You have a list?”

“Oh yeah. I know what you’re thinking and yeah, Bats is on that list. Also, on said list is my loser ex-boyfriend, Nazis, drug dealers, pedos, Amanda Waller, Puritans, Nazis again, Proud Boys, conservative extremists, That Orange Bastard, Nazis because why not and that bitch who works at the local Cinnibuns. SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE DID.” Harley shook her hand in the air at that last part. The sins that woman committed could never be forgiven.

“I’ll make a note not to go to that Cinnibuns. But yeah, people becoming aware of this now is still new to me. Believe it or not I’ve gotten…popular with a lot of ladies. And maybe a few guys.”

“You were ALWAYS popular. Believe me, there are people who like academic types. I’m an academic type, believe it or not.” Harley pointed out.

“But you’re very attractive You can get away with looking hot in a tube top and denim shorts.”

“And you can’t? When was the last time you were in a swimsuit?”

“Uh, last summer at Camp Little Big Moose.”

“Ok. And did a lot of people stare at you in that time?”

“Yeah but…I always thought it was because I was with Daphne.” Velma observed. The wheels were slowly turning in her mind…

“Understandable. But did they stop staring when you weren’t with her?”

“…No, actually they didn’t.”

“Mystery solved.” Harley chirped. “Congrats, you just realized people think you are HOT.”

“I’m surprised it took me that long to address that revelation,” Velma said in amazement.

“See, progress! Now we can take that important next step. And you gotta vocalize it. It’s best to get it all out.”

“Do…do I have to?” Velma was beet red. It was quite cute, Harley thought.

“Yup! This session can’t go on to the next step until we pass that hurdle.” Getting up, Harley grasped one of Velma’s hands and said in a very assuring tone “Now take a deep breath there Velma…and say to me what you need to say.”

She gulped. She was even more afraid than the time the gang took on Mamba Wamba and Mano Tiki Tia at the same time in Samoa (oh you just HAD to be there for that one, really man, it was NUTS!!!). But she needed to get it out there.

“Come on, you got this…”

One deep sigh later…

“My name is Velma Dinkley…and I…really…REALLY…LIKE WOMEN.”

“Well, I was hoping you say ‘I’m a lesbian’, but what the hell, YOU DID IT!” Harley gave her the thumbs up and handed her a toaster as she sat up.

“Why a toaster?”

“Its an Ellen gag. Trust me, someone somewhere knows the meaning behind this. Now that we got that out of the way, we need to get you out on the field. There’s a girl I think you should spend some time with. Her name is Marcie Fleach…”

[utilitycaster]

The Beaujester/Widojest stuff actually reminds me of why I almost wasn't on board with Fjord/Jester at first - I really don't like ships where it feels like one party has to wear down the other, and at first, I thought that was the vibe. So I get really stumped on why people are pushing for closure here. It reminds me of that wild d&d court case. Why would they needlessly burden their friend (Jester) with this information? What do fans think would happen after???

Hi anon,

You are 100% right in that I also think of that D&D Court Case (for those wondering, it's the one that starts here and basically, a couple is playing in a D&D game together and the DM some time ago confessed drunkenly to the player who is writing in that he has feelings for the player's girlfriend...and is now romancing her in-game as an NPC). Like, for real, keep that to yourself! It's so awkward and for what! Tell your therapist! Tell other friends outside this social circle! Do some weird art about it! Have weird feelings! But do not say that to the actual couple involved, holy fuck.

It would require someone with far more knowledge of fandom history to back up my hunch here, so I am presenting it as just a hunch, but it feels like there has been a very heavy drive in the past maybe five or six years towards, rather than "oh man, I wish this ship had happened instead, and here are my AUs and fics in which it did" to "here's why the story is BAD and UNRESOLVED and WRONG." And I don't quite know how it came to be, since internet forums have been around for quite some time, and maybe I'm just clueless because I have come relatively late to every social media ever and it was always like this and the volume has just increased. My personal theory is that people saw all those quirky letter writing campaigns of the 2000s and didn't realize that mailing potato chips or whatever to an NBC exec who was cutting the show because it wasn't getting enough viewers by metrics that were well behind current technology and who would see this and say "oh, shit, this has fans, maybe we can make money off it" is very different than writing hate mail to actual creators, but I could be totally wrong.

But anyway, it is pretty apparent that Uk'otoa was left unresolved! Travis actually had laid the groundwork in-character as Fjord (the bounty hunter hire for Sabian, telling Jester in 2x117 he wanted to deal with Uk'otoa before other things) to return, but it made sense for the show to end after Aeor. Meanwhile, it's not unresolved for someone to quietly nurse a crush, and I'd argue, actually, that both Beau and Caleb's feelings were largely resolved in show. Beau outright told Fjord that she'd had a crush on Jester, but her feelings for Yasha were deeper and more real (and in general this tracks with Beau's repeated self-sabotage when things felt too good to be true). And if you take off the Widojest shipping goggles, it's hard to see Caleb's actions following the party's return from Rumblecusp as anything but quietly admitting that this is not going to happen, as he pushes Jester to dance with Fjord and finally tells her about his past. The goal post of "resolved" secretly means "the preferred ship happens instead."

And then no one ever has an answer for what happens after. Does Beau break up with Yasha? Does the entire scene in Aeor with Essek in 141 - absolutely pivotal, despite coming so late, to Caleb's arc - just not happen, because you really cannot read that as anything but romantic? Does Jester break up with Fjord? How do we reconcile that Jester does not wish to live in Rexxentrum as a housewife, and does want to continue to see the world and be able to regularly spend lots of time in Nicodranas? Do Caleb or Beau make even the slightest concession to Jester's wants and needs, in this fantasy?

I guess I'll wrap this up with this thought: I think that Beau and Caleb's romantic feelings for Jester and how they deal with them are very well played by Marisha and Liam and are incredibly important - indeed, crucial - to understanding their respective character development. But that's the thing in the end. The romantic feelings are deeply important to the stories of Beau and Caleb. They are a footnote on the story of the Mighty Nein. And they are utterly irrelevant to the story of Jester.

[hexonthepeach]

dark & stormy 3: eye of the storm

summary: you’re a housekeeper in a seedy hotel working through the worst hurricane of the season when you’re invited to spend the evening with your two sexy but enigmatic co-workers. when you accidentally uncover their secret identities you're dragged into a darker world—one you may already know too well

pairing: jaehyun (nct) x johnny (nct) x fem!reader (code name: jenny)

genre: the late-70s/early-80s miami vice/nice guys/secret agent johnjae/reader au no one asked for or: a work of madness inspired by the infamous w korea shoot

word count: 13k of 63k

warnings: explicit sexual content (m/f, m/m, mmf threesome) [see chapters for detailed tags], dark themes, implied murder, drug-use (alcohol, quaaludes), drugging w/o consent, stalking, kidnapping (non-sexual), bondage, minor knifeplay/gunplay, slight age gap [y/n early 20s, jj late 20s/early 30s], y/n implied dark origins/criminal history (OC vibes but history left open for interpretation), sleep paralysis/nightmares, walk-on guest appearances from other nct members inc. sungtaro in later chapters

fic masterlist

part 1: landfall | part 2: disturbance formation | [current] | part 4: dissipation | part 5: blue skies | part 6&7: aftermath & epilogue

read on AO3

chapter warnings: gratuitous use of pet names (babydoll, baby), size kink, panty-sniffing, wall sex, oral (m/f, m/m), exhibitionism, sharing is caring, polyamory, minor consensual somniphilia, bondage, drunk sex, double penetration, anal sex (m/m), devil's threesome (mmf), i had to turn my photocards around to write this, only god can judge me, a little bit of angst for the real ones

recommended listening: i can't breathe by gwsn

"What’s that babydoll? You want a Waikiki Beach?"

Once you're free of your shackles, you think, you're going to find some means to strangle Johnny. It might require a stepladder and a superhuman increase in your grip but you're going to try.

“Give me the key,” you repeat, looking beside you to make sure the older man two seats down from you isn’t listening. Luckily the PA system is loudly playing Anita Ward’s “Ring My Bell” and his beer is almost empty.

"The orange juice needs to be fresh-squeezed?" Johnny half-shouts, that easy half-smile permanently stamped on his face. "Yeah. Not that shit from a can."

"Give me the key." You repeat, louder. In retrospect hiding your cuffed hands by putting them behind you rather than in front of you, under one of Jaehyun's suit jackets, was the wrong strategy. At least you can rest against the bar in front of you without looking weird.

Johnny pauses opening a can of cream de coco, leaning across the bamboo bar-top in a way that makes you jerk back in surprise.

"Take a seat, let me make you that drink I promised," he says, eyes flashing with amusement but also a warning. 

The hidden implication is that you're at his mercy until Jaehyun gets here and after what you'd endured earlier you think letting him imagine he has the upper hand is better than making a scene.

You awkwardly get onto one of the stools, surveying the packed bar with its hodge-podge of Don the Beachcomber styled paraphernalia: glass floats and wood carvings lit by low, multi-colored lights. The attached restaurant is packed full (cabin fever has obviously set in with the patrons) so the bar is still only half-capacity. 

You don’t recognize any of the faces but it’s the corner booth that pulls your attention, crammed with a silent party of too-large men in suits, tacitly ignoring each other as they scope the entrance to the bar. You clock their leader immediately by his crimson jacket and stony expression, and the way his eyes land on you the instant you look at him. You have a sense for danger and avert your eyes immediately. 

Johnny is occupied with finishing several orders at once for the lingering dinner crowd but he makes a point to talk to you as he fills oversized tiki mugs and exotic-looking glasses with different drinks. Your mouth waters a bit, not just at the rum-heavy concoctions but also at the fluidity and skill of his work, like he's performing just for you.

"You have fun in my room today?" Johnny asks, finally sliding your drink across to you. He stops just out of your reach, laughing at you when you glare at him before sticking a straw in and bringing it to your lips. 

"No thanks to you," you grouse.

You hadn’t paid much attention to what went in it with the blur of bottles but it's a gradient of yellow to deep red-orange, garnished with an orange and cherry and even a little paper umbrella. 

You’re glad he hadn't asked you what you wanted—you wouldn’t have known what to ask for. You take a sip, delighted immediately by the complexity of flavors: citrusy and spicy but with an unexpected touch of vanilla and apricot.

"Good, eh?" he asks, watching you intensely. You can't fake your enjoyment so you give a small nod, your cold anger melting a bit with his attention.

"What's it called?" you ask, but he ignores you. A hand splays wide over your upper back and you go rigid, watching Johnny’s face go from concern to a smile. 

"Jae, my man, what can I get you?”

"The good stuff." That deep-like-velvet voice has you relaxed in a heartbeat as Johnny reaches to the top shelf with barely a stretch for a bottle of Blue Label. 

You’d watched Jaehyun get dressed but you're still surprised to feel the hard jab of a holstered gun digging into your shoulder blade when you lean back.

"Everything alright?" You twist to look back up at him only to find he's masked in neutrality. He shakes his head, lips pressed tight together. 

"Gonna be a long night," Johnny says cryptically. "And not just 'cause I'm working a double."

"Cleaning crew is en route," Jaehyun nods, swallowing his scotch in one throw. "I need you to take care of her until they can get here. I'll cover the bar and keep an eye on the regulars."

Johnny's bored expression turns a little more smug at that, his eyes flicking to you. "Finish that drink, babydoll."

You swivel in your seat to talk to Jaehyun but he’s gone, moving around the bar to join Johnny. Your heart pinches a little as you watch him roll up the sleeves of his work suit and survey the surroundings, that closed-off distance back more than ever. Whatever it is you know better than to ask, especially in public.

Johnny shows up beside you just as you finish your drink with a loud suck on your straw. Negotiating off the stool is difficult but he helps you, easing you onto your heels and maybe pulling you just a little closer to his tall frame. You shirk him off but secretly appreciate the hand on your lower back that helps you stay upright. You're surprised when he navigates you to the back of the house, through the kitchen with a nod at the two cooks and down the service corridor to the manager's office.

No one is inside but you still feel a mild panic going into the boss's space where you've had your share of (undeserved) dressing downs. Johnny closes the door but doesn't bother to lock it, coming over to where you stand perusing the mess of papers piled on the desk.

He slips the gray suit jacket off of you after a moment, drinking in the sight of the marmalade-colored strapless dress Jaehyun had found for you—supposedly from the hotel lost-and-found. You shudder to think of the alternative.

"You clean up nice," he says.

"Uncuff me, now," you say. If you feel a little toasty from his attention you blame it on the drink. You'd watched him make it so there was no way he could have spiked it but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t gone to your head. 

"Don't want to play a little more with these on? Didn't seem to be a problem with Jae," he says. 

"Now." 

He holds up the silver key and laughs when you try to kick him. Before long he's got you turned around and propped against the desk, working a little more slowly than you'd like. He pecks your bare shoulder at the release of the lock.

As soon as your one hand is free you turn around and slap him as hard as you can, cuff still dangling from your wrist. Johnny doesn’t even flinch, smiling through it. He grabs your hand when you raise it again.

"Still mad about the—" he starts.

"You tied me up and threatened to kill me, asshole," you snarl. You're more pissed off at yourself for failing to rile him than at his response, but whatever witty retort he's about to make dies on his lips as he sees that your eyes are glassy with unshed tears. He helps you out of the other cuff and rubs your sore wrists, careful to avoid the places where the skin is raw. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "Didn't know if Jae was being over-optimistic and you'd actually try to do something."

His apology gives you pause as you wipe the moisture from your eyes, careful not to wreck your mascara.

"I don't trust you," you explain. "But I don't have it out for you, either."

Johnny nods, a little less solemn. “It’s not your fault you got pulled into this. Whatever happens you’re safe with us. We just need you to work with us a little longer.”

“Jaehyun told me you needed a roper,” you say. You hadn’t let on that you understood the terminology, but it was also becoming increasingly clear that they already knew. “I’ll do it.”

Jaehyun had mentioned compensation, which would have been incentive enough if you hadn’t also been easing down from your fourth–or was it fifth?—orgasm of the day. That post-cum clarity you’d had getting yourself off in the past no longer applied, you felt like you’d been fucked into a single-digit IQ. Making up for lost time, indeed.

“I’ve got an easier job for you first,” he says. “Just need to keep me company here until Jaehyun gives us the signal,” Johnny says, touching the side of his head. He’s wearing the same inconspicuous earpiece you’d watched Jaehyun put in, wire hidden under long hair and collar. You wonder where Johnny has his mic since he’s wearing another short-sleeved tropical shirt, company orange and floral. It’s funny to think you match, even if there’s such a stark disparity between you.

“What are you planning to do?” you ask. 

That wicked grin appears again, his eyebrows lowered.

Johnny’s hands suddenly land on your hips and you squeak as he lifts you onto the desk, scattering file folders and log books onto the floor as you’re pushed back on the dark wood.

“Getting myself fired,” he says, voice lilting. His face dips down into the space between your neck and shoulder, not making contact but close enough to burn you with his exhalation.

"You think fucking a cute little maid on the manager's desk will do it?"

"Oh no," you shake your head, overwhelmed by the warmth radiating off his skin and the clean eucalyptus smell of whatever he was using in his toilette.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to. It's just an act, babydoll." Johnny's breath tickles your skin as he moves up to your ear. “You wanna help or should I hide you in the closet and go find Ruby? I'll let you watch.”

"No." The word escapes your lips with a violence you’re not prepared for, that small sting of jealousy returning. He’s smiling into your jaw as he makes his way across your face, finally pressing more than a butterfly wing’s weight when he finds your lips. 

"I'll do it,” you repeat, kissing him back. “As long as . . . " You drift off, biting your inner cheek. "Can I talk to Jaehyun first?"

"He can hear you," Johnny says, tapping his shirt front.  "No secrets between partners."

"Ask him if he's okay with . . . " You wave your hands in the air, physically unable to say it aloud.

Johnny lifts your chin so you'll meet his honey-brown eyes, mouth curving. "You hear that Jae, she thinks you'll be jealous."

You scowl at him, watching him push the earpiece in further. He laughs at what’s said in the channel before coming back to you. 

"He said something about watching. I don’t know, music is too loud. Did he tell you he has a thing for that?"

"What?" you ask, confused. Johnny trails his hands up the silky fabric covering your legs, reading your face for consent before pulling you to the edge of the desk. You shudder as he hikes your dress up more with his thumbs, rubbing circles into your thighs through the satin.

"I've shared girls with him before but he usually just watches," Johnny says, blithely. "You're the first one he's properly fucked since we were assigned together."

His words send heat pooling into your core, fire spreading to burn through your nerves. You imagine Jaehyun sitting in a chair in the shadows, just drinking the sight of you in as Johnny fucks you into the mattress, bent in two and drooling into the sheets. You try to calm down–you need to keep your head on your shoulders–but you can’t hide your bodily reaction.

"You like that?" Johnny senses your arousal again, nose nudging yours. "You want to be shared?"

You breathe through your mouth, clenching your thighs together. The Lord above knew you should be sated but then you're sure he isn't involved in any of this.

“I think I can handle it,” you respond. “Can you?”

Johnny’s rough fingers suddenly dig into the flesh of your hips. You were so distracted you didn’t even realize he’d reached under your dress, pulling you closer to the edge. He flashes you the biggest grin you’ve seen yet, Cheshire Cat wide. 

"Need to borrow your underwear," Johnny says, yanking your second-best pair of panties down your legs and past your heels. You watch in horror as he lifts the ruined synthetic lace to his nose and inhales deeply.

"How many times did that bastard cum inside you, exactly?" Johnny asks. "In the shower, too?"

Your mouth is dry as the desert, unable to stop him as he tucks away his prize in his back pocket. 

"You heard that?!" you finally squeak.

"Of course. Everything, baby doll. You think we get privacy in this line of work?"

"Jaehyun." You bury your face in your hands to hide your mortification. Johnny gently brings you out, prising your hands apart as he laughs at you, quietly.

"You'll get used to it. Personally I like making the wiretap boys squirm. But then I'm not usually on the receiving end."

You open your mouth to tell him you deserved that but instead your eyes go down to his hips in front of you, and to the obvious bulge straining his white shorts, his length curved down against the inside of his left leg. Ruby hadn't been lying about his size. Soup is good food, indeed, you think, swallowing dryly.

When your eyes return to Johnny’s face you find it’s darkened a bit, his pupils drug-wide. "It's been a long day."

You can picture him tucking his cock into his waistband as he worked, waiting for his next break to jerk off to your moans in a bathroom stall. You’d never give him the satisfaction of telling him you'd heard it yourself, when Jaehyun had slipped his earpiece into your ear mid-fuck. Or that you’d come even harder to the thought of both men getting off to you.

"Do you want a taste?" you ask, hand caressing his jaw. You have your own agenda but it's clear the lines are blurred too much between torturing him and torturing yourself. You knew who would enjoy it, regardless.

"What do you want, baby girl?" Johnny doesn’t let you answer aloud, the flick of your eyes down is enough. He drops to his knees, pulling your legs over his shoulders. 

He's nowhere near as gentle as Jaehyun was, burrowing under your dress to press his plush mouth against your sensitive sex, licking deep and heavy until you’re begging him to stop. He doesn’t let up, angling you back so that you’re dropped across the desk, spilling a mug of pens onto the floor. 

You quickly learn that roughness is no indication of skill as he spreads your lips and laps at the wetness seeping from you. The sounds are obscene and you know it's deliberate but you find yourself joining him, making sharp little cries each time his mouth moves higher.

"Please," you beg, tugging on his hair. "Please more."

"Such a dirty little kitten," he says, flattening his tongue against your clit with each swipe. "Not satisfied with one cock. You think you can take two?"

"Mmhmm," you moan, lost in the moment. 

"We should get you ready," he says, pushing his long fingers deep inside of you. You should be sore but it's almost a relief—the ache is gone as he scissors the digits to open you. You bite back a cry, holding on to the edge of the desk with clenched fists as he adjusts his posture. The mess inside of you squelches with each thrust, desk rocking with the strength of his arm.

Just the knowledge that Johnny is fucking you with his hand is getting you off but you know you can do so much better, especially when you meet his self-satisfied look from between your thighs, his mouth on you again.

“Stop. Stop,” you say, grasping his collar and pulling on it. “You're not–”

“Quiet,” he says. He pulls his fingers out of you with a pop, inspecting the shine on them before reaching up to fill your mouth to let you taste yourself and the slight bitterness of cum. 

You suck experimentally, prompting him to stand up and watch your face as you hollow your cheeks. Johnny holds your neck as he thrusts the digits gently to the back of your throat, hips mirroring the movement as he pushes against the desk with his upper thighs. You scoot forward, practically hanging off the desk to soak the front of his shorts, loving the friction of the khaki against your bareness.

He watches you demonstrate your eagerness to take him in both orifices, clearly proud of himself.

“You going to take me raw, too?” he asks, easing up when you gag on his fingers. You nod, eyes watering. He looks at you with adoration, kissing your forehead and face and then your lips once he's pulled his fingers from them.

“I wish we had more time, I’d make you come on every surface in this room,” Johnny says, unbuckling his pants and pulling himself out of the top of his boxer briefs. You only have a few seconds to fully grasp the danger you’re in, lost in the miles of tanned skin you haven’t seen yet and a close-shaved thatch of dark hair that does little to hide the monster hiding there.

“Ready?” 

You don’t get a chance to answer as that absolutely incomprehensible size presses against you–the angle just right to–

"Are you, big boy?" you tease.

–he loses control and jams his into the desk, full-body wincing. You almost laugh at that, but he doesn't waste a second before pulling you forward and onto him, making you gasp with the burn of taking those first few inches.

"You aren't," he grunts, hand sliding between you to grope at your core. You bat his hand away, grabbing the back of his neck to try and pull yourself on him more.

"Whose fault is that?”

It’s not an easy fit no matter what preparation you've had, and he's not moving the way Jaehyun did to work you in as much as letting you stretch around him as he readjusts awkwardly. The desk proves too low for how high his hips are compared to it–both of you slipping as he tries to find a good surface to fight against the grip of your cunt keeping him half-sunk.

“You think this is funny?” he growls. Your pent-in laughter is immediately stopped as he lifts you up, his forearms wrapped up and under your thighs.

He’s strong enough you feel as weightless as feather down, but gravity still applies when he lets you slide down on his thick cock. You let out a cry, arms and legs wrapping around him instinctively to hold on as he moves you both away from the desk. And then you’re pressed against the wood-panel wall behind it, shoulders pinned as he rolls his hips up in controlled, tight thrusts.

“You okay?” Johnny’s mouth is against your forehead as he slowly fucks into you, not even halfway sheathed inside. Your legs shake, already tired, but you can't imagine stopping—not with that gnawing need settling in. 

Within a minute you're losing your mind; the angle and that impossible girth is good but you can’t touch yourself and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to come with him practically warming himself inside you. 

“I can take it,” you say. You don’t mind pain, and right now you crave it. You nudge his chin with your nose, kissing the smooth skin underneath, where he doesn’t need to shave. 

“I know you can,” he says. “But tap me if you need to stop.”

“Stop telling me–”

Immediately you’re pulled down until your shoulders are angling to the floor, hearing the rip in your dress as he lets you drop. You pull yourself up desperately, heels digging into his thighs and fingernails into his arms until he lifts you again, bracing you both against the office wall. 

“I said tap me if you need to stop,” he says, obviously amused as your eyes flutter shut when he’s close to bottoming out. His thrusts resume, gaze locked with yours in the flickering fluorescent light.

“Relax,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

“Do you?” you ask, threading your hands in his hair again. 

“It’s so funny how you think you’re in control,” Johnny says, voice low. The threat makes you clench around him and you both respond non-verbally, his grunts increasing as he angles you to pump even deeper. You dig your nails into the back of his neck, but with his cock fully lubricated you’re quickly at his mercy, each slap of his hips against yours bouncing you up along the laminate. 

You're immediately wetter than you've ever been, cum trickling down the inside of your thighs as he pushes you open further and further until you’re breaking against your own better judgment. You bury your face in the open V of his collar to keep from screaming, gold chain indenting your cheek.

His hands are under your thighs again, the wall just an afterthought. Now you’re being lifted and carried down in slow semi-circles, his jaw against your skull as he whispers consolations and praise. You know you’re supposed to wait, to listen, but there’s only his voice in your ear as you let go and feel every point of contact between you. 

For a moment you actually believe he wants you. He could fuck you into the next life and it wouldn’t be enough, you think. You want to suck him off in a linen closet. You want him to whisper whatever his desire is in your ear and respond in kind. Few would be so lucky.

“You can make noise, baby.” There it is, you think, that’s an order. You let the sound you’ve been holding in out finally, face angled away from the clip-collar mic you’d felt against your cheek. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you say hoarsely. 

That’s when you understand what you’ve been missing, when his conscious mind finally falls away, he holds you tight and fucks. Your entire body is bent as he ruts into you with his hand curling around the back of your neck to bring you closer to him. The wall clock above you falls to the floor, plastic shattering, as you lose yourself in the feeling of being broken apart—

“What in the fuck are you doing?!” The third voice in the room startles you mid-moan and you realize you hadn’t even heard the door open. Johnny pauses, hold slackening enough for you to slide back down the wall. He looks over his shoulder, the glow of sweat near his hairline shining in the fluorescent light.

“I’m on break,” Johnny says, subtly angling your bodies to shield you from sight.  

“In my office!?” The night manager doesn't sound scandalized enough for this to be a first occurrence, just humiliated.

“You weren’t using it.” Johnny says.

The slam of a man’s fist against the doorway is punctuated by a loud, defeated sigh.

“Well? You gonna watch or you gonna let me finish?” Johnny says. 

You’re impressed at the level tone he has, not just because you were interrupted but because your cunt is squeezing around him with each suppressed giggle. Your hands rise under his shirt to smooth over his twitching abdomen, watching the side of his face as he masterfully avoids reacting. You tweak his nipples for good measure, earning yourself a warning thrust of his hips.

“You can finish out your shift without hourly and then you’re out of this hotel, Sullivan,” the older man says in as threatening a voice as he can muster. “I’d drag you both out myself but you know damn well we don’t have anyone to cover you.”

“Works for me,” Johnny says.

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!” The slam of the door drops another framed picture and you wait until the sound of muttering about not being able to keep his dick in his pants for five minutes, then you both break into sobs of laughter, Johnny heaving you around and back to drop your ass on the desk again. He slips painfully out of you as you curl in on each other, shaking violently, adrenaline high burning in your veins.

“Did I do a good job?” You ask once you’ve stopped laughing, wiping tears from your eyes. You’re already adjusting your skirt down your legs, and checking your heels are still strapped to your feet when Johnny’s large hand wraps around your chin.

“Do you think we’re done here?” Johnny’s voice is low.

“You think I want a quick fuck?” You stare up at him through your eyelashes, enjoying the way his full mouth quirks and his eyes narrow. He doesn’t seem convinced by your delivery so you sink the knife in a little deeper.

“Didn’t you hear? Jaehyun said not unless he's watching," you say.

You smile, unable to keep a wry expression. Johnny’s grip on your neck loosens, his touch much more tempting as he strokes the earpiece hidden beneath your right ear. You shiver a little at how gentle he is, avoiding looking at his still-wet, perfect length right in front of you.

“Finish yourself off again,” you say, mustering up an air of business. “We have work to do.”

You slide out from under his arm as he leans against the desk, not moving to stop you. The silence in the room is deafening as you retrieve Jaehyun’s jacket, accidentally kicking a mug across the stained carpet, its yellow smiley face motif staring up into nothing. 

You're peeking through the closed blinds before opening the door when he finally speaks.

“You should be more careful.”

You’re always careful. You don’t turn around, hand on the doorknob. You’re also used to threats.

“Why is that?”

Johnny’s voice is quiet, personal. “You might have more than one man falling for you.”

He can’t see the smile that spreads on your lips as you duck out, straightening your dress and your back as you walk towards your next assignment. 

“I’m counting on it,” you say as the door closes behind you.

The lobby is a hellish sight once you’ve successfully snuck out of the service corridor unseen. You retrieve your powder and lipstick from your coat pocket, cleaning up the smears around your mouth as you sit on one of the low divans nearest to the sliding doors while secretly scoping the front desk.

“The big guy is trying to get a door key from Sheila but she’s not buying it,” you say, coughing after you’ve leaned back from speaking into your jacket collar. "He's being directed to use the phone bank."

“We’re going to need you to go back to 310,” Jaehyun says, soft voice and piano music echoing loud in your ear when he uses the mic. “Answer the call.”

Your heart sinks into the tile under your feet, but you answer. “Copy.”

“Don’t worry. Snoopy will go with you.”

“Snoopy? Does that make you Schroeder?” You can’t help but tease, snapping your makeup compact shut to look up at his back, just twenty feet away where he’s sitting at the grand piano.

He answers by immediately shifting his improvised piano play into the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The music adds a somber air to the room as spouses fight each other over staying another night and the man at the counter steps aside for another in the long line of attempted vacancies. The goon makes his way back to the phone lines, foot tapping impatiently as an elderly woman yells into the receiver about whether her cats have been fed.

Outside sheets of water still fall from the carport but the neon lighting reveals a line of taxis no longer burdened by high flood waters—there’s traffic now, and you’re not partaking in it. No, you’re staying just a little longer in this dollhouse, puppeted by a shadowy organization you've been coerced into working with through the power of money and (admittedly) good dick.

"You're in on the plan now," Jaehyun says, painting your nails for you in the hotel room. "You do this for us and you'll be set for life."

"How long of a lifespan is that?" You ask, making him look up at you with thin-lipped concentration. 

"You're safer with us than anyone else," he says. 

You wanted to believe him. 

"What's the catch?" you ask, knowing there always is one.

"You have to pretend like this never happened."

One of the bellhops passes you by in a rush, distracting you as the seat beside you sinks with a new weight.

“He’s more of a Linus,” a soft, musical voice says next to you. The strange man shakes water off a drenched black fedora, setting a black doctor's bag on the cushions between you.

Your entire body stills, careful not to react too much to the new company. Your eyes slide over and up a long torso to an unfamiliar face. He's got a soft, innocent air to him with his white-blond hair and angelic features but there’s also a slyness to him you wouldn't be comfortable testing. 

You wonder if it’s a prerequisite for their agency that these men be as tall as a coffin is buried, or look better in a suit than any man ever put into one.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, still pretending to watch Jaehyun navigate the keys. “Where’s Woodstock?”

“Oh, he’ll be here soon.” The stranger smiles without showing his teeth, kicking his long legs out. A small child waving a Stretch Armstrong figure barrels into his feet, crying loudly. It seems to cause a domino effect of chaos in the lobby, suitcases spilling as another person trips on the wet floor and a woman starts yelling about a refund.

“Let’s go up first,” the stranger says. His perfect cap of white hair is hidden under his black hat again as he stands to offer you a gloved hand. You navigate the crowd, leading as he keeps pace beside you, his other arm weighed down with the bag.

“Why do they call you Snoopy?” You ask once you’re in the elevator. 

“Maybe because I'm good at finding things out?” he offers, waiting for you to press the third floor button. His black overcoat still drips rain and you try not to steal glances at his profile. The more you look at him the more you think he looks like an undertaker taking you to your own funeral.

You step out of the elevator to a small crowd of people waiting to go down: tourists dressed in inappropriate shorts and linen shirts with their bags, others dressed in their best disco glam for a trip to the bar or another open club. Once the hubbub is gone and the hallway is empty Snoopy leads, a ghost for how quiet his long legs move across the hallway to the room you never wanted to go back to. 

“Wait,” he says as a door opens on the far side of the hallway behind you. He pushes you into the nearby stairwell, dark eyes over your shoulder, expecting company.

“Why do you all smell so good?” The whisper that escapes you is answered in stereo, a soft chuckle over you and multiple laughs in your ears. 

"Not all of us," an unknown voice says.

“You can turn the mic off if you want to, doll,” Johnny’s voice appears over the line, backgrounded by Donna Summers and bar conversation.

“If I get killed by someone named after a funny pages dog I want to be able to curse you with my last breath,” you say. More laughter follows, making you feel like you're at a live recording of a comedy radio show.

“How many people are on this line?” You wonder aloud but your companion shakes his head, leading you to the door for 310. He waits patiently for you to unlock it, your hands shaking as the key slips in. You're thankful at least you aren’t going into the suite directly.

Inside your quiet new friend listens through the adjoining door before opening it, his other hand reaching into his jacket to retrieve a silenced pistol. You follow him into the main living area, icy cold fear returning as he checks the other rooms, thankfully not making you follow. 

The phone rings, startling you with how loud it is.

"You know what to do?" Snoopy asks, nodding at you when he's back in the room with you. Jaehyun had walked you through the details while he'd helped you get ready earlier and it had seemed easy enough.

You let the rings go on for a while as you shake off your nerves before picking up the pink plastic receiver and answering the phone with a tearful, shaky "hello".

"Mira?" 

"Ye-yes." You let your stutter return. 

"Why didn't you answer the door for me?"

"That wasn't the deal," you say. "We meet in the bar, or not at all."

"Where’s Louis, Mira? He was supposed to be down here an hour ago." 

"He went for a swim," you say, not bothering to make it sound convincing.

"In a hurricane? You think I'm stupid?"

"I'll explain when I get down there," you say. "You know they're listening."

The stranger on the other end seems to take a lifetime piecing together what you said before agreeing with a growl. "Be down here in five minutes with the entire package or we're coming up there and breaking down the door to get it."

"I'll see you in ten," you say, hanging up. 

"You're a natural," Snoopy says, wiping down the receiver once he's taken it from your shaking hand. "Pick out an outfit and let me know when you're ready."

He nods towards the other room and you understand immediately, picking up one of the evening dresses strewn on the couch, then reluctantly rifling through the open suitcase on the floor for underwear to replace the ones Johnny had taken from you.  Wearing a dead woman's lingerie was the last thing you needed but you had few alternatives.

There’s a knock at the door that startles you as you're changing in the other room, surprised that you hadn’t had a warning from Jaehyun keeping an eye on the lobby. You come into the room to see your companion open the door, gun ready, letting in a much shorter man in a work suit pushing one of the hotel's janitorial carts.

So there isn't a height requirement after all, you think, nodding shyly from behind the door jamb as the man comes in and beams at you. He meets all your expectations in the looks department, that wholesome appearance they all seem to have masking something much different.

"Hey, Y/N," he says cheerily. "Hey, Jungwoo—"

"We talked about this, Taeil." the other man groans. "Code names?"

The other man shrugs sheepishly.

"We need to move fast. I'll help you once I'm done with her."

"Come here," Jungwoo says after reholstering his gun, guiding you into the empty adjacent room. He leaves the door ajar and gestures for you to enter the bathroom, patting the counter for you to jump on it as he opens his bag beside it. Even with the height increase he's stooped over you, lifting your face in delicate fingers to inspect it.

"We don’t have much time but the lighting should hide enough." He begins applying makeup liberally to your face in a spectrum of colors you've never used before: violets and reds and yellows. 

"You want to make it look real? You can hit me," you say, eyes closed so he can give you a convincing shiner.

"Absolutely not," Jaehyun says in both of your ears.

Jungwoo smiles and shakes his head, biting his lip as he touches up his work with a gloved thumb. "You can wear sunglasses to hide your face, they won't notice."

"Do you do this a lot?" you ask, letting him apply lipstick to you in a deep shade of red. 

"We usually have a team for this. But I'm a quick learner." 

You glance in the mirror, nodding. "You're good at it."

The younger man beams at you, rose lips parting to reveal perfect teeth.

"Stop flirting with the kid," Johnny says. "They're all here but they're looking antsy."

"Almost done," you say, helping Jungwoo put the wig on you to complete your look. He disappears for a moment and comes back with the final touches: large white sunglasses and a fur coat, and a key with the 312 tag. You don’t want to know where he'd found it.

"What about the bag?" you ask. 

"We'll let you know where we stash it."

"Won't they check for a wire?" You look up at Jungwoo, surprised to see confusion flicker across his face.

"These guys are dumb but they're professionals. You tell them you killed dear old Louis here and they won't suspect you're wearing one."

"It's still too risky," you say aloud.

"We're expecting failure," Jaehyun's voice crackles in with the echo of the lobby, piano playing stopped. 

Jungwoo nods, shrugging a little. "Getting caught is just another contingency."

"I see." You have your doubts but you also know that this is largely going to be a matter of luck, much like the other jobs you'd pulled off in the past. As long ago as it's been since you'd done one you’re feeling the same you had every time, the lemon-sharp thrill of possibility with your head running through escapes and back-up options should things go south.

"Should I take a weapon?"

"No. We'll have your back." Jungwoo adjusts your hairline a final time, combing out one of the long, black tresses to rest on your shoulder. "You have my word."

You look at him skeptically, prompting him to blush prettily. "On my mother’s life."

Mommy's boys, the lot of them, you sigh internally. It’s odd but nothing about the last day has been normal, so you figure you'll take your chances.

The trip downstairs is a blur, and you calm yourself by humming the Peanuts theme, until the chuckles in your in-ear reminds you that you have an audience. 

Once you're in the lounge you plan on blowing past the bar, but Johnny beckons you with a curve of his finger. The music is loud enough you have to lean over the bar to hear what he has to say. He hovers dangerously close, breath against your cheek.

"Want another Long Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall?"

"What?" You stare at him in disbelief once you've pulled away.

"The drink you had earlier," he says, holding up a glass. "I'll send one over. Deliver it to that spot you like so much in the lobby. The one with the view."

It takes you a moment to realize he’s telling you where the package is being delivered.

"Why are you like this?" you ask, not waiting for an answer or his pleased expression. You head directly for the suits at the back booth past the sadly empty dance floor and stage, mirror ball illuminating clouds of smoke wafting from the occupied tables. 

For a moment you catch a familiar face looking at you from one of the booths and your heart stutters but Ruby's gaze skips over you and back to the bar. Thank god for your disguise, you think, she's the last person you want to talk to right now.

There's a clear aura of uncertainty coming from the group you're approaching, the chill of fear beginning to freeze you until you remember you’re not carrying a bag. You walk forward with a mixture of feigned confidence and very real wariness.

One of the three men accompanying the leader stands up and pretends to give you a hug, patting you down instead. You stand stock still as his hands wander up your body under the white rabbit fur coat, roughly squeezing the underwire of your bra before standing back to let you sit.

Once you've slid along the red leather you're closed in immediately by the bodyguard, a hard and cold object digging into your stomach under the table.

"Where is it," the leader asks, fingers steepling in front of him. This close you can see he's as good-looking as your own agents, and though they hadn’t told you anything much past his name and a warning to play it cool you can feel the power coming off him like radiation from a nuclear core.

"You could at least buy a girl a drink, Max," you say, placing your hands on the table, not to show off Jaehyun's work on your nails as much as let them see the very real damage to your wrists and the scrapes on your knuckles. "The case is in the lobby behind the palm tree closest to the piano."

The leader only has to nod before one of the meatheads across from you—the one you’d taken to calling Hulk for the shape of his jaw—gets up to retrieve it.

"Roughed you up good, did he?" Max asks, offering you an expensive cigarette from an ivory-plated case.

You let your hand shake when you accept it, leaning into the flame and fighting the urge to cough when the smoke hits your lungs. The second drag is easier, letting them hang on your next words.

"I told him if he hurt me again he'd pay." You exhale smoke, flashing him a glimpse of your face under the glasses, satisfied with the look of disgust that crosses his cold features. "He paid."

"We'll need to confirm that." Max toys with his untouched martini. "Do you have proof?"

"The room is the proof," you say. "Everything is still in there but me. And the bag."

You indicate you're going to pull something from your pocket and he nods, the gun digging in a little sharper as you pull out the 312 room key and slide it across the table. "Knock yourself out."

"What do you want out of this?" 

"Protection," you spit out immediately. You adjust your glasses, looking out at the bar like you’re being watched. It's easy to act when you know you are.

"Don't think there's any protection in the world that could see you out of the mess you both made," Max smiles, his eyes cold.

"Fair," you incline your head, pretending to wipe a tear from under your glasses. "You can let me walk out of this hotel in one piece, though. Word is you're a stand-up guy." 

"I keep my word. Let's see if you keep yours."

The other man returns with the case, nodding. The guards get up, Max pocketing the key and smoothing out his jacket. 

"Take her out front and get her a ride," he says to the man still holding a gun to you. "You going to play nice for me?"

"Don't see that I have much choice," you snap back. 

"Be a good girl and you'll have nothing to worry about," Max says, smiling devilishly. You've seen this look before, you've heard these words before, you know that they're never true. But you pretend like you believe him, you even let him kiss your hand as he leaves you alone with your ward. 

The ghost of that kiss makes you clench your hand as you're shepherded past the bar, making eye contact from behind your glasses with Johnny as he pours rum. He winks at you, and while your face is hidden you’re sure he can see the look you shoot back at him. 

Your legs start to feel like jelly the moment the lobby doors open and you're exposed to the rush of warm, humid air outside of the hotel. You turn towards the line of taxis and airport shuttle vans but your captor walls you off, steering you towards the parking lot. 

"Where are you taking me?" you ask, quietly.

He doesn't answer, grabbing your shoulder to make you march into the rain-soaked night towards rows of cars and an ominous-looking black Lincoln Continental. You don’t fight it–making conversation instead.

"If you kill me people will come for you," you say, voice trembling.

"They'll thank me, bitch," he says, jamming the muzzle into your back.

You pretend to stumble in your heels, falling on to the wet pavement behind the hotel once you're out of the eyeline of anyone out front. The man looks down at you in disgust, gesturing with his gun for you to get up when light suddenly floods the sidewalk. 

Headlights blind you both, an engine flaring into life just beyond–

"What the—" the man doesn't get a chance to speak as he's cold-cocked from behind, the gun in his hand skittering across the wet pavement when it's kicked from his limp hand. You look up to see a giant man in a ski mask standing over you both right before the engine roars behind you, distracting you. There’s a screech of tires just as the stranger picks you up and throws you into the open side door of an unmarked van.

You have a glimpse of an interior full of all sorts of electronic equipment and a driver's side profile before a black bag is pulled over your head. Your assailant must be part bear for how little your struggle effects them, and after the hold he has on you doesn't break you go limp.

You're discarded on the floor of the van to roll across it, bumping painfully into what feels like a bench.

"Sorry, sorry," comes a muffled voice behind you as the vehicle peels away, door slamming shut. 

"What?" Your heart is racing in your chest, fabric keeping you from being able to draw in a full breath.

"We had to make it look authentic," he says, grabbing you before you can slide across the floor again. You don’t fight as you're lifted off the floor and set down on a cushioned seat, back against the cold metal wall of the van.

Once the movement of the vehicle is normalized you find hands tentatively removing the hood from your head, and a boyish looking face under brown, mussed hair peering down at you. You're both sitting on the bench running parallel to the massive amount of equipment filling the left side, including video monitors and radio dispatch equipment.

"Was the black bag necessary?" you ask.

"Security cameras," he shrugs. 

You take advantage of a red light to adjust yourself and he does too, moving away. Despite his height he looks comfortable as he sits in a bolted-down chair at the electronics station, donning a headset and clicking through a series of buttons.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Hotel," the driver says cheerily from up front and you have a moment of panic thinking he means back to The Magic Carpet. You don’t think you can spend another night there.

"Palm Beach," the big man clarifies from where he works.

"That's a long drive," you sigh. 

"I'm going to need your earpiece," he says, holding out his hand. He sees your expression and smiles shyly. "You're out of range anyway."

You comply, taking off your wig and wig cap as well, relieved to be able to itch your scalp.

"Oh and we'll need your clothes, too. Your stuff is over there."

You sigh. "Can I keep my underwear?"

He's surprisingly unfazed, cheeks maybe a little more red in the dim light of the non-broadcasting monitors. He turns and speaks into his mic, low enough you can barely hear but you can feel the universe laughing at you when he swivels around, face incandescent.

"No they say we'll need that too. Sorry."

You think you can hear Johnny laughing even miles away.

"Whatever," you say. "You want to watch?"

He turns around again immediately, but you catch the driver's cherub-like eyes in the rearview mirror smiling at you with a cheeky look. You respond with a rude gesture before going deeper into the back of the van, glad to see there's a curtained-off area with a narrow sleeping cot at the back. 

Your heart drops a little seeing your familiar suitcase and bag laid there—remnants of a life that feels foreign to you now. You may as well have been dropped off on an alien planet for as far away as yesterday feels. 

Once you've changed into your familiar denim shorts and yellow Keep On Truckin' t-shirt you lie down, listening to the soft hum of the radio playing soul and the occasional click of a keyboard or button. The smooth ride of the I-95 takes you into even more unfamiliar territory.

God you wished they'd have let you keep the fur coat. But no, you'd been unloaded at the end of an enormous palm-tree lined lane at the most impossible destination you could ever have imagined yourself, a pebble dumped in a treasure chest.

"Welcome to the Breakers Resort," the woman at the front desk had greeted you, patient as you took in the painted ceiling and chandeliers. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Room 127," you say, looking down at the scrap of paper the comms agent had given you.

"Ah, of course. Welcome Ms. Smith. Kitchen is open for another few hours if you'd like any in-room dining." 

You don't even notice she's not asked for ID or money, swept past the grand Venetian ballroom and miles of soft carpet and antique furniture to your room. 

Of course it's a suite, you think, once you're inside. The place is tastefully white and pastel, windows revealing the rolling surf of the dying storm just past the well-maintained exterior. Unlike the place you’d just left, the palm leaves and jetsam have already been swept clean, erasing the chaos of the past few days in a way that has you unsettled.

You find pink rose petals strewn at the end of the turned-down king size bed, chocolates on the pillow and an expensive looking bottle of champagne sweating in an ice bucket on the table. 

Enjoy your stay, you've earned it. The handwritten note on hotel stationary makes you feel more alienated then ever and you soothe yourself by inspecting the room the way you're used to doing. It's so clean you feel like you could eat off the floor, reminding you it's been a long time since that sandwich.

The prices on the room service menu send your blood pressure skyrocketing but you disregard them and order a full spread, and another bottle of champagne—less expensive—for good measure.

It's hard to stay still and you think about going down to the bar but take one look at your face in the mirror with its remaining streaks of makeup and your ratty wig-tortured hair and opt instead to take a bath in the jacuzzi tub, dumping an entire bottle of soap in for maximum bubbles. You stay in the hot water until you can’t stand it anymore, wrap yourself in one of the thick white robes, and wait.

It's not your fault the bed is so comfortable and warm, the pillows so thick and cold. Four glasses of champagne and the roar of the ocean lulls you into a deep and dreamless sleep. You're out so intensely that you don't even wake up when the door clicks open, or when the shower starts, or when the mattress drops next to you.

No, you wake up much later, suddenly hot from the body encircling you, arm tight around your middle. You open your eyes to see another form in front of you, catching the sharp tang of alcohol as Johnny snores softly a few feet away.

"Jae—" the hand rises to press a finger to your lips and you turn around to see his familiar jaw, dark hair shrouding his face. You lean back to kiss him, surprised to feel how smooth his skin is and how good he tastes when your mouth opens to allow him in with a soft moan.

You kiss until you're both breathless, his hand tracing circles on your neck.

"You did so good," he whispers. "Without a hitch."

"I missed you," you say quietly, and you mean it. "Thought maybe this was a parting gift."

Even in the dark you can tell his expression clouds over, eyes darting over your face. 

"What’s wrong?" you ask, fingers tracing his eyebrows.

Don't say it, don't say it, you think. You want the illusion to last just a little longer.

"We can talk about it in the morning," he says. "Get some more rest."

You sigh, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, finding it still slightly damp. 

"I don't want to sleep," you whisper, your tone clearly indicating that you'd rather be doing anything else. You sense him go rigid behind you. Fingers trace your lips before angling your jaw so he can kiss you again, just as softly.

"You sure?" 

"Don't wake him," you say, conspiratorially.

"Johnny killed half a bottle of mezcal so they’d kick him out early, he's not getting up anytime soon."

"Pretend like I'm still dreaming."

"Mmm," he assents, bringing you closer to him. You relax into his soft touches, letting him soothe you into a comfortable state only punctuated by shocks of cold when he undoes the belt of your robe, reaching in to massage your skin. You close your eyes and let him explore you in slow, endless circumnavigations of your breasts and belly, never quite hitting the places he knows will make you move.

You only jerk a little when he pulls back your robe collar, replacing the warmth of the fabric with his mouth, the fingers of his right hand venturing between your thighs.

You can't help but whimper the moment he touches you, lightly dipping his fingers between your folds, spreading the wetness that inevitably springs up. You’re still aching from the lack of completion earlier, body melding into every contour of his behind you as an invitation to go further. 

He brings his mouth to your shoulder blade, kissing you gently as he rests his forearm on your hip, alternating between teasing your entrance and up to your clit. You bury your face into the pillow to keep from crying out when he curls his fingers inside you, small gestures making you close your legs around his touch.

When you reach behind to grab at his head he brings your hand back to the pillow with slippery fingers, pulling off your robe from your right side, leaving you half exposed. 

"Relax for me, baby," he whispers into your ear, bottom lip brushing the lobe. "Close your eyes."

You will yourself limp, slowly coming to the realization that this is something he wants—you pliable and ready for him. He adjusts behind you and you feel that thick, soft tip nudging between your thighs, his hand pulling your leg back and over his to help him get you aligned.

"Stay quiet," he warns before fucking into you. You grip the pillow beneath you as he forces his way in, fighting the tight constriction in your cunt at the suddenness. 

Soft sounds escape you when he pulls your hip back, getting so deep you’re melding together, skin-to-skin in the cool air. His other arm snakes under you so he can clamp a hand over your mouth, his thrusts getting less controlled as you continue to pretend to sleep.

"Gonna give you such a good dream." Jaehyun's voice cracks as he rolls you slightly to fuck you into the bed. You want him to touch you so badly you whimper for it under his palm, eyes clenched shut. 

He seems to understand because strong fingers reach between you and the mattress, circling your nub until you're clamping down on him. Just when you think you're going to tip over the edge his hand pulls away, making your body snap with unresolved tension.

"Wait for me. Wait until I tell you," he says. You shake your head in protest but he doesn't let up, stroking you in alternations between the contact you need and then up to your belly as soon as you begin to tremor.

You're only consoled by Jaehyun's shaky breaths into your hair, his drilling into your warm hole speeding up each time your body flutters around his cock. Even his hand around your mouth tightens in spasms. 

"Now."

You don't understand why the bed is moving as much as it is until you're rolled back against Jaehyun, thigh pulled back again. Your eyes fly open with the first stroke of a warm tongue, surprise disappearing into a massive rolling wave of pleasure as you find Johnny's head between your legs, Jaehyun's cock disappearing into you in wild thrusts.

You're on fire, incapable of thinking trapped between the soft wetness of a mouth and the molten length inside of you. Johnny stops mid-lick and mid-tremor to blow on you, the cold air making you jerk.

"I said now," Jaehyun says, and you realize he's directing the other man, who's stopped mouthing you again, looking up across your bare chest to meet your eyes in the dark.

Then he's sucking on your clit and you can't keep the shriek from bubbling up in your throat, body curling in as the sensation of that wave breaking has your legs shaking and toes curling, shock after shock following as Jaehyun pulls out of you and finishes between your thighs, coating you and Johnny both. 

Johnny doesn’t stop, and Jaehyun holds you still as you're licked clean, your eyes half-open drinking in the sight in the dark. By the time he joins you at the head of the bed you're whimpering from overstimulation, captured into a kiss that coats your tongue as soon as Jaehyun releases the hand over your mouth.

"Take care of her," Jaehyun says, leaving the bed. 

"Tit-for-tat," Johnny says brushing his hand over your cheek. "You ready to finish what you started?"

Your heart races as he pulls you on top of him, gently tugging the robe off your left shoulder and tossing it away. His hands completely engulf your breasts, spreading them and thumbing at your hardened nipples.

"So soft. You're mine, too," he murmurs.

"You're drunk," you counter, but you don't leave your place straddling him. He’s still dressed but his shirt is open, body feverwarm under you. 

You suppose it makes sense that they'd cage you in without a say, after slowly whittling away at your resolve, but it still feels like waking up in the lion's den. So this is what you’d missed out on not following things to their natural conclusion before. You’re almost grateful you’d never made it that first night; you’d have missed the worst but you would have never have found yourself here.

"Maybe," he says. "I can still fuck you though."

"It's so funny how you think you’re in control," you repeat his words back to him, slipping down his torso and leaving a trail of wet until you're straddling his thighs. You pull his shorts open to release his massive erection, trailing your mouth over the leaking slit but offering nothing by way of satisfaction.

By the time you feel Jaehyun behind you again Johnny is groaning loudly at each wet kiss against his length, each weak suck and unfinished squeeze of your fingertips driving him deeper into the bed.

"You like torturing him, baby?" Jaehyun asks, turning on the light. He's naked and glistening with sweat, the sight making your mouth water.

"It's only fair," you say, tongue flicking the precum from the underside of Johnny's cock. "You said he couldn't fuck me until you could watch."

"I made you come just now," Johnny slurs, hand twisting in your hair. 

"Debatable," you say. Jaeyhun grabs Johnny's wrist away from you and pulls it over his head and you hear the satisfying click of cuffs snapping into place. Johnny's hips thrust upwards as you give his cock another long swipe, watching Jaehyun ease on to the bed and angle his groin over the other man's face. You can't see but you can hear the muffled groans as Johnny takes him, the arching of Jaehyun's broad white back as he grips the headboard and fucks slowly into his mouth.

You forget torturing Johnny, cheek resting against his hipbone as you reach down to touch yourself instead. When Jaehyun finally pulls away you can see the line of spit from his erect cock to Johnny's plump lips and it makes you gasp a little, peppering his belly with kisses.

"What would you like to do to him?" Jaehyun asks, stroking himself as you tease Johnny’s length with your breasts.

"He can’t come until we tell him to," you say, looking directly into Johnny's lust-hazed eyes. "I want him to beg for it."

"That’s my girl," Jaehyun moves across the bed to join you, leaning down to kiss you before licking the twitching cock between you. You follow his suit, mouths clashing before you both set to work—your hand pumping while Jaehyun's cheeks hollow around the tip. You end up with one hand on his head guiding your lover, watching Johnny writhe and curse as he tries to break free.

"I want you to fuck me with him," you say, kissing Jaehyun once you’ve pulled him away. He looks at you quizzically, your hand wrapping around his cock to pull him closer and work at him against Johnny's muscled thigh. 

"I can take it," you say. "If he comes before I do then we can punish him."

"You sure?" he asks, pulling you tight. 

"Yeah," you breathe. "I want both of you."

You kill all alternatives by settling yourself over Johnny's hips, parting his open shirt so you can have better access to the wide swath of his chest and belly. 

"You want both of us?" he asks drowsily. You kiss him, marveling at how swollen his lips are until you remember biting them earlier. You nip at his neck, hearing the rattle of his belt as Jaehyun undresses his lower half behind you.

"We'll do all the work. Just try not to come," you say. You reach between you to angle his cock up into you, settling down as the stretch burns you awake. You feel unmoored until Jaehyun's hands are on your hips guiding you down to where you can rest against Johnny beneath you and then up again, making up for the lack of strength in your thighs.

"Oh," you say, leaning back into him. "It's so much."

"Slowly," Jaehyun says, cock pressed into your ass as he guides you. His arm snakes around you to help hold you as his hand fits between you, working through your slick until he can guide two fingers into you besides the other man. The first stretch of pain makes you squeak, tensing, and he slows.

"You sure you want it this way? We can—"

You shake your head violently. The feeling of being filled is too good, every inhale making you tighten. "Not tonight."

"That’s my girl," Johnny sighs. Jaehyun eases a third finger in, both of your movements slowing as he fucks into you with his hand against the warm length already inside you. You're on fire, feeling Johnny practically in your ribcage, but without the necessary rhythm to work you to completion it feels like you're sharing the torture.

"Please, fuck us," you whisper, leaning back to rest your head against Jaehyun's chest. You're so full already you can barely feel when his hand is out of you but when his cock replaces his fingers its a torch to tinder. You involuntarily jerk forward, half-off of Johnny as Jaehyun slides against him and presses his cock deep into your cunt. 

If you thought you had any agency in this moment it's stolen by hands on your hips pulling you back, Jaehyun’s grip viselike. Johnny is struggling beneath you, trying to fuck you against the encroachment of Jaehyun's cock but the latter’s movements are merciless.

"Oh fuck," Johnny says as you bounce on top of him, unable to do anything besides snap his hips. "So tight."

You reach a hand down to pleasure yourself and marvel instead at the bulging in your abdomen, a total flush settling over your body as Jaehyun forces his way into you with sharp breaths. 

"Don't come yet," he says, biting your shoulder, making your walls clench even around all that mass inside you. Johnny bucks, thighs rising under you, clearly feeling each twitch.

"Fuck, I can't hold it," Johnny says, the metal of his cuffs scraping on the headboard. "Slow down."

"Don't come," Jaehyun orders, more to Johnny than you. You aren't even touching yourself, too lost in the indescribable feeling of fullness inside you, the lurid sounds of skin against skin as Jaehyun's balls slap against your ass and the base of Johnny’s cock. You lean back to kiss him, unable to find anything but his jawline before he bends you down to slide in deeper. 

Your hands splay across Johnny’s abdomen, feeling every spasm and roll of his muscles as he comes closer to his end. You let your body respond in kind, squeezing in time until the tics escalate beneath your palm and you can both feel and hear his breathing stutter beneath you. 

"You're so good for me, Daddy," you whisper, laving the hot skin over Johnny's breastbone. "Come for me."

Johnny practically leaves the bed for how violent his orgasm is. Hot cum floods inside you, spurring Jaehyun to fuck deeper and rougher even as his partner grunts in protest at the overstimulation. 

He reaches between you to place your hand where you'd forgotten your own touch.

"Punish him, baby."

You circle your clit, making sure you keep getting tighter around his softening cock with each thrust. The stretch burns but you take it.

"Such a good girl," Jaehyun says, kissing your neck above your spine. Want to feel you come for us."

You feel the snap in the bottom of your feet and into your weakening legs, core throbbing with each pump until you finally crumble. You squeeze the sensitive member inside you until you're breaking apart around them both, face pressed into Johnny’s chest.

Looking up you immediately move up off both of them, not caring if Jaehyun has finished, kissing the sweat away from Johnny’s face. His expression is a grimace but his breathing slows as you soothe him with soft touches.

"We got carried away," you breathe, pushing the hair stuck to his forehead away. "Are you okay? Can I get you some water?" 

Johnny cracks a smile, eyes opening partially. 

"You think that was too much?" he asks. "And you said you could handle it."

You slap him lightly on the face.

"You’re done?" he asks, eyes flicking down between you. "I didn't beg, did I?"

You look back at Jaehyun, finding him with one hand on his cock, pumping slowly.

"Get back down here," he says. 

You don't resist, sliding down and turning to face him as you straddle Johnny's belly. Jaehyun kisses you, bringing your hand to spread over Johnny's softening cock covered in cum and slick. He reaches between you to cup your own mess, fingers slopping into you obscenely as he coats them in what's there.

"He's going to make you come again," he says. "I'll get him hard again for you." 

"I'm pretty sure he’s going to pass out," you say, looking over your shoulder. His fucked-out expression in the dark is how you feel, propped against your lover.

"Even better." Jaehyun says. "Watch."

Your breath catches in your chest as you see him take his white-coated fingers and slide them down between Johnny’s parted legs, beneath his heat-sagging balls. You’re the one to gasp as you watch him palpate the puckered muscles and slowly work in, feeling the body beneath you twitch.

"You don't know how amazing this feels," he says, meeting your round eyes. "Soon."

Heat radiates through your core and your entire body as you watch Jaehyun finger-fuck the man under you, as you feel his cock twitch with each stroke against his prostate. You assist by dropping down to take Johnny’s soft member into your mouth, sucking gently on it and pulling it to hardness. Somewhere out of sight Johnny groans inarticulately.

The taste doesn't bother you, not as you feel the blood return to his cock, taking a long time to fill completely. You’re only stopped by Jaehyun angling his own tip into your face, forcing you to alternate between the two until both are sufficiently coated in your spit and your throat burns from the intrusion. 

Jaehyun waits until you're choking on Johnny’s cock to make his first thrust, easing into the other man with a raspy sigh. You watch fascinated as Johnny lifts his hips, legs folding on either side of the younger man. Jaehyun's mouth is agape, eyes closed as his strokes become deeper and more forceful.

"You're so good," you croon, lying down beside Johnny and kissing the side of his face. He angles his head to catch your lips, making small noises of satisfaction when your tongue slides over his. You almost forget everything as you kiss him deeply, the moment feeling more intimate than anything you’d shared previously, until rough hands grasp you from behind and pull you down his body.

“One more for us?” Jaehyun says into your ear, dripping sweat down your throat and spine as he crashes you against him, still rocking steadily. 

You swallow nervously, thighs radiating a deep ache. “I don’t know if my knees can handle it.”

“Just relax,” he says, twisting your body so you’re facing him and pushing you until your bent backwards. 

“Lay back, babydoll,” Johnny says.

You can hardly breathe, your body tensing with anticipation as you lie down against Johnny’s chest.  Jaehyun bends over you, you think to grab the headboard until you hear the release of the cuffs. Just as quickly you are wrapped in a tight embrace, legs spread.

“Relax,” Johnny says, nuzzling your throat. “I’ve got you.”

He lifts his hips, diving into your ready heat—his length less overwhelming than before at this angle. Jaehyun settles down over you as well, kissing from your forehead to your mouth as Johnny begins thrusting between you. 

You can’t be sure of anything in this position—not who is guiding all three of you, or who is making the sounds in the chorus of cries of ecstasy. You’re sure you won‘t be able to come again but Johnny’s thick fingers slide over your nub, sending aftershocks through your abused cunt. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you chant, head thrown backwards against Johnny’s flexing shoulder. Hovering over you, Jaehyun is just as gone—face buried in your chest.

“I’m close,”  Jaehyun says into your skin, eyes clenched tight. 

“Hold on, baby,” Johnny says, and you know immediately it’s meant for you by the way his python-like grip locks you into place.

Johnny stops working beneath you and you realize he’s ceded control, the violence of Jaehyun’s last thrusts fucking him deeper into you than before. Johnny keeps you on top of him, hand unrelenting on your apex even as he loses tempo beneath you.

“Come on me,” you whisper to Jaehyun, breaking the spell he is under. He fights for control through a shuddering last push, pulling out to finish over you with just a few pumps into his hand as you curl towards him, foreheads colliding. Milky white ropes coat your torso, and you try to kiss him through the look of pure bliss you know he’s in but are rolled onto the bed, facedown.

“I can’t,” you protest, wrenching around to stop Johnny but you might as well be made of rubber. Something is shoved under your belly and your hips are hoisted up as you sink headfirst into the duvet. 

“You can, babydoll. I want to feel it when I ruin you for anyone else.”

Johnny’s weight settles over your hips as he teases your throbbing and puffy core with his cockhead, pulling you up on the pillow he’s placed beneath you. You jerk when he angles into you, dragging against the top of your walls with each plunge. As much as you expect pain or force there’s neither, it feels like you’re melting into the warmth of him as he kisses your shoulders gently.

“You’re so perfect,” Johnny mumbles, pulling sweat-sticky hair from your face as you gasp for air. 

“I told you she was.” Jaehyun lies next to you at an angle, kissing you, and you taste the swallow of cold water he’d just taken like it’s the first rain of summer. Soon he’s pulled you half into his arms, touch ghosting all over as Johnny keeps a steady pace. 

“How are you still so tight for me?” He groans, legs pressing against the back of your thighs when he hits you deepest. The sensation is overwhelming, like he’s going to crawl inside of you so far you’ll never be released. 

“It’s too much,” you say, but even you don’t believe it as you lift your hips to meet him, allowing Jaehyun’s hand to slip between your legs. He rolls your clit in a circular motion, kissing you to match the other man’s thrusts. Your pussy throbs in syncopation with someone’s breathing—surely not yours.

“You’re such a good girl for us.” 

You whimper when the waves of pleasure begin to shorten in refraction, the building orgasm like a bone deep ache that they’re working out of you. You go quiet in the last few seconds, high-pitched whine stuck in your lungs, willing overworked muscles to give up the ghost but the climax seems to stretch on forever with no peak to tumble off of. 

And then Johnny shifts, practically on top of you, holding himself up but only so much as he drills you into the bed and the slick chest beneath you. Teeth are on your neck and another mouth against your cheek as you cry out, legs quaking involuntarily, nails digging into Jaehyun’s back as you hear Johnny cum with a muffled roar. 

Hot cum fills your belly as you finally find release, spasming so intensely you feel liquid gush between your thighs. You don’t have a thought left in you to feel any shame, your body shakes mellowing as you’re held through the comedown. 

“That’s my girl,” Jaehyun whispers, smiling against your temple. 

“Our girl,” Johnny corrects, kissing where a bruise blooms at the top of your shoulder blade. He rolls off of you but only to cage you on the other side, leg draped possessively over yours.

Jaehyun meets your eyes in the half-light, watching you. You have to close your eyes, unable to face that kind of unnameable emotion you feel hollowing you out.

“Stay with me,” he says, lifting you up finally. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You barely hear him as you sink into bliss, grateful that at the end of it all—whatever this is—you don’t have to be in control. 

Hours later you startle awake with a gasp, the room grey with the dawn outside and the heavy breathing of the two men on either side of you only faltering for a moment before returning to the depths of sleep. 

It takes you longer than usual to get your bearings, the soreness in your legs making blood rush to your face as you remember everything at once. 

I’m so deeply fucked, you think, literally and figuratively. You sit up, finding yourself wrapped up in a deadweight arm—Jaehyun’s—while Johnny’s head rolls back from where it was resting against your shoulder. In the low light they look so much younger, weightless without all the responsibility and mystery you’d come to expect. 

You’ve already washed up and changed into your robe but you quietly scrub down again, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat from your forehead and checking the marks on your skin where tongue and teeth had claimed you. 

Inside you feel a glow of elation that you’ve finally understood what it is to be wanted, and somehow without conflict even with the uncertain nature of two people’s separate feelings in the matter. In a better world perhaps you’d have time to talk it over, sharing a room service breakfast and a morning finally free of the storm that had brought you together.

But you’ve lived a lot longer than anyone should have in your short existence. It’s made you more capable, and stronger, but also unwilling to accept any fantasy. Everything, you think, has a price, and some things are too good to be true.

You don’t have any illusions about what daylight will actually bring you. 

With the ease of an automaton you remove all traces of your existence from the room, changing into the clothes you wore and readying for departure. You find the one possession that isn’t yours with ease, in Jaehyun’s bag, leaving everything else intact. 

The watch feels heavy in your hand, the ticking like receding thunder, and you tuck it into your bra as if to quiet it with your own heartbeat. On your way out you find the Bible in the desk and leave the passage open, decaying rose marking Proverbs 27, underlining verse 5. 

If either hears you go, they don’t follow. 

previous > next

[thejudgingtrash]

11. “...did you just sniff me?” for percabeth pretty please 🙏🤍🤍🤍

Heya! I’m finally here to come back to this request 😄😄 It took me only a little bit in comparison to other requests, but I'm here!

Also since @percyheartsannabeth, @skaterannabeth and @not-optimistic-petrol-biscuit had asked about fluff. Here you go... Kinda? 😬 Anyway. Here's a monster sneak peek into may I introduce you to my beloved wife? 😋

It took me all day yesterday, but I managed to pump out 11k words. That's a record for a single session in one day (with like two breaks). And yes, that is still not the entire chapter. Here are roughly 9,2k for you to consume!

TW: alcohol, overbearing relatives not minding their own business, a tiny section talking about domestic abuse and Athena and Frederick Chase ain't shit but that's nothing new. Poseidon too, for once. Enjoy!

may I introduce you to my beloved wife?

(*absolutely not proof-read, my bad)

Annabeth sighed. You can do this. You can do this. You’ve already finished the week. Think about the money. Think about the move to California. Push through this day and next week, think about the money and the minute you’ll hand your termination in. She wanted to splash some water up her face, but the makeup that tinted her lips in a luscious rose and added some bronze to her high cheekbones was too expensive to be washed off and hastily reapplied.

It was pre-Dionysus Day, which meant it was merely the calm before the storm. The first sparkling sip of an impending disaster waiting to rollover the roomy Greek villa Percy forced her to stay in. Well not really forced. Forced and bribed her to stay in. That made it sound slightly better. Just think of the one-hundred seventy-five dollars he’s going to transfer into your bank account for your new start in California. I should renegotiate. California is also expensive. Make it two-hundred fifty thousand.

The tall blonde looked at her reflection in the mirror. A young woman full of life was the first thing she had seen in the morning but now she looked tired and annoyed, just how she felt. Something crashed in one of the dozens of rooms next to her and people laughed. Annabeth sighed again. It was the only thing she could do, otherwise she would scream like a banshee, making sure that at least Hermes and Prometheus would check her, if it wasn’t for Percy stuffing socks into her mouth to make her shut up before they got to her. The majority of his Greek relatives had been lovely if not terribly nosy and overbearing. It was the opposite of her family. His was warm and chaotic and for the most part welcoming. Hers? Cold, apathetic, disapproving of everything she did. She had no family in comparison, and neither would she want to compare this wholesome messy bunch to the cold-hearted Athena Pallas and the monster that was Friedrich Chase.

Annabeth respected Hera and Hestia, she definitely side-eyed Aphrodite who was cheating on her husband and she would definitely stay away from Zeus. Crossing paths with him occasionally in the New York office of Atlantic INC. was terrible, seeing him openly be flirty and loosen up during a forced trip was way worse.

This was a bad idea and I have a terrible feeling about this. The burgundy wrap dress that hugged her skin was soft and light but in the Thessalian heat it felt like a sticky cocoon caging her. She wasn’t a beautiful butterfly, ready to burst out and wow everyone. Neither was she a moth drawn to a flame. She was a bug that had been sprayed by Percy with a pesticide, wrapped in toxic chemicals which were slowly dissolving her body, piece by piece.

A knock shoved the horrendous image inside of her head aside. “Yes?” she asked with a firm voice. Too firm with a hint of annoyance, but she was not a professional actress and could not switch her emotions off as she pleased. She was a junior marketing manager for Christ’s sake. Not for much longer. Only two more months…

Percy opened the door. “Are you ready?“ he asked with his usual pleasant baritone reaching her ear.

He wore light linen pants that hugged his legs loosely and a light blue shirt with the first buttons opened up. She could see his defined chest and the swirls of black hair peeking through. The hair was styled into a disheveled curly mess which suited him way better than the gelled back corporate look and he forgot to trim his beard like the day before. Annabeth couldn’t deny what she saw – her tormentor was a very attractive man.

“Do you want to bail?” His sea-green eyes darkened a shade. Worry flashed through them.

Annabeth exhaled sharply for the last time. “I wish I could but then I’d leave you without a fiancé,” she smiled through the pain.

Her glance found her reflection again. The topknot was still intact, and a few strands carefully framed her heart-shaped face. She looked perfect on the outside and she wanted to commit manslaughter in the inside.

“Let’s get over with it,” Percy sighed and stretched his hand out. It seemed like Percy was the one that would rather bail.

Annabeth took it without any complaint. She was the happy girlfriend soon-to-be-wife and holding hands was way better than being forced into kissing him during Sports Day. The Theodoropoulos family truly had planned activity after activity during those two weeks in winter.

“Oh!” Sally peeked into the bathroom and saw her son holding Annabeth’s hand.

“There you are! Is everything okay, mija?” she asked with her sweet Dominican accent and looked at Annabeth.

Annabeth automatically smiled back. Sally was the mother she never had, and it broke her heart crumble by crumble by the sheer charade Percy and she were forced to display for the next six days. Sally Jackson deserved the best. She certainly didn’t deserve being deceived and lied to by her terrible son and his tag-a-long coworker.

“Yes, Percy was just making sure we’re arriving on time.” Annabeth got on her toes and placed a soft kiss on Percy’s stubbled cheek. It tickled but by now she had gotten used to it.

He rolled his eyes, smiled at his mother, nonetheless. Sally’s eyes sparkled and she clapped, clutching her hands tightly. “You don’t know how proud you’re making me, mijo,” she then said teary-eyed.

“You finally found a great girl and she is standing next to you.” Sally wiped a tear away and the awful feeling that sat on Annabeth’s chest and made everything heavier, amplified by a thousand times.

This was way worse than being referred to as the woman that would bear him three to five children presuming with the first one sired on this current vacation by Ares. Yes, Annabeth wanted two children at max, but not definitely now. She was twenty-eight and in the prime of her life! Note: Percy would certainly not be the father of said two children. Unruly blond waves and a mischievous grin blitzed through her head. Pale blue eyes came back from the deepest pit of her memory. Luke. Fuck no, that was even worse than Percy. His betrayal… Annabeth tried to shake the memory off and focused on the ongoing situation in front of her.

Sally truly hoped her son found love and not a quick fling. Oh shit, Annabeth thought and looked up to Percy whose face expressed similar thoughts. His conscience nibbled and guilt flooded his body.

“Mamá,” Percy began and released Annabeth’s hand in order to grasp the older woman’s shoulder.

Sally brushed his large hands off. “No, no! Off you go! You younglings should be downstairs celebrating your reunion with the entire side of Poseidon’s family.”

Annabeth appreciated the fact that Sally was invited and flown out each winter holiday by the Theodoropoulos’. Despite having been divorced from Poseidon for over twenty years, she was still a popular and welcomed guest, not just because of her son’s attachment to the Greek side and his tied division of the Greek family company.

Sally gave each of them a last smile before entering the women’s bathroom. Percy exhaled and pinched his nose. After ten seconds he released the nose and looked back at Annabeth. “Ready?” he asked a final time. Annabeth nodded.

The loud singing, yelling and talking that had been muffled by the bathroom hit her by a tenfold. The place had all the Mamma Mia vibes without the fun singing four days ago. Not anymore, as drunk relatives hit up the shore with loud music and talked loudly in their Pontic Greek dialect.

As the couple descended the stairs and walked through the parlor, a new wave of guests arrived at the same time. Three people that have just entered early adulthood looked up to them. Two men, one blond with a stoic face and bronzed skin, the other was shorter with spiky black hair and a beautiful grin on his lips. The woman next to him was the tallest out of the trio and possessed a high ponytail that would leave Ariana Grande dying out of envy. The dyed lilac hair swung around and nearly reached the middle of her thighs, meaning the hair was even longer without its tight prison on top.

“Thanatos, Zagreus, Megaera!” greeted Percy and gave each one of them a rib crushing bear hug. They looked pleasantly surprised at seeing Percy being accompanied by a pretty woman his age. It seems like the proposal didn’t reach all of the ends of the Greek world.

They fell into a short conversation in Greek and Annabeth smiled politely next to Percy as she fell entirely out of place. The evil Duolingo owl didn’t prepare her for this experience. Neither did her mother bother teaching her at least their Athenian dialect properly. She could introduce herself in Greek, order a beer, say goodbye and that was it. Thank you, Athena. For nothing again.

“Oh, you must be Annabeth,” Megaera eyed her carefully and Annabeth had the feeling that she could split her open with her hands. Weirdly enough, Annabeth was kind of into it. Megaera wasn’t only as tall as Percy but she was clearly the one with the toughest workout regimen as she displayed her muscular legs and defined arms with a short cocktail dress only a few shades darker than her hair.

“Yes,” Annabeth squeaked. She nearly added a ma’am towards the end. Megaera cocked her dark eyebrow. She had an aura that demanded respect.

“Interesting to see the woman who captured Perseus’ heart. It seems that he did develop a good taste after all. Calypso was as pretty as the crescent moon flower but sadly as dull as his corny jokes are.” Megaera’s deep smirk was a stamp of approval as her eyes roamed all over Annabeth.

“Hey!” Percy interrupted and placed a firm hand on Annabeth’s waist, as if he was trying to mark his territory.

“You have your own toys right to your right,” he then added with a playful tone.

Megaera actually laughed and waved dismissively. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t room for more.” A clear offer which left Annabeth’s face turn into a fiery tomato red.

“Anyway, we have some catching up to do,” Thanatos proposed as Zagreus and he silently watched the conversation blossom. He sounded as reserved as he looked.

“Indeed,” Zagreus agreed, surprising Annabeth with a posh English accent. “Father will murder me if we miss out on his moussaka. It’s to die for you need to try it, Annabeth, at least before Hephaestus gets ahead of himself.”

Annabeth laughed. The Theodoropoulos did have their positives. “I will, Zagreus,” she nodded.

“Oh please, if aunt Sally gave her go for you to stay here, you’re as good as family. We’re Than, Zag and Meg for you,” Zagreus offered.

“Annabeth is already my nickname but thank you for the kind offer!”

The three new guests went on to join relatives and friends at the party which seemed to get more chaotic by each passing minute as the volume seemed to increase.

“My cousin Zagreus from my uncle Hades’ side,” Percy explained as the three went out of his sight.

“Are they friends? Or…”

“Pretty sure they’re polyamorous. You know, I don’t know, and I honestly don’t really care, I see Zag once every twelve months at max. Just don’t stick to Meg’s side for too long otherwise she’ll turn you into her fiancé.” Percy’s tone suggested that he was not joking.

“Oh.” Annabeth didn’t know what to think of it.

Percy closed his eyes as if he was making a silent prayer, before his sea-green met Annabeth’s light gray ones. She smelled like lemon with a hint of lavender, instead of roses like normally. Delicious. If it weren’t for the fact that it was Annabeth.

“So, listen. You know I’ve talked about Dionysus Day and how his birthday brings out the worst side of everyone.”

Annabeth nodded as Percy went on to explain.

“Pre-Dionysus Day is basically same with the only exception that my great-grandmother’s house is filled with the entire family. Yes, we’re expected to eat, drink, laugh, drink, dance, drink, reminisce on our past, drink, make fools out of ourselves in order for them to take blackmail pictures and drink some more, but no matter how much they want you to open up… try to control yourself. Everything you say can and will be used against you.”

Annabeth’s stomach started to churn, and her knees slightly gave in. “Look, I’m truly sorry for the mess that I’ve caused,” Percy looked directly into her eyes and tried to ignore the rosy streaks across her flushed cheeks. “And my relatives can be overbearing. But if we manage to stick through this night and the next one tomorrow, we’re as good as done with playing games.”

“Fine,” Annabeth gritted through her teeth. She had agreed to the terms and condition. She didn’t need a reminder of the stupid decision she made two months ago.

“Let’s go.”

She placed her hand on the doorknob that separated the parlor from the huge living room. Percy followed her as she opened the door. A wave of laughter, wine, ouzo, discovered secrets, cigarettes, sweat and fun hit them.

“Oh wow, someone should open a window.” Percy suggested as he coughed. Luckily cousin Metis had the same idea. No, aunt Metis. Or was it Thetis? Why did Percy need to have so many relatives with similar names again?

“Oh, Annabeth, look at you!” Aphrodite had snuck up behind them and surprised the fake couple by hugging each of them and nearly spilling the expensive Greek vintage in her hand on Percy’s shirt. The red alcoholic liquid carelessly swirled in her glass and more than often seemed to want to escape from her clutch.

“Aphrodite, be careful!” Percy reminded her as she dug her fingers into his arm. Her nails were as fake and bought as was the bond between Annabeth and Percy.

“Oh, please cousin, you should learn how to loosen up!” She laughed, but it sounded more like the shrill sound a bird made when it got nearly hit by a car. The high pitch made Annabeth slightly frown.

“Take your girl upstairs and show her all the Zorbas moves you got!” She wiggled her badly overdrawn eyebrows.

Aphrodite had always been the poster child of perfection. She knew how to dress her curvaceous body the right way, she knew how to apply the perfect touches of makeup on her face and she was the most graceful being Annabeth had ever met. Seeing her so disheveled left the blonde American content. It showed that Aphrodite wasn’t one of the gods, she was a mortal mess like they all were. That, and it was kind of funny seeing the abrupt transition from oozing perfection to looking like a rough mess after a couple of glasses of wine.

“If you know what I mean, you two know what I mean, right?”

“Yes,” Annabeth and Percy answered. Unfortunately, they did.

“That reminds me, this is such a pretty dress that you got!” Aphrodite’s eyes widened and she tugged at Annabeth’s sleeve that went slightly over her elbows. “Percy needs to bring me a couple of those the next time he visits. Oh wait! You’re about to marry, Annabeth can take me shopping. I want to visit New York next summer. When was your wedding again?”

Panic filled Annabeth she tried to stutter a lame excuse like they had done the entirety of the stay. Aphrodite’s brown eyes found something else to focus on in the meantime. Her hand went out to poke the tall blonde’s chest as she went on to pull on the thin fabric.

“You should show the men what you got! Free the girls!” Aphrodite yelled over the loud music, pushing Annabeth’s C cup to its limits. “Let Percy stand in the corner with that stupid frown, all jealous and depressed while you’re out on the hunt!”

Percy did not look amused especially since he tried to pull Annabeth away.

“Yeah, just like that!” Aphrodite’s glass pointed directly at his face as Annabeth tried to shove Aphrodite’s fickle fingers aside. “Oh, if I were just a little bit younger and not tied to your cousin…”

“You mean cousins,” Percy corrected and made a step backwards as Aphrodite’s dreamy and drunk dazed focus shifted from Annabeth to him.

“Aphrodite, leave Percy and his future wife alone,” Hera arrived to save the stressed couple and rolled her eyes. “Go harass Hephaestus and try to be a faithful wife for once in your life.”

She still looked like she had a massive stick shoved up her ass by the way she stood entirely straight next to them, but Annabeth appreciated the gesture. If Hera didn’t like Aphrodite much, Annabeth would rather join Team Hera than stand alone by the bleachers and under Aphrodite’s charmspeak. Aphrodite pouted and stomped with her feet twice as if she were a toddler and not a grown woman marching towards her forties. Then she stormed off and ran into the arms of her lover, nother husband to spite her mother-in-law and embarrass her even further.

“Malàka,” Hera cursed and lost her cool for one second, before clearing her throat and focusing on the already tired fake engaged couple in front of her. Not even Hera seemed to be averse from drinking a glass of wine or two. “You two definitely need a drink.”

Annabeth agreed with her for once.

She pointed at the bar behind her, which was managed by Dionysus and his wife Ariadne. The number of relatives ganging up on them and demanding new drinks was frightening. Surprisingly Dionysus kept his cool and shoved drinks in people’s hands at an impressive speed.

“Yeah, let’s get over with it,” Percy sighed and took Annabeth’s hand again.

“Are you okay?” Annabeth asked him. She knew from Thalia that Percy rarely ever drank and that his family was to blame for most of it. Percy seemed stiffer and graver than usual as well. As much as she disliked his jokey nature and easy-going demeanor he displayed at work, she’d much rather have that Percy by her side right now. Dionysus Day and the day before seemed like it was hell on earth for him and walking through it each year must take a toll on him.

“Yeah, let’s just each grab a glass of wine. Let them be happy about me shoving this disgusting stuff down my throat.” He thanked Ariadne as she prepared two glasses of the same vintage Aphrodite seemed to have inhaled earlier.

“Thank you.” Annabeth took her glass and sniffed. The wine smelled sickly sweet with a hint of the bitterness that the fermentation process had left. The glass in her hand weighed surprisingly heavy, not because of the wine itself but because of the golden swirls decorating it. The glass transitioned from the crystal-clear transparency into a deep black. A lyre surrounded by a bigger laurel wreath decorated the middle section and a golden snake was wrapped around the stem. The golden rim gave it a nice finish.

“Into a fruitful night,” Percy darkly mumbled over the music. He was really not looking forward to it, which confused Annabeth immensely. She didn’t understand why he pushed himself through this if he really didn’t like the drinking activities. He surely had his reasons, hence her not starting a fight with him over it. It was his family and their tradition after all.

“Into a fruitful night,” Annabeth instead repeated.

Issuing a weird toast as well. Percy Jackson was clearly not a drinker. Their glasses clinked and each of them took a sip. Thankfully grandma Rhea made sure they were well-fed before the festivities began.

“Fuck,” Annabeth muttered. A fine vintage as well. Not as sweet as she thought, it left a hint of sweet cumin as the lingering aftertaste. Her lipstick left a mark on the glass, but she didn’t bother to care as she took another gulp. The wine was nearly finished. She slowly started to understand why ancient civilizations went crazy after this stuff.

As she looked at her so-called fiancé, she saw that his glass was already empty. A grimace rested on his face as well.

“Err, Percy?”

“What?” The dark brooding look on his face was no more.

“Shouldn’t you take it easy?” Annabeth carefully asked. His eyes narrowed.

“I am,” he stated and cocked his head towards his cousin who was still busy playing the barkeeper but kept an overall watchful glimpse on the guests that flooded the gates.

“Dionysus saw me drink. Most importantly he saw us have a drink. That should be enough for me, but if you want some more, be my guest.” He shrugged.

Annabeth felt that she should probably drag his mopey ass out of the party, but it was way too early to leave. “Fine,” she said and asked Ariadne for a refill. Annabeth went in for another long sip. She should definitely stock her wine cabinet once she was back at her shitty apartment. Before the glass reached her lips again, Hermes snatched it away and chugged the remaining wine.

“Hermes, what the hell?!” Ariadne grabbed the glass and pushed her husband’s cousin away. The bored postman was back with his shenanigans.

“My bad, dear wifey, but I’m on a mission here to abduct sweet Annabeth,” Hermes winked and placed his hands around Annabeth’s shoulders.

“What are you up to?” Out of all of the relatives she’s met so far, Annabeth was convinced that everything Zeus had ever sired was a mistake. Zeus himself was a mistake.

“Can you stop being German and boring for once?” he joked. Annabeth’s eyes narrowed. She did not like this one bit. She turned her head around and saw that Percy had been pulled into a conversation by Hypnos and Morpheus. He had completely forgotten about her. Great.

Hermes guided her through the crowd, towards the middle of the room. They had to dodge chairs, drunk relatives, a sofa, chatty relatives, the coffee table and dancing relatives before they made it.

“There she is!” greeted Achilles the confused marketing manager.

Paris, Helen, Patroclus, Hermes and Achilles stood in a circle around a table. Dozens of shots of all sorts of colors were displayed. Annabeth had a terrible feeling about this.

“What is this and why are you pulling me into this?” Annabeth asked and did not like the mischievous grin they all shared. She wanted to go back home and cuddle with Daedalus on her sofa and push his cat ass out of the way before the next steamy Outlander scene hit the screen. Yes, Annabeth was that much of a single that seeing some on-screen action was the best she could get. She hoped that the mangy cat didn’t bother Thalia all too much while she was staying in Greece. She owed her so much already.

“Well, I stayed in your country,” Paris started. “And they have a weird tradition with ouzo. They don’t drink it the way we do, watered down and slowly at lunch and what not…”

Annabeth was still American for the most part and had nothing to do with Germany. The last time she stayed there was nearly thirteen years ago. She didn’t want to have anything to do with Germany. Friedrich Chase lived in Germany. And she fucking hated Friedrich Chase. Therefore, she hated Germany. Things that would never change. Okay, Hamburg was a cool city and she was glad her father moved to Cologne. Should she feel the urge to travel back to Germany for a week or less, she’d go to Hamburg, take ten thousand pictures, and post them on Instagram the minute before she was boarding her flight back to New York. Helping her to enrage her stupid father was all Germany had to offer.

“Germans do ouzo shots,” Patroclus cut to the chase. “And since you’re the newest member of our family…”

“And German!” Paris and Hermes added simultaneously.

“We’ve decided to play this little game,” Achilles added.

“What’s the name of the game?” Annabeth asked. She was only slightly curious. Emphasis on slightly.

“Last man standing. Oh sorry, ladies. Last person standing,” Hermes corrected himself as he placed four shots in front of each person. That was way too much hard liquor to handle. But if she did Jägermeister bombs in her sophomore year of college without any issues, this should be fairly easy.

“What are the rules?” They all looked at her in silence. No rules. No prize. Just drink.

“Oh wow.” The urge to roll her eyes and walk off came back with a force.

“I think I’m going to pass,” Annabeth said and already turned to her right.

“Why?” Helen asked innocently. “Need your man to look after you? The one who’s having an amazing time back there with his third glass of wine?”

Foul game. Annabeth’s head shot to the right. Helen was right. Percy was laughing and looked like he was having a great time chatting with Oceanus and his wife Tethys. Tethys refilled his glass as her husband and Percy broke into laughter once again.

If that’s the case…

“Fuck it, I’m in,” Annabeth agreed. She swallowed the bait and she knew it. There was no reason why she should feel upset about Percy opening up all of a sudden. He desperately needed it. Why she wished to be a part of that, Annabeth did not know.

“Great!” Helen threw her brown mane over her shoulders and grabbed the first glass.

“Για μας!” they all yelled and chugged the liquor. Gia mas, the Greek toast, was repeated every time and it seemed to brighten the mood, despite resting heavily on Annabeth’s stomach. Her college days were over, but she was glad she resisted coughing repeatedly.

Patroclus clutched his stomach after the second shot, Helen ran out after the third, Paris and Achilles were laughing maniacally after the fourth and Hermes mysteriously disappeared after the first one. Annabeth was the last person standing. She placed the crystalized shot glass back on the table and examined the messes around her. The only thing that had happened to her, were that more golden locks escaped from her bun and her lipstick needed some reapplying as she left marks on each glass.

Annabeth tried to take a step away from the table and felt how the world slightly shifted around her. The fact that she would curse and hate herself for her behavior in just six hours, was something drunk Annabeth gladly put aside. The headaches that definitely would haunt her for the rest of the trip didn’t matter, she won and that was all she cared about.

“Hell yeah!” she yelled as all inhibition faded away, leaving pure and raw life force behind. Unbeknownst to her, Annabeth had moved right into the circle of dancers.

“Perseus, get your bride before she breaks her legs!” someone laughed. Was it Iapetus? Or was it Hyperion? Who even cared at that point?

The next two hours were a blurred mess. A blackout slowly crept through her mind, leaving foggy memories behind. Annabeth felt how she was dancing with people and how people were laughing. Were they laughing at her or with her? Did it really matter? Why was her hair repeatedly slapping her face, didn’t she tie it up?

She danced with different people, men and women. She really hoped that the guy that looked like a naked Danny DeVito with longer black hair was not Zeus who had lost his shirt and pants. Who was the guy with the sea-green eyes again? Why was he clapping and laughing whenever she was busting a move next to Hermes? Was he important? Why did he remind her of work? The shots might have been a short-sighted idea after one and a half glasses of wine. She probably overestimated the amount of food she had consumed at dinner prior. Wasn’t she supposed to try someone’s moussaka?

“There you are! Ares, stop dancing with her for once. We’re about to leave.”

Ugh. Ares. Not Zeus, but still yucky.

Sea-green eyes. Percy, of course. How could she have forgotten the asshole that brought her into this whole mess? He seemed fairly sober, didn’t he have a glass or three of wine? Annabeth was certain, she’d be able to drink him under the table. His height and his build might put him at an advantage, but if he wasn’t used to drinking, she might have a fair shot.

A rock song was the next song that appeared. Percy wanted to drag Annabeth off the dance floor.

“Oh no!” Aphrodite intervened with a shrill screech. “Give the two lovers some room to show each other affection!”

Hera actually raised her glass for once to show that she actually agreed with one of Aphrodite’s wild ideas. Someone fumbled with the playlist and a Greek slow jam roared through the old speakers.

“Are you guys fucking serious?” Percy muttered under his breath. But roughly eighty pairs of eyes were all but watching the soon-to-be betrothed and waited for a romantic dance which reminded Percy more of the horrors that the eight-grade dance was.

Annabeth drunkenly hiccupped and looked at him in surprise as she felt one of his hands around her waist and the other one taking her hand. They rocked as if it was the final dance at prom. Annabeth barely remembered prom. Oh right. Her mother had forbidden her from going. She never attended prom.

A casual glimpse through the crowd showed her that people were actually filming this nonsense and some women were actually cooing. Did… did they seriously think this back and forth with sweaty clothes on was romantic? Her eyes found Percy’s again.

“So…” he began.

“So…” she repeated.

“Careful!” he warned her before twirling her through the tight circle. People screamed and applauded. A camera flash blitzed through the darkness twice.

“Oof,” Annabeth groaned. Her stomach and equilibrium did not appreciate that sudden movement.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do that again,” Percy swore. The rocking motion made both of them sleepy. Annabeth suppressed a yawn, rested her head on his shoulder. Percy could make the perfect comfy bed, if he wanted to.

Percy, sensing that people were awaiting some action from either of them, placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face up. Annabeth’s eyes widened. Is he going to kiss me in front of them? Again? her panicked brain asked. She was turned into stone, not by Percy’s distant cousin Medusa who had eaten most of the truffles, but by the tenderness of his actions. He was one solid actor.

Percy placed a soft kiss on her forehead, before moving on to a temple. Annabeth blushed and buried her heated face in his chest as he released her. Intimate, soft and sweet. The screaming relatives disrupted their comfortable silence yet again. The slow song came to an end and the next upbeat one invited everyone back to the dance floor. Annabeth released herself from Percy’s tight embrace and just bolted. Damned be nausea. A wave of coldness hit her. She felt something she didn’t like the minute Percy had softly kissed and soberness woke her at a start. What was it? Anger? Disappointment? Longing? She didn’t know and she didn’t want to know.

“Annabeth!” Percy shouted, but the amount of people standing in his way made it more difficult for him to keep up with her. His hand brushed over his own lips.

Annabeth opened and closed doors left and right. The kitchen, the dining room, the smoking room. She hasted through the first floor until she found another lost soul in the fireplace room. Why the villa had a fireplace room in the first place, she did not know. It had been super-hot the entire time but what Annabeth understood as heat and what native Greeks deemed as hot temperatures didn’t have to correlate.

Great-grandmother Gaia’s humming faded away. The eldest of the Theodoropoulos looked up from the pair of socks she was knitting. When she came to find out the intruder was Annabeth, joy spread over her face.

“Come, come!” The broken English that she softly spoke reminded Annabeth of her own grandmother. She hadn’t seen Elsbeth Lilienthal-Chase since she had left Germany. And since her mother didn’t give her a chance to say goodbye, she didn’t have a phone number to reach her with. The only way would be through that asshole Friedrich Chase, and the only time she’d willingly let someone contact that man was if she had been six feet under and he would be forced to show up for one important family event for once.

“I was unable to sleep. Parties aren’t something for me. I’m too old and boring for my children and their children,” Gaia sighed as Annabeth took a seat on the green sofa next to the light blue armchair. All of the cushioning seemed to have been made by Gaia as the socks had the same pattern as the pillow that Annabeth leaned against. Balls of wool surrounded the older woman as if she sat on a field of fresh tulips.

“Drink, drink! You need water. I’m pretty sure you danced a lot.”

Annabeth kindly took the offer, grabbed the carafe and poured herself a little bit of water into a small glass. The water was surprisingly cold and refreshing.

“My children deem me crazy,” Gaia continued. “The war with the ottomans. Deportation. Fleeing and seeing death everywhere. Losing my father in the chaos. Then the big world war after that twenty years later. They don’t want to listen to the same stories. They only want to have fun. So, they sent me away.”

Annabeth felt terrible for the old lady. It looked like she had been through hell and back in her youth. She didn’t look like she needed much, only someone to listen to her.

“I won’t bore you much,” promised Gaia.

Gaia’s tanned leathery hands continued working on the little socks. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, dearie. We have plenty of acetaminophen and other hangover remedies. Tomorrow will be even worse, because Dionysus wants to celebrate his birthday with even more wine,” the old woman laughed, and her green eyes twinkled full of life.

“I also was young once…”

The two sat in comfortable silence, only interrupted by Gaia’s humming or Annabeth refilling her glass of water.

“So,” Gaia began.

“So?” repeated Annabeth.

“You are the woman that tamed my little Perseus,” the older woman grinned.

Oh no.

Annabeth had a lump in her throat and drinking water to solve it, didn’t work. She wasn’t just lying to Zeus and his wife. She was lying to an entire clan, from the youngest to the oldest members. What Percy and she were doing wasn’t right, neither was it fair. Sure, Percy’s shitty uncle didn’t help much by forcing him to marry the next person, but did the rest of the family deserve to be deceived as well? No, they didn’t, and that truth rested heavily on Annabeth’s narrow shoulders.

The fact that Gaia looked so much like her great-grandson was crazy. They possessed the exact same shade of sea-green. It was passed onto Rhea, Percy’s grandmother, and then Poseidon, Percy’s fucked up father. Always full of intelligence and calculation. Shifting easily from delighted and full of life to the crashing anger of a storm. Power and knowledge were key features of Gaia’s eyes.

“How did you meet my sweet Perseus again?” Gaia innocently asked but Annabeth knew that there was some sort of ulterior motive behind her question.

“At work,” she honestly answered, and Gaia smiled. The old lady was able to sense the truth.

“He’s not my direct boss, but we run into each other a lot. And we hated each other from the moment we saw each other.” Annabeth remembered how she accidentally spilled her hot coffee all over his shirt. She had been public enemy number one from then on.

“He’s an excellent boss, as much as I hate to admit it. He knows his ways around and is passionate about the ocean and its inhabitants. Definitely more passionate than me, I’m just there for the money. He actually wants to make a difference. And he’s extremely annoying, might I add.”

Gaia burst into laughter and needed a minute to calm down. Annabeth cracked a toothy grin. “Ah yes, I can see how you fell in love with him.”

Doom. Uneasiness. Discomfort. The lump in Annabeth’s throat grew bigger and bigger. Why was her vision so blurry all of a sudden? She looked down at her dress. Dark dots appeared. More sprinkled across her lap as Annabeth realized she was crying.

“I’m so sorry,” Annabeth sniffled. “I… Percy… I…”

Gaia put her knitting utensils aside and set herself upright in the armchair. “Oh no, what is going on, Annabeth?”

The calming hand on her back did not help the young professional at all. No, Gaia’s honesty and curiosity made it way worse.

“Percy and I… we’re not engaged. We did it because Zeus-” Annabeth tried to confess, but Gaia brushed her off.

“It’s okay, Annabeth. I know,” the old woman smiled.

The tears that smeared her foundation or rather what was left of it ceased to fall. “You what?!”

Shock widened Annabeth’s light gray eyes.

“I knew from the minute you stepped into my house. I’m pretty sure Rhea knows as well.”

Annabeth’s jaw fell open. “B-but how?!” she stuttered and felt like an utter and complete idiot. The first few days had been rough and difficult, but now she thought that Percy and she conveyed the illusion of being a happy couple.

“You were scared of everything including him the minute you arrived,” Gaia warmly smiled. The infectious warm smile of a grandma looking out for her little chicks. Was Annabeth now one of them?

“I knew something was off with that sudden engagement of yours with the way you two behaved. Either you were pregnant, or it was a ruse. Since you are heavily drinking and paper thin, it was clear that there was no pregnancy. You young people truly don’t eat enough anymore,” Gaia shrugged, patted Annabeth’s knee and went back to knitting the sock.

“But now… it all makes sense. You do feel something for each other. Even if you are blind to it for now.” She continued to hum. “I just hope that my dear Perseus will be the young and carefree boy he was all those years ago one day again. And I do believe that you are the key in finding him hidden underneath all those layers and walls he had put up due to his father.”

Annabeth didn’t even close her mouth during the elder’s monologue. Did Gaia seriously connote that she… that Annabeth Chase… might feel something for her soon-to-be boss? Madness. Absolute madness. She took everything she had thought of the friendly old woman in front of her back. Maybe her relatives did have a point, when they decided to brush Gaia off due to her old age.

Annabeth? And feeling something for Percy? If that something was hatred and the utmost rage, absolutely yes. But… anything else? She would receive a hefty sum on her bank account and would put in her two weeks the minute she found a better job in California.

“You know… there is a tale I’d like to tell about men.”

And Annabeth would prefer to place the glass back on the table, throw the heels away, storm out and run to the next airport.

“They are stupid vapid creatures,” Gaia carried on.

Annabeth snorted behind her glass. “That is certainly true,” she agreed and earned an honest grin from Gaia.

“My dear husband Ouranos with whom I had all of my dear children decided one day that one woman was not enough. And that twelve children were not enough.”

Twelve children?! Annabeth's womb just twisted and turned in protest. The shocked expression on Annabeth’s face made Gaia chortle loudly.

“Oh yes, back in my day we were all very fruitful,” Gaia affirmed.

“That sounds horrible,” Annabeth interjected.

“Oh, only the birth part and the eighteen years after it,” the older woman dismissed her which made Annabeth in turn laugh again.

“My father was a farmer and he had one piece of advice: never let someone toy with you. You are not a doll; you are a person with morals and dignity, a person with feelings and dignity. Let no one, especially not a man, treat you like a commodity or something to kick around. Well… when dear Ouranos left me and sought our neighbor with bigger breasts… I taught him that lesson. And I did so with my father’s trusted knife that I hung on the wall afterwards.”

There was no knife displayed on the wall. It was a fucking scythe. Large, frightening, brutal. A golden great long sickle with jagged teeth rested on the wall as if it were ready to cut you up into one thousand pieces. Was there really dried blood stuck on the teeth or was Annabeth’s drunken mind making things up?

“The minute our youngest turned eighteen he took off and was never seen again. And now, should a person, in that case my Perseus, not know how to treat you properly, you know what to do,” Gaia advised and took a sip out of her own glass.

“Uh… you mean threaten to cut his genitals off with a large and sharp family heirloom?” Annabeth’s eyes widened again.

“No, dearie…” Gaia gave it some thought. “Well maybe so, dearie,” she then went on. That made Annabeth chuckle again.

“But demand absolute respect from him. Don’t ask him for it. Demand it. I don’t know how but he has dragged you into our family and expects you to play the perfect fiancé. This will eventually blow up in his face and he will drag you along with him. Teach him a lesson, however.”

“You know what? I will!” With Gaia’s official blessing, Annabeth was all smiles and scheming new plots. If the head of the family gave her the approval of kicking Percy’s ass, she definitely would.

Steps echoed in the fireplace room and Annabeth and Gaia’s heads turned to greet the intruder. They didn’t even realize the door opened and closed again.

Gaia’s younger twin who still had some black streaks in the braids marched into the hall, curious about what the two women in front of her were previously talking about. Gaia’s youngest daughter Rhea had joined them. The large blue floral dress made her seem like she never left the late 1960s and the two long braids only added to that sentiment.

“Mamá, what is going on? By the way Percy is looking for you, Annabeth,” Rhea informed her grandson’s alleged fiancé before taking a seat in front of her and grabbing one of the many balls of yarn in front of her mother. Rhea then went on to play with it as if she was a six-year old.

“Oh no, Rhea, Annabeth and I were just chatting about love and life,” Gaia batted her eyelashes.

“You see, I gave Rhea the same advice about her disgraceful husband when he went out to seek another woman.”

Rhea rolled her eyes behind the large pentagonally glasses. “You and your stories about the scythe, mother,” she sighed.

“I have to make sure the younger generation knows!” Gaia huffed. “I won’t be here for much longer and then-”

“We'll regret all the things we’ve said and done to you, I know mamá, you have been telling me this since I was four years old and spilled my apple juice,” Rhea completed her mother’s sentence.

Rhea’s attention shifted to the smiling blonde in front of her. She grew to like Percy’s fiancé. She had a fire within herself and a backbone, all great things to handle a Theodoropoulos man.

“But my mother is right when she says that the scythe is a trusted tool. Zeus, Poseidon and Hades did scare Kronos with it after he tried some foul things with their sisters. Treated them worse. Did overall horrible things. He never wanted daughters, only sons. Didn’t seem to accept the fact that it was out of my hand.” Rhea squished the ball of light blue yarn in her hand.

“My children were always looking out for me and I will be forever grateful for them. I do hope that you will have the same feelings and love for your children.” It was clear who their father was supposed to be.

“Yes, I hope so as well,” Annabeth squeaked. Did it get hotter in here all of a sudden?

The door opened, and a worried Percy stepped into the fireplace room. “Oh, there you are,” he sighed as he immediately sighted Annabeth’s blonde unruly curls. He had been running from the basement all the way to the roof searching for her. Relief washed over his face like some shower gel from a cheap commercial. Only then did he realize that Annabeth had been cornered by both his nosy grandmother and his even nosier great-grandmother.

“Whatever they’ve been telling you, it’s a lie, it’s wrong and it never happened!” he warned her as he took a seat right next to her.

“Oh please, relax,” Rhea rolled her eyes and threw the wool at her grandson. “We have been talking about mamá’s scythe.”

“Hey!” both Percy and Gaia complained. At least they hadn’t dished out embarrassing stories of him taking off in diapers at night.

“This is expensive! You young people show no respect towards others' belongings,” Gaia cursed.

Annabeth took the blue yarn and placed it back on top of the pyramid of other colors.

“Thank you!” Gaia smiled before she focused on finishing the sock.

“You’ve found your fiancé, Perseus. Now go off back to celebrate and let us old people reminisce about the past and talk.” Rhea lazily waved at them whilst Gaia didn’t even look up from her craft.

“We will,” Percy said while getting up and casually dragging Annabeth along. He kissed both Gaia and Rhea on the cheek, Annabeth threw a hasty “See you in the morning!” over her shoulder before the couple left.

“Are you okay?” Percy asked as he pulled Annabeth aside for a small breather.

She nodded. “It’s just a bit overwhelming with the amount of people that either want to take pictures of us, hope I remember when their youngest kid’s birthday is, or they tell me they hope we have our first baby preferably in less than a year.”

Percy blushed. He didn’t think it was that bad, but then again, men are mostly left out of the baby talk until their mother’s saw that their best friend’s children had their first grandbaby. He truly didn’t have any intention of having a child before the age of forty. He had to save a business from his damned uncle, run and manage said business and preferably find a woman he tolerated enough to marry before he could even think of children.

Percy apologized again. “One week,” he promised her.

“One week,” Annabeth repeated and nodded.

“We’re going in, you’ve missed the high of the party with your talk with my yai yai, but that’s perfectly fine. The first have already left, let’s just mingle for ten minutes or so before we can-”

The door flung open. “There they are!” yelled Hermes who was followed by Zephyrus and Hercules.

None of them had any intention of letting the party stop before five in the morning. It was merely two. The minute Hermes had his sights on Annabeth, he knew that he had found his best drinking buddy aside from Dionysus himself. Oh no, Annabeth thought and rightfully so.

The minutes of calmness and rest next to Gaia did their wonders because Percy and she were thrust back into the party at full force. She didn’t exactly remember when the blackout happened, but it was roughly thirty minutes later. She was drinking, she was dancing, she was completely making a fool out of herself. The hair? A mess. Annabeth herself? Don’t even think about it. She had been dancing with Hermes and Patroclus, Aphrodite accidentally stepped on her foot one time when Ares approached her.

Percy broke his own promise and accepted a fourth glass of wine from Dionysus who insisted on it. That glass was his doom. The last droplet touched his tongue and his world turned into a flashy mist, his consciousness was broken into pieces, fragmented and sprinkled across the floor. Where he was, when he was and who he was were things he couldn’t remember. The only thing that popped up in his mind were waves of solid gold. Was it hair? Could hair truly move like that and possess that texture? And a whiff of lemon with a hint of lavender crawled up his nose. It was an odd combination, but it felt safe and like home. He liked this smell. Where did he smell this before?

Percy didn’t care, he had other matters to attend to. The first thing on the docket was finding the bathroom, he had drunk way too much. The house had weird rules in regard to bathrooms. Was it the left side or the right side that the young men could use? Why did his uncle Hades have to break two sinks in a span of a week when he was sixteen again? Why were women and others allowed to do whatever they wanted? His great-grandma and her weird plans were always set to make him fail somehow. Things that she had thought of decades ago still bore fruit today.

Percy stumbled upstairs and turned right and prayed the doors he was opening were empty bathrooms and not relatives making out. That was just what he needed. The first door he opened was of his great-uncle Oceanus and Tethys who had a face mask on her face and pink curlers up her hair. At least the old people still knew how to behave. He hoped his mother had left the party hours ago. He apologized and closed the door. The next one was an empty bedroom, his even maybe. No, his bedroom was on an entirely different floor. Or was it?

The next bedroom was closed off thank god, but from the sounds on the inside it seemed like cousin Eos and her newest catch Orion had some fun. Disgusting, Percy thought before he moved on. The next door was what he was looking for. A bathroom. Lit up, clean and empty. Empty if it wasn’t for this one woman who was clutching the brims of the polished sink. She was tall, the golden hair equaled a rat nest and her red dress seemed to have witnessed a lot.

“Ugh,” she muttered and looked into the mirror. Her eyes found his immediately.

“Percy?” she turned around.

Oh right. He was Percy Jackson, thirty-one, single, hopefully the new CEO of Atlantic INC., he had a fantastic apartment in the Upper East Side with an amazing view and he was in Greece to impress his family with his fake fiancé in order to secure his father’s legacy. His fake fiancé being Annabeth Chase, a woman he loathed, had to pay a little hush money and hoped would leave the company fairly soon after.

“You’re in the men’s restroom,” Percy then stated.

Annabeth looked around. No, it was not the same bathroom she used in the morning. Oh yeah, Gaia’s weird bathroom rules.

“Honestly who cares?” the junior marketing manager complained. “A toilet’s a toilet, no matter who uses it.”

Percy shrugged. Annabeth had a point but it wasn’t their house so they couldn’t dictate the rules.

“I wanted to retouch my makeup, but I didn’t find my makeup bag.” She walked steadily to Percy, but it was clear to both of them that she had her fair amount of shots in her system.

“Yeah, it’s probably in the other bathroom. Wait, let me use the bathroom for a second and then we can head back to our room and you can look for your makeup.”

Annabeth nodded and waited on the outside while Percy was tending his business. After drying his hands, he opened the door and found Annabeth yawning in front of one of his yai yai’s paintings. It showed the scythe from the fireplace.

“In all honesty, your great-grandmother is an amazing woman. I admire her. Showing kindness and strength each day. How old is she?”

“Turning 106 next October,” Percy smiled at her. “She always said she wanted to live long enough to see her favorite descendants find their own happiness, whatever it may be.”

The softness in his voice made Annabeth’s heart ache. She turned her head back to the painting. She was a nobody. She had no family, no traditions she could upkeep. She didn’t even have a steady relationship in the past five years. Fucking Luke Castellan. He also had to take that from her as well. Make her suffer. That’s what Athena, Friedrich and Luke all thought at the same time. And they all had nearly reached their wicked goal if it hadn’t been for her stubbornness and will to eventually blossom into something else. The first step towards that something else resided within her move to California. She wanted to leave everything and everyone behind and start a new life, somewhere where no one knew her.

A thumb brushed over her cheek. Annabeth looked up to Percy. She hadn’t even realized she was sobbing again.

“Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay,” Percy assured her. His hands found her sides, pulling her into a soft hug.

A true fiancé level hug. Annabeth had never felt that comfortable within a man’s reach. Percy might have been an awful and annoying coworker, but he truly cared about his fellow people. The way they slowly rocked and kept hugging each other reminded her of the school dance work they had put on the floor earlier. But this time it was real. This time there was no one taking pictures or yelling into their ears, or the demand to see a kiss.

Annabeth rested her face in his chest and Percy leaned his head on hers. It was like they had been made for each other. A welcoming scent greeted Percy. Lemon and lavender. The person stuck in Percy’s crumbled mind had been Annabeth. She was his anchor in the havoc his relatives had created in such a short time. He took a deeper breath. It felt reassuring.

“Did you just sniff me?” Annabeth laughed as she pulled away from him.

“You do smell good!” he defended himself with a stupid grin on his mouth.

“Oh, wait you’re super drunk,” she giggled again as she saw his widened pupils that had pushed the darkened sea-green iris away.

“Well, look at you,” he retorted.

They looked at each other. Aside from the bumping music and the noises people made downstairs it had been completely silent. He missed her warmth; she missed his comfort. Neither would have guessed that a simple embrace could offer so much. Neither would have thought they would take it to the next step within a split second.

One last look. A last time sea-green and light-gray met before each set of eyes closed and their lips met with a brutal force in the middle. Their teeth clacked but it didn’t matter to them. What mattered now, was the moment. Forgotten was the alcohol, forgotten were the troubles of past, present and future. Forgotten were the friends and relatives in the building and back in New York.

So... what do you think? 😄 Like I said, this is not the entire chapter 🤷🏾‍♀️ I honestly feel bad for cutting the chapter off because it's really getting more interesting from that point on 💁🏾‍♀️ I'll probably continue working on this once I've published the next act of The Fool 🥳

Also Greek people, if something seems off with this (aside from random English at times lol) hit me up, I definitely have to do more research!

[quidfree]

LMAO sorry i didn’t actually search your blog (for trc) idk why i just assumed you definitely read it 😭 there’s a vibe among some People on Social Media that i follow and i guess the only thing i have to say is there is a surprising overlap between people who enjoy writing anime slash and people who had a significant obsession to trc at one point in their lives. im not sure if you were as big a fan of it so i can’t properly say you fall into the second category but i guess your vibes do 😭 are you caught up with the dreamer trilogy? planning to read the new book that comes out? would love to have any lingering thoughts you have about it if you have any !

loll i mean i am not especially into anime and while i enjoyed trc i wasn’t obsessed but i like the amateur sleuthing hahaha

i am not sure if i’m caught up w the books- i read the original TRC books in quick succession in high school but never read anything else, and i’m not planning to read the new book (i wasn’t aware there was one). nothing against trc- it was a good read, but i’ve sort of outgrown the genre, i think. and i thought the last book tied up everything satisfyingly enough that i don’t have any real urge to continue.

i don’t know that i have that many lingering thoughts- it’s been a while since i read the books! i enjoyed the magical realism a lot, and i really enjoyed the friendships at large in the group for how individualised they were. ronan and blue’s increasingly friendly enmity, blue and adam’s ex energy, ronan and gansey’s casually intense boy and his attack dog dynamic, etc… also i think the last book was a really successful example of introducing a new character at the last minute bc i loved henry. adam and ronan was very good bc i love  relationships grounded in mutual respect despite potential friction & i enjoy reserved assholes in love. i also liked blue’s clan of family witches (+ orla) & in general the tapestry of complicated relationships that spun across the series (inc. blue’s ex-hitman stepdad and kandinsky or whatever he was called haha) it just fleshed out the story satisfyingly. i did think in some ways the ‘main’ plot was to me the least interesting aspect of the books tho lol (sorry gansey i love ya but your dead king nonsense did not compel me very much). 

[camcorderrevival]

Welcome to “My Inane Ramblings” where I pretend that the things I say are clever and insightful, today’s topic is: Albums I Think Each Of The Ghosts Would Listen To.

------

. Thomas Thorne - Pretty Odd . I wish I could say I had to drag this choice out of the depths of my memory but, to be honest, I think about Pretty Odd at least twice a week, which isn’t brilliant.

 Anyways, I feel like this is a painfully obvious choice. He’s a dead, regency-era poet who’s got a habit of becoming infatuated with random women, he’s got P.O written all over him.

 The lyrics are just complicated enough for him to be pretentious about it and the whole whimsical feel of the album would have him waxing poetical for hours. He’d be unbearable - good for him.

 As much as I want to say that his favourite song would be Behind The Sea (because it’s my favourite), this man fucking exudes When The Day Met The Night energy and I can’t possibly deny that.

. Julian Fawcett - Costello Music . Originally I had Robin down for CM and Julian was gonna be some sleazy, shock-rock band (I was leaning towards Mötley Crüe) but I just don’t see him listening to Hard Rock so I gave him Costello Music instead.

 It’s still got the whole “sex and drugs and all that shit” that I reckon he’d enjoy but it’s not as heavy as some of the other albums I was considering and it’s got a slightly unhinged vibe to it so it fits him fairly well.

 There’s also some slower songs on it as well for when he remembers that he was an awful person when he was alive and that’s a bonus.

 His favourite would obviously be Chelsea Dagger, because it’s a banger.

. Pat Butcher - Demon Days . To be completely honest, I made this decision based on vibes alone. I just think it would appeal to him, especially songs like DARE and Feel Good Inc because they’re just fun.

 Obviously, there are some strange ones on the album that I don’t think he’d vibe to but any of the dance-y tracks are right up his lane.

 Plastic Beach was also considered so, basically, bottom line is: Gorillaz.

. Kitty - Loose (Nelly Furtado) . I was gonna put Kitty down for either Demon Days (because Pat is her dance partner and she trusts his judgement) or some cheesy pop record but then I remembered that our girl is reading erotica in her spare time so that’s when I ended on Loose.

 Like, no one will ever be able to sway me in my belief that she would adore Maneater, it’s just good.

. Robin - Evil Empire . This is another one picked purely on vibes.

 Robin just seems like the sort to like Rage Against The Machine, he’s an intellectual, babes.

. Mary + Fanny - The Kick Inside . So, I reckon that Mary and Fanny (while not being similar characters in the slightest) would both have the same approach to modern music. 

 Mary’s a puritan (I think??) and Fanny holds a lot of beliefs on the proper way of a lady which leads me to believe that they would both have a hard time thinking positively about a big chunk of modern-ish music.

 But, we also have to remember that Fanny gets, uh, horny sometimes. And Mary is Mary.

 And that brings us to The Kick Inside, which is largely just a nice album that probably wouldn’t set off any of Fanny’s sensibility alarms or Mary’s buried Puritan beliefs.

 There’s also a couple of songs about sexuality and the like, for Fanny and her buried impulses.

. Captain + Humphrey - ???? . These are the only two ghosts that I don’t see having strong opinions about music.

 I mean, sure, The Captain seems to like “I Am The Very Model Of A Modern Major General” but it feels sorta lazy to just say Songs That Relate To War and I’m trying to be creative here!

 He just seems like the type to be unbothered by music - which is fair.

 And, as for Humphrey, I feel like he’d be the sort to just listen to whatever. Maybe The Beatles or something along those lines???

[writtingfiction]

Claude and a fake dating au please

Please enjoy this mondern version of them cast with the fake dating au! School starts in three days, lets see how many stories I can write before then, enjoy!!

pairing: Byleth x Claude

words: 1.7 k

Now when Claude had received the invitation to the corporate annual party he wasn’t expecting much, just the usual black and white suit and talk about how things are going well within the company. Maybe brag a little about how they got the upper hand in sales for the first quarter of the year. Nonetheless, as cunning as he was, he wasn’t expecting to show up at the party with his former boss from back when he was an intern with the Seiros Inc. Not only did he show up with his former boss, but he’s also said to everyone, within his company and rivalling companies that the two of them are together.

So, imagine everyone’s surprise when the two enter the room all eyes on them. Byleth has half a mind to pat his arm gently in a way to comfort him. Claude wants to crawl into his own skin the way Edelgard and Dimitri look at him. Never mind how Seteth absolute seethes as he sends daggers towards him ready to rip him apart the second, he’s left alone. He thinks the only person to not be surprised by this was his own assistant. Although, he didn’t have the heart to tell him that this wasn’t exactly real.

When the pair had separated his close friends swarmed him. There were a lot of comments and many, many questions. He needed a drink. Hilda was incessantly poking his side, demanding for answers as Lorenz was lecturing him about something, he’s not paying attention.

“If you keep asking me all at the same time, I can’t answer you.” Claude said annoyed. Just barely making it to the table to grab a drink. The small crowd goes silent before they all speak up again. He shoots them a look before he hears one voice clearly through all the voices.

“Ok, ok, ok, I just need to know how.” It was Lysithea. Claude looks her in eye and then towards the rest of his friends. He’s now very glad that the two of them talked about this beforehand and came up with a story. Claude clears his throat.

“Well,” He starts off, trying to give off a vibe of mysteriousness and he is doing it well. “It started after Byleth got back from her overseas trip— “

“That that was 8 months ago!!” Hilda let out a whispered cry. Claude sends her a glare.

“Yes—As I was saying, after the overseas trip she had. We got back into touch as she was looking for a new job. I told her she could apply at Leicester Alliance and things went on from there.” Claude said, sipping his sweet drink. Rapheal lands a rough hand on his shoulder congratulating him.

“I have half a mind to scold you Claude, getting together with a former colleague like that? Do you even know what this could do to the company?” Lorenz started off with his lecture and Claude tried his hardest not to eye roll.

“Hence why we kept hidden for so long. We also hid it well mind you.” Claude said. Pointing a finger to no one in particular. Lysithea shakes her head.

“You haven’t answered my question.” Lysithea was a very smart girl for her age. Even though he constantly teases her for it, he couldn’t help but curse at how she knew he avoided the question. He had hoped his friends would carry the conversation away when they knew the least amount.

“What was your question, again?”

“How. How did you manage to convince Byleth to get with you?” Claude hums. His way of buffering so he can recall what him and Byleth discussed.

“I charmed her. Impeccable planning if I might say so myself.” Claude says. Grin as wide as possible to show off how cocky he was. He could see the very visible eye roll from Hilda.

“Totally Claude, now will you stop and just tell us?” Hilda whines out.

“Tell you what?” It’s a new voice. Everyone turns to see Byleth standing at the edge of their little circle. She’s dressed in smooth black dress that hugs her figure comfortably. There’s some gold jewelry on her wrists and neck. A matching pendent with Claude with his own necklace. Byleth’s outfit compliments Claude’s nicely, a couple picked straight from a magazine.

“Byleth! They were asking about how I managed to get you under my arm.” Claude said. Approaching her, smoothly wrapping an arm around her waist.

“If I remember correctly, it was you who was caught like a deer in headlights when I had asked you out for dinner.” Byleth said. Voice flat with a hint of teasing to it. The cat-like smirks that appeared on half of his friends faces had almost made him loose his composure. It didn’t help either that what Byleth said was true. When things first started out, Byleth suggested a dinner to chat about things and it honestly caught him off guard.

“Well, now they don’t need to know that.” Claude let out a nervous chuckle. He thought he had everything under control but this woman had him rethinking all his plans in under a second. She was just as or more cunning than him. A rare smile appeared on her face.

“No need to hide what happened. Have you told them about how you almost fell down the stairs earlier?” Byleth teased as Claude went red, choking on his words.

Claude trying to save himself and barely in doing so. Byleth was ready to crumble the reputation he had as cool lover and was trying too. Not with fake information either, he didn’t know if it was worse. However, while trying to keep it together he was catching things. People were relaxing around him for once. His close friends and coworkers were smiling and sharing stories from their lives. His rivals weren’t so tense around him, Seteth stopped glaring at him throughout the night. The old man was more focused on his sister than him tonight.

Byleth was making everyone around him more comfortable by telling them a side that only she would see. Claude shook his head with a small smile on his lips. Perhaps she was more cunning than he was.

The rest of the evening goes on without a hitch and he’s very happy with himself. Byleth noticed the change in demeanor. She wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. However, she’s stopped in her tracks by two familiar faces. Edelgard and Dimitri approach her before they leave for the night.

“Byleth, if I may,” Dimitri speaks up, long blonde hair tied back nicely. There’s a small braid on the side of his hair leading to the bun. “Would it still be too late to offer you a position within the Faerghus Knights?” There’s an eye roll from Edelgard.

“What he means to say, even though you’re with Claude would you be open to a new and better position? Preferably with the Adrestian Corp.” Edelgard said. Byleth can only smile, a small part of her is glad they haven’t given up the friendly rivalry she only hopes it doesn’t end in an ugly way.

“I’m sorry, my loyalty goes to Claude. Not just because he’s my boyfriend.” Byleth felt something twist at her heart. It felt strange to call him that openly. She had spent the last month or two coming to terms with the deal that the two of them made. The two leaders of their respective company's sigh.

“We’ll get you one day, Professor.” Dimitri said a large smile on his face. Byleth only shook her head at the old nickname. Yes, she was their boss and taught them how to do their jobs to the best of their abilities but she didn’t deserve that title. She bids them fair well and goes to rejoin Claude. She knew the man was getting weary with how the others questioned him relentlessly about company issues now that pleasantries were over.

She grabs both of their coats before she reenters the room. A clear sign that they were leaving for the night and no one would stop them for a chat. It was one thing she was grateful for; they knew when people wanted to leave and would let them. It takes Byleth a moment to find him even with everyone who has left. When she does spot him, he’s surround by those greedy slimy men who would do anything to get ahead. Unfortunately, Claude is the only huge target left. Edelgard and Dimitri left, Seteth and Rhea left two hours into the party. First to arrive and first to leave, mused Byleth.

Byleth appears at Claude’s side in a matter of moments. One hand resting on his back, a comforting gesture. There’s a stretched smile on Claude’s face and cruel grins on the faces surrounding him. Byleth is quick in saying hi as she places Claude’s coat in his arms, cementing the fact that they were leaving and no one would be stopping them. Only one or two men tried to keep Claude longer but Byleth was quick to interject. Coats on and pulling him away from the crowd by the hand. When the doors of the building were closed behind them, they let out a breath.

There’s a shared look between the two of them, before they let out a small laugh. Byleth is the first to move from their spot at the door. Hand reaching in to her coat pocket and taking the keys out, waving them in the air.

“Ready to head home?” Byleth said.

“Couldn’t speak sweeter words for my ears to hear.” Claude said.

The drive home was nice, the music was just loud enough to drown out overwhelming thoughts. However, as Claude checks his phone looking at new emails a smirk appears on his lips.

“Good news, we have more shareholders because of our appearance tonight. I have a feeling there’ll be some more cameras following us around more than normal over the next couple weeks.” Claude said. “You ready for this?”

“I’m ready. The company will come out on top for the end of the year, just get ready for the speed bumps along your path.” Byleth replied. Claude let out a chuckle.

“We’ll defeat anything coming our way. I won’t let them win.” Claude said, knowing the year ahead of them will be difficult but he had Byleth by his side. What could go wrong?

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Moonflower

Warning: I mean kidnapping, but it’s more funny than angsty, also slight Yandere vibes torwards the end  Word count:  exactly 2222 (nice) Summary: It was a rather usual evening for you, a Gala, trying to avoid the mayor, getting kidnapped- what more could you want from your night?

This was requeste from a  phenomenal anon: Okay this is really silly, but cute to me for some reason. But could you write, like, reader is kidnapped by the Riddler as a hostage for Batman. But whether they wanna just mess with him, or if they like him, or whatever, for some reason, reader kisses Riddler. On the lips. Idk, I just think the idea is cute as well as whatever Riddler's reaction would be. I hope you like it ☺

Part 2 - Masquerade Part 3 - Magical/Misery/Massacre

You were almost thankful when the light in the ballroom of the city-hall flickered off and fog filled the area that was now only lit up by the lights from outside. The Gala you had been attending, one of the almost monthly charity gala's that some rich-guy (this time the mayor himself) held to make himself look better and to keep close contacts with all the other rich-guys in the city, was so boring that you were minutes away from crashing it yourself. Admittedly, your father was also an all-time favorite Gala host, but he had the excuse of having to keep face with his "side-business" and his parties were often at least somewhat entertaining. But this one? Horrible. Of course, you had somehow managed to be the only one "available" to go, so, not only were you extremely annoyed, but you were also completely alone in a room of rich old couples that tried to lick Bruce Wayne's eldest daughters, possible the next leader of Wayne inc. and one of the most prominent and appeared people in the Wayne-family (as the only one who wasn't dressed up every night and went fighting), boots. You had to admit that you could understand them somehow. Other than your siblings and your dad -who all kept it pretty low with the media- you were on every second tabloid, at every second event and on every second talk-show. You had quickly become the new face of the name Wayne, "proudly" sharing the place with your father. So yeah, you were more available than the rest of your relatives and with ever appearance in the media, they thought more and more that they knew about your opinions and the way you think. Some times you regretted your decision to keep away from the vigilante lifestyle to focus on keeping the Wayne-name alive. You couldn't quite remember when you made that choice, but you knew that as a girl, your father didn't want to train you any further than self-defence, because he was scared you'd get hurt, then Dick came along and was around your age, but still got to train and fight with your dad. Back then you'd been furious about that, but whenever he actually got hurt you felt like it was maybe the right thing to do. Then Dick left and in your anger at your dad for just picking up the next best kid and basically forgetting your sibling, even though you soon warmed up to Jason and accepted him as a second brother, you started focusing on school more and actually started to enjoy conversing with the business-people at Gala's about the news and the market. And somehow, after Jason died and you planned to take Wayne inc. away from your father as revenge for letting your brother die (a plan that you soon let go off when you recognize how much it actually had hurt him), you were somehow in the position of the heir of the Wayne empire, even though at some point -you were pretty sure- your dad asked you if you wanted to be trained like your other siblings to become a vigilante yourself, you were now on the way to business. That way was usually pretty bearable, but completely alone on a Gala that was like an exact copy of all the other ones, you would rather be stuck in a 24-hour business meeting. So, yes, when the Party was cut short by a villain attack you were probably a bit too happy. You heard the panicked calls and shouts of the other guests and quickly activated the bat-alarm ("Cool name dad, thanks for that") that was placed on the back of the necklace you wore (you had many other necklaces that included it too because in modern society you couldn't wear the same jewelry too often). Deciding not to risk waiting for them (and hoping that you could maybe make it to the small dinner down the street to eat something before one of your brothers (most likely Damian who would cling to you every time the two of you were together (even if it was more than the two of you)) found and dragged you back to the manor to check you over), you grabbed the skirt of your rather heavy dress (of course today was the day you decided to wear one of your bigger dresses), pulled it up to your upper thigh and quickly rushed to were you remembered the nearest exit to the Veranda to be. When the cold evening air hit your face you let out a small sigh. Very nice, you thought and started to walk towards the gate, when you felt a sharp pain pierce through your neck, immediately followed by numbness flowing through your whole body. "For real?" you managed to mumble before your legs lost their strength and you tumbled over, not sure if you even hit the ground before you blacked out.

When you woke up, you were almost sure that you'd be back in your home. The last few times you got taken, your family had been quick enough to get you before you even entered any hideaway. But you weren't home. You woke up laying on a rather slim matt on the floor of a small cage. You looked down at yourself to see that you were still wearing the dress that you'd worn earlier and that, even though the gaps between the bars wasn't large enough anyway, you couldn't really escape on your own in that. Damn modern fashion. When you had scanned the area around you you widened your radius to the hall your small personal jail was located in. It was literally just a big, empty warehouse, no-one in sight. "You know," you shouted into the emptiness, hoping someone would hear you, "kidnapping me is really uninspired, you aren't even the first one to do it this month." You sighed when no answer came and instinctively put your hand up to your neck to play with the necklace. Your breath got caught in your throat when you realized it wasn't there. Suddenly a spotlight flashed over the roof of the room, illuminating something that was hanging at the highest point. You didn't need to be close to recognizing your piece of jewelry. "Tell me, Miss Wayne," a voice suddenly filled the room and you started to look around, not sure where it came from, "why does a businesswoman like you have her own personal dog-whistle for batman?" You swallowed hard but kept your composure. "For many reasons," you started in the most confident voice you could manage, "I am in quite of a demand." "So is the mayor and I don't see him having one," the voice got closer and finally a figure stepped close enough for you to make out. You still couldn't see who it was though. "Well, maybe you just didn't see it, maybe it's in his shoe or something." "I don't think so," he stepped closer and you finally recognized the figure and his outfit, but you couldn't even mumble Riddler before he continued: "I studied all the kidnapping patterns of the most important figures in Gotham and somehow you're the only one who the bat always gets to in a matter of minutes." Okay, it's worse than I thought. Time to buy dad some time. "Okay first off, thanks for calling me one of the most important Gothamites," you said, playfully brushing your hair behind your shoulder, "and second if you really know that he has his eyes on me, shouldn't you be worried? I mean I'd think you would have figured out that there's a tracker in it by now." Of course, you knew that he knew and you also knew that he probably had some way or another to block it, but the longer he talked, the sooner your dad would find you. "You're not so stupid," he said, stepping closer to you, somehow already standing in front of your cage, "I've been watching you for a while now and we both know that you're just trying to stall for time, my dear." "You know, it's kinda creepy to say that you watched me. I mean, sure, you're the evil guy here, but still. Stalking?" He chuckled a bit but seemingly ignored what you said. You had to pull other levers, you realized when he turned around. "Don't you still want to know why I have my own Bat-whistle?" you shouted a bit too loud, but effectively managed to get him back to you. "Why would you tell me?" he asked suspiciously. "Well, I guess you want to know that and I really want to know what you think you could gain out of kidnapping me, so you tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine," you winked at him, mischievously. "Hmm," he eyed you, "fine. Even though it's quite obvious isn't it? You're the perfect moonflower for my bat-trap," he said, raising his hand to just slightly hover in front of you. For a second it felt like there was some kind of static energy between you, but you tried to ignore it. "I guess it's my turn now," you breathed out, ignoring the weird mood around you, "As you probably know, the bat has a very weird, honestly with a somewhat strange undertone, relationship with my dad. In exchange for some, uh, financing as my father put it, he agreed to keep his eye out for me a bit more. It's just the result of a parent's protectiveness and business." You weren't really lying, even though the way you said it clearly gave off a very different picture than what was actually the case, but it seemed like the man in front of you bought it. Shouldn't he be here by now? "Well, I guess the reason he protects you a little bit more than the rest of the city is irrelevant as long as he is searching you," he shrugged, seemingly satisfied by the answer and at the same time not really happy about it. You couldn't risk him losing interest again. "There's another secret you might want to know," you whispered ominously, gaining his attention for a second time that night. Before he could investigate your sentence, your hands slipped through the gaps between the bars and grabbed the Riddler's collar, pulling him flush against the poles and crashing your mouth with his. At the feeling of your soft lips against his, he immediately froze, fixed in position like a statue. When you needed to take a breath again, you pulled back, smoothing your dress down and fixing your hair, the man in front of you still completely stiff. "I should probably tell you that the tracker in my necklace isn't the only one on me, you should've really taken my advice and checked the shoes," you smirked and winked again, the Riddler's gaze fixed on you with eyes as wide as dinner plates when the wall behind you crashed open and your family came to your rescue. "Until next time," you shrugged at him when your cage was broken open and Nightwing picked you up and carried you out, from what you could see before you were out of reach, the man you just kissed never moved.

[Bonus]

It had been a fairly long day at Wayne Inc. and the suit you were wearing was starting to be annoying and you wanted nothing more than to peel out of these clothes and get into your jogging pants and one of Jason's oversized T-shirts. So, as quickly as possible, you rushed to your room, ignoring Damian's plead to join him on a walk with Titus, only to stop in your steps after you had opened the door. Your (alarm-wired mind you) window stood open and allowed a cold breeze to fill your room. For a second you contemplated calling someone to check it out, but your curiosity got the best of you. You quietly closed the door and sneaked over to the window with the plan to check if someone was outside, but when you stood in front of it, your eyes landed on a small package that stood on your windowsill. You looked around again, before closing the window (and checking that the alarm wiring was still intact) and sitting down on your bed to open the small box. It was packed neatly with a grey wrapping and a Y/F/C ribbon, making you especially careful when opening it. Inside was a perfume bottle that took your breath away. It was gorgeous. The Cap was adorned by a glass flower that was completely white and round, but other than that there was nothing on it that would give away the contents of the bottle. Having been briefed about poisonous packages by not only Wayne inc. safety regulators but also at least every member of your family at least once, you didn't spray any of the perfume, instead, laying it back into the box. It was then that you noticed the card in it that had the same colour as the inside of the box, making it easy to overlook. You took it out and turned it around to read the words that were written on it with the neatest font you've ever seen. Until next time my Moonflower...

[terramythos]

TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 16 of 26

Title: Tales From Earthsea (Earthsea Cycle #5) (2001)

Author: Ursula K. Le Guin

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Short Story Collection, Novella, Third-Person, Female Protagonist 

Rating: 8/10 (note: this is an average)

Date Began: 7/2/2021

Date Finished: 7/6/2021

Tales From Earthsea is a collection of five short stories and novellas which take place in the Earthsea universe. In addition, there’s a supplementary timeline of Earthsea’s history, tradition, and cultural details of note. The last story in the collection, Dragonfly, serves as a bridge between Tehanu (#4) and The Other Wind (#6), the final book in the series. 

Of the five stories, my favorites (both 10/10s) were The Finder and On The High Marsh.

The way one does research into nonexistent history is to tell the story and find out what happened. I believe this isn’t very different from what historians of the so-called real world do. Even if we are present at some historic event, do we comprehend it— can we even remember it— until we can tell it in a story? 

Content warnings, individual ratings/commentary, and spoilers below the cut.

Content warnings for the book: Death and violence, child abuse (including implied sexual abuse), police brutality, slavery, reference to torture and execution, brief reference to inc*st, misogyny, animal cruelty, mild body horror, very brief implied mind control via a "love charm" (it doesn't work).

#1 - The Finder (10/10)

In The Dark Time, magic is widely mistrusted. Petty tyrants use the once noble art in pursuit of power and glory. Medra, the son of a shipwright in Havnor, has magical talents honed in secret. One day, he curses a ship built for a warlord’s fleet. Unfortunately, he gets caught and sent to a prison camp. There he is forced to use finding magic to locate veins of cinnabar.

The prison exists to refine quicksilver, a substance the most powerful mage on the island believes will turn him into a god. While in the refinery, Medra feels a spiritual connection to a dying slave, a young woman named Anieb. The two of them devise a plan to kill the mage and escape. Medra’s journey eventually takes him to the island of Roke and the founding of its prestigious wizard school. 

‘The dead are dead. The great and mighty go their way unchecked. All the hope left in the world is in the people of no account.’ 

I really enjoyed this novella. The Dark Time is largely unexplored in the stories of Earthsea, so it was interesting to read about it here. I get the feeling that we’re approaching or in the middle of one such time in the real world, so seeing a version of it on the page is depressing yet hopeful. The story is dark; mass feudal warfare, a literal concentration camp in the opening half, widespread enslavement, and abuse of power. But it also offers hope and the promise of change. The story also explores the integral role of women in not only the preservation of magic in a bleak age of humanity, but the very foundation of Roke. 

Medra’s story spoke to me; how he resists the despotic powers-that-be, his connection with Anieb even after her tragic death, and how despite his disillusionment with humanity, he ultimately fights to create a better world. I also thought Gelluk was a horrifying villain. He’s characterized as a soft-spoken, almost kindly man who loves children and animals— yet his narrative thoughts involve burning hundreds of slaves alive in order to better fuel the quicksilver refinery. “Nice doesn’t mean good” taken to an extreme, and a mirror of many villains in the real world. 

Le Guin was anti-capitalist, but that way of thinking seems peripheral in the Earthsea series. The Finder, however, definitely has a Marxist reading in it. A recurring theme is the disenfranchised rising up against the powerful. Indeed both antagonists, who are despotic wizards of great power, are soundly defeated by groups of people they consider powerless. Magic is only considered relevant for the value and power it produces, an idea antithetical to the rest of the series. The quicksilver refinery also embraces anti-capitalist rhetoric; this section focuses on how mass enslavement and death is used to manufacture a meaningless commodity only one person “benefits” from. That’s not even getting into the prison-industrial complex. 

I dunno. This story slaps. It’s not at all what I expected from a Roke origin story.

#2 - Diamond and Darkrose (5/10)

Diamond, the son of a prosperous lumber merchant, struggles to find his true calling in life. His father disapproves of almost everything he does, including his close friendship with the local witch’s daughter Rose. While he loves music, his father derides his talents and forces him to abandon the pursuit. When Diamond shows some  promise in magic, he travels to a neighboring town to serve as the local wizard’s apprentice. But when this path estranges him from Rose, he grows disillusioned.

Rose had looked after herself from an early age; and this was one of the reasons Diamond loved her. With her, he knew what freedom was. Without her, he could attain it only when he was hearing and singing and playing music.

I did not like this story very much. I gave Diamond and Darkrose a 5/10 because it’s competently written (duh), and the protagonist has a character arc not entirely dependent on the central romance. But that’s about all I can say for it.

None of the characters are especially appealing. Diamond’s mentor figures are all extremely narrow-minded. Rose, supposedly his true love since childhood, drops him the moment things become difficult. And Diamond himself is a pushover who only grows a spine and pursues his dreams at the end of the story. I understand that’s his character flaw and his arc is about overcoming that. But due to all these factors, I was annoyed by every major character. The only person I didn’t dislike was Diamond’s mother, who only shows up for a couple of scenes.

Someone please tell me there are love stories out there where the romantic tension is NOT based on a fucking MISUNDERSTANDING. That shit drives me up a wall! It’s so overdone and painful to read.

#3 - The Bones of the Earth (8/10)

Dulse is an aging wizard on the island of Gont, reflecting on his life and relationship with his former apprentice, a young man he calls Silence. But he senses something amiss on the island; a massive earthquake poised to destroy a nearby port town and its inhabitants. To avert disaster, Dulse realizes he must turn to an ancient form of magic taught to him long ago— and he needs Silence’s help to save the town.

In there he knew he should hurry, that the bones of the earth ached to move, and that he must become them to guide them, but he could not hurry. There was on him the bewilderment of any transformation. He had in his day been fox, and bull, and dragonfly, and knew what it was to change being. But this was different, this slow enlargement. I am vastening, he thought.

So I’ve always liked Ogion in the main series; I love the idea of an immensely powerful wizard who lives an unassuming life of silence, contemplation, and appreciation of the natural world. In The Bones of the Earth, we get a glimpse of Ogion through his mentor’s eyes. Ogion’s heroism and how he stopped the earthquake is mentioned several times in the main series, but this is our first look at what actually happened.

Dulse is an unexpected and fascinating perspective character. It would be so easy to tell this story wholly from Ogion’s perspective, but I think making Dulse the protagonist was the right call. In particular, Dulse’s mind is starting to go. Le Guin presents this by utilizing flashbacks and connecting them to the present. This technique conveys Dulse’s disorientation and confusion so the reader experiences it alongside him... it’s hard to describe without actually reading the story. I also loved the little twist at the end regarding where Dulse learned the ancient magic that saves the island. There’s also a strong thematic connection to The Farthest Shore; death and becoming one with the rest of the world.

#4 - On The High Marsh (10/10)

A half-mad wanderer named Irioth comes upon a small settlement on the volcanic, marshy island of Semel. A murrain has been devastating the local cattle population, and Irioth offers his powers as a curer to heal the animals. He settles into a calm rural life with Gift, a widow working a small dairy. Though Gift likes Irioth, and the animals instinctively trust him, she senses something amiss with the man. Soon, Irioth’s dark past threatens to return and disturb the peace.

“Oh, yes,” Irioth said. “It was my fault.” But she forgave, and the grey cat was pressed up against his thigh, dreaming. The cat’s dreams came into his mind, in the low fields where he spoke with the animals, the dusky places. The cat leapt there, and then there was milk, and the deep soft thrilling. There was no fault, only the great innocence. No need for words. They would not find him here. He was not here to find. There was no need to speak any name. There was nobody but her, and the cat dreaming, and the fire flickering. He had come over the dead mountain on black roads, but here the streams ran slow among the pastures.

This story is a banger. It has a Western vibe— a stranger coming into a cattle town haunted by a mysterious past. Also cowboys. It’s an atmospheric story, and I think hits on the “small rural town” vibe better than Tehanu did. But there were several writing choices I especially liked.

We don’t learn Irioth’s name until a little while into the story; his physical description, temperament, and ability to immediately identify Gift’s true name just by looking at her makes one assume he’s Ged. He’s also got an interesting redemption arc, because it’s presented in a reverse order. We see Irioth’s genuine desire to do good, and his gentle and patient manner with animals and other people. He doesn’t even consider asking for payment for curing the murrain until Gift tells him he should. But there’s a sense that something is off; he’s paranoid, clearly running from something. The use-name he picks is Otak, a fictional ferret-like creature— which Gift asserts looks nice, but has sharp teeth.

Near the end, Ged actually does show up and explain what happened to Irioth. They have pretty similar backstories; both were powerful, arrogant young mages who messed with forces  they shouldn’t have, then went through great personal sacrifice to right the wrong (oh god the initial deception was intentional they’re narrative foils oh god). Ged embraced the darkest aspects of himself to avert calamity. Irioth came to Semel to escape Roke and atone by helping others. One detail I especially liked was that Irioth once considered healing beneath him, but now he takes a deep joy in using it to help. 

#5 - Dragonfly (8/10)

Irian lives a solitary life-- her father is a drunkard living in the ruins of their family’s once prosperous estate. Her closest relationship is with the local village witch, who named her in secret in the dead of night.  When a disgraced young wizard named Ivory comes to town, he sees Irian as a potential conquest. To gain power over her, he hatches a scheme; disguise Irian as a man, travel to Roke, and sneak her into the male-only wizard school— humiliating the great Masters.

But Irian is restless. She knows she has power, but her true nature is a mystery even to her. Irian sees Ivory’s plan as an opportunity to find answers from the most powerful wizards in the world. When the Doorkeeper actually lets her into the school, she finds herself in a magical and political conflict over the future of Roke— and discovers what exactly she is.

“Dark is bad,” said the Patterner. “Eh?”

Irian drew a deep breath and looked at him eye to eye as they sat there. “Only in dark the light,” she said.

This is one of those stories that has a rocky start, but a great second half. The first part of the novella felt dry to me; I’ve read plenty of tales about social outcasts with weird, unexplainable powers. On top of this, a chunk of the early narration is from Ivory’s POV, and he’s a complete tool. That can be a fun perspective to take, and I like the fact that he thinks he’s manipulating Irian when she’s the one pulling the strings. But since he’s an irrelevant character who disappears from the story halfway through, it feels like a waste to devote a huge chunk of the story to him.

However, once Irian arrives at Roke, the story gets much more interesting. Her presence at Roke causes a huge scandal that divides the Masters. Women being forbidden from Roke is a Series Thing at this point, but Earthsea is in an era of change (although I DO question that she’s the first woman to try it). The Finder demonstrated that women were pivotal in the foundation of Roke, something largely erased from history. Barring women stems from a power hungry bigot codifying it into tradition.

Irian finds some unexpected allies--minor characters in the previous books. The Doorkeeper continues to be the coolest motherfucker there. The Patterner is a major character in this story; he was in just one scene in The Farthest Shore, so I liked learning more about him. The Namer is the kind of guy you’d expect to be a stodgy traditionalist, so him siding with Irian is surprising. The Summoner, a heroic figure in previous books and stories, is a sinister villain here. As for the ending, well… if you didn’t see it coming, I’d wonder if you even read Tehanu. The same hints are there.

There were little particulars I liked, such as Irian moving into a decrepit hut that’s definitely Medra’s old home. My favorite detail is that this story has a parallel scene with The Finder. In The Finder, there’s a scene where an antagonist, Early, invades Roke in the form of a dragon. He lands on Roke Knoll, a site of power that reveals one’s true form. It turns him back into a human, leaving him defenseless when the residents of Roke attack him and repel his invasion. The reversal happens in Dragonfly. Irian gets attacked by one of the Masters while at Roke Knoll — and its magic turns her into her true form, a dragon. Props to whoever picked the cover design, since it references both scenes.

#6 - A Description of Earthsea

I’m not rating this since it’s basically a lore dump. It’s a deep dive into Earthsea’s history, languages, cultures, and other relevant world details. It’s the kind of bonus info a lot of fantasy series tack on as reference material.  According to Le Guin, she wrote this to get some idea of the timeline on each of these stories.

As a series, Earthsea has relatively little worldbuilding exposition. Sometimes characters reference legends or historical events, but usually the reader lacks the context to fully understand them. The focus is more on the lives of the characters and their personal experience of the world. I think something like A Description of Earthsea has benefits and drawbacks for the reader. On one hand it's nice to have some definitive information to tie things together. On the other, this does represent a loss of some of the mystery in the story.

I think this is the first thing in the series that even mentions homosexuality, so props for that I guess?

Closing Thoughts

A short story collection is always going to have high and low points. I tend to look at each story individually and score that way, but an average is always misleading. Diamond and Darkrose dragged the score down since there were only five stories total. But I enjoyed the majority of them. I am interested to see where the human/dragon subplot goes in the final installment; I assume Irian will show up at some point? We’ll see.

[fly-pow-bye]

DuckTales 2017 - “The Outlaw Scrooge McDuck!”

Story by: Francisco Angones, Madison Bateman, Colleen Evanson, Christian Magalhaes, Bob Snow

Written by: Christian Magalhaes

Storyboard by: Vince Aparo, Emmy Cicirega, Ben Holm

Directed by: Tanner Johnson

Part 2 of the big catch-up!

The episode begins with the Ottoman Empire. No, not that one, Djinn, it's the TV-show-within-a-TV-show. In this episode, one of the hosts tries to host by himself, rebelling against his co-host who thinks he can not. He then forgets the half of the slogan his co-host usually says.

Outside of one more cameo of the show, which I will get to later, this gag only appears in this opening. I assume this is just a "character watches something on TV with a cheap gag" opener.

