#mercy main problems

[unresurgeance]

"we need more complex women" you guys couldn't even handle Sally Acorn

[followerofmercy]

Admittedly insane religious/political ramblings from yours truly under the cut

Hi. I'm having a bad time asldfj

I just. I think it's both appalling and hilarious that other Christians are not just okay with the end of the world, but actively encouraging it. The genocide in Palestine. The poverty and starvation and disease and homelessness in the US. Conflict and suffering across the entire world because the US has entirely too much influence in global politics.

I don't really subscribe to a literal apocalypse/world ending in fire myself, but it's just like... I understand believing in an End. I understand taking comfort in the thought of a Great Suffering with paradise on the other side of it, regardless of whether you survive. I do not fucking understand ENCOURAGING IT LIKE A JRPG VILLAIN JUST BECAUSE IT'S FORETOLD?!

Like I just do not understand how people got from "This is a bad event that will happen because the devil hates you and wants you to suffer, but humanity will persevere through the grace of God" to "THIS MUST HAPPEN AND WE MUST HASTEN ITS OCCURENCE TO GET TO THE OTHER SIDE FASTER"

Like you realize this makes you the literal devil's pawns, right? I get that turning religious institutions into tools of evil and authority is pretty textbook, especially for Christianity, but like??? HAVE SOME SELF AWARENESS??? Fuck's sake, you can literally just kill yourself if you wanna get to heaven faster and leave other people's children and families out of it.

(Don't. Don't actually do that. It is a tempting thought from experience but not one you should indulge aldfsj)

I am just very angry with this apathy about the state of the world as something that is supposed to happen, absolving people of taking care of and loving each other. I hate that. The point of this world is to love one another through the hardship, not just stop and throw your hands up and say "Welp, guess it's the end! Fuck the homeless/arabs/sick/queers/immoral/whatever is convenient to declare undeserving of love today."

The point of this shit to be radically kind without tolerating abuse and I'm not entertaining any viewpoints that say otherwise. I'm not even entertaining "Oh, everyone's a sinner/is flawed' anymore. I'll reconsider if it's ever used correctly, to mean "you are loved no matter what and should look forward to growing and developing as a person" instead of the pervasive "you're inherently evil deep down and will never be able to atone on your own, so listen to God (really, the church) and pray He has mercy on your miserable existence. He's barely restraining Himself from nuking you off the planet because you're so disgusting. And really, you shouldn't even attempt to try to be better because it will end in failure. Just be grateful you're allowed to live."

Like idk man. I don't have that much vehement hatred for my own creations even if they're flawed. I think it's kinda batshit insane to think your God thinks about you (and other people) that way, and I'm extra angry that you're calling MY God an abusive nightmare piece of shit with your actions.

So, no. I will not believe that there is such a thing as just suffering, or suffering that Must happen beyond the things that I myself experience and grow from. I do not get to decide what should be character growth for other people. I am going to do my goddamn best to make this world a better place to live in and I am going to spit on anyone that tells me it's pointless.

[never-forget-viva-la-pluto]

Girl say that shit out loud 🙌

it is crazy how “if this childrens show doesn’t kill their villain at the end it’s irredeemable media” became such a popular opinion here. like people were calling steven universe fascist apologia. and to be clear I don’t even think that would be the case for non childrens media, either. perhaps holding every single story up to the same standard of “does it follow the acceptable narrative path or is it evil propaganda” isn’t the most anti-fascist thing, either. maybe.

[springtrappd]

the count of asks sitting in my askbox has been steadily increasing over the past few weeks and yet I can view absolutely none of them. seven whole messages lost to the aether thanks to the power of my thousands-strong blocklist. truly nothing stronger than the swing mighty ban hammer

[authenticaussie]

I think it's sad I have Ideas about Mercy & Kon in spiderkon but that nothing really Dramatic happens in their scenes and bc it's a drabble series I'm probably not Actually gonna write them interacting :/ Mercy is so much fun!!!!

[artist-issues]

Let’s talk about this Mufasa movie.

No. Let’s not. Let’s just talk about Mufasa. This is going to be long because he’s a really good character and The Lion King is a really good movie.

Mufasa’s whole point, as a character, is to foil Simba. He’ s not just the stereotypical “great dad role model” character, or the “wise mentor who is ripped away” character.

He, as a character, is in the story because he is “Who Simba Really Is.”

Simba is our young protagonist. The whole point of Simba in the story is to start out “not yet grown into who he really is,” so that the story can teach him how to “grow into who he really is.”

So the audience needs to know “who is Simba and who is Simba supposed to be?” right at the beginning. Which is great, because all kids are trying to figure out the same question about themselves. So it’s relatable. But anyway, the storytellers make Mufasa the answer.

On a simple level, you can answer the question, “who is this Simba guy?” right off the bat in the movie with “the son of the King.” There’s the setting. There’s the set-up. There’s the title of the movie. That’s why the very first lion you’re introduced to in the movie is Mufasa, and it’s not a shot of a baby lion cub. It could have been. Lots of movies open with a shot of their main character. Encanto, for one.

Not The Lion King. The Lion King starts with, “you can’t know who Simba is without Mufasa, so Mufasa gets shown first.”

So okay, Mufasa is a King. Good to know. That’s obvious from the big rock he’s standing on and the way all the animals are coming toward him. But from there, they quickly establish a few more things about Mufasa. He smiles at this little bird that bows to him. He hugs the shaman-monkey. He goes from “big solemn lion” to “good and benevolent” immediately.

And then as it goes on, you learn more about Mufasa. He’s not an idiot; he knows Scar is up to no good, and he is very direct about it. He is not a naive dupe, trusting a schemer blindly. It’s more complicated than that. He is a better leader and a better guy than that. Mufasa knows Scar is his brother, and in a snappy little interaction with Zazu, storytellers make it clear that he worries about Scar; he knows he has good reason to worry, but hasn’t decided to give up on his brother.

Additionally, he is merciful to other dark creatures too. He beats the tar out of hyenas but doesn’t kill them. He rescues Zazu from Scar’s mouth. He scolds Simba but he does that, and more, to teach him. So what Mufasa is teaching us, according to what I just showed you the story says, is that A Good King, A Good Man (Lion, whatever) Is:

Authoritative - Makes decrees and makes decisions and yes, tells others what to do. Creates the structure his people live in.

Kind/Humble - Shows the same level of casual friendship to a revered shaman-recluse as he does a little self-important majordomo. (Humble because he’s not afraid to admit when he’s afraid if it’ll help his son.)

Teaches - Takes time out of the day to pass on what he’s learned to someone who is going to take his place—he’s not hoarding his own position or gatekeeping his life-experience-expertise. He’s not finding his identity in how he has this wealth of information that causes people to need him; he gives it away freely, purposefully.

Protects - Is willing to endanger himself and go to the trouble of defending creatures that are weaker than himself.

Shows Mercy - See Scar and the hyenas, who deserve death, but he doesn’t give it to them.

Prioritizes Family - The time he’s taking out of the day is for his son. And he follows up with his recluse of a brother instead of going, “that’s Scar, I know he don’t care about nobody but himself, his loss, not my problem.” And he extends trust to that brother, which is really just an example of gift-giving to a family member who’s done nothing to keep that trust.

Has Faith - Mufasa makes a point of not answering Simba’s question about “Will you always be there for me,” with just himself. He could’ve. Many parents do. Many parents are tempted to, to show their love. “Yes. You’ll always have me. I’ll always be there to answer your questions; I’ll always protect you, I’ll always be what you can count on, you’ll always find a need fulfilled in me.” But Mