#i hope not..the switch has been out for like a decade now...

[captainadwen]

Slightly stunned by the growing list of games I Am Playing:

- hades, for the mindless fighty days, because one day I shall either get bored, finish the epilogue quest, or hades 2 will come out. I'm just not sure which will happen first.

- the last campfire, for the melancholy days, because it's cheaper than therapy

- ff12, whenever I recover from the grind and play and get invested and then inevitably progress the story far enough I'm under leveled and then get traumatized by the grinding again

- metaphor refantazio, now on easy mode because I realized I just wanna see where the story is gonna go and I can't do that if I have to grind and I Refuse To Grind If Not Needed

- gotham knights, which is... my introduction to the DC gaming verse?? And DC verse in general technically?? Spoiled though I am. Can't believe I bought this before the Spiderman game I've been eyeing for months But flipping around gotham is fun even if I have Opinions on this game's choices

- arcade cats. Because it was free.

Like that's not even all the games I have installed... installed but not playing are:

- ff8. Which I shall someday finish. Probably after ff12 is done

- ff10. Which I shall someday finish. Probably after ff8 is done.

- Jedi fallen order, on hiatus due to me realizing the controls were going to mess with my muscle memory for other games

- ff14, which I should probably uninstall since I have realized I don't have the time energy or fucks left to grind anymore...

- animal well, which has me stranded in the bottom left map and too annoyed to get out. Possibly also I just don't like platformer games that much anymore, which is something valuable for me to know so I don't buy them anymore

- cult of the lamb, which I just bought and haven't tried yet....

My coworker also offered to sell me his switch (if it is working) for like 100 bucks which... tempted... there's so many games on switch I always wanted to play but never could on account of no switch....

So many games. So little time. Time to take advantage of more easy modes...

[ame-to-ame]

there are things that you don't do for a year or more and pick up just right where you left off and these days i fear loving you might be one of them

[envy-of-the-apple]

Sun Eats Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 9.1k

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

Part three: Moon Starves Sun

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping attempt, hint of pregnancy kink)

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Ijichi," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The Sun had eaten it. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

[reasonsforhope]

"As a Deaf man, Adam Munder has long been advocating for communication rights in a world that chiefly caters to hearing people. 

The Intel software engineer and his wife — who is also Deaf — are often unable to use American Sign Language in daily interactions, instead defaulting to texting on a smartphone or passing a pen and paper back and forth with service workers, teachers, and lawyers. 

It can make simple tasks, like ordering coffee, more complicated than it should be. 

But there are life events that hold greater weight than a cup of coffee. 

Recently, Munder and his wife took their daughter in for a doctor’s appointment — and no interpreter was available. 

To their surprise, their doctor said: “It’s alright, we’ll just have your daughter interpret for you!” ...

That day at the doctor’s office came at the heels of a thousand frustrating interactions and miscommunications — and Munder is not isolated in his experience.

“Where I live in Arizona, there are more than 1.1 million individuals with a hearing loss,” Munder said, “and only about 400 licensed interpreters.”

In addition to being hard to find, interpreters are expensive. And texting and writing aren’t always practical options — they leave out the emotion, detail, and nuance of a spoken conversation. 

ASL is a rich, complex language with its own grammar and culture; a subtle change in speed, direction, facial expression, or gesture can completely change the meaning and tone of a sign. 

“Writing back and forth on paper and pen or using a smartphone to text is not equivalent to American Sign Language,” Munder emphasized. “The details and nuance that make us human are lost in both our personal and business conversations.”

His solution? An AI-powered platform called Omnibridge. 

“My team has established this bridge between the Deaf world and the hearing world, bringing these worlds together without forcing one to adapt to the other,” Munder said. 

Trained on thousands of signs, Omnibridge is engineered to transcribe spoken English and interpret sign language on screen in seconds...

“Our dream is that the technology will be available to everyone, everywhere,” Munder said. “I feel like three to four years from now, we're going to have an app on a phone. Our team has already started working on a cloud-based product, and we're hoping that will be an easy switch from cloud to mobile to an app.” ...

At its heart, Omnibridge is a testament to the positive capabilities of artificial intelligence. "

-via GoodGoodGood, October 25, 2024. More info below the cut!

To test an alpha version of his invention, Munder welcomed TED associate Hasiba Haq on stage. 

“I want to show you how this could have changed my interaction at the doctor appointment, had this been available,” Munder said. 

He went on to explain that the software would generate a bi-directional conversation, in which Munder’s signs would appear as blue text and spoken word would appear in gray. 

At first, there was a brief hiccup on the TED stage. Haq, who was standing in as the doctor’s office receptionist, spoke — but the screen remained blank. 

“I don’t believe this; this is the first time that AI has ever failed,” Munder joked, getting a big laugh from the crowd. “Thanks for your patience.”

After a quick reboot, they rolled with the punches and tried again.

Haq asked: “Hi, how’s it going?” 

Her words popped up in blue. 

Munder signed in reply: “I am good.” 

His response popped up in gray. 

Back and forth, they recreated the scene from the doctor’s office. But this time Munder retained his autonomy, and no one suggested a 7-year-old should play interpreter. 

Munder’s TED debut and tech demonstration didn’t happen overnight — the engineer has been working on Omnibridge for over a decade. 

“It takes a lot to build something like this,” Munder told Good Good Good in an exclusive interview, communicating with our team in ASL. “It couldn't just be one or two people. It takes a large team, a lot of resources, millions and millions of dollars to work on a project like this.” 

After five years of pitching and research, Intel handpicked Munder’s team for a specialty training program. It was through that backing that Omnibridge began to truly take shape...

“Our dream is that the technology will be available to everyone, everywhere,” Munder said. “I feel like three to four years from now, we're going to have an app on a phone. Our team has already started working on a cloud-based product, and we're hoping that will be an easy switch from cloud to mobile to an app.” 

In order to achieve that dream — of transposing their technology to a smartphone — Munder and his team have to play a bit of a waiting game. Today, their platform necessitates building the technology on a PC, with an AI engine. 

“A lot of things don't have those AI PC types of chips,” Munder explained. “But as the technology evolves, we expect that smartphones will start to include AI engines. They'll start to include the capability in processing within smartphones. It will take time for the technology to catch up to it, and it probably won't need the power that we're requiring right now on a PC.” 

At its heart, Omnibridge is a testament to the positive capabilities of artificial intelligence. 

But it is more than a transcription service — it allows people to have face-to-face conversations with each other. There’s a world of difference between passing around a phone or pen and paper and looking someone in the eyes when you speak to them. 

It also allows Deaf people to speak ASL directly, without doing the mental gymnastics of translating their words into English.

“For me, English is my second language,” Munder told Good Good Good. “So when I write in English, I have to think: How am I going to adjust the words? How am I going to write it just right so somebody can understand me? It takes me some time and effort, and it's hard for me to express myself actually in doing that. This technology allows someone to be able to express themselves in their native language.” 

Ultimately, Munder said that Omnibridge is about “bringing humanity back” to these conversations. 

“We’re changing the world through the power of AI, not just revolutionizing technology, but enhancing that human connection,” Munder said at the end of his TED Talk. 

“It’s two languages,” he concluded, “signed and spoken, in one seamless conversation.”"

-via GoodGoodGood, October 25, 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.

[cryinginmyroomsposts]

decipher you | Woozi one-shot

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x fem. Reader

tags: angst, fluff, established relationship, yearning, happy ending, good surprises, a pov switch at the end (just for funsies)

a/n: It's been eons since i wrote on here and a sudden woozi brain rot caused me to write this. not proofread and please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions or fics

masterlist

It’s way past sunset and well into the next day. Hey you can’t help but keep staring at the clock, your phone and the door. The same order. Every 15 seconds.

Clock. Phone. Door. A heavy sigh… Silence… Clock. Phone. Door. A sigh… Silence…

You should go to sleep, you are aware. But the flicker of hope in you has not died yet. He’ll be home before sunrise… today.

You had the same thought for the fifth night in a row. And the last four days you’d been proven wrong.

Yet here you sit, on the edge of your soft brown couch- handpicked by your Jihoon, looking and hoping for any signs of him showing up for a full night’s sleep.

Jihoon always tiptoed in at the early hours of the day- dragging his messy hair and droopy eyes slowly to lay beside you on the bed. Every morning you pretended you didn’t notice him come in. You pretend you didn’t notice his exhausted sigh as his head hits the bed. You pretend you didn’t notice the light peck he gives you even as sleep threatens to take him away. You pretend not to smile as he says the same thing each morning- “Love you baby. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

And each day you pretend you have faith in his sleepy promise. But why wouldn’t you?

This is Jihoon. Your Jihoon.

The same person who stood through your strenuous years of doctorate degree madness. The Jihoon who held your hand through countless vaccinations, never once complaining that you’re too old to cry about needles. The same Jihoon who always cooks every weekend for the two of you, no matter the amount of pressure he is in.

This is the Jihoon who flew 14 hours across the globe to be with you during your thesis presentation.

This is the Jihoon who took a stand against his company and the industry to proudly announce you as his partner and dedicate multiple love songs to you.

This is the Jihoon who learnt your language to talk to you and your parents in your mother tongue.

The is the Jihoon who married you in your home country even if it meant having to fly out his family and friends across the globe.

This is Jihoon. Your whole universe for the last decade. You trust him with everything in this world and know him like the back of your hand.

But even after all these years, you can’t decipher him.

The way he goes silent suddenlymakes it almost impossible to understand if it’s a good, bad, or nothing silent.

Of course, over the years he has learned to let you in on his thoughts. But once in a while, he relapses into this shell of his. This regression happens in higher intensities during the song production time. He is more present during dance practices and comebacks. But when Jihoon is in Producer Woozi mode, he forgets everyone and everything for hours (and sometimes days) on end.

You had gotten used to it for the most part. Usually, this wouldn’t have annoyed or irked you the way it is right now.

But this time, it’s different.

Your world turned around in the last three days and the one person who needs to hear it isn’t there. The one person your heart is leaping out to isn’t there to hold it. This one time you wished life’s timing wasn’t cruel.

There are a lot of things in life you are capable of accomplishing on your own.

But you know how important his work is to Jihoon. After 13 years in this field, the incredulous passion he still carries is commendable. And after everything he and the team has been through, they’re finally enjoying their craft and you’d be the last person to disturb that equilibrium.

Jihoon’s craft is special. His dedication and work ethic are special. You knew he didn’t like to be interrupted or questioned during his process. And god knows you didn’t want to do that.

But you need Jihoon, now more than ever.

So you look up at the clock once again. 1:05 AM Sigh… You turn on your phone once again. No New Notifications. Sigh… You run your hand through your hair. Holding your breath in, you look at the door. Silence… Sig-

The clicking sounds on the door awaken your soul. One-click. One push. The door swings open and there he is- Jihoon. Your Jihoon. Same fluffy, messy hair. The old worn down black hoodie. Droopy eyes now wide open in surprise.

“Baby. Why are you awake? It’s so late.” He says as he kneels next to you after removing his shoes.

“Jihoon-ah…” your voice comes out in a croak. You haven’t uttered a since the last 5 hours you were at home.

“Hmm?” He looks at you with stars in his eyes. The eye bags prominent as the light hits his face. He’s the most beautiful human you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Before you could speak he begins, as his one palm draws circles on your thighs and the other holding your hip. “I’m really really sorry baby… I know I haven’t been present in a while. The company has been pressing us for variety and I’ve been breaking my head about it.”

A pause as he lays his head on your lap and looks at you.

“But today I got it baby. I did it.” His smile lights up his whole face. Pure happiness gleaming from his eyes. This version of Jihoon was one of your favourite. The one gleaming with pride, grinning with joy and enjoying every bit of satisfaction that comes with the kind of dedication only he can pour into his art.

So you smiled, mirroring his happiness.

“I’m so proud of you honey. Can’t wait to hear it soon!”

“You’ll be the first one to hear it.” He says grinning. Your raise your eyebrows and he giggles. The sound of heaven.

“I mean after the team you’ll be the first to hear it.”

Both of you laugh, a soft ringing laughter echoing through the walls of the home you built for yourselves.

You clear your throat slightly.

“Jihoon I need to tell you something…”

“Yes?” He says in the middle of a yawn.

He looks so exhausted in the moment that he looks 10 years younger.

You decided to wait another day.

“I… just needed to tell you… that I missed you… a lot.” Your words come out in a whisper. Barely audible but you know he heard it by the way he shifts on your lap like a little cat.

“I know baby… I’m sorry.”

You sigh. He was sorry and you knew it.

“You could’ve texted me”

He grumbles an apology into your thighs.

“Jihoon you told me you’d communicate better… we’ve been through this cycle before. You’re always going to be creating music, but the least you can do is let me know. You promised me jagi…”

More grumbles as he manoeuvres himself to settle against your stomach.

Your heart skips a beat.

“I understand work is hard. And I’m an adult so I understand even if it’s difficult. But… but your child won’t be able to…”

By the end of your sentence, you could barely hear yourself. But the way Jihoon freezes against you is proof enough that he heard you.

A moment passes and there is no reaction from him. Another moment.

And what feels like a million tiny moments later, Jihoon’s messy head pops up away from your stomach to your face.

His eyes are glistening and big like boba balls. You hold your breath trying to n to read his face. The creases in his forehead and the straight closed mouth slowly give way to the tiniest smile.

That’s all the sign you need as you break into a huge smile.

He looks at your smile, his own mirroring it, and then down at your stomach then up again at your face. He does it a few more times as you break into soft laughs.

He sits upright on his knees, his face in front of you, big wid eyes full of surprise and hope, as his hands cup your cheeks.

“Y/n… are you being serious right now?”

You nod, words too little for the happiness pouring out of in the form of tears.

Jihoon looks stunned but pulls into a close and tight hug.

Home…

When he faces you again, tears are rolling down his cheeks. “When did you find out?” “Umm… four days ago” “Baby why didn’t you tell me soo-“

The color drains from his face as he moved toward your stomach again. He hugs you around your stomach so lightly as if he’s holding a feather.

“I really am sorry jagi. I know I say it a lot but I should do better. I should’ve done better. For you. For us. And…” He looks at you with an apologetic smile, “and for our child.”

You run your fingers through his silky tousled hair. “Jihoon-ah, it’s okay. What’s done is done…”

He smiles at you.

“You have no idea how restless I’ve been waiting to tell you. To see that look on your face.” His smile grows wider and he places a peck on your very normal stomach whcih makes you giggle.

“You do know there is no actual baby in there yet right?” He pouts as he looks at you, causing more giggles on your end.

“I hope our kid doesn’t get your oversmart brain and is normal like me” he says defiantly.

You let out a snort. “Please Mr worldwide popular idol ‘Woozi’! You’re as far from normal as is possible my dear.”

“Well normal or not, I know our child will have the best dad.”

Jihoon’s cheeky comment sets of a back and forth of arguing about which one of you is better until early hours of the morning as laughter rings through the house.

———

Jihoon:

It was another night of sleeping after dawn for him. He was no stranger to a late night. But for the first time in years he feels too ecstatic to sleep.

His mind and body are buzzing with happiness at the thought of the love of his life carrying their child.

He thinks back to the 17 year old Jihoon who saw this cute girl across the street struggling to get her bags on her cycle basket snd decided to forgo his inhibitions for once and help her. He thinks back to 20 year old Jihoon who, for the first time in his life, gave a speech at a bar confessing his love for the same girl despite all his social anxiety. He thinks back to the 28 year old Jihoon who decided to talk to her parents and arrange a special performance for her on their wedding even though all he wanted was alone time with her.

He thought back to everytime he took a chance for this beautiful and smart girl, now lying next to him peacefully asleep, and he thanks every god and higher power in the universe for giving him the courage to do so.

Without her Jihoon wouldn’t know love and life. Now they have a little bundle of joy on its way just to commemorate this love they share.

And this time Jihoon was going to make sure he’d be there every step of the way.

[saphronethaleph]

Extra Extra

“It’s like one of those logic puzzles,” Lando said, looking down at a Dejarik table that had been turned off an hour ago. “We know most of the ingredients we need, right?”

“We know most of the ingredients of one way to do it,” Leia amended. “Though I can’t use the Boussh disguise for both of them. I’d have enough trouble using it on one of them, though I think Jabba would be a bit easier to fool.”

“Relatively speaking,” the Socorran replied. “What do you think, Chewie? Jabba’s not kept on top of a crime ridden world like that for decades by being gullible.”

“That may be true, but he’s arrogant,” Chewbacca replied. “And, unlike with Luke, we at least know where Han is.”

“I get the point,” Lando admitted. “Problem is, none of us three are from Tatooine. Luke is, but… like I said, logic puzzle. The easiest way to rescue Han is to already have Luke – and the easiest way to rescue Luke is to already have Han.”

“Rescuing Luke, we could at least call on the resources of the Rebellion,” Leia offered. “Being able to actually kill Darth Vader would be an enormous blow to the Empire.”

Lando chuckled. “Yeah, sure, but – I hate to admit it, but Han’s better with the old girl than I ever was. If we were okay with Luke’s death, then an insane plan like attacking Darth Vader’s Super Star Destroyer would be a bit easier to stomach… if you want to get him out, Han’s touch with the Falcon can only help.”

Leia sighed.

“I have the feeling that doing Han is going to be easier,” she said. “I’ve got a few contacts I can call upon… and if we do manage to get Rebellion resources involved, then Jabba’s palace is a much softer target.”

“We’re going around in circles,” Chewbacca declared. “We need more information. Even knowing where Darth Vader was would help, because that way we’d be able to make better plans.”

He frowned. “Jabba’s strength comes from being a big fish in a small pond. But getting Han out means being inside the defences – and if he realizes what’s going on, he can use Han’s safety as a hostage.”

Lando nodded along.

“I actually wonder if we shouldn’t hope that Luke can rescue himself,” he said. “Or – if we are going to try and rescue Luke, we should abandon the idea of doing it with the Falcon directly. The YT-1300 might be common, but any light freighter of that class is going to stand out.”

Chewbacca looked curious.

“That sounds like you have a plan,” he said. “Care to share?”

“I most certainly do,” Lando answered. “That giant ship has to get supplies, right? Giant standard containers. I wonder how many old style battle droids we could fit in a giant container alongside the Falcon to provide a distraction – then jump out from inside the ship once we’ve retrieved Luke.”

“Now there’s a crazy idea,” Leia said, but she was looking contemplative. “That might work. Audacity can win the day when lesser plans simply don’t have a chance to-”

“Mistress Leia!” C-3P0 interrupted, hurrying down from the cockpit. “Mistress Leia! There’s something very strange on the holonews!”

Lando, Chewbacca and Leia exchanged curious glances, then Lando hit a switch and turned on a holoprojector.

“I didn’t know that was there,” the wookiee admitted, then they all stopped and stared at the news.

“Admiral Piett, this is most irregular!” Grand Admiral Tigellinus declared. “Your authority does not run to the Imperial Center Oversector – explain yourself at once!”

“My authority derives from Vader,” Piett replied, evenly, facing the viewscreen showing Tigellinus’s face.

The Grand Admiral was apparently not on board his capital ship, and the other displays around the Executor bridge were showing that the Empire’s Central Fleet was both out of position and unprepared for combat.

In the second part, at least, Piett fully knew how they felt.

“Vader’s authority also does not run here,” Tigellinus retorted. “Power down your weapons and shields immediately.”

“That request is out of order, Grand Admiral,” Piett replied. “I am under no obligation to stand down.”

Someone began speaking to Tigellinus, their voice a little too quiet for Piett to hear through the connection, and the Grand Admiral turned a rather entertaining shade.

“Admiral, you are violating my direct orders,” the Grand Admiral declared. “One of the ships of your fleet is making a full power burn for the surface of Imperial Center! They must stand down immediately or they will be destroyed!”

Piett’s gaze flicked to the displays, and it took all of a lifetime’s military politicking to avoid reacting visibly.

Tigellinus was very much telling the truth. One of the Star Destroyers of Battle Group Executor was burning for the surface at full power, and scattered fire from the defensive platforms was already striking home on it.

It wasn’t responding, though, and Piett had a sinking feeling that he was starting to understand what was going on.

It wasn’t that he necessarily disagreed with the idea of a coup d’etat, or at least that was what he would certainly say if Vader had asked him about the subject. Partly because denying Darth Vader was a good way of getting choked to death over a video call, but also partly because… something had changed in Vader in the last few months.

Since Bespin.

But he would very much have appreciated being told any of the details more than five minutes before the Executor had left hyperspace.

“The destroyer may have engine problems,” he said, instead. “It was undergoing refit and was mostly evacuated for that very reason.”

“That is not an engine problem!” the Grand Admiral snapped. “You are relieved of command and placed under arrest!”

Piett made a gesture, and the viewscreen deactivated.

“I suspect that conversation was going nowhere productive,” he said. “All batteries ready. I want a full ion cannon salvo on the first capital vessel of the Central Fleet to fire on our wayward destroyer.”

He folded his hands behind his back, and tried to seem like he knew what was going on.

Palpatine was not ready for the situation he had just found himself in.

In principle, assassination was always a risk for someone like him, and he had many means of protection.

He had a ferociously competent security service. He had his guards, armed and trained to a degree of furious perfection that was then hidden under ceremonial outfits. He had the mighty apparatus of Imperial power, grown for twenty-five years. He was the most powerful single individual in the galaxy, with the might of a thousand years of Sith learning and alchemy buttressing his own powerful hatred.

He also had flashbacks to the last time he had been utterly out of control of the situation, which was when he had been on board a crashing Confederacy capital ship.

And now there was a durasteel triangle sixteen hundred metres long, crashing down out of the Coruscant sky. Even as he watched it collided with the Imperial Palace shields, and the shields lost, collapsing with a CRAAACK like the sky splitting open, and the Emperor summoned the Force to himself – ready to do whatever it took to survive.

Whatever it took.

Then he noticed the bright red letters painted on the front of the Star Destroyer. Every single character a hundred and twenty metres high, spelling out a name.

AMIDALA.

Palpatine’s eye twitched, then the nose of the Star Destroyer made contact, and the next ten seconds was an incredible cacophony of rending metal and collapsing supports and energy as several reactors ruptured.

When the debris finally stopped and the smoke began to clear, the entire room was on a fifteen degree slant. The transparisteel windows had exploded inwards, and a horizontal rain of giant shrapnel had killed every one of the guards and functionaries in the room.

There were several fires going on, and it rather looked as though most of the palace complex was in the middle of collapsing.

Then two curved TIE/Advanced wings landed with a crash on the floor to his right, coming in through a hole in the roof, and Palpatine’s gaze snapped in that direction. He drew his lightsaber with a single quick motion, concealing it in his sleeve for now, and he saw two figures step off the pieces of curved metal.

One was entirely familiar. Darth Vader, his apprentice. His slave… but it was immediately clear that Vader was his slave no more.

Just from his posture, if it hadn’t also been apparent from the events of the last few minutes.

Vader was reminding him unpleasantly of Anakin, on the days when Palpatine had touched the wrong nerve.

But the other could only be Luke Skywalker. He looked different, now, to any time Palpatine had seen him before. Older, maybe. More touched by pain and loss, perhaps – but mawkishly certain of his convictions.

Like a teenaged queen he remembered. Or the same woman, as a twenty-something senator who had ruined far too many of his plans without even realizing whose plans they were.

“Ah, young Skywalker,” Palpatine said. “I see your father has brought you here to die.”

Vader ignited his lightsaber, and Luke drew his own as well – activating it with a flash of blue light.

It was Anakin’s old one, from Mustafar, and Palpatine could feel that the Force liked that.

He hated that, and that hate gave him strength.

Strength he was unpleasantly sure he was going to need.

For a moment, the Emperor dismissed Vader. He knew Vader, knew his weaknesses and his strengths.

A moment was all he could spare, but he needed to understand the younger Skywalker. The boy’s lightsaber was held in a form that looked almost like Soresu, or almost like Niman, but there was a touch of Djem So there as well.

Except that the weapon in Luke’s left hand was a blaster, with the flowing chrome lines of one from Palpatine’s own home world.

Luke glanced at Vader for a moment, then settled himself.

“I call for a vote of no confidence in Emperor Palpatine’s leadership,” the boy said, and Palpatine’s eye twitched violently.

Then everything was a blur of blue and red, of crackling lightning and the high pitched whine of a blaster.

“You know,” the Emperor said, most of a week later, as the latest bureaucrats left in a state of some confusion. “I expected that you’d be the one actually in charge, Father.”

Vader shook his head, implacably.

“I will upend the galaxy for you, my son,” he said. “Be your strong right arm. Your enforcer. Your teacher. I will place you on the throne of all eternity. But I will not do datawork.”

Luke smiled slightly.

“It’s not dramatic enough, is it?” he asked. “I looked up that quote, you know.”

Vader was silent for a long moment.

“It felt… appropriate,” he said.

“I’m sure it did, father,” Luke replied. “Now… I need to try writing my next letter to Mon Mothma. Somehow I am going to convince her to help me turn the position of Emperor into one with constitutional limitations.”

Anakin looked across at his son.

“I believe you might just do that,” he said.

“I must say, I didn’t expect this,” Obi-Wan mused, materializing in front of the throne.

“What didn’t you expect?” Luke asked.

“Well, take your pick,” Obi-Wan replied. “But if there’s one thing… it’s how you killed Palpatine. It seems that the Banite legacy of the Sith earths itself into the killer, meaning that the killer becomes the new leader of the Sith… a vessel for Palpatine, in other words.”

Vader gave Luke a concerned look.

“And?” Luke asked. “I don’t think I’m a vessel for Palpatine.”

“The connection requires a Khyber crystal,” Obi-Wan clarified. “And now I need to face that the galaxy was saved because you killed Palpatine with a blaster, of all things.”

Anakin started laughing, then coughing, then laughing again.

“Father?” Luke asked, concerned.

“Who’s uncivilized now, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, holding on to the side of the throne so he wouldn’t collapse.

[fuctacles]

sports au!!!!!

The booth was stuffy and smelled like it’s been forgotten for a decade. But the equipment was new and the glass pane was cleaned up, giving Eddie a clear view of the court.

“Is this a good moment to say I don’t know the rules?”

The coach, and his PE professor, looks one step away from murder.

“Just remember our team is wearing green.”

“Yes sir!”

The man squints at him with clear distrust so Eddie gives him his widest, purest smile.

“Good thing nobody’s listening to the campus radio.”

The joke’s on him; Eddie has garnered a lot of listeners over the past months. Listeners that he might lose after hosting a live sports event. 

“Don’t be too weird. I might send you someone to help with the rules so you don’t completely ruin it.” He pats Eddie on the shoulder, his palm so heavy it feels like he’s trying to pin him into the chair, before disappearing behind the door in the back. Seconds later he’s visible walking down the steps to his team.

Eddie looks at his watch. It’s going to be the longest four hours in his academic history. 

He turns to the concsole, frowns at the unfamiliar dials and switches and focuses on the ones he knows. Tunes everything to his best ability, takes a breath, and clears his throat before starting the broadcast.

“Hello, students of Indiana University! I know it’s a Friday night and you were hoping for some nice tunes to party to, but prepare your pillows for a nap instead because you’ll be listening to a football match. No, wait, basketball. I’m pretty sure. 

Anyway, dunno why you’d listen to a match instead of going to see it, but ya boy needs to pass PE this term so here we are. 

And here comes our team! The green ones. It’s greens against blues tonight, folks.”

“Tigers versus Roaches, actually.”

Eddie turns around and sees a tall boy enter his studio.

“First of all, who the fuck names their team Roaches. Second, we have an intruder in the studio.”

The boy extends his hand unfazed.

“I’m Lucas, your interpreter. Since I’m benching for the first half anyway.”

“Booo, I was just going to make up rules as I go. Now you’re gonna make it boring.”

But he shakes his hand anyway and lets Lucas sit on the chair next to him.

“Careful, I’m a dedicated listener. My friends too, you’d probably lose your whole audience.” He smirks. Eddie scoffs.

“I’ll let you know, tiger cub, that many people listen to Munson’s Midnight Metal Madness.”

“I meant the DnD show.”

Eddie looks at the boy, his neat haircut and team jersey.

“Really?”

“Yes, and I’d love to talk more about it later, but now let’s introduce my teammates.”

Eddie hands him the microphone to spit out names he’s never heard before and whatever their bearers' positions were. He hopes the coach doesn’t mind it. All Eddie could do was like, comment on their appearance. Which…

“Where did you get that one from? America’s poster boy catalog?”

He watches Lucas’s face twitch with the effort not to laugh.

“That’s Jason Carver. He’s vice-captain now and will take over the team once Steve graduates later this year.”

“Which one’s that?”

“He usually comes out last.”

Eddie asks about the important stuff - the team's average height and where Andy got his haircut. He looks over the group of young men appraisingly.

“You know what, if I knew y’all play in these funky white socks and guns out I might have gotten into sports commentary earlier.”

Lucas chuckles, but Eddie's on a roll. 

“Especially with such a great co-host, Lucas Sinclair! He’s not on the court yet but he’s being an invaluable source of lore in the studio. Don’t think I’d forget about you, man.” He nudges the younger student. “What’s your specialty on the team?”

“Well…” Lucas scratches his cheek sheepishly. “I’m probably the fastest and my throws are pretty good,” he admits. “Oh, that’s Steve!”

Eddie looks to the right, where a dude with Harrington on his jersey walks in, smiling wide to friends and families watching. 

“Damn, that’s some magnificent hair,” Eddie whistles.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what he’s known for. This hairdo lasts through the whole game, dunno how he does it.”

“He’s gotta give me some tips, because I look like a wet rat by the end of the day. And I don’t even do sports.”

“I’m pretty sure you look like a wet rat no matter the time of day.”

The jab was true but even if it wasn’t, Eddie had a more important thing to focus on right now. 

“Does your captain have a tattoo?” he asks, squinting through the window. He was pretty sure it was ink that was peeking from the bottom of Steve Harrington’s shorts, but it was so out of place on a college athlete, he needed a triple take and the ‘ask the audience’ lifeline to make sure.

“Yep. The coach says it makes him look like a criminal,” he snorts, showing what he thinks about it. “Steve said he regrets not getting it somewhere more visible so more people could see tattoos are not for criminals and rockstars only.”

“Your captain is a smart guy,” Eddie grins, almost sighing into it, to his utter horror. Just a glimpse of a hot guy from afar, a peek of a tattoo, and hearing of his liberal views was apparently enough to make his heart beat faster.

“The best I ever knew,” Lucas admits and it sounds like a Story, capital “s” and all. His next words confirm that. “Our friend group is planning matching tattoos and we are still talking him out of getting it above the neckline.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. 

“Sounds like a savage. I gotta meet your captain sometime soon.”

It’s at this point they notice the coach gesturing at them angrily and they get back to commenting on the game that’s about to start.

“Okay, so explain to me which laundry basket is ours…”

“Okay okay okay. So number four is a tank, yeah? He blocks the other players. Six is a rogue, who slips between the cracks. And number one, your captain, is a warrior who goes for the attack.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s like LARPing for normies,” Eddie realizes in awe and Lucas laughs so unexpectedly he starts to cough. 

“Sinclair! You’re in!”

They both jump at the sudden appearance of the coach. Lucas springs up from his seat.

“Yes sir!”

“It was a pleasure to host with you.” Eddie smiles at his new friend.

“You too. Catch you after the game?”

“Sure.” He smiles brightly, his head already swimming with ideas of how to fuck over Lucas’ future DnD character. Because playing together was inevitable, the dice were thrown, and the plot was in motion. 

Lucas passes by the coach who now turns his attention to Eddie.

“You’re doing good, don’t ruin it.” He looks in pain admitting that. “I might send someone else to help you out.”

“Thanks, coach.” Though Eddie doubts he’d be vibing so well with anyone else on the team.

Just five minutes later though, he’s proven wrong.

“Heard you’ve been curious about my tattoo?”

Eddie's so startled he knocks the microphone down and yanks out the cord in his haste to turn around. 

“Captain!” he yells like a dumbass, faced with the hair and boyishness of no one else but Steve Harrington. 

“Radio-man!” Steve yells back with a wide and teasing smile. “I’ve heard so much about you, man, you have no idea.” He steps closer. “My kids love your show.”

“Your kids?”

“My, uh, younger friends. I used to babysit them and it kinda stuck,” he admits with an awkward smile. Steve is nothing like the typical jock he’s come to expect and he’s everything Lucas advertised.

“That’s adorable, man.”

“Don’t laugh at me,” he pouts. He honest to god pouts.

“Not laughing!” Eddie raises his hands placatingly. “There’s nothing bad with a family-tight friend group.”

“Damn straight.” Steve smiles and sits on the chair vacated by Lucas. He eyes the microphone lying prone on the desk. “Technical difficulties?”

Eddie rushes to fix his equipment.

“You could say so,” he murmurs, trying to busy himself with the tangled cord. But a hand stops him before he can plug it in.

“We’re off the air now, right?”

Eddie looks over the control lights on the console.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You have beautiful eyes.”

“What?”

When Eddie woke up today, he knew his day would be weird. No day spent in a sports facility could be normal or pleasant. It was confirmed when he made a new friend with a member of the team, who was a listener of his DnD podcast. But the team captain hitting on him? That’s not your regular weird, that’s a bad strain of weed kind of weird.

“Lucas sent me over claiming a guy my type might be hiding here.”

It takes everything from Eddie not to take a look around. Logically, he knows there’s no one else in the booth. But his brain refuses to connect the dots. He licks his lips and cringes at the wet noise his mouth makes.

“What’s your type?”

Steve tilts his head and hums like he’s in thought.

“Weird, smartass nerd, as it turns out. With big brown eyes and great hair.”

“Uh, thank you?”

Steve only smiles at him, soft before it turns teasing.

“Wanna see my tattoo up close?” he offers. 

“Gosh, yes,” he admits with zero shame, eyes flitting down to the man’s legs. Was he curious about what type of tattoo a gorgeous sport-type guy would get? Yes. Did he want to ogle some hairy thighs? Also yes. It’s a two-in-one kind of deal.

The coach waves at them angrily to get back on the air, but Steve promises to tell him everything about S.S. Robin after the game. And no, Robin is just his best friend, Eddie doesn’t need to worry about her.

“In fact, wanna be my date to the after-party later? The kids will freak out when they meet you.”

How could Eddie say no to his fans' worship?

And to Steve’s hopeful eyes and the slight squeeze he gave his hand.

“Mingling with jocks in my free time?” Eddie turns his palm up to squeeze back. “Sure, let’s make this day even weirder.”

[creations-by-chaosfay]

Are your scissors dull? Would you like tips regarding sewing needles?

If you're having a difficult time cutting through material, your scissors likely need sharpening. There are two ways I've used for this, and they're both very effective.

The semi-free version:

Take aluminum foil, a long sheet of it, and fold this into about four layers.

Cut through all four layers, in thin strips, with your scissor. I make the strips less than half an inch apart, and cut the long way. You will need to be careful because the edges of the foil will be sharp.

After you get through all four layers at least six to eight times, fold what's left of the sheet in half. This will create eight layers, cut through these until the sheet is gone.

Test your scissors by cutting through scraps. I've made children's scissors sharp enough to cut through four layers of fabric when I use this method.

The inexpensive version.

Purchase this. You can find it in fabric stores, craft stores, and even a department store (like Walmart) in their crafting supply section. I bought mine at Joann Fabrics, when they had a sale, for less than $8.

Scissor sharpeners are super easy to use. Just follow the instructions they come with. Basically, you slide them in, and pull them out like you're cutting.

You won't need to do many passes for most scissors, but you will make children's scissors very dangerous.

For very small scissors, like applique or embroidery types.

Use the semi-free section.

You will only need two layers for the first pass, not nearly as much as you would for larger blades. So make the sheet smaller.

After five or six passes, fold the layers in half for four layers. Make several more passes.

Test your scissors to see how sharp they are. If unsatisfied, make more passes through the foil layers.

I hope this was helpful!

For hand-sewing sharpening needles, the little strawberry attached to the tomato pincushions serves that purpose. Stab your needle through that a few times. I find it works only so many times before I simply need to switch to a new one.

As for machine sewing needles, sharpening them borders on pointless. I suggest using Organ Needles if price is a big issue for you. My experience with Organ Needles has been phenomenal. The low price and high count, and the fact they last just as long as the name brand stuff you find in supply shops is just a bonus.

I have a pack of 100 sewing needles for less than $30. Compare that to the $10-$20 a package of five or ten name brand needle packs cost. Even if half the needles in my 100 pack start dull, it's still less than what I would otherwise pay. Thus far, this hasn't happened.

My needles go dull swiftly when I do any foundation paper piecing, stitching through fabric and paper, and paper dulls scissors* real quick. Imagine how fast that is with a needles, making hundreds of stitch through all those layers. If I notice the stitches look messy, I switch out my needle. I still have over half left, and have been using the same pack for around a year now.

If you're wondering how to dispose of the used sewing needles, may I suggest a plastic bubblegum container? I used to chew gum all the time, but had to stop after my doctor explained it's very bad due to my TMD/TMJ (and having hEDS also explains why large pieces of gum would dislocate my jaw). Because of my habit of keeping perfectly acceptable containers, I had two empty ones. One is used for my handsewing, like a little trash container. Opening and closing the floor models is irritating, and the fact I have a cat means all trashcans in this house must have a lid. Anyway...I use my second to hold used needles, broken or bent pins, and after four years of using this, the thing isn't even a quarter of the way filled. It'll likely be decades before emptying it will be necessary. The hard plastic edges make it impossible for any of the pointy ends from puncturing, thus making it safe for all and no trash bags will suffer.

[ranaissingle]

Whispers and Melodies (Pt. 2)

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: She has heard a deep melodic voice speaking to her from a faraway place for decades. Anything from snippets of a longer conversation to roars that shook the very earth she walked on.

Rating: T (For now)

Word Count:

A/N: This story is shaping up to be over 10 chapters so I am trying to queue up some chapters to post with some kind of regularity lol. I hope you enjoy this one! Also, I have created a tag list so comment below if you would like to be tagged in upcoming parts!

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Past (Sometime before Amaranths's Rule UTM)

Rhysand sat at his office in Velaris pouring over mountains of paperwork that he had allowed to pile up right before starfall. He’d spent the better part of 3 days working through the aftermath of the holiday, and he sat now at his desk, he wished he had some type of escape or distraction from the mountain of work that always seemed to follow him. 

A melodic breeze seemed to enter from the window as the trees and winds intermingled before filtering their way through the large windows. The breeze carried notes that came in quick succession and seemed to echo off of each other. The soft feminine voice almost caressed Rhysand's cheek and winded itself around him in a blanket of warmth. He hadn't realized how cold he was until that very moment. His back and arms slowly untensed themselves as he relaxed further into his chaise and as soon as Rhysand felt like he could finally go to sleep, the voice seemed to fade back out the window and only left Rhysand craving more. 

Page break and POV switch (Same time period)

Y/N sat out enjoying the weather amid the hot summer. She had laid out various fruits, bread, and spreads to snack on while she read and hummed away her evening basking in the sun. The wind carried a gentle breeze and various little creatures scurried their way across the grove. All at once, it seemed like the ambient noise around her had become muffled. As if someone had placed a pillow over her ears. Slowly, a voice from the outside seemed to filter through whatever was muffling her hearing. It was laughter. Booming laughter made some deep unknown emotion bubble up inside her. Something that made her heart ache most deliciously. A small smile crept upon her face as she looked out into the distance the first to find where the sound had been emitting from. Nothing but trees and willowing branches blew in the wind, not a soul in sight. The laughter slowly fizzled out as if the sound was creeping back into the forest from whence it came. The retreat left her feeling cold as if a winter breeze had made its way to her from the winter court. 

Rhysand slowly pulled open the door to the room he had been occupying and stepped outside the threshold of the door. As the hinges creaked, the woman’s chopping ceased as she placed her knife on the cutting board before wiping her hands on her apron and turning around. Rhysand strengthened his stance even as the muscles of his thighs burned with the strain. 

“Who are you and how did I get here.” Rhysand’s voice came out firmer than he had thought himself capable of. The woman narrowed her eyes at him and cocked her head to the side.  

“I found you passed out on the beach. You are quite lucky the tides did not pull you into the depths before.” 

Her lips quirked up at the idea as if she was thinking about that very outcome. Rhysand squared his shoulders and steeled himself further. He couldn't be sure that this woman did not have evil intentions. If there was anything he had learned in his 500 years of life, it was that he should never underestimate an opponent just because they were a female. 

“Why would you help me then? Is there something you want in return?” 

Rhysand was grateful enough for the help that she had provided that he was willing to give her something in return. The female rested all of her weight on one leg as she turned her eyes up to the roof and began to contemplate what she would want. She was likely going to ask for a pile of gold or a new cottage of some sort. She looked like she had run through a million possible answers to his question when all at once her eyes widened and her posture stiffened as she blurted out; 

“Waterdrake scales! Could you get me water Waterdrake scales? A lot of them?” 

POV Switch To Y/N

Why did his voice sound so familiar? She swore she’d heard it before but couldn't

Y/n’s hand tightened on the side of the counter that she had been gripping with all of the mother’s strength. What ingredient could possibly stabilize the potion she was working on? She had tried every single combination of Honey possible but it always reduced the potency by some amount. She needed it to be as potent as possible in order to ensure its effectiveness. Firedrake scales were known to increase the shelf life of a potion, but that wasn’t exactly what she needed. She needed something to make sure that the reaction between the crawfish shell and fennel root did not take place and that their effects were enacted on the patient independently of their effects on one another. Could dragon bone work? No, that would just react with the fennel root and make the whole mixture useless. But waterdrake scales? Yes, those could work; it would keep the potion cool enough to prevent reaction while also having a cooling effect on the body when administered which would help with the fevers that often accompany blood loss. Yes, this was perfect! Before she could get any sort of reign on her excitement. 

Y/n blurted out, “Water drake scales! Could you get me waterdrake scales? A lot of them?”

POV Switch to Rhysand 

This female had gone insane. Water Drake scales were the rarest type of scales. Asking for them was equivalent to asking for something more valuable than the cauldron itself. Never mind that he was sure Velaris did indeed have Warwe drake scales, what could this female possibly need water Drake scales for? Rhysand lets his lips quirk up on one side as he takes in the female. 

“What would a spritely female like you need with water drake scales and how are you so sure that I could be the one to provide them for you?” Rhysnad crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down. 

Y/n rolled her eyes while she looked him up and down. “You carry yourself in a manner that befits whatever rank you possess.” She takes a deep breath before continuing,”I have seen a great many males like you, they traipse around as if they own the land they walk on, they trample over the plants and never leave a place the same as when they found it. Your kind is the reason our world will never have any semblance of peace for more than the time it takes to heave a breath.” 

“Oh? You have come to this conclusion after knowing me for all of 10 minutes have you?” 

“Not quite I think. You seem to be less…? Just less I suppose. I can’t exactly put my finger on it but you do not suck the air out of a room the way your brethren tend to. I’ve come to conclusions about your brethren, not necessarily you, it seems.” 

Although Rhysand still did not look pleased, he had already decided to acquiesce to her demands as soon as she had spoken it. He was grateful, after all, for her help in his recovery.  But, he was not going to fetch the scales by himself. If she wanted to get her hands on those scales she would have to contribute to the journey. 

“Alright, if you want the scales you shall have them. However, I am not going on this journey for the impossible by myself. I know where to find them so we can get started whenever you are ready. 

She smiles slightly before speaking. “I think that our journey might have to be held off a couple of days at least.”

Rhysand took the bait. “What, not up for the challenge?”

“No, I’m up for the challenge. You, however, are not.” The smirk on her face was undeniable and Rhysand felt a laugh make its way up his throat. The female was right he was not up to any kind of journey where he would be forced to sleep on the cold hard earth and eat whatever gruel he could salvage. All at once he felt the exhaustion flood him as his body realized he would not be traveling anytime soon. 

She seemed to notice this and anticipated Rhysand’s legs giving out under him before he realized he was getting closer and closer to the polished wood of the floor. She skillfully wrapped her arms around his torso and slowly lowered him to the ground. 

“We need to get you to bed. I already made breakfast so I’ll bring some to you as soon as you’re tucked in. 

Rhysand chuckled, “I’m not a child, gods, you’re more demanding than my brothers.” She cocked her hips to the side before placing her hands on her hips as she stared him down. Rhysands smile never left his face as he raised his palms in defeat and raised himself to his knees before turning on his heel and entering the room he had previously come out of. As the door clicked shut behind him, Rhysand stood in the middle of the cozy room. He hadn’t smiled in 50 years. The muscles felt strangely tight from lack of use. He knew he had to get back to Velaris as soon as possible; his family was probably wondering where he was. But, despite his best efforts he couldn't bring himself to winnow home. It was quite peaceful in this little cottage by the sea. Rhysand eventually sat on the bed and leaned back on his arms as he stared out of the large window across from the bed. It seems Amaranths's reign managed to evade this section of the fae kingdoms. 

Y/N rapped on the door 3 times before opening the door and walking inside. Rhysand smelt a fragrant aroma of ripened fruits and something else warm and minty. She walked up to the small wooden table next to the bed and placed a tray on it. 

“I’ve made you a fruit salad, bread and herbs, and tea. I would make you something more hearty but, considering how malnourished you were upon your arrival, I feel it’s best to start you off on some simpler foods.” Rhysand looked up at her, “Thank you for the meal.” She tilted her head to the side slightly and smiled. “Could I check your temperature?” She raised her hand up towards his forehead but kept her hand from actually touching him. He took the time to look up at her from where he sat on the bed. He nodded his head and waited as she brought the back of her hand to his forehead and placed her hand on her forehead as well. 

“You’re temperature is slightly above what is normal..” The frown on her face deepened as the gears in her mind began formulating some combination of herbs and elixirs to lower the fever. Rhysand kept his gaze on her as she started counting on one hand and mumbling soft indescribable words. Her eyes flicked down to his and she said,“ I’ll have to give you some ginger and chamomile to help lower your fever. ” Her touch felt cool on his warm forehead when he swore he felt his temperature lower a fraction. She then slowly brought her hands down to his neck before looking at him to ask for permission once more. Again, he slowly nodded his head and she pressed one of her delicate fingers against his skin. She removed her finger quickly and kept her gaze on that section of her neck. “It appears as if you are also dehydrated.” 

Her voice trailed off as she continued moving his head slightly. Curiosity overwhelmed him so Rhysand asked, “ You could have done all these tests while I was asleep, could you not?”. She smiled slightly at him as she removed her hands from his cheek and neck and placed them back in her lap. “I don’t think you would have wanted that.” Her gaze settled on him in a way that made shivers run up his already sore spine. Rhysand answered with his own poor excuse of a smirk.

“Eat up, I will start preparing the provisions for our journey and bring you some more water”. She turned to the door and softly clicked it shut behind her. 

Y/N did not expect that being so close to the man would have made her heart beat so fast. The hair on her arms stood up as she attempted to take deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She needed to get started on the preparation as well as figure out the dilemma of how she was going to replicate the properties of water drake scales without having to put them in every single batch of her remedy.  

Rhysand relaxed back into the bed cradling him and felt the tension in his muscles trickle out and gather underneath him in a pool of warmth. They wouldn't be going on a journey, he was sure Majda had some water drake scales stocked up and he planned to winnow them into Velaris as soon as he was better. But she didn't need to know that yet. He quite liked the tranquility of the little cottage on the sea and intended to stay here as long as she would permit him to. Funnily enough, he didn't care to go back home.

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A/N: this had too many POV switches for my taste so I won't be doing that again lol I know it's been a while since I posted but I am trying to get back into the groove of things haha

TAGLIST: @nebarious

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Hello! What do you think about Natalie, her writing and fandom treatment? I find it fascinating that despite all the evil, she has so many fans, and even those who salt on ML and the Agrestes heavily often portray her as cool and/or sympathetic.

Prior to season five, I had mixed feelings about Nathalie. I like badass female villains, but I don't like women being idiots over men. Those were her two defining traits in season three and four, so my attitude was mostly, "can we please switch her motivation so that I can love her? I really want to love her because, if we remove the romance crap, then she reminds me of Shego and the world needs more Shegos!"

Then season five hit....

I utterly despise Nathalie's season five writing and think it makes her look weak, cruel, and ineffectual. I have no idea why so many people adore her and are excited that she's Adrien's new mom. She is not meaningfully better than Gabriel. In fact, season five Nathalie bothers me more than Gabriel. Why? Because Gabriel is the villain. He's allowed to be villainous. When Nathalie was a villain, the same rules applied. But the show claims that she's good now and yet she does nothing meaningful to stop Gabriel even though she could have.

Nathalie lives in the Agreste mansion, knows all of Gabriel's secrets, and has access to his secret lair. We also see her pin Gabriel to a table, undo his senti commands, and boss him around without any retaliation. He just rolls over and takes it. This is not the setup for a weak willed woman who sits idly by crying woe is me because she has no true power, yet that's basically what Nathalie is in season five. The first part of the final even outright confirms that Nathalie knows Gabriel's ultimate plan:

(A Tsurugi Industries pop-up appears on the screen.) Ad voice: After months of research, Tsurugi Labs have found the antidote– Nathalie: (Swipes the pop-up away.) He's going to finally do it...

So why didn't she find a way to contact the heroes and tell them what was going on? Why did she wait until she was dying to do something? Right after the above line, she grabs her crossbow and goes off to find Gabriel in a moment that made me roll my eyes. It's such blatant pathetic fan service. Only now when Nathalie is too weak to make a difference is she finally allowed to make a token effort to stop the man that she's been babying all season.

If Nathalie was allowed to be the kind of character they wrote her to be, then she would have acted much sooner and to greater effect. For example, imagine if her akumatization was just a ruse to get to the heroes. Once she loses and Gabriel can no longer see what's going on, she calls on the heroes to wait and then tells them everything, offering to help stop Gabriel. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from Nathalie's character.

Instead she just lays around in bed and occasionally pleads with Gabriel to change his mind like in this scene from Intuition:

Nathalie: Gabriel, you may only have a few weeks left like this... and I don't have much more than that. Maybe it's time to stop chasing after the Miraculous and start looking for a solution for Adrien. Make sure he's not alone once we're gone. (Hearing these words, Gabriel's eyes start to fill with sadness. Nathalie places her hands over Gabriel's.) Nathalie: Do it. For Emilie.

Nathalie, you have known this man for literal decades. Why do you expect this to work? Wake up and take charge, woman! Tell Adrien yourself! Help the heroes! Right your wrongs! You are literally dying! What do you have to lose? She honestly comes across pretty hypocritically here because, as she pointed out, they are both actively dying, which will leave Adrien alone, and yet Nathalie also does nothing to prepare Adrien for that. She just wrings her hands and hopes that Gabriel will do the right thing for both of them and I just... GAHHHHH!!!

The only semi-meaningful thing that Nathalie does in season five is undo Gabriel's commands, but that's literally just her maintaining the status quo. It's only there so that the writers don't have to deal with the senti stuff having any real consequences beyond delaying the Adrienette kiss a few episodes. Nathalie isn't trying to free Adrien or get his rings into safe hands before her death. She's just withering away and listening to Adrien talk about Marinette while knowing that he will soon lose everything. It's legitimately upsetting to me.

The anger some people feel about Marinette's actions at the end of the final is how I felt about Nathalie for all of season five and Nathalie is a freaking adult who has known everything for years. Matinette only knows the truth in a context where she can tell Adrien for about two on-screen minutes and that's assuming that Marinette figured out that Adrien is a sentimonster from context clues which she may not have! No one ever explicitly told her the truth and she had a lot of things thrown at her in rapid succession. I would not be stunned if season six reveals that she's still in the dark.

Nathalie is not sympathetic. She has had full agency and knowledge throughout the entire show. She has never been forced to do anything. She is the only peacock wielder to wield it knowing that she would die. She willingly supported Gabriel even when it put Adrien at risk. She outed Adrien's identity in Chat Blanc. She snapped away sentiBug! She's a great villain! She is a piss poor maternal figure.

The final annoying thing about her season five writing is that her "changing sides" makes no sense! She has no idea why the time travel plan failed and her own FIRST HAND EXPERIENCE is that Gabriel will put those he loves before defeating Ladybug (see: Ladybug where Gabriel chose Nathalie over winning). It is such a glaring example of bad writing that it infuriates me! This is the exchange I'm talking about:

Nathalie: (on-call) Gabriel, did it work? Gabriel: No, Ladybug tricked me! She stole the Time Miraculous from me! (Nathalie coughs from her sickness.) You have to help me! Come up with a new plan! Ladybug can’t get away with this! Nathalie: (on-call) You had the Time Miraculous. You could’ve chosen to save Emilie! You could’ve chosen to save me! (coughs) But instead, you chose your obsession with Ladybug and Cat Noir. You're insane, Gabriel!

Please remember that Nathalie has been helping him behind the scenes since the start and is fully aware that every plan he's ever made has failed even though she considered many of those dozens-if-not hundreds-of-plans brilliant.

Gabriel: If it were to fail Nathalie, I could never forgive myself. Nathalie: You made a promise to your wife. You've risked so much for the chance to bring her back. (Hands Gabriel her tablet) Lila has been harboring her rage against Ladybug for months, and today wherever she looks, she'll see the object of her hatred, and as predicted, her anger will reach devastating heights. Your plan is perfect, sir. Gabriel: And you're sure you want to do this? Nathalie: I will always be here for you. We will succeed.

Why is she suddenly so sure that this plan was different? What made her go from encouraging Gabriel to take risks to calling him insane? Why is she suddenly convinced that Gabriel can't possibly win and needs to focus on Adrien when she never said a word during the multiple akumas that directly threatened Adrien's life?

The meta reason is that the writers needed her to act as if she'd been watching the episode so that she wouldn't blindly support Gabriel anymore, allowing them to do the senti BS without it being meaningful to the story. The in show reason? I've got nothing. It is jarring to watch this while remembering that season four ended with Nathalie being given ownership of Adrien and willingly accepting that task, even going so far as to issue senti commands to "Adrien" to make him obey, which does not instill confidence in her parenting skills.

It's just so freaking infuriating. It would have been so much better if Nathalie was allowed to die and we got Emilie back. Nathalie did absolutely nothing to deserve a magical healing and I've been curious about Emilie since day one.

[daisynik7]

Give You Blue

Chapter 3: Umbrella

🎶 I can't stop the rain, but I will keep you dry 🎶

Pairing: Eren x f!reader, Reiner x f!reader (past relationship)

Rating: Explicit (this chapter does not contain any explicit material, but the series as a whole will remain Explicit)

cw: switching POVs (reader is in 2nd person, Eren is in 3rd), angst, a little bit of fluff

Word Count: ~2.9k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Give You Blue Masterlist | ao3 | Give You Blue Taglist

Summary: With your classes as a distraction, you manage to survive a month into your breakup. However, you hit a snag when you run into your ex for the first time since the start of the semester. And, as if it couldn't get any worse, you forget to bring an umbrella on a day with heavy rainfall. Luckily, someone comes to your aid. Author’s Notes: Introducing Eren’s point of view! Hope you enjoy this one! Likes, comments, and/or reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated. Thank you so much for the support! If you want to be tagged in any future chapters, please let me know in the comments or interact with the Give You Blue Taglist post. Appreciate y’all! Divider created by @/mikeykuns.

Eren hates his major. 

It’s not that he dislikes biology. In fact, he adores it. He has fond childhood memories of Armin sneaking encyclopedias from his grandpa’s library so that the two of them can flip through each page, eyes wide open in awe at the information displayed. Eren has always been particularly fascinated with science.

No, it’s not biology; he hates being pre-med. He’s only doing it because his father, the renowned Dr. Grisha Jaeger, gave him an ultimatum. It was either pre-med or no tuition, without any room for compromise. Eren’s fate is to become a physician, whether he likes it or not, all because it’s what the Jaeger patriarch wants. To be fair, he’s never stood up for himself. Zeke, his older brother, is in med school at Marley. He can’t be the sole disappointing son; he just can’t. 

So, instead, he suffers. One month into the semester, and he’s already struggling with organic chemistry. Freshman year, he aced biology, no problem. But chemistry? It’s a totally different language that he can’t comprehend.

Inside the lecture hall, he stares at his graded quiz, a big 53% scribbled in bold red ink. He glances at the other students, sneaking a peek at what they got. His concerns lessen slightly, spotting a few other 50s. Luckily, because the exam was so difficult, the professor informs them that it will be weighted. Still, this isn’t good enough. He’ll have a hard time explaining this one to the doctor.

When class is dismissed, Eren remains in his seat, head in his hands, re-evaluating his life choices. Is it going to be this way the rest of the semester? The remainder of the schoolyear? For the next decade? He’s only a sophomore; it’s only going to get harder from here. There’s so much pressure to do well right off the bat. After all, a high GPA is required for him to get into the prestigious Marley School of Medicine, the same university Zeke is currently attending. The standard has already been set high, and Eren needs to reach it if he doesn’t want to be considered a failure. 

There’s a heavy burden weighing him down, sometimes he finds it difficult to breath. The first semester of freshman year was a breeze; he had a good handle on his classes, snuck into a few frat parties with Mikasa and Armin, made fond memories with his friends. It was fun. Now, it’s anything but. He signed up to be an RA to have his own personal space so he could study. Basically coop himself in his room without having to resort to the library across campus. He tries to see his friends, but rarely goes out to a party. Armin, of all people, joined a frat last semester and has invited Eren out several times, always resulting in him declining. 

College is no longer enjoyable. And maybe for him, it was never meant to be. Is this what his life is going to be in the future? All work, no play? Is he destined to become like his workaholic father, who is hardly home? His brother, who’s aged twenty years despite being under thirty? He’s constantly debating in his mind if this is the route he wants to take. It keeps him awake at night, stressing about it. 

Eventually, he gets up out of his seat, slinging his backpack across his shoulders, his other hand grasping a large umbrella. The forecast predicted rain all afternoon. Fitting for how he’s feeling at the moment. 

Walking out of the lecture hall and towards the exit, he notices someone standing near the door, leaning against the wall, face buried in their hands. He approaches closer, realizing it’s one of his residents. And she’s crying.

~~~

It’s been a month since Reiner broke up with you. Your classes have been a well-needed distraction, keeping yourself focused on assignments rather than memories of your past relationship. Still, when you’re in bed every night, desperate to fall asleep, the flashbacks play on a continuous loop, keeping you awake. It’s been difficult to get a proper amount of sleep because of this. It’s a vicious cycle, one you haven’t quite figured out how to get out of. But like Annie said, baby steps. 

With your midday class over, you walk to the nearest vending machine, purchasing a canned coffee beverage to fuel your perpetual exhaustion. Caffeine has been one of your saving graces during this trying time, aside from the support from your friends. It also helps that you haven’t seen Reiner since the drastic breakup. You’ve been actively avoiding all of the usual spots you used to frequent with him, going out to the cafeteria, library, or the mini mart at odd times of the day. He hasn’t reached out to you, most likely giving you space until you decide to initiate. What do you even say? You’re trying to move on, and keeping in contact with him would only make it harder. But there’s no denying it; you miss him. 

As you step towards the exit, you notice all the other students clad in their waterproof coats or holding umbrellas. It’s pouring now, and you’re not prepared at all. Annie’s reminder last night resurfaces in your brain a little too late. She mentioned how it was supposed to rain today, and you probably brushed it off. Or maybe in your rush to get to class this morning, running on only two hours of sleep, it slipped your mind. 

Directly across is the next building. Thinking quickly, you hunch underneath your backpack, making some sort of makeshift shelter, and hurry over, doing your best to avoid getting soaked. There’s a large crowd of students leaving one of the lecture halls. You push past them, pausing near the exit, trying to decide what your next move should be. And that’s when you her him.

“Coco?”

Your heart drops when you hear his voice, uttering that all too familiar nickname. Slowly, you turn around, seeing Reiner standing before you with a pretty, blonde woman beside him. 

“Oh. Hi.” You do your best to sound nonchalant, actually stunned by his presence.

He swallows hard, clearly nervous. “I didn’t know you had a class in here.”

“No, I don’t. I was just passing through. I, uh, forgot my umbrella, so I’m trying my best to avoid the rain.” You glance down at your shirt, spotted with droplets. “Obviously, it’s not working,” you add, with a small chuckle. You’re surprised that you can laugh when there’s dread suffocating your lungs. Seeing him in the flesh, after weeks of miraculously avoiding him, is hitting you harder than you imagined. 

Reiner stares at you, concern in his eyes. The same expression he’s given you throughout your life whenever he was worried about you. “It’s pouring the rest of the day. You’re going to get soaked.” It’s genuine the way he says it; like he still cares about you. It makes you regret coming here in the first place. 

“We can walk you to your dorm, if you want.” Her voice startles you for a second, forgetting she’s here as you fixate on your ex. She gives you a small smile when she continues. “I’m Christa, by the way. Nice to meet you.” 

You shake her hand, introducing yourself. Glancing at her sweatshirt, two deltas stitched across with a floral pattern, you comment, “I like your letters. They’re very cute.” 

Her smile widens. “Thank you! My big gave it to me last semester. Are you also in a sorority?”

“No, I’m not,” you reply, suddenly feeling self-conscious. 

She wiggles her finger at you and Reiner. “How do you two know each other, then?”

“We’ve known each other since we were kids. We grew up together,” Reiner answers, a hint of pride in his voice. “We’re best friends.” He glances at you, checking your reaction. You look down at your sneakers, wet at the soles, trying not to show the emotions rattling inside. 

“That is so sweet! Well, if you’re ever interested in joining a sorority, we do informal recruitment in the fall, formal recruitment in the spring. You should stop by the house some time for dinner, maybe during the nights Reiner is hashing.”

“Hashing…?”

“Sorry! So used to speaking in sorority language! Reiner is one of our hashers. He helps serve food and wash dishes, in exchange for a paycheck, of course. His shifts are usually at dinner.”

You finally meet his eyes. “Oh. I didn’t know.” 

He opens his mouth, wanting to respond. Then Christa nudges him with her elbow, giggling. “How can you not tell your best friend that you have a job?!”

He avoids your gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I forgot.” The truth is more complicated to explain; you don’t blame him for that. Still, it hurts. You’re so used to knowing everything about each other. Now, he’s practically a stranger. 

Christa, blissfully unaware, repeats her earlier offer. “We can walk you to your dorm! And we can talk more about Delta Delta if you’d like.” Her offer is kind, even with the ulterior motive, trying to recruit you. It’s not the sales-pitch that’s deterring you, though. It’s the idea of sharing an umbrella with them, forcing yourself to act like it’s all fine and dandy. That he didn’t break your heart a few weeks ago so that he can hang out with sorority girls like Christa, gorgeous, sweet, and sociable. It’s not her that bothers you, not at all. She has no idea the pain you’re going through. Reiner does, and it makes you angry knowing he wants to play pretend for the sake of his image. 

“It’s okay, I can walk on my own from here. Greek Row is on the opposite side of campus, it doesn’t make sense for you to walk me.” You’re not going to accept the offer, no matter what. It’s better this way. You’d rather get drenched than subject yourself to this. 

“C’mon, Coco. We really don’t mind,” Reiner urges.

We. It’s a simple word, no significant meaning behind it. To you, it’s devastating. It used to be you and him. Now, it’s him with somebody else. You’re the third party here. And sure, they’re probably just friends, but the insecure part of you is going insane, wondering if he’s already moved on. 

More adamant, you say, “I’ll be fine. Seriously.” You give Reiner a stern look, one he recognizes instantly. He’s seen it many times before, and he knows that he should just drop it. Christa’s eyes dart between you two, picking up on the tension. “Okay, well, I hope you take up my offer for dinner. I’ll let Reiner contact you to schedule a time.” She smiles at you, waving. “It was really nice to meet you, Coco.”

Reiner makes a strangled noise in his throat, caught off guard by his special nickname for you being used by somebody other than him. You’re surprised at yourself when you let out a genuine chuckle, grinning. “It was nice meeting you too.” You’re not annoyed at her for calling you that. In fact, you’re relieved. In a way, you feel liberated from it. It no longer belongs to him. 

You’re overwhelmed with emotions as soon as they leave side-by-side under his umbrella. You wait until they’re out of sight, leaning against the wall, hiding your face as the tears stream down your cheeks. Suddenly, and at the worst timing, you hear a familiar voice call out to you. Peering up, you see Eren, your RA, standing in front of you.

You meet him in passing every now and then, walking out or into his room while you’re going the opposite direction, exchanging a friendly wave or pleasant greeting. There’s always a pleasant smile on his face, as if life Is great and everything is going to be fine. This is the second time he’s witnessed you crying, two times too many at this point. You’re hot with embarrassment, being caught a blubbery mess once again.

“Hi,” you sniffle, drying your cheek with your sleeve. 

“Are you okay?” He’s concerned, of course. Similar to the first time you burst into tears upon meeting him.

You take a deep, shaky breath before responding, “Yeah. I’m fine. I just…I didn’t know it was going to rain.”

It’s silent between you for a moment, Eren processing the situation before speaking. “If you’re heading back to the dorms, we can walk together.” He holds the curved handle in up, smiling. You’re grateful he doesn’t question it further, understanding there’s more behind your outburst than just a little bit of unforeseen weather. 

Once outside, he opens the umbrella, revealing a blue-sky pattern over your heads. You laugh at the irony of it. 

“Pretty cool, right?” he beams, holding the handle between you. “I always like to carry a bit of blue with me whenever it’s a gloomy day.”

“I love it,” you reply, returning his bright smile. “Almost makes it feel like it isn’t raining at all.” You huddle next to him, trying your best not to bump your shoulder against his. “Thank you. I would have been stranded if you didn’t come along.”

“No problem at all. Just consider this one of my responsibilities, as your RA.”

“To show off your super cool umbrella to your residents?” you joke, smirking.  

He turns his head to face you, gazing at you kindly. “No. To keep you safe and protect you.”

You focus your attention on the ground, avoiding any puddles and ignoring the slight flutter in your belly. “You might be the best RA ever with that kind of mindset.”

He chuckles. “Well, I haven’t forgiven myself for making you cry the first night I met you. So I’m doing my best to make up for it.”

You cover you face with your hand, remembering that humiliating moment. “Oh god, don’t remind me. It really wasn’t you. I was in a fragile state and apparently, red velvet cupcakes were triggering at the time.”

The rain lets up a bit, reduced to a drizzle now. Eren stares in front of him, relaxing the grip on the handle. “Are you feeling better now?”

You choose your words carefully before replying, “Yeah. I think so.” It’s not a confident answer, though it’s the best you can do, without going into detail about it.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

The two of you walk in silence for the next few minutes, listening to the soft trickle of raindrops against the pavement. There’s something peaceful about the rain when you’re not getting absolutely drowned by it. You look up, admiring the blue-sky pattern, feeling the tiniest boost of serotonin on an otherwise dreary situation. “You’re doing a great job, by the way.”

“Huh?”

A little louder, you repeat, “I said you’re doing a great job. Being an RA and everything.” You’re unsure yourself what you mean by “everything”. He’s basically a stranger to you. However, for some reason, you’re comfortable around him. 

“Oh. Thanks.” You can tell he’s surprised by your comment, which makes you smile to yourself. 

Another moment of silence passes as you approach the dorms. “I’ll have to find a way to thank you for this,” you say. 

“You really don’t have to.”

“If it weren’t for you, I’d either be stuck there, crying. Or back at the dorms, drenched from head to toe.” You remove the keycard from your pocket, swiping your ID at the door. 

He holds it open for you, beckoning you to enter first, folding and tying his umbrella closed. “Well, if you must know, I love Pocky.”

“Pocky?” You raise your brow at him, amused.

“You know, those little stick treats, covered in chocolate.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar. I’m just surprised by your answer,” you grin, stopping in front of his room. 

“Hey, I told you I have a sweet tooth, right? Just get me a box of that, and we’ll call this even.”

“Okay,” you reply. “I can do that.”

He watches you walk the rest of the way down the hall to your room. You face him, giving him one last wave before you enter, retreating inside. You set your bag down and sit at the edge of your bed, surprised at how okay you’re doing, despite running into Reiner. Maybe you really are doing better.

Soon after, your phone vibrates, notifying you of a text. When you check it, you find yourself staring at the screen, frozen in place.

Reiner: Hope you made it back to your dorm okay.

~~~

You’re doing a great job. On a shitty day like today, those five simple words give Eren the validation he needs. If he can’t be great at chemistry, it’s nice knowing he is succeeding in another way. It makes him feel good, as if he’s finally doing something right. Being appreciated for it isn’t expected, but it sure is nice. 

He doesn’t see or hear from her until a few days later, when he comes back from one of his classes. Outside his room, he spots a plastic bag hanging on the doorknob, a note attached to the outside of it:

Eren, thank you for keeping me dry from the rain the other day. Consider us even now. 

He smiles reading her name signed at the end of it. Peeking into the bag, he sees at least a dozen Pocky boxes scattered inside. 

Taglist: @batafuraikisu @bloompompom @monirei @filunara @katestrophes @ichinosejager13 @hoperenae @zellskz @e-ayyy @liliorsstuff-blog @maliakealoha @holdmeclosebutdontloveme @chrollohearttags @sailorputa @squickkk @dnyllmh @hellomeow12 @s-cream-ing @potofstewie @conniesbbymama @erzascarlett28 @lem-hhn @roronoazorosbxtchh @ichigostrawberry15 @rhaelrence @lilshades @bigmoodyjoody @icansmellsouls @aangsupremacy @ashsauroras @bakuhoes-bxtch @mrs-wolfwood @si-kamo @jmtherula @imaddicted-b @monkemanjeager @neesiewrote @large-juice @chiinni @belovedackerman

[tantei-chan01]

The Giver. Mute Branch Au

Notebook talking has this "-"

Sign language is this "*"

Xxx

A scrapbook opens as Poppy narrates, "Years ago, on the night of the Harvest Moon, a mysterious troll paid our village a visit and delivered gifts to everyone becoming known only as ... the Giver." On the page, a little troll in a hoodie leaves presents in the pods, stopping to pose in front of the moon. "Every Harvest Moon since has been the same, leaving presents under the veil of night."

The little trolls in the pod leave for a moment, missing the Giver leaving them a gift, "Yay!"

"Which everyone loves...." Poppy suddenly shuts the book, "but it drives ME completely insane!"

A crowd of trolls looked at her in confusion, chattering amongst themselves.

"When you give a gift, you’re supposed to receive a thank-you card. It’s what separates us from the animals. And this Troll is making a mockery of the whole thing. " Frustrated, Poppy throws the book on the mushroom, Smidge behind her with a stern look. "Ugh!"

The crowd gasped, Biggie covering Mr. Dinkles eyes. Branch tapped a dazed Suki's shoulder and held up his brown notebook, "- I think I might missed a step from being in my bunker the last decade. Does she do this every year?-"

Suki shrugged, "Pretty much. I just nap through it. Thank goodness, I learned to sleep with my eyes open, right?" She snores with her eyes open, making Branch gasp and drop his notebook.

"Well, listen up, Giver. You may have escaped me in the past, but this year I’ve rigged the entire village with hidden alarms." She points to Smidge, who pulls a conveniently placed vine. Red and blue bell like flowers beging blaring out an alarm. "Which means I will catch you and will get what’s coming to you."

Smidge pulls out a purple bat (which I hope is actually rubber) with an eager face. "Yeah!"

"This!" Poppy pulls out a blue thank-you card and opens it to show off her card, making skills

Smidge nervously laughs and hides the bat. "Uh, yeah, that."

"So this is your last chance. Come forward now and take your thank-you like a troll." The crowd looks at each other, but no one comes forward. Poppy then hears a certain breathing pattern that she definitely recognizes as laughter, "Something funny, Branch?"

Branch signs, "*Yes, you.*"

"Hm…"

"*I realize I’m new to all this, but if “the Gifter” wants to remain anonymous, shouldn’t we respect that?*"

Biggie excitedly asks, "OH! Can I try translating?" Branch nods to the gentle giant. "Okay, you said something about making cookies for the Giver."

"Meep."

Biggie looks at Mr. Dinkles, "What do you mean I'm not even close?"

Reminding herself to help Biggie with translating later, Poppy responds as Smidge seems to be counting trolls, "It’s “the Giver.” If you’re gonna be a know-it-all, get your facts straight."

"Uh, Poppy, just did a hair count, and Satin and Chenille are absent."

Poppy quickly turns to her, "Absent?! On the Harvest Moon?" Her face switched to determination, "Let’s go, Smidge. We’ve got a new lead suspect."

"Uh, there’s two of them."

"We’ve got a new lead of suspects. "

Xxx

The scene switches to Satin and Chenille's pod, only to reveal Satin sick in bed.

Satin sneezes and then blows her nose into a tissue, tossing it into a pile next to her. "I love being sick. It’s like my body has a whole other side to its personality for me to get to know. Don’t you think?" She turns to Chenille, who's wearing a gas mask and carrying a spray bottle.

Chenille sprays at her twin, "Back, vessel of pestilence! Back!"

Poppy and Smidge sneakily walk up to the window, "You ready to bust these gift-giving punks, Poppy?"

Poppy pulls out the card and preps it. "Locked and loaded." She hears crunching and sees Branch sitting in a chair, eating a bag of popcorn. "Ugh! Don’t you have better things to do?"

"*Than watch you make a fool of yourself? (munches) Please, I cleared my whole day.*"

Smidge looks at him, "OK he definitely said something about you embarrassing yourself." Branch tapped his nose twice. "Cool." She smiles, then turns her attention back to Poppy, "Ignore him. How do we get ‘em to talk?"

"By using the oldest Troll interrogating technique there is-good cop, great cop."

Smidge uses her baseball bat to shine light into Satin and Chenille’s pod. Directing it to face Satin.

She flinches for a moment and then relaxes into it. "Ah! Ooh, that sunshine feels so good."

Poppy leans in close to the sick troll. "You know what else is good?" She takes out a cookie. "Cookies. And you can have them if you tell me what I want to know."

"Ooh."

She pushes the cookie closer, "Or if you don’t, either way."

Satin smiles. "That’s so nice."

"Oh, yeah?!" Smidge pulls a cake from behind and lightly slams it on the table, "I’ll give you an entire cake, no strings attached!"

Satin feels a bit conflicted, "Wow, I feel like I should at least tell you something."

Poppy gets right in her face, "Well, I’ll give you a back rub."

"I’ll write you a haiku."

Poppy bangs on the table, "I’ll be your best friend!"

Satin holds her head in what seems to be guilt, "OK. OK. I confess. I color my hair! I’m not a natural purple." She then points to her sister as the lights come on. "Neither is Chenille."

Chenille's eye twitches in disbelief, "You...are dead to me."

"Hold on. So you’re not the Giver?"

An unfamiliar laugh distracts the four, turning to see Branch leaning on his chair laughing, "*Bravo, Poppy. You really broke the case of the purple hair wide open.*"

Poppy growls, feeling a little conflicted, seeing as he'sactually laughing for others to hear. Chenille comments, "I only understood purple hair. "

Satin smiles a little, "Well, it's nice to actuallyhearhim laugh. "

Branch leans to far bach on the chair, knocking down the curtains, revealing what appears to be red wrapping papper. Poppy gasps, "That looks like the paper the Giver uses." She turns back to Satin and Chenille. "Explain yourself… ves!"

"That paper’s not ours."

Chenille explains, "Yeah, it’s so five years ago. Do you think we’ve been living under a rock?"

Smidge licks the paper, "It’s definitely the same-quality pulp, hand-cut edging," She then points to a logo, "and look at the insignia. It comes from Sky Toronto’s Party Shop.

Poppy turns back to the twins, "Ladies, I really hope Sky doesn’t tell me you’re the Giver, or so help me, I’ll thank you like you’ve never been thanked before." She walks backward and arrives at Sky Toronto’s Party Shop.

She walks with the older glitter troll as he gives out orders, "It’s crunch time, people. I need 200 piñata ideas on my desk by tomorrow morning." The workers walk away. "Queen Poppy, I’m honored, yada, yada, but let’s cut to the chase. There are 18 parties, 12 soirees, and at least five shindigs on an average Troll night all supplied by me, Sky Toronto." He snaps his fingers. "So time is glitter."

She holds out the wrapping paper, "Do you recognize this?"

Sky stops as a worker approaches him, "Pause."

The worker holds out the confetti samples, "Mr. Toronto, the new confetti designs for your approval, sir."

Sky throws each sample to inspect, "Pass, hard pass, too cliché." He stops at the fourth one. "Ah, that one. That’s the confetti of the now." The worker leaves, and he turns back to Poppy, "Yes, I recognize it. Not popular, except with one troll who picks up about 100 rolls once a year."

Poppy gasps, "Once a year?!"

Another worker walks up to him with a disco ball in her hand, "Hey, S.T. The boys in decorations just cooked up this new color. Thoughts?"

Sky thinks for a moment, "Hm. Not bad. But disco balls aren’t testing well. How about disco… cubes?" The worker gasps and walks backward, her mind blown.

Poppy tries to get his attention, "Let me get this straight. The Troll who gets this paper, you’ve seen him in person?"

"Many times." An explosion catches his attention and sees some workers running from it. "Don’t mind that. Accident in the trick candle division. We try to put it out, but every time we do…" Trolls bring in water and fire extinguishers to put it out, but the explosion gets worse. "I should ask Branch to see if he can come up with something to put it out."

Later, Smidge is getting a cup of water in the meeting room while Poppy is talking to Sky with Harper sitting with him.

"Okay. Just give Harper here a physical description."

Sky begins the description, "Body of a warrior. Earlobes of a poet. Butt that shimmers like the night sky. We done here?"

Poppy looks at the picture groans, "Describe the mystery Troll, not yourself." She turns Harper's clipboard to reveal a drawing of Sky.

Sky takes the picture Harper drew and hands it over to one of the workers, "My mistake. But I’m keeping that. The troll had dark eyes, a shrouded face, and hair the color of mystery."

Harper shows Poppy a picture of the Giver. Which is only a troll in a hoody wearing sunglasses. Poppy stammers, "What is this?! This isn’t helpful."

"I said I saw the Giver, not that it’d be helpful."

Harper takes back the picture she drew, "Wait. I’ve seen this Troll."

Xxx

Later that night, Harper Poppy and Smidge go to find the Giver, "I saw the Troll down here this morning… over by the tree roots." She points to a large tree. They continue to walk as the fog clears. Poppy gasps to see several gifts ready to be delivered.

Smidge is a bit suspicious, "Uh…"

Poppy looks on in awe, "The Giver’s stash. They’ll have to come back here before delivering tonight’ gifts. This is where we make out stand." As she tries to walk away, she hears squishing sounds.

Smidge looks up at her, unimpressed, "Uh, we’re standing in mud."

The royal moves away from the mud, "This is where we make our stand.

An owl is heard hooting in the background. Poppy and Smidge are hiding in the bushes. "It’s just a matter of time. Eventually, our Mystery Troll will have to come back to get the gifts, only to find…"

Smidge pops out of some tall grass, "Whammo! It’s a stakeout, boy!"

"Oh, yeah!" The two hear rusting. "That’s the Giver now!" The troll appears and seems to go to the gifts. "Gotcha!" She pulls a vine, and many flowers pop up. They shoot balls and streamers along with a thank-you banner.

Spiders jump down and sing, "Thank you!"

Poppy runs out of her hiding place, "Ha! I thanked you! I thanked you so hard! Yes, yes, yes!" She turns on a flashlight and pulls away the flowers. "Now, what do you have to say for yourself?!" The flowers reveal that it was only Cooper.

Cooper gives them a clueless smile, "You’re welcome."

Poppy is shocked, "All these years, it was you? W-why did you - When did you…" She puts her flashlight away and tries to calm down. "You know what? Just start from the beginning and tell me everything."

Cooper looks at her, "Everything? Okay. Darkness. Then I emerge from the womb, wearing this very hat."

(5 minutes later)

"And then the theme of my 7th birthday party was invisible friends. It was very well attended."

(2 hours later)

"And then, after years of hard work at graduation, my classmates finally turned to me and said, “You’re not in class.” (chuckles) We laughed."

(Another 2 hours later)

"And then some weird Troll told me if I came out here, I’d find some empty boxed for my empty-box collection. And then you trapped me and said, “Tell me everything.” And then I said, “Darkness. I emerge from the womb”-

Poppy stops him, "Whoa! Just answer this question." She takes out the picture Harper drew. "Are you or are you not the Giver?"

He taps the picture, "That’s the weird Troll that sent me here."

They looked at him in disbelief, "The Giver sent you here?"

A random green spider set down a package and pulled back up. "Special delivery from the Giver."

Smidge opens the present and reveals a letter. “Dear Poppy, I’m sorry. This was the only way. From, the Giver.”

"It’s a setup. The Giver wanted us to come here!" She hears the alarms sounding in Troll Village.

Smidge looks over the horizon, "Oh, my Guh."

Poppy quickly runs toward the village, "Halt! Halt in the name of gratitude!" She looks up at the pods to hear the Trolls cheering because their gifts were delivered. She falls to her knees, leans up towards the sky, and exclaims, "THANK YOU!"

The Trolls are celebrating their given gifts while a sad Poppy sits at her pod. "The giver won, Smidge." She opens her card. "No point in holding on to this anymore. She rips the card to pieces.

Smidge tries to cheer her up, "Come on, Poppy, at least you got a present, huh?"

Poppy takes the present, "A horribly wrapped present. Who uses so much tape?" She sighs, "Chenille was right. This Troll really must live… under a rock! (gasps) Trolly-moley. I know who it is!" She gives her present to Smidge and runs. Then she comes back to pick up her destroyed card. "I really regret doing that." Smidge takes both presents to her pod for safe keeping.

Xxxxx

We return to the tree to see a dark figure heading towards a cave hidden amongst the vines, "Hold it right there, Giver."

Poppy walks towards the figure and grabs their shoulders, "It’s time for you to be finally thanked." She turned them around to reveal, "(gasps) Mr. Dinkles!"

The hoodie falls off to reveal the cute little glow worm on top of some other pets. Smidge pops out of the bushes, "Wait, so it wasn't Branch?"

Poppy shakes her head, "If you're here, then who's with Biggie?"

Xxxx

We quickly go back to the village in Biggie's pod, "Isn't this wonderful, Mr. Dinkles?" He pulls out a brand new camera, showing it to a doll that looks like Mr. Dinkles, with a poorly hidden tape recorder on its back. "Meep"

Xxxx

"So if all of you are the Giver, why keep it a secret?" Poppy asks.

"Meep."

Poppy cooed, "Aww, you all just wanted to show your love for everyone by doing something nice."

Smidge pulls out a present from her hair, "Well, that explains the massive amount of tape. Must be pretty hard to wrap without thumbs."

Poppy cleared her throat, "OK guys, I still want to thank all of you, so how about you all come to my pod tomorrow for some special treats?"

The pets all agreed and waved goodbye to the two trolls as they walked back to the village. Once they were gone, they quickly ran into the cave. Dinkles flipped over a rock to reveal a pass code lock, he typed in some numbers, and a hatch opened. They all jumped in, landing in a very familiar living room.

"Meep." Well done, everyone. They all turned to see Branch taking off a dark hoodie and special night vision sunglasses. "Meep." She doesn't suspect a thing.

"Meep." Correct, Quiet One. Now, I believe we are to receive our payment.

Branch smiles and pulls out his special, pet friendly, triple fudge brownies. As he watches them enjoy the treat, he laughs silently, 'Sorry Poppy, but this is one secret I'd like to keep to myself for a while.

[sequinsmile-x]

Okay first: I love all your fics, I love rereading all of them. Always something to keep me busy😌

Now second: I had an idea while watching criminal minds again. How about that: Emily and Aaron are at least a few years in their relationship and everybody knows that. Emily’s at a Girl’s Night at Garcia and Aaron picks her up but he quickly realizes that she’s very weird, not like drunken Emily. It turns out that Penelope backed normal brownies and some pot brownies for her neighbors (or someone else) but she switched them and Emily had some of them.

Just some funny and fluffy high Emily content

have a great week😄

Thanks so so much bestie <3

I really hope you like this. This prompt immediately set my brain on fire so here we are haha

Hopefully, this makes you laugh, humour is the hardest thing to write by far!!

-x-

High Spirits

Aaron picks Emily up from girl's night at Penelope's. It's something he's done countless times before, but this time something is different.

-x-

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Drug use, weed use, high characters

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He can hear the giggling through the door the moment he arrives. 

He knows his wife would insist that she doesn’t giggle, her expression indigent as she said that’s what little girls did, not Section Chiefs at the FBI, but it’s the only way he can describe the sound. He knocks on Penelope’s front door and sighs when he hears her yell that it is open, his usual admonishment that she should lock her apartment door at all times caught in his throat when he walks in, his eyebrows furrowed at the sight he’s greeted with. 

Aaron had found Emily, JJ and Penelope in all kinds of conditions over the years. He’d picked Emily up from countless nights out, including her bachelorette party when her eyes were unfocused thanks to tequila and a mostly empty stomach whilst the other two wore cardboard cutout masks of his face, and it was usually some degree of the same chaos. She’d greet him with a wide smile, stumble over to see him and kiss him, the taste of whatever they’d been drinking pressed against his lips, her hands wandering across his body in a way they usually wouldn’t in front of their friends. 

This time, she’s half laid on the couch, her head against the armrest, her legs in a wide stance with her socked feet on the floor. JJ is lying in a similar position on the other end of the couch, their knees knocking together, and Penelope is in her armchair. They all have a large bag of potato chips each, each of them picking out of the bag with chopsticks, and there’s half a batch of brownies on the coffee table, the other half clearly having been eaten. 

“Hi honey,” Emily says, waving him over, her smile lazy as she sits up enough to kiss him, the taste of salt and vinegar passing from her lips to his, “Would you like a chip?”

He considers refusing, but she already has one offered out to him with the chopsticks, barely giving him a chance to respond before she feeds it to him, “What’s with the chopsticks?” 

“Stops your fingers from getting greasy,” she says, furrowing her brow at him as if it was something she did every day. 

“Your wife is a genius,” JJ says as she sits up too, her smile as relaxed as Emily’s, and he looks around, surprised to see no half-empty glasses of wine next to them. 

“And she’s gorgeous,” Penelope adds, “You really lucked out, sir.” 

He smiles, “How many times do I have to say that you don’t have to call me sir?” He says, reaching out to steady Emily as she sits all the way up, her coordination slightly off. He sits on the arm of the couch and wraps his arm around her shoulders, “I haven’t been your boss for almost a decade.” 

He’d quit the FBI when Hazel, their eldest daughter, was born 8 years ago. It was an argument he and Emily had for most of her pregnancy, each of them insistent that the other shouldn’t have to be the one to leave, but ultimately she’d seen his point of view, had understood that he saw this as a chance to get it right this time. It was a decision that only made more sense when she was promoted to Section Chief when she went back to work after their youngest, Ivy, was born. A promotion she took gladly with both hands because it meant she could be home more, her hours more regular now she was no longer heading up the team. Her famous hatred of politics and everything that came with it took a backseat to her desire to spend more time with him and their children, and he knew that any bad days she had the counterweight of what was waiting for her at home. He knew she struggled sometimes, and hated the way people didn’t understand why she was a working mom when she didn’t need to be, but he understood and he reminded her as often as she needed to hear it. 

“I know,” Penelope grumbles, her nose scrunching up, “But I don’t think I can ever get used to calling you Aaron. It’s still weird to hear Peaches call you that sometimes.” 

Emily giggles, again, and she leans her head against Aaron’s shoulder, “He’s my husband, Pen. And the father of my kids. Wouldn’t it be weird if I called him Hotch? Or Sir.” 

“Doesn’t he like it when you call him that during-”

“Okay that’s enough of that,” Emily says, her cheeks slightly red as she pats JJ’s knee, her eyes wide as she cuts her off. 

Aaron narrows his eyes curiously. She was usually loose-lipped about their sex lives when she was drunk, happy to let the odd detail slip out between shots and cocktails, somehow always careful to not entirely embarrass him. But this was different, her interruption of JJ a sign that she wasn’t drunk, despite what the rest of her behaviour and body language was telling him. He looks back and forth between them all, then at the half a batch of brownies in between them, and then back at his wife. He finally notices the slight redness of her eyes, the shininess to them that made them seem like deep dark pools he’d always come close to drowning in, and he suddenly remembers a conversation he’d overheard a few months ago between Penelope and Luke when she mentioned she’d tried to bake with cannabis butter. 

They weren’t drunk. 

They were high. 

“Wait,” he says, looking between them all, “Are you…high?” 

Emily groans and presses her forehead against his shoulder before she turns to look at her friends, “I told you he’d figure it out.” 

“I am so sorry sir…Hotch,” Penelope says, finally sitting up, “I made brownies for tonight and used the wrong butter, and it was only when we were half a batch in that we realised. I put the wine away the moment I knew-”

He cuts her off by raising his hand and smiling, “It’s okay, I can see where this is going,” he says, trying and failing to hide his amusement at her panic. He turns to look at his wife, pressing his lips together to try and contain his smile at the sheepish look on her face. He tucks some of her hair behind her ear, a tender moment between the two of them that draws a delighted gasp from Penelope, “Ready to go home, sweetheart?” He asks and she nods so he turns to look at JJ, “Do you need me to drive you home?” 

She shakes her head and responds with a mouth full of potato chips, “Will is coming to pick me up.” 

He nods and looks at his wife as he stands to grab her shoes for her, “We’d better get going, Jack is in charge and we both know the girls will convince him of anything if they wake up whilst I’m here.” 

Jack was, without a doubt, the most responsible 16-year-old Aaron had ever met. The teenager was beyond sensible and sometimes Aaron and Emily would try and encourage him to have more fun with his friends, but he was always at his happiest at home with his parents and little sisters. Aaron knew it was a reaction to what he’d been through when he was young, a result of being torn from everything he’d known when he was too little to understand and losing his mother shortly afterwards. There were times when it would make Aaron feel guilty, fear that he’d somehow stopped his son from living his life to the fullest by failing to protect him all those years ago a heavy weight in his gut, but Emily would always talk him out of it. She’d remind him how happy Jack was, that he was because Aaron had kept his promise to Haley, and she’d smile, a mischievous tint to it, when she’d say he would have always ended up on the serious side anyway because he was half him. 

Emily nods as she puts on her shoes, “Can we go to Taco Bell first?” She asks, smiling as she stands up, “I’m hungry.” She says, her smile getting wider as she reaches for his hand, her attempt to bat her eyelashes at him slightly diminished by the red rim of her eyes. Aaron looks at the empty bag of chips next to where she’d been sitting, and then at the pile of abandoned dishes in the kitchen, a sure sign they’d eaten a big meal, before he looks back at his wife and he sighs at the look on her face. 

Jack wasn’t the only one who was incapable of saying no to the Hotchner women. 

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

___

He’s strangely impressed by the number of tacos Emily eats in the car, all five that she’d ordered already gone by the time they get home, her large Baja Blast the only evidence left that they’d gone at all. 

When they get in the house it’s quiet, all three kids in their rooms, and he’s grateful for it, determined to get his wife into bed as soon as possible so she could sleep off the rest of her high. 

“Do you have my drink?” Emily asks, her voice a little louder than usual as they climb the stairs, one of her hands in his and the other on the bannister as he guides her. 

He smiles and holds up the plastic cup so she can see it, “I still have it, sweetheart. Now let's try to not wake up the kids.” He says, making a point to keep his voice low. She hums as she gets to the top of the stairs and makes a beeline for Hazel’s room, something he stops by grabbing her hand, “Where are you going?” 

She pouts, another thing she’d deny in the morning along with the giggling, as she tries to step towards Ivy’s room instead, another thing he stops by squeezing her hand, “Going to see my babies.” 

His smile gets impossibly wider and he kisses her cheek, tugging her against her side, “You can see them in the morning,” he says, encouraging her towards their bedroom, “They’re asleep.” 

She’s cut off from responding by Jack’s bedroom door opening and the teenager stepping out into the hall, his smile amused as Emily pulls him into a tight hug, murmuring that he is her biggest baby as he hugs her back.  “Everything okay?” 

“Everything’s fine, Jack,” Aaron says as Emily steps back from Jack to her husband's side “We’re just going to bed. Did your sisters give you any trouble whilst I was gone?” 

Jack shakes his head, his focus on Emily as he narrows his eyes curiously, “No, they didn’t even wake up,” he looks at his father, then the drink in his hand, then back at Emily, his eyes going wide when he notices her slightly bloodshot eyes, “Wait…you hate Taco Bell, Mom. I heard you say to Dad once that it’s only good for the munchies…” his smile goes wide, realisation clicking in his head as Aaron closes his eyes, “Wait, Mom are you high?” 

Aaron groans, “Jack-”

Emily shushes Jack as she reaches out to pat his shoulder, “It was an accident.” 

He frowns, “How do you get accidentally-”

“Your Aunt Pen used the wrong butter when baking brownies,” Aaron says and Jack chuckles, leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom. 

“Wow, well she’d better be more careful when she makes Ivy’s birthday cake next month.” 

Aaron chuckles and nods, “Trust me, buddy, I already thought about it,” he wraps his arm around Emily’s shoulders, “Go to bed, we’ll see you in the morning.” 

Jack hums, his amusement still clear, and Aaron knows this won’t be the last they hear about this, “See you in the morning.” 

Aaron leads Emily directly into their ensuite and closes the toilet lid before he encourages her to sit down on it, “I’ll help you take your makeup off and then we’ll get you ready for bed, okay?” 

She blows out a breath, tucking her hair behind her ears as he grabs her makeup remover, “I can’t believe my son knows I got high,” she grumbles, covering her eyes for a moment as Aaron kneels in front of her, his knees protesting it as they meet the tiled floor, “This is so embarrassing.” 

Aaron chuckles and encourages her to remove her hands from her face so he can start to remove her makeup for her, ensuring he’s gentle as he swipes the cotton pads across her skin, “It’s not embarrassing, sweetheart,” he says, smiling as she looks at him, “Although, I probably wouldn’t tell your boss since you’re an FBI agent and it’s still a crime federally even if it is legal here.” 

She reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair, watching intently as the light catches on the flecks of grey throughout it, “You’re not ashamed of me?” 

He shakes his head and stops his task of taking her makeup off to lean in to kiss her, “Never.” 

She raises her eyebrow at him, “Never? Even if I killed someone?” 

He smiles at the hypothetical, “Who do you think would help you hide the body?” 

She kisses him and leans back, closing her eyes so he can continue to take off her makeup, “Have you ever done it?” 

“What? Killed someone, or accidentally eaten a pot brownie made by Penelope?” 

She kicks out at him lightly, her foot connecting with his thigh before he catches it, squeezing it gently for a moment before he lets go, “No,” she says, rolling her eyes when she looks at him, “I mean have you ever been high?” 

“Once,” he admits, smiling when her eyes go wide in shock, “It was during college. It was at a party and it was Haley’s idea,” he dumps the last of the used cotton pads in the trash can and helps her up, “I hated it.” 

She smiles softly as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close, “Yeah?” 

“We smoked it and my lungs felt like they were melting, and then I got incredibly paranoid and hid in a closet for the majority of the party,” he admits, the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment as she chuckles, “Haley found me asleep in there a couple of hours later.” 

“That’s…the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Emily says as she leans in to kiss him. When she pulls back she rests her head on his shoulder and sighs contentedly, “Honey?” 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“I’m hungry again.” 

He chuckles and pulls back to look at her, “There are some dino nuggets for the girls in the freezer, do you want me to cook you some?” 

She nods and kisses him again, “You’re the best husband ever.” 

He hums, trying and failing once again to hide his amusement, “Get into bed and I’ll go and make you your third dinner of the day.” 

“Don’t munchie shame me,” she says as she walks out of the bathroom, her smile mischievous as she looks at him over her shoulder, “At least I’m not curled up in the closet.” 

He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose before he leaves the bedroom and heads downstairs, muttering to himself under his breath as he goes, cursing himself for somehow forgetting that his wife never forgot anything. 

“I’m so going to regret telling her that.” 

[alexanderlightweight]

Greetings and loves, for writing Wednesday: maybe something about possessive and protective magnus and the reaction of the shadowhunters?

here we go! i hope you enjoy it

<3 lumine

The summon isn’t one Magnus is expecting and he reaches out to snatch the message from the air with a frown.

“Have they not given up, yet?” Valois asks him wearily, one of five elders who Magnus is unofficially meeting with.

Instead of a meal, there is nothing but research spread out on the long table. Piles of books and scrolls and rare pages barely held together with magic.

“Nephilim will never truly give up.” Ragnor interjects with a melancholy sigh.  “That would require them to be capable of change.”

 If this was an official meeting, his dear cabbage would have never shown up. However, not even in self-imposed isolation will Ragnor allow himself to miss out on such obscure and frankly obscene research. “That would require them to be capable of change.”

It’s revolting in the most intriguing of ways and Ragnor is old enough that it is rare he finds things older that he’s yet to see.

Magnus can’t help the snort he lets out, but he doesn’t care and neither do the rest of their group. All letting out weary or exasperated and angry laughs of their own.

The first thing that catches Magnus’ attention is the seal. It’s similar t a seal that Magnus once banned from his very presence.  Magnus knew the seal had been changed when leadership of the Institute had been summarily switched, but he’s never had cause to see it in person.

He shouldn’t be seeing it now.

Magnus’ fingers tremble as he reads the message, his face blank and he’s unsure whether it is his magic or his emotions that betray his hands so.