That character being Louie, who is moping on the couch. Scrooge offers him some misprinted business cards he can easily permanent marker into Louie Inc. cards. Not only does Louie not know what a business card is, because those kids and their social media, but he wants to give up this whole Louie Inc. thing. There were five people in line at the patent office, and that obstacle was enough to make him give up. "Classic Louie", even Louie himself says.

Scrooge is not going to accept that, and decides to tell him a story in an attempt to get his determination back. Really, this is all just a framing device for an old-timey story about grit and determination. Even Louie knows it, as that's a direct quote from him. Not the framing device part, anyway; this episode's fourth wall breaks are far more subtle.

The real story starts back when the Old West was the current west, in a small town called Gumption. A young Scrooge McDuck, with his unfailing sense of where gold is, bought a plot of land that may contain a large amount of gold. He was starving but determined, and he wants to claim his destiny.

He finds a small gold nugget in the rocks, a clear sign that something much, much bigger must be nearby. He grabs his stick of dynamite, and quickly climbs up the ladder, only for a part of the ladder to break, causing him to fall right into an explosion.

Of course, he survives, I wouldn't have wanted that twist. However, he does get his foot caught in the rubble. However, unlike a certain person in real life or a certain moon dweller in the universe I'm looking over, at least he had his pickaxe within reach. He does get some additional help from an oddly familiar fellow.

Oddly Familiar Fellow: Howdy, friend!

Meet Sheriff Marshall Cabrera, clearly either Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera's grandfather or another relative of that sort. It's cool to see that the Cabrera family line has always been about justice, whether it be a robotic superhero, a police officer, or, in this character's case, a town sheriff. A sheriff named Marshall; they do make a joke about that.

He says that he wants to let all the prospectors know that a big-shot is coming to bring fortune to Gumption. Ignoring the big-shot, Scrooge is more ticked about how he referred to a plural amount prospectors when he's the only one. Turns out, it’s a two prospector town now! He marches towards a tent, preparing to wallop whoever this guy is, and then, right behind his back...

Goldie O'Gilt: Hootie-hoo, Scroogie!

Scrooge: Of course.

Goldie O'Gilt, his long time ex-rival, ex-partner, and pain in the tail, followed Scrooge in an attempt to steal whatever loot he gets. Scrooge is not happy about this new turn in this plot.

Louie shares that unhappiness, though for different reasons. He thinks this is just going to turn into more "old people love". A lot of the humor of the episode consists of commentary from Louie. Scrooge still denies any sort of romantic tension between them, though he can't disagree that there isn't any hand-holding...

...it's just not the kind Louie was talking about. Because that interruption wasn't enough, Louie then complains about all the prospector slang they're using. As much as the interruptions sometimes interrupts the flow of the story, we do get to hear David Tennant say “you’re killing my vibe, dude!” I could see that as how Scrooge thinks the young'ns talk. Thankfully, Louie changes his mind about that, and lets the story continue.

They both decide to compete to see which one is going to get the gold first. Making matters worse for Scrooge is that Goldie bought all of the dynamite. They work day and night, though we only see her using the dynamite at night. Not sure if that means she's just confident enough to use the Tortoise and the Hare strategy, and didn't read to the end of that fable.

In the end, it turns out to be a three-way tie.

No, that's not a typo, another potential rival comes in and grabs the giant nugget with a far stronger grasp due to using a mobile crane. Continuing the trend of bringing comic characters to animation for the first time, this rival turns out to be the first animated appearance of John D. Rockerduck. Really rich with money, but not rich with kindness.

Case in point, he shakes the hand of his fellow prospector, and then immediately takes off the gloves and asked if they would be burned. Already from the beginning, he shows himself as a rather despicable being, but don't tell that to the town and their sheriff. This was the big shot he was talking about, and he's going to use what he christens the "Rockerduck Nugget" to make the town wealthy.

Obviously, Scrooge is not too happy about yet another prospector coming to town to steal what he would christen the "McDuck Nugget". Goldie throws fuel to the fire by talking about how legendary Scrooge is, leading to some good ol' fashioned fisticuffs.

Rockerduck is definitely far less jokey than, say, Glomgold, but him attempting to fight Scrooge is probably his funniest moment. Sheriff Marshall breaks up the fight before anyone gets seriously hurt.

Of course, this is all just a plan to distract the other two while she steals what she might call the Goldie Nugget and the mobile crane. Unfortunately, she gets stopped by Jeeves, Rockerduck’s bodyguard, assistant, and wearer of silver teeth. Man, these reboots really love parodies of Jaws from the James Bond films. He's not much of a talker, never mind an answerer of questions.

...wow, I'm old.

Unfortunately, the law is the law, and Scrooge and Goldie are put behind bars. This seems like the usual cliche of the innocent heroes getting framed while the true bad guy gets away with it, but they did just commit assault and grand theft auto, respectively. Even Goldie admits they would have been better off if the sheriff was crooked. Granted, him owning the town probably skewed the scales a bit. Suddenly, that rebellious host of Ottoman Empire shows up and teases the conclusion will happen after the break!

It turns out, Louie turned on the TV, much to Scrooge's chagrin, and he tries to defend himself by saying he was trying to record it later. As much as I want to say that this interruption just takes up some time, there is one little thing I do like about it: we actually see him quickly hit the record button. It was clearly not his intention.

However, another character does seemingly invade the story, and it's not because of Louie.

This "nameless stranger" happened to be hiding under the sheets of the bunk bed. It may as well be the same Gyro Gearloose from the present...because it is due to some time travel shenanigans, though he denies it to the onlookers. I did look it up, Gyro Gearloose did have a world-travelling grandfather in the comics, but they decided to go with him time-travelling to the past. Maybe they felt it would be too coincidental to have every grandparent just show up in this plot, and there's a few other reasons, too.

One of the big reasons is that he comes with the knowledge that history will paint Rockerduck as a crook, swindling every city he said he would help.

Sheriff Marshall doesn't believe this strange man, by saying Rockerduck made a lot of cities rich, and then names all of his previous towns. With each finger he pulls up, his expression changes to show that those towns probably didn't get that much philanthropy. Usually, the saying is show and not tell, but I think this telling is powerful. After realizing this, he decides to let them go, and even joins them in their quest to, well, let's let Scrooge say it.

Scrooge: The outlaw Scrooge McDuck has a train to rob!

Ooh, just like the title!

Gyro, or that nameless stranger to everyone else here, also brings the knowledge of building rocket horses out of wood. He tried to make some organic ones with actual horses, but we see that those didn't turn out so well. It's funnier than it sounds, trust me.

Scrooge and Goldie decide to put on disguises to make them look more like upper-class citizens. Goldie thinks Scrooge can’t pull off a rich man look, but with a top hat and cane stolen from the Mayor, he looks the part. This almost leads to a big romantic scene. Keyword: almost, as she praises that it covers the bald spot. It’s a running gag that lasts throughout the episode, and the last one featuring Goldie, come to think of it. It is practically a relationship trait in itself.

With the help of those rocket horses, Scrooge and Goldie are able to catch the train. The Sheriff completely believes that ordinary horses could have easily caught up with the train, too, but Gyro's response is that he's irritatingly familiar.

We see Rockerduck commanding the people on the train to laugh at his selfish acts, and having Jeeves throw someone off the train for questioning them. You know, just in case anyone didn't know he was evil. Scrooge and Goldie have to steal a key to the boxcar that contains the nugget, but it's currently hanging on Rockerduck's suit. What does Goldie do?

She asks the piano player to play a new song she makes up on the fly. In the middle, she pretends to flirt with Rockerduck, pushing aside Scrooge at the same time. Then, she tells Scrooge to hurry up, using that command as lyrics to her song. There's some great bits in there.

Thanks to this song and dance, Scrooge manages to get the key without anyone noticing. That song proved to be a good distraction for everyone outside of one minor exception.

Meanwhile, Gyro and Sheriff Marshall try to operate Gyro’s rocket horse and buggy, which I assume is what was supposed to carry that nugget, and the untrained sheriff accidentally makes it blow up instead. This knocks out Gyro.

If you’re wondering how Scrooge would know about this, you’re not alone, as Louie, after a long time after the Ottoman Empire gag, gets to interrupt the story again pointing out that very plot hole! Scrooge's response?

Scrooge: Look who’s suddenly invested.

Louie: It's just...ugh, Just keep going!

Yes, please keep going.

Back to the story, Sheriff Marshall accidentally stumbles backwards, getting his hand stuck in a wooden gauntlet. That wooden gauntlet ends up guiding him into the background. One big hint of what's going on: he says "Blathering Blatherskite". I guess that was a family tradition that goes back, too.

Just as soon as they get into the boxcar with the nugget, that one minor exception shows up. Scrooge tries to give this overly large guy a wallop, and he does about as well as one might expect. This was apparently before he learned how to use a cane, after all.

Just before we get a Jeeves Punch, Scrooge Down, he manages to get punched through the door by...a superhero?

Marshall is back, wearing a superpowered suit that turns him into...okay, they never really give Steam-Powered GizmoDuck a name. If he does have a name, he does not have a chance to say it as he loses control as soon as he starts carrying the nugget.

Even that wooden punch didn't do too much to Jeeves, as he just picks them both back up. I guess if Gyro and his inventions did too much, he would mess up the entire time stream. To quote young Donald in Last Christmas!...

Young Donald: Did you ever see any movie?!

Anyway, since fighting him is out of the question, Scrooge decides to appeal to the lower-class bouncer that he is. He tells him that Rockerduck doesn’t care about him, and he should do what is right. With that nugget of truth, he decides to let them go.

Then again, giving him that little actual nugget of gold from the beginning of the story probably helped without. It's nice to see something from the beginning be a major part in the end. They are thrown onto to the golden nugget that WoodenDuck is carrying, and Rockerduck looks at this, and pretty much just shrugs it off. They only defeated one of his schemes, anyway.

Unfortunately, the GizmoDuck of the past is just as prone to overheating, as it overheats and begins to self-destruct. To indirectly keep Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera from disappearing, he jumps out of the suit as it carries the nugget right over a gulch.

The suit explodes, with the golden nugget. Scrooge begins to open his mouth, and it immediately cuts to Louie yelling a big no. This is the first genuine reaction out of Louie that isn't boredom or nitpicking. How fitting of Louie's character.

Thankfully, the pieces of the nugget that washed in the gulch went right back to Gumption, much to the joy of the townsfolk. Everything turned out alright; Goldie managed to deck Scrooge in the face and get most of the gold, the townspeople are happy, and even Gyro managed to get back to his home time with a bathtub time machine. I wonder how that came to be; maybe he'll make a movie about it.

As for Scrooge, while he was not necessarily happy with this ending, he did manage to make a panning venture out of it. That venture did lead to a war, but this is the part where Louie decides to just tell him to stop. Louie wanted a happy ending, but to Scrooge, money-making ventures never end.

In the end, Scrooge asks Louie how he wants to make his fortune. He could be a con-man like Rockerduck, be a shifty operator like Goldie, or be an industrious self-made man like his Uncle Scrooge. His answer to this is this episode's big teaser, and it certainly fits Louie's rebellious character.

...wait, is that what the Ottoman Empire joke from the beginning was alluding to? We are just going to have to wait and see.

How does it stack up?

Definitely liked this episode better than the episode with her first appearance, and while it's not necessarily because of Goldie, she doesn't detriment the episode. I would love to see more stories like this, maybe without the Louie commentary, though I wouldn't say he ruined the episode either. How best to say this episode wasn't ruined. How about this?

Next, Scrooge actually losing money?

← Treasure of the Found Lamp! 🦆 The 87 Cent Solution! →

[martinahlijanian]

Speaking Frankly About Channel/Strategic Partner Selection

I’ll bet many of you don’t have a friend, relative, or colleague named “Frank”. It's not one of the cooler male names like Channing, Joshua, or Karter. I’m blessed to have TWO great Franks in my life, and they have a lot in common. Both are of fellow members of my youthful (mentally) generation, both are proud Italian-Americans, both are New Englanders and devoted Red Sox fans, and both are monster drummers! Frank L. is from Rhode Island and leans more toward classic and southern rock stylistically, and Frank D. is from the Greater Boston area and favors a jazz-rock fusion vibe. I’ve played in several bar bands with Frank L., and am currently playing at church with Frank D., where we rock 2 contemporary services per week. I’m honored to call them both tremendous friends and bandmates. What could this possibly have to do with strategic or channel partners?

A good drummer is hard to find. Almost impossible. And proper due diligence is the key to separating the maniacs from the reliable artists. The same goes for your business partners.

When I first met Frank L. a couple of years ago (ok, actually 3 decades – as evidenced by the handsome publicity shot from our past, above) our band had already been through some interesting percussionists.

I don’t want to disparage Frank's predecessors - let’s just say they made the late Keith Moon look like a librarian. In a coma. These misfires were our fault. Our due diligence consisted of “Oh, you’re the guy who knows Joey X. – that’s cool – and you know ‘Freebird’ and ‘Twist and Shout’? Come by on Saturday at 10!” Done – new drummer found! Of course, “Spike” (not actual name) didn’t arrive until 11:30, smelled like an open barrel of Jack Daniels mixed with herbal substances, and had the steady rhythm of a common house fly. Apparently he had severe glaucoma because he was one of the first medical marijuana patients in the country….except that all marijuana back then was quite illegal and his local cannabis dispensary was the alley behind the Providence Civic Center. This pattern continued through subsequent gentlemen until we were blessed to find Frank L.

If your alliance/channel partner experiences have resembled this path, it’s time to employ some best practices in your searches and management of partner resources. For starters, don’t do this:

Ø Choose Acme Inc. solely because VP Smith used to golf with their CMO (or CEO, CRO, etc.)

Ø Sign a long-term agreement, unless you have very recent experience with Acme providing the identical products or services now under consideration, and you’re receiving substantial concessions for the multi-year contract

Ø Disregard standard due diligence protocols because of Acme’s name recognition or your personal experience with them eons ago, or because you’ve spent a few cycles searching for a particular product or service with no results, and they actually offer it

Ø Select Acme only because a prospect or customer suggested it

I understand that last one can be thorny – no one wants to say no to any customer or prospect, particularly if a large, multi-year deal is on the line. If the suggested partner meets all of your standard due diligence criteria, it could potentially work out; however, I’ve seen too many cases where a company knee-jerks and rushes into a relationship with Acme solely to appease a large prospect/customer, only to have the shotgun marriage blow up within the first 6 months.

The following should be regarded as basic elements of a partner due diligence program, used for strategic product or service alliances or channel (reseller, referral, distributor, hybrid) partners:

Ø Develop a company-wide program, reflecting cross-departmental stakeholder input, and stick to it whenever possible

Ø Communicate the relevant aspects of the program to potential partners; consider posting an overview to your public website to manage expectations and shorten the contracting lifecycle

Ø Evaluate commercial workflow or business intelligence apps (or expand your use of your CLM) to facilitate internal reviews and obtain real-time adverse media and government sanction details

Ø Partner identification/selection and finalizing your company’s Inherent Risk factors are critical steps, and need to be closely aligned with your business. Spend extra time on these. Examples include:

o Are partner’s products/services essential to the operation of our company?

o Will this partner require access to our internal systems?

o Will this partner by customer-facing or require access to customer information or any Personal Data?

o Will the partner require access to our employees’ data, our customer’s data, or any non-public information from our affiliates?

o What percentage of our company’s users would be affected by an outage experienced by this partner?

Ø Coordinate with external government agencies and trade associations to broaden your market survey for new partners. Use this phase to provide tangible and measurable results for your Diversity, Equity and Inclusion (DE&I) program and target DE&I firms as sources. Posters in the coffee room are nice, but……

Ø Don’t use generic 300-400 question vendor surveys; even with a large number of partners, try to customize or at least reach into a specific bucket of survey questions per partner

Ø Develop a more detailed review process for any partner who gains access to the Inherent Risk Data described above. This higher level Inherent Risk determination may also dictate that on-site audits be performed for such firms

Ø Ensure that your review process has annual re-checks, and don’t wall off the due diligence program from the partner’s actual performance; SLA/KPI challenges, quality control matters, and untimely performance must be reflected in the partner’s overall evaluation. It shouldn’t take a Foreign Corrupt Practices Act (FCPA) matter, i.e. nuclear event, to cause you to rethink the partnership. Nagging performance issues should also cause you to consider alternatives

Ø Don’t dismiss cultural misalignment as a minor point. A partner that doesn’t reflect your company’s high standards, communication practices, or respect for individuals shouldn’t be part of your ecosystem

Ø Best practices suggest that this not be a one-way street; provide your strategic partners with compliance training materials and annual Compliance Day participation (webinar)

Clearly each one of these factors requires substantial analysis and work, and a one-size-fits-all approach may result in a lack of adoption by your organization or failure to provide the maximum value. Value must extend both “offensively” (partnering with a company that actually brings you decent revenue) and “defensively” (avoiding a partner who is likely to become this generation’s Enron….or worse).

On the positive front, this is one area where industry collaboration is fairly common, and several professional organizations encourage the exchange of ideas and templates to support the development and refinement of your own program. I’ve participated in such discussions several times and would be happy to share thoughts on each of the aforementioned factors listed above or your own unique challenges.

My manager at EDS once said “No serious business can be run on the back of an envelope”, and each year that becomes truer. This doesn’t mean you need to spend six figures on new systems and create a massive bureaucracy. With a bit of forethought, collaboration, and the of best practices, appropriately tailored for your company, your partners will have the professionalism, skills, and team-orientation of Frank and Frank. And if you’re lucky, you’ll still be “bandmates” with those partners for years to come!

[fictionfactorygames]

The Icy Slopes of PAX

As I shift this blog away from “strictly project updates” and into “personal updates that won’t fit in 250 characters” we find ourselves in interesting and somewhat archaic turf. I used to post to my LiveJournal (ha!) all the time with essays on what’s been happening in my life. Let’s resume doing that, shall we?

Last weekend I was up in Boston for PAX East.

Let me be incredibly negative up front, because I’d like to load up on the positive afterwards.

Everything about PAX was great. Everything around PAX was absolute hell. Boston in March means blizzards and sub-freezing temperatures, gale force freezing winds, and airport delays due to breakdowns and rerouting and weather issues. This is a lousy time and a lousy place to combine together for a nerd convention, and it resulted in two solid days of travel hell. Add on top of that the lack of really good hotels close to the convention center (the Westin is perpetually unavailable) and you’re gonna have a bad time. Our hotel, the Element, was a weeeeird “hostel” style hotel. It had a kitchen! …with no grocery store around for two miles. It had a foyer and a desk and a couch! …and incredibly tight walking spaces around the beds. Too much stuff we didn’t need crammed into too little space.

And while I don’t wanna appear whiny… being disabled at a large-scale public event like this sucks real bad. Everything others take for granted… the ability to use any old random chair, bed, shower, or toilet… I don’t get that. I need adaptations, tools, or helpers for every single thing I want to do. The Boston Convention Center is a complete mismash of weirdly random toilet heights, none of which are kept particularly tidy, all of which have lines and irate bastards waiting to pee. When I finally do get back to the hotel room, I can’t even go to bed on my own because those big-ass queen sized hotel beds are 65% as tall as I am and I can’t climb in. So, yeah. It’s not fun. It’s very, very not fun.

And there’s always the question of: what’s the tipping point? When does the not-fun outweigh the fun? In past years, when it was merely cold and not apocalyptic, or when we had a better hotel… that was clear. This year was more balanced, and that’s bad. I haven’t given up hope, though, and I can say for sure that there was some fun to be had.

So let’s talk about what was fun: games. Here’s everything I played and what I thought of it. My main focus was indie games, particularly arcadey ones that’ll run on my arcade cabinet. You can keep your AAA’d open world military shooters; those are a waste to demo while at PAX. Instead I went for the weird stuff.

Adult Swim Games brought out a number of heavy hitters. Kingsway, a game that plays like using a Windows 95-esque operating system? Innovative as hell. Battle Chef Brigade? Saw it on Kickstarter, didn’t think much of it at the time, but boy is it a blast to sit down and play. Katana Zero? Delicious pixelly murder. My friend Sean Baptiste was there showing off the goods, and boy howdy were they good. I kinda like this niche ASG’s carved out for themselves, curating a fine roster of indie talent that always brings something a little new and a little quirky to the table, without sacrificing quality to get there. Oh, and the best part? The dev for Battle Chef Brigade actually took his demo unit apart because the cord on the controller wasn’t long enough to reach short l’il me. I’m no journo, I’m no influencer, I’m just some schmuck and yet he still went the extra mile for disability support. That’s professionalism.

Then there’s the Visual Novel Reading Room, which was a tiny expo hall inside a smaller expo hall (the Indie Megabooth) inside the actual expo hall. Here’s where all the Renpy games landed, ranging from amusingly stereotypical otome stuff (Spirit Parade) to weird death game datesim shenanigans (Date or Die) and some things I really wish I’d played but missed (We Know The Devil). It’s not all my flavor but it’s all good research for my own future aspirations, showing what’s possible and what’s tried and true in the form. …but more on that later. Later. Patience, friends. Patience.

Other random games I found included an arcadey realtime strategy game with beautiful pixel art (Tooth and Tail), a cute Ouendan-style game for iOS with a hiphop culture vibe (Floor Kids) and a goofy litttle game about dogs barking at people to make them throw their food in the air (Russian Subway Dogs). All cute, all easily overlooked, but all worth your time. Indies are tricky, because often they’re tucked away in obscure little corners of the expo hall, overlooked by many… and I try to make a point to walk right up and play anything that has no crowd. I take business cards, I offer feedback. Good stuff.

A special shoutout goes to Fantasy Strike, an amazing fighting game. Unlike others, ‘special moves’ are single button presses, not complex combination inputs… they want to take the busywork out of fighting games, stripping them down to a pure game of positioning and timing. Skill, not execution. Why highlight it with its own paragraph in this post? ’cause I talked with one of the devs about my arcade cab and spreadsheet, and how well the game worked on it. Discussed key remapping for disability, 4:3 screen ratios, and how badly Street Fighter V got everything wrong. A good discussion and again, he didn’t have to have it with me. He chose to step away and talk shop a bit. And that’s the kind of thing that only happens at PAX.

Speaking of “only at PAX,” how about panels? I’m always impressed by how diverse and interesting the panel lineup is, every year. You’d think amidst the insanity of the Gate Which We Do Not Speak Of that there’d be a pushback on social or identity issues and gaming, but no! They’re out in full force, across a wide spectrum, and there’s something for everyone at PAX. I personally helped my friend Miellyn run a “How to PAX” panel for newbies, which was a lot of fun. The “Romance in Games” panel with Sean and Miellyn and others I knew was also great, even if a burning need to pee kinda distracted me from the crazy antics. Plenty of comedy on offer too, with the Paxamania wrestling farce for good cringey humor, the Jackbox Games panel for professional funny people being professionally funny, and of course Acquisitions Inc.’s D&D show. I could’ve watched it all on Twitch, yes, but being there in person adds a special zing to it all.

There’s plenty I didn’t get to do, for lack of time. (Sadly waiting in line for events takes a loooot of time.) I didn’t cruise the tabletop area very much. I only swooped by the artists and musicians with wares for sale… just long enough to buy a massively expensive but beautiful (to me, anyway) Galaga arcade artwork painting. The classic retro arcade was flat out missing this year, which is a shame. And there’s freeplay areas, and tournaments, and other things I missed…

…but there’s always next year. Assuming I don’t look away from Twitter for twenty minutes and all the tickets are sold, anyway. If they aren’t, I’ll see you there.

[lodelss]

Danielle A. Jackson | Longreads | September 2019 | 16 minutes (4,184 words)

The late summer night Tupac died, I listened to All Eyez on Me at a record store in an East Memphis strip mall. The evening felt eerie and laden with meaning. It was early in the school year, 1996, and through the end of the decade, Adrienne, Jessica, Karida and I were a crew of girlfriends at our high school. We spent that night, and many weekend nights, at Adrienne’s house.

Our public school had been all white until a trickle of black students enrolled during the 1966–67 school year. That was 12 years after Brown v. Board of Education and six years after the local NAACP sued the school board for maintaining dual systems in spite of the ruling. In 1972, a federal district court ordered busing; more than 40,000 white students abandoned the school system by 1980. The board created specialized and accelerated courses in some of its schools, an “optional program,” in response. Students could enter the programs regardless of district lines if they met certain academic requirements. This kind of competition helped retain some white students, but also created two separate tracks within those institutions — a tenuous, half-won integration. It meant for me, two decades later, a “high-performing school” with a world of resources I knew to be grateful for, but at a cost. There were few black teachers. Black students in the accelerated program were scattered about, small groups of “onlies” in all their classes. Black students who weren’t in the accelerated program got rougher treatment from teachers and administrators. An acrid grimness hung in the air. It felt like being tolerated rather than embraced. 

My friends and I did share a lunch period. At our table, we traded CDs we’d gotten in the mail: Digable Planets’s Blowout Comb, D’Angelo’s Brown Sugar, the Fugees’ The Score. An era of highly visible black innovation was happening alongside a growing awareness of my own social position. I didn’t have those words then, but I had my enthusiasms. At Maxwell’s concert one sweaty night on the Mississippi, we saw how ecstasy, freedom, and black music commingle and coalesce into a balm. We watched the films of the ’90s wave together, and while most had constraining gender politics, Love Jones, the Theodore Witcher–directed feature about a group of brainy young artists in Chicago, made us wish for a utopic city that could make room for all we would become. 

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We also loved to read the glossies — what ’90s girl didn’t? We especially salivated over every cover of Vibe. Adrienne and I were fledgling writers who experimented a lot and adored English class. In the ’90s, the canon was freshly expanding: We read T.S. Eliot alongside Kate Chopin and Chinua Achebe. Something similar was happening in magazines. Vibe’s mastheads and ad pages were full of black and brown people living, working, and loving together and out front — a multicultural ideal hip-hop had made possible. Its “new black aesthetic” meant articles were fresh and insightful but also hyper-literary art historical objects in their own rights. Writers were fluent in Toni Morrison and Ralph Ellison as well as Biggie Smalls. By the time Tupac died, Kevin Powell had spent years contextualizing his life within the global struggle for black freedom. “There is a direct line from Tupac in a straitjacket [on the popular February 1994 cover] to ‘It’s Obama Time’ [the September 2007 cover, one of the then senator’s earliest],” former editor Rob Kenner told Billboard in a Vibe oral history. He’s saying Vibe helped create Obama’s “coalition of the ascendent” — the black, Latinx, and young white voters who gave the Hawaii native two terms. For me, the pages reclaimed and retold the American story with fewer redactions than my history books. They created a vision of what a multiethnic nation could be.

* * *

“There was a time when journalism was flush,” Danyel Smith told me on a phone call from a summer retreat in Massachusetts. She became music editor at Vibe in 1994, and was editor in chief during the late ’90s and again from 2006 to 2008. The magazine, founded by Quincy Jones and Time, Inc. executives in 1992, was the “first true home of the culture we inhabit today,” according to Billboard. During Smith’s first stint as editor in chief, its circulation more than doubled. She wrote the story revealing R. Kelly’s marriage to then 15-year-old Aaliyah, as well as cover features on Janet Jackson, Wesley Snipes, and Whitney Houston. Smith was at the helm when the magazine debuted its Obama covers in 2007 — Vibe was the first major publication to endorse the freshman senator. When she described journalism as “flush,” Smith was talking about the late ’80s, when she started out in the San Francisco Bay. “Large cities could support with advertising two, sometimes three, alternative news weeklies and dailies,” she said.

‘There is a direct line from Tupac in a straitjacket [on the popular February 1994 cover] to ‘It’s Obama Time’ [the September 2007 cover, one of the then senator’s earliest].’

The industry has collapsed and remade itself many times since then. Pew reports that between 2008 and 2018, journalism jobs declined 25 percent, a net loss of about 28,000 positions. Business Insider reports losses at 3,200 jobs this year alone. Most reductions have been in newspapers. A swell in digital journalism has not offset the losses in print, and it’s also been volatile, with layoffs several times over the past few years, as outlets “pivot to video” or fail to sustain venture-backed growth. Many remaining outlets have contracted, converting staff positions into precarious freelance or “permalance” roles. In a May piece for The New Republic, Jacob Silverman wrote about the “yawning earnings gap between the top and bottom echelons” of journalism reflected in the stops and starts of his own career. After a decade of prestigious headlines and publishing a book, Silverman called his private education a “sunken cost” because he hadn’t yet won a coveted staff role. If he couldn’t make it with his advantageous beginnings, he seemed to say, the industry must be truly troubled. The prospect of “selling out” — of taking a corporate job or work in branded content — seemed more concerning to him than a loss of the ability to survive at all. For the freelance collective Study Hall, Kaila Philo wrote how the instability in journalism has made it particularly difficult for black women to break into the industry, or to continue working and developing if they do. The overall unemployment rate for African Americans has been twice that of whites since at least 1972, when the government started collecting the data by race. According to Pew, newsroom employees are more likely to be white and male than U.S. workers overall. Philo’s report mentions the Women’s Media Center’s 2018 survey on women of color in U.S. news, which states that just 2.62 percent of all journalists are black women. In a write-up of the data, the WMC noted that fewer than half of newspapers and online-only newsrooms had even responded to the original questionnaire. 

* * *

According to the WMC, about 2.16 percent of newsroom leaders are black women. If writers are instrumental in cultivating our collective conceptions of history, editors are arguably more so. Their sensibilities influence which stories are accepted and produced. They shape and nurture the voices and careers of writers they work with. It means who isn’t there is noteworthy. “I think it’s part of the reason why journalism is dying,” Smith said. “It’s not serving the actual communities that exist.” In a July piece for The New Republic, Clio Chang called the push for organized labor among freelancers and staff writers at digital outlets like Vox and Buzzfeed, as well as at legacy print publications like The New Yorker, a sign of hope for the industry.  “In the most basic sense, that’s the first norm that organizing shatters — the isolation of workers from one another,” Chang wrote. Notably, Vox’s union negotiated a diversity initiative in their bargaining agreement, mandating 40 to 50 percent of applicants interviewed come from underrepresented backgrounds.

“Journalism is very busy trying to serve a monolithic imaginary white audience. And that just doesn’t exist anymore,” Smith told me. U.S. audiences haven’t ever been truly homogeneous. But the media institutions that serve us, like most facets of American life, have been deliberately segregated and reluctant to change. In this reality, alternatives sprouted. Before Vibe’s launch, Time, Inc. executives wondered whether a magazine focused on black and brown youth culture would have any audience at all. Greg Sandow, an editor at Entertainment Weekly at the time, told Billboard, “I’m summoned to this meeting on the 34th floor [at the Time, Inc. executive offices]. And here came some serious concerns. This dapper guy in a suit and beautifully polished shoes says, ‘We’re publishing this. Does that mean we have to put black people on the cover?’” Throughout the next two decades, many publications serving nonwhite audiences thrived. Vibe spun off, creating Vibe Vixen in 2004. The circulations of Ebony, JET, and Essence, legacy institutions founded in 1945, 1951, and 1970, remained robust — the New York Times reported in 2000 that the number of Essence subscribers “sits just below Vogue magazine’s 1.1 million and well above the 750,000 of Harper’s Bazaar.” One World and Giant Robot launched in 1994, Latina and TRACE in 1996. Honey’s preview issue, with Lauryn Hill on the cover, hit newsstands in 1999. Essence spun off to create Suede, a fashion and culture magazine aimed at a “polyglot audience,” in 2004. A Magazine ran from 1989 to 2001; Hyphen launched with two young reporters at the helm the following year. In a piece for Columbia Journalism Review, Camille Bromley called Hyphen a celebration of “Asian culture without cheerleading” invested in humor, complication, and complexity, destroying the model minority myth. Between 1956 and 2008, the Chicago Defender, founded in 1905 and a noted, major catalyst for the Great Migration, published a daily print edition. During its flush years, the Baltimore Afro-American, founded in 1892, published separate editions in Philadelphia, Richmond, and Newark.

Before Vibe’s launch, Time, Inc. executives wondered whether a magazine focused on black and brown youth culture would have any audience at all.

The recent instability in journalism has been devastating for the black press. The Chicago Defender discontinued its print editions in July. Johnson Publications, Ebony and JET’s parent company, filed bankruptcy earlier this year after selling the magazines to a private equity firm in 2016. Then it put up for sale its photo archive — more than 4 million prints and negatives. Its record of black life throughout the 20th century includes images of Emmett Till’s funeral, in which the 14-year-old’s mutilated body lay in state, and Moneta Sleet Jr.’s Pulitzer Prize–winning image of Coretta Scott King mourning with her daughter, Bernice King. It includes casually elegant images of black celebrities at home and shots of everyday street scenes and citizens — the dentists and mid-level diplomats who made up the rank and file of the ascendant. John H. Johnson based Ebony and JET on LIFE, a large glossy heavy on photojournalism with a white, Norman Rockwell aesthetic and occasional dehumanizing renderings of black people. Johnson’s publications, like the elegantly attired stars of Motown, were meant as proof of black dignity and humanity. In late July, four large foundations formed an historic collective to buy the archive, shepherd its preservation, and make it available for public access.

The publications’ written stories are also important. Celebrity profiles offered candid, intimate views of famous, influential black figures and detailed accounts of everyday black accomplishment. Scores of skilled professionals ushered these pieces into being: Era Bell Thompson started out at the Chicago Defender and spent most of her career in Ebony’s editorial leadership. Tennessee native Lynn Norment worked for three decades as a writer and editor at the publication. André Leon Talley and Elaine Welteroth passed through Ebony for other jobs in the industry. Taken together, their labor was a massive scholarly project, a written history of a people deemed outside of it.

Black, Latinx, and Asian American media are not included in the counts on race and gender WMC reports. They get their data from the American Society of News Editors (ASNE), and Cristal Williams Chancellor, WMC’s director of communications, told me she hopes news organizations will be more “aggressive” in helping them “accurately indicate where women are in the newsroom.” While men dominate leadership roles in mainstream newsrooms, news wires, TV, and audio journalism, publications targeting multicultural audiences have also had a reputation for gender trouble, with a preponderance of male cover subjects, editorial leaders, and features writers. Kim Osorio, the first woman editor in chief at The Source, was fired from the magazine after filing a complaint about sexual harassment. Osorio won a settlement for wrongful termination in 2006 and went on to help launch BET.com and write a memoir before returning to The Source in 2012. Since then, she’s made a career writing for TV.  

* * *

This past June, Nieman Lab published an interview with Jeffrey Goldberg, editor in chief of The Atlantic since 2016, and Adrienne LaFrance, the magazine’s executive editor. The venerable American magazine was founded in Boston in 1857. Among its early supporters were Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Herman Melville, and Harriet Beecher Stowe. It sought to promote an “American ideal,” a unified yet pluralistic theory of American aesthetics and politics. After more than a century and a half of existence, women writers are not yet published in proportion to women’s share of the country’s population. The Nieman piece focused on progress the magazine has made in recent years toward equitable hiring and promoting: “In 2016, women made up just 17 percent of editorial leadership at The Atlantic. Today, women account for 63 percent of newsroom leaders.” A few days after the piece’s publication, a Twitter user screen-capped a portion of the interview where Goldberg was candid about areas in which the magazine continues to struggle:

  GOLDBERG: We continue to have a problem with the print magazine cover stories — with the gender and race issues when it comes to cover story writing. [Of the 15 print issues The Atlantic has published since January 2018, 11 had cover stories written by men. — Ed.]

 It’s really, really hard to write a 10,000-word cover story. There are not a lot of journalists in America who can do it. The journalists in America who do it are almost exclusively white males. What I have to do — and I haven’t done this enough yet — is again about experience versus potential. You can look at people and be like, well, your experience is writing 1,200-word pieces for the web and you’re great at it, so good going!

That’s one way to approach it, but the other way to approach it is, huh, you’re really good at this and you have a lot of potential and you’re 33 and you’re burning with ambition, and that’s great, so let us put you on a deliberate pathway toward writing 10,000-word cover stories. It might not work. It often doesn’t. But we have to be very deliberate and efficient about creating the space for more women to develop that particular journalistic muscle.

My Twitter feed of writers, editors, and book publicists erupted, mostly at the excerpt’s thinly veiled statement on ability. Women in my timeline responded with lists of writers of longform — books, articles, and chapters — who happened to be women, or people of color, or some intersection therein. Goldberg initially said he’d been misquoted. When Laura Hazard Owen, the deputy editor at Nieman who’d conducted the interview, offered proof that Goldberg’s statements had been delivered as printed, he claimed he had misspoken. Hazard Owen told the L.A. Times she believes that The Atlantic is, overall, “doing good work in diversifying the staff there.”

Taken together, their labor was a massive scholarly project, a written history of a people deemed outside of it.

Still, it’s a difficult statement for a woman writer of color to hear. “You literally are looking at me and all my colleagues, all my women colleagues and all my black colleagues, all my colleagues of color and saying, ‘You’re not really worthy of what we do over here.’ It’s mortifying,” Smith told me. Goldberg’s admission may have been a misstatement, but it mirrors the continued whiteness of mainstream mastheads. It checks out with the Women’s Media Center’s reports and the revealing fact of how much data is missing from even those important studies. It echoes the stories of black women who work or worked in journalism, who have difficulty finding mentors, or who burn out from the weight of wanting to serve the chronically underserved. It reflects my own experiences, in which I have been told multiple times in a single year that I am the only black woman editor that a writer has ever had. But it doesn’t corroborate my long experience as a reader. What happened to the writers and editors and multihyphenates from the era of the multicultural magazine, that brief flash in the 90’s and early aughts when storytellers seemed to reflect just how much people of color lead in creating American culture? Who should have formed a pipeline of leaders for mainstream publications when the industry began to contract?

* * *

In addition to her stints at Vibe, Smith also edited for Billboard, Time, Inc. publications, and published two novels. She was culture editor for ESPN’s digital magazine The Undefeated before going on book leave. Akiba Solomon is an author, editor of two books, and is currently senior editorial director at Colorlines, a digital news daily published by Race Forward. She started an internship at YSB in 1995 before going on to write and edit for Jane, Glamour, Essence, Vibe Vixen, and The Source. She told me that even at magazines without predominantly black staff, she’d worked with other black people, though not often directly. At black magazines, she was frequently edited by black women. “I’ve been edited by Robin Stone, Vanessa DeLuca [formerly editor-in-chief of Essence, currently running the Medium vertical ZORA], Ayana Byrd, Kierna Mayo, Cori Murray, and Michaela Angela Davis.” Solomon’s last magazine byline was last year, an Essence story on black women activists who organize in culturally relevant ways to fight and prevent sexual assault.

Solomon writes infrequently for publications now, worn down by conditions in journalism she believes are untenable. At the hip-hop magazines, the sexism was a deterrent, and later, “I was seeing a turn in who was getting the jobs writing about black music” when it became mainstream. “Once folks could divorce black music from black culture it was a wrap,” she said. At women’s magazines, Solomon felt stifled by “extremely narrow” storytelling. Publishing, in general, Solomon believes, places unsustainable demands on its workers. 

When we talk about the death of print, it is infrequent that we also talk about the conditions that make it ripe for obsolescence. The reluctant slowness with which mainstream media has integrated its mastheads (or kept them integrated) has meant the industry’s content has suffered. And the work environments have placed exorbitant burdens on the people of color who do break through. In Smith’s words:

You feel that you want to serve these people with good and quality content, with good and quality graphics, with good and quality leadership. And as a black person, as a black woman, regardless of whether you’re serving a mainstream audience, which I have at a Billboard and at Time, Inc., or a multicultural audience, which I have at Vibe, it is difficult. And it’s actually taken me a long time to admit that to myself. It does wear you down. And I ask myself why have I always, always stayed in a job two and a half to three years, especially when I’m editing? It’s because I’m tired by that time.

In a July story for Politico, black journalists from The New York Times and the Associated Press talked about how a sophisticated understanding of race is critical to ethically and thoroughly covering the current political moment. After the August 3 massacre in El Paso, Lulu Garcia-Navarro wrote how the absence of Latinx journalists in newsrooms has created a vacuum that allows hateful words from the president to ring unchallenged. Lacking the necessary capacity, many organizations cover race related topics, often matters of life and death, without context or depth. As outlets miss the mark, journalists of color may take on the added work of acting as the “the black public editor of our newsrooms,” Astead Herndon from the Times said on a Buzzfeed panel. Elaine Welteroth wrote about the physical exhaustion she experienced during her tenure as editor in chief at Teen Vogue in her memoir More Than Enough. She was the second African American editor in chief in parent company Condé Nast’s 110 year history:

I was too busy to sleep, too frazzled to eat, and TMI: I had developed a bizarre condition where I felt the urge to pee — all the time. It was so disruptive that I went to see a doctor, thinking it may have been a bladder infection.

Instead, I found myself standing on a scale in my doctor’s office being chastised for accidentally dropping nine more pounds. These were precious pounds that my naturally thin frame could not afford to lose without leaving me with the kind of bony body only fashion people complimented.

Condé Nast shuttered Teen Vogue’s print edition in 2017, despite record-breaking circulation, increased political coverage, and an expanded presence on the internet during Welteroth’s tenure. Welteroth left the company to write her book and pursue other ventures.

Mitzi Miller was editor in chief of JET when it ran the 2012 cover story on Jordan Davis, a Florida teenager shot and killed by a white vigilante over his loud music. “At the time, very few news outlets were covering the story because it occurred over a holiday weekend,” she said. To write the story, Miller hired Denene Millner, an author of more than 20 books. With interviews from Jordan’s parents, Ron Davis and Lucy McBath, the piece went viral and was one of many stories that galvanized the contemporary American movement against police brutality.

Miller started working in magazines in 2000, and came up through Honey and Jane before taking the helm at JET then Ebony in 2014. She edits for the black website theGrio when she can and writes an occasional piece for a print magazine roughly once a year. Shrinking wages have made it increasingly difficult to make a life in journalism, she told me. After working at a number of dream publications, Miller moved on to film and TV development. 

Both Miller and Solomon noted how print publications have been slow to evolve. “It’s hard to imagine now, particularly to digital native folks, but print was all about a particular format. It was about putting the same ideas into slightly different buckets,” Solomon said. On the podcast Hear to Slay, Vanessa DeLuca spoke about how reluctant evolution may have imperiled black media. “Black media have not always … looked forward in terms of how to build a brand across multiple platforms.” Some at legacy print institutions still seem to hold internet writing in lower esteem (“You can look at people and be like, well, your experience is writing 1,200-word pieces for the web and you’re great at it, so good going!” were Goldberg’s words to Nieman Lab). Often, pay structures reflect this hierarchy. Certainly, the internet’s speed and accessibility have lowered barriers to entry and made it such that rigor is not always a requirement for publication. But it’s also changed information consumption patterns and exploded the possibilities of storytelling.

Michael Gonzales, a frequent contributor to this site and a writer I’ve worked with as an editor, started in magazines in the 1980s as a freelancer. He wrote for The Source and Vibe during a time that overlapped with Smith’s and Solomon’s tenures, the years now called “the golden era of rap writing.” The years correspond to those moments I spent reading magazines with my high school friends. At black publications, he worked with black women editors all the time, but “with the exception of the Village Voice, none of the mainstream magazines employed black editors.” Despite the upheaval of the past several years (“the money is less than back in the day,” he said), Gonzales seems pleased with where his career has landed, “I’ve transformed from music critic/journalist to an essayist.” He went on to talk about how now, with the proliferation of digital magazines:

I feel like we’re living in an interesting writer time where there are a number of quality sites looking for quality writing, especially in essay form. There are a few that sometimes get too self-indulgent, but for the most part, especially in the cultural space (books, movies, theater, music, etc.), there is a lot of wonderful writing happening. Unfortunately you are the only black woman editor I have, although a few years back I did work with Kierna Mayo at Ebony.

  * * *

Danielle A. Jackson is a contributing editor at Longreads.

Editor: Sari Botton

Fact checker: Steven Cohen

Copy editor: Jacob Z. Gross

[homedesignlog-blog]

Storage Benches in 20 Beautiful Bathrooms

FOR MANY other folks, storage has all the time been a subject matter at home – normally than now not, we have so much of it or pretty much restricted to none. that is as a result of frequently, we shop for new issues which intended that we want to maintain or retailer away the vintage issues that wanted substitute. As so much as we would need to have custom-made cabinets for the house, sometimes, buying a adorable garage bench used to be if truth be told what we wanted. So, for lately, we would be showcasing a couple of bathroom areas that you simply may just provide a few concept approximately getting a storage bench is what you and your home wishes. The listing of the Storage Benches in 20 Beautiful Bathrooms is one thing i would suggest that you just take a look at if you think that you simply needed one or extra at house – take a look at the listing beneath men.

Maison Design+Construct Now, while I saw this pretty area i thought to myself, ‘white has never been prettier.’ i know that there are white areas almost certainly prettier than this, however seeing this one made me suppose that the designer truly gave justice to the colour and the distance besides. The small garage bench on the facet is by some means hooked up to the whole self-importance and that i suppose its cool.

Frank Shirley Architects Here Is another white bathroom that has a bit of of a conventional strategy to it. The bench by means of the window has this pull-away garage that sure has an ideal glance and design to it – easy however beautiful workable. This position has double self-importance that positive makes this loo more fascinating.

Banks Design Associates I Love how the storage bench on this photo is sandwiched in the middle of 2 unmarried vanities which somehow provides space and movement for the customers of this bathroom. like the pictures before this, the benches are actually in front the home windows – pretty not unusual position however candy transfer.

Mountainwood Houses Here's one neat rest room with a white and blue topic that showcases a space that’s a hyperlink among the standard (nearly vintage) design to that of a contemporary one simply by looking at the materials used within the building of the distance. Understand the long multi-purposeful bench in here.

Aidan Design that is if truth be told one large bathroom – it has the whole lot that you just might be able to need when you’re in it – a bath, a bath, a closet house, a bench that doubles as a drawer and enough room for foot site visitors especially if that is a shared rest room.

Christian Gladu Layout I Like the natural look of this loo – all the picket subject matter used for the cabinets and drawers, the home windows, mirrors and the ceiling provides this bathroom sufficient natural air of mystery and the tiles supply it a extra up to date look and really feel.

Kingsley Belcher Knauss, ASID In here, we see a gorgeous colonial toilet with awesome knobs and trinkets that any antique-loving gal would truly fall for.

JRP Layout & Transform This Toilet has a contemporary manner which someone would truly like – modular yet stylish counter with cupboards and a constructed-in sectional bench which doubles as a garage nook for the ones belongings you have within the rest room that needs conserving.

DZines By Means Of Nicole The end on the cabinets, drawers and bench on this bathroom seems real different. They made positive that the rugs match the color of the cabinets and that i suppose it says so much approximately the way you want to make your areas glance. It’s not a nasty thing of course, especially while your drapes match too!

Atelier Cachet I Love the light gray colored publish beside the garage bench. As so much as i feel this bench appears to be like beautiful, i feel benches like this one must have cushion on them. Also, I Need you to take a look at the double vainness which looks in reality sublime and it completely seems easiest for this area.

Creative Designs for Dwelling, Tineke Triggs If You Happen To search for nice colour combinations that you can use at house, yellow and gray (or black) is usually one among them. They’re just like the day and night time that in some way complement each other and glance in reality great in combination – just like in this bathroom; their blend is a positive hit!

Dynan Building Management This Loo has that tropical vibe on account of the footage of arms at the walls and the plant we see via the tub – can’t say if that one is real or not but it positive fit with the colour combination and subject matter of this bathroom – refined but stunning.

Steffes Construction, Inc. The sectional bench in right here appears roughly small compared to such a lot sectionals that we usually see in magazines or in real lifestyles. This one although seems like one thing that they meant to actually break the room and it labored – i'd think that this was particularly made for this loo too.

BlueStone Building, LLC talk about how a bathroom could seem like in a cabin. i feel it’s nice to have a few wood in your bathroom but now not all the factor as it looks like it could if truth be told burn each time! check out the bench that has pull-out baskets – a great deal very similar to that of cabins in resorts.

Kingsley Belcher Knauss, ASID Black and white cabinetry and countertop work, that's matched with yellow printed tiles at the partitions and the flooring, is beautiful subtle but very neat. the colour and subject material combination sure worked out pretty much.

The Wiseman Workforce Inner Design, Inc. that is what I imagine a 5-superstar resort toilet might appear to be – very elegant, glamorous and actual fancy. It seems and feels like the whole lot in here's expensive and breakable, I simply find it irresistible. the colour is especially what i think makes this entire look and subject matter work – it’s the very glue that holds it together.

Gregory Logsdon Interiors This Gregory Logsdon-designed bathroom appears chic but undoubtedly from a special subject matter and time. the color and selection of furnishings and decors seem old-fashioned however nonetheless has that vintage world love.

HighCraft Builders With all of the toilets on this list, i believe like this is one space that wishes slightly extra loving – the placing cupboards and counter seems real neat but the bench and the wall turns out a little bit drab. slightly extra decor or color turns out to be lacking in here.

Recent Way Designs While You really feel like stressed out from work and in case you can’t simply go out of the town to enjoy the beach or one thing, you'll be able to all the time hop within the bathtub and enjoy a protracted bath; and should you own this toilet, i feel that may no doubt be a very lengthy tub!

Graham Faupel The One in this is slightly very similar to the ones we see in bedrooms; but nonetheless, i wished you guys to see that this is also utilized in baths! There you will have it, an inventory of Garage Benches in 20 Beautiful Bathrooms that is in order that neat and fancy, i believe you’d wish to in reality get one to your personal rest room! a few of the areas had the storage benches in the onset of the build, however I’m pretty sure that on the grounds that such a lot of them are modular, it's good to simply have them for your personal houses! For more inspiration, check out the 23 Cool Garage Bench in the Bedroom and let us know what you think that approximately them! Read the full article