His answer is his magic hungrily — furiously — devouring the message without even a conscious thought.

“I must go to the New York Institute.” Magnus finally says and while Valois and others all raise their voices in confused protest, it is Ragnor who meets his gaze with trepidation.

 “Be quiet before Bane loses his temper!” Daseul — one of the only Elder’s older than Ragnor — snaps, the dark feathers that blend into her hair bristle with her annoyance.  “Acting like mortal children—” she mutters and then gives him a short nod. “We will undoubtedly still be here when you are finished.”

Magnus nodded in return to her, understanding her chastisement of the others. It is not their right to have an opinion on his choice and especially not until after it’s been made and completed.

New York is his territory and while Magnus has refused to step foot in the Institute for two decades now, he’s also never been sent an absolutely rambling list of threats and bribes that make no sense.

It’s an open-ended proposal that reeks of desperation.

A portal takes him to the Institute and magic slams the doors open, announcing him before the alarms can.

It is worse than Pandemonium inside.

Truly, Magnus has never seen so many shadowhunters panicking and running around, others staying out of the way, as if no one is quite sure what to do.

His arrival is a mess of noise and faces and hands on weapons before he’s clearly recognized.

“Warlock Bane?” He’s asked tiredly and Magnus raises a brow in agreement, not even insisting on his proper title.  Magnus is too curious to stall this and there is a sharp edge to his magick, his power and eyes greedily looking around the Institute. “Thank the angel.”

The last bit is murmured by the man who greets him but also by the other hunters around.

“Andrew Underhill, Head of Security.” He’s told as he’s escorted, alarms still blaring but seemingly being ignored.

“And why isn’t your Commander coming to see me himself, or at least his second?” Magnus asks, voice cold with his displeasure.

Something is very wrong here. 

Not dangerous — or at least not for Magnus — but something has happened and Magnus hates the lack of information he has.

Underhill nearly stumbles and when he glances at Magnus — never breaking his stride — Magnus sees the pure exhaustion and desperation on his face.

“They can’t. It’s why we need you. We tried to get help from the healers who still offer us their services, but no one was available. Our second will recover with time and the Silent Brother’s but—” Underhill shakes his head and quickens his steps. “The Commander was poisoned. We’ve been trying to form an antidote but everything we’ve tried has made it worse.”

“Are you telling me that the Head of your Institute is dying?”

Underhill blinks at him, stopping in front of what is clearly an isolated medical ward, one complete with four shadowhunters guarding it.

“Yes, it’s why we messaged you. We don’t know how much longer he’ll hold on.”

The door disintegrates before Underhill can even think of opening it and Magnus is hardly aware of the hunters who are pressed away from him with a wave of furious magick. There is a young woman standing over a bed, limp hair and darkly shadowed eyes marking her as exhausted.

“Do not touch him.” Magnus bites out, fury coating his voice as his magic shatters the syringe.

“It could have been an antidote!” She cries, pain in her voice and Magnus wants to put her through a wall.

Instead, his magic shoves her out of the room.

“And if not, it would have only caused him more agony and stolen more time.” Magnus bites back and then magic entombs him and the young Commander on the bed.

His skin is pale and drenched with sweat, lines of pain creasing his brow and his lips cracked and bleeding.

Magnus stares at him for only a moment, devastating tenderness crossing his face as he bends over the bed.

“Alexander, my darling.” Magnus murmurs quietly as he bends and presses his brow to Alec’s fevered one. “I have you now.”

—

Andrew isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to do.

This is Mirai’s area of expertise.

 Or literally anyone else.

Andrew is security.

Not this strange roll of quasi-commander he’s been thrust into.

When Alec pulls through — Andrew can’t let himself think he won’t, not when there is an angry warlock hopefully healing him — things will go back to how they’re supposed to be.

“Underhill—” Bane yells and Andrew heads towards the command without thinking.  It’s only when he’s stepped through two walls of magic that he realizes what he did and what he’s been allowed to do.

Two golden eyes gleam at him maliciously and Andrew swallows at the look of possessive rage on the High Warlock’s face.

A glance is all it takes after that to confirm his fears — a hand dripping with powerful magic tangled gently in his Commander’s sweaty hair and the way Alec has relaxed, even while in agony.

“How many of these so-called antidotes was he given and when?”

“Six across the last twelve hours. Izzy spent twelve hours before that researching with her teams and prepping them.”

“And when the first two didn’t work, why did they continue without more extensive testing?”

Andrew pauses, unsure and then he winces.

“I assume it’s because no one left in the chain of command realized we were in charge of that.” He admits, “iratzes didn’t help after the first two hours. The Commander has only had Headship for a little bit, not all his positions are filled.”

“The young Miss Lightwood, while undoubtedly talented and well-meaning was only aiding the poisons path. Perhaps you can ensure she sticks to bodies already dead in the future.”

Andrew doesn’t question how Bane knows who Izzy is, or what her job is.

 He knows how.

All he can do is nod his understanding and compliance.

Andrew doesn’t dare do anything else.

He stands there for two hours.

Mostly he stays still and watches in silence but sometimes he’s asked questions he won’t risk leaving unanswered.

Bane is methodical and precise and he’s furious.

Oh he touches Alec with nothing but gentleness.

 Bane’s hands and magic are a covetous embrace and while nephilim are hardly shy, Andrew feels like he’s intruding on something sacred between the two.

But Bane’s also angry.

Andrew can feel it in the air.

It’s in the magic around him, that Bane is wielding to effortlessly heal Andrew’s Commander.

Andrew knows for a fact that if anyone tried to interrupt Bane right now, the warlock would kill them and damn the consequences.

It’s what keeps his back so that he can keep an eye on both Bane and the shattered door but warded doorway.

This is something he can do.

So Andrew makes sure that he will be the first to intercept any shadowhunters who might possibly be able to come through the door.

Just to be safe.

—

Magnus works with a fervor that he knows has him wasting magic, but he doesn’t care.

Why would he care when he can replenish his magic with rest but nothing will return Alexander to him should his shadowhunter slip beyond the veil.

It’s with urgency that his magic heals and restores and cleanses where the poison has ravaged Alexander’s body.  His internal organs are a mess and Magnus knows that even with all the healing he’s doing, that Magnus is going to want Catarina to look over his work.

Alexander makes a soft noise.

A hoarse whimper of pain and it breaks Magnus heart even as he soothes magick across Alexander’s raw lips and soothes his sore throat with a summoned potion.

This should never have happened.

It’s the only consistently coherent thought currently going through Magnus’ head.

Magnus shouldn’t have found out through a rambling, incoherent letter.  Especially not an entire day after the fact.

“As head of security, I’m sure you’ll need verification from your Commander.” He tells Underhill absently, “however once you have it—” because he will. Alexander will give it to him instantly, “from now on, anytime your Commander is hurt. I am to be informed first.”

There’s silence and Magnus wonders if he’ll have to make himself clear and then Underhill speaks.

“After verification from the Commander that it’s what he wants, I’ll make sure that every single medic and hunter of rank understands.”

Magnus allows the hesitation, it demonstrates loyalty to his heart after all.

“Then leave. You can tell them all that he’s out of danger now.” Magnus can’t help how his fingers trail over Alexander’s cheek adoringly.

“Izzy will want to see him.”

Magnus blinks, honestly surprised and he can’t help the casually cruel smile that crosses his lips.

“No one will be coming into this room without my permission until he wakes.” Magnus doesn’t care if it seems unreasonable.

Alexander is his.

While the proof of that is circumspect at the moment, Magnus also knows he has the upper hand.

“And with his condition as delicate as it was, visitors aren’t recommended.” Magnus smirks, something dangerous in the corners of his mouth and the gleam of his eyes.

Magnus paramour lay dying for over a day before Magnus even knew.

Hours of agony made worse by antidotes Magnus would have known couldn’t work. Thousands of moments slipping away, the precious life of Alexander’s fading to almost nothing before Magnus could come to his aid.

Magnus has barely managed to tolerate Underhill’s presence and even that was only out of necessity.

The moment Alexander can open his eyes, can speak and agree and give his hunters no reason to wage a war they won’t win, Magnus is taking him away.

Somewhere he can safely heal.

Not here, where Magnus can’t leave the heart of himself unprotected.

[malum-forev]

For your bingo, can I please request Fight (verbal)? Maybe it could be Bucky & reader’s first fight and it happens because she does something that makes Bucky mad or upset and she tries to apologise but he’s so butthurt that she starts thinking that maybe she fucked up so bad that they will break up but then there’s a happy ending. 🥲

Hiii I switched this up a liiiittle tiny bit because I love a slutty bucky! Hope that's okay! and hope you like it! <3

Everyone had advised you against it. A workplace relationship never worked. You never thought you would even be in this position, until you saw those blue eyes. Shining like beacons calling you to shore. 

Bucky didn’t mean to start a relationship either, he thought he wasn’t qualified to have one. He was you superior, it was wrong in every single way except it was also good. Very good. He thought back to the first time the line blurred. 

Bucky never wanted a team, he was happy tagging alongside Sam. Somehow, he’d been convinced and now Bucky was stuck filing paperwork late at night. He heard you before he saw you, some rustling down the hallway in the locker rooms. Bucky turned the corner quietly, thinking someone had sneaked in. It was way past the appropriate hours but there you were, zipping up your tactical suit. He caught a glimpse of how your chest looked pressed against the metallic zipper and the tight fabric, a breath got caught in his throat. 

You turned around with a yelp. “I-I’m sorry, I thought no one was here anymore.”

Maybe it was the way your squeal made his dick twitch or maybe it was because he caught you gawking at him once or twice while he sparred but whatever it was, made him do the most irresponsible thing he’d done in years- decades maybe. 

Your back was against the wall and your leg was hiked up to his waist. Your hands roamed his hair, pulling at whatever you could. Trying to get some relief. 

“This is wrong.” Bucky’s chest heaved, his eyes glued to the zipper on your chest. With one simple tug, he could get what he’s wanted for months. “I’m your boss.”

You pushed your chest closer to him. “Does it turn you on?”

The past couple of months had been filled with secret escapades. You’d sneak into his room late at night and leave before morning or he would stop by your room after everyone had left for the weekend. There had even been a couple of quickies in the quinjet. 

But something happened two weeks ago, it started when he asked you to stay the night. 

“What if someone sees me leaving here tomorrow morning?” You asked quietly, debating whether you should start looking for your underwear he’d roughly discarded or not. 

Bucky shrugged his shoulders casually. “I’ll go out first, make sure the coast is clear.”

Then there was that time he’d asked you to dinner, just the two of you. Followed by the movie night he’d organized in his room. Bucky even bought you your favorite candy and changed his sheets- quite a big deal for him.

But something changed, Bucky pulled you into his room as you passed the hallway. You hissed at the way he threw you onto the bed. 

“I know you like it rough but can I at least get a warning?” You laughed but once your eyes met his, it died down. 

Bucky paced his room with his arms tightly crossed over his chest. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking we were supposed to meet tomorrow, not today.” You tried to lighten the mood. 

“You think this is funny?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “We agreed this thing- this stupid thing that wasn’t even supposed to happen- would stay between the two of us.”

“Wasn’t supposed to happen?” You repeated his words back to him. 

“You, me, this.” Bucky pointed between the two of you. “Meaningless sex. No one was supposed to find out. And you go and mess it all up by telling someone, someone on the team!”

His words hurt you. “Meaningless sex, huh? Then what the fuck has been going on? Because last time I checked, you don’t buy someone you don’t care about flowers.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You were sick, what else was I supposed to do.”

“I thought I was talking to a friend,” You explained. “But I guess not. I’m sorry for trying to get help understanding you and this huge mess you made.”

“The one that made things messy was you.” His words like knives. “You got your heart involved when I specifically told you to not read into things.”

“How the hell was I not supposed to think there was more happening when you asked me to stay the night!” You threw your hands up. 

“Don’t get it twisted,” Bucky came closer to you. “I only asked you to stay for my peace of mind. I didn’t want to feel like an asshole by letting you leave.”

“You wouldn’t feel like an asshole if it was just sex.” You spat back.

“Well for me, it was just sex.” Bucky’s jaw tightened. “A stupid mistake I made when my dick was hard. A mistake that now has me explaining the situation to Sam.”

The way Bucky kept repeating the word mistake made you feel foolish and small. Like you were back in grade school, professing your love to a crush who’d never look your way.  

You pushed past him, he would not have the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

A month after your fight, and the last time you had spoken to Bucky outside of what was absolutely necessary, you found yourself working late. You’d been assigned the task of forming a new team for Bucky to take to missions. 

You were working on showing them a presentation when the usual tired chatter suddenly stopped. You looked up from the computer to meet with the pair of eyes you never expected to see. Your eyes trialed down to the bouquet of flowers in his left hand. 

“I wanted to see if you had a minute.” Bucky cleared his throat. “But I can see your busy.”

“Guys, we can continue tomorrow. Go get some rest.” You dismissed the agents. 

You’d never seen them leave a room so quickly. All of their heads hung low as they passed by Bucky. 

“I came here to apologize.” Bucky brought the flowers closer to you. “I acted like a jackass and I was scared that I had feelings for you- have, have feelings for you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m going to need you to try harder.”

“I let my insecurities get ahold of my emotions and I drove you away when I clearly wanted more. I asked you to stay that night because I hate the feeling I’m left with when you leave. I want to hold you and kiss you and become something more- if you’ll have me.” Bucky’s eyes softened but you still weren’t convinced. 

Bucky placed the flowers on the table and brought you close. Taking you by the waist and setting you on the table. 

Bucky dropped to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. “Let me show you how truly, deeply, sorry I am.”

Heat rushed from your face to your core, the sight of this man prepared to express his sorrow was enough to make you come undone.

“Buck- what if there’s someone around?” You whispered, looking around the empty building. 

“Then they’ll get the show of a lifetime because I don’t care, I want everyone to see you’re mine.” He said with a devious smile. 

Hi hiiii This is part of my 1k Celebration, if you like this please be sure to look at the Bingo Card and ask for a prompt! Love y'all <33

And you can find the Bingo master list and what prompts are still available here!

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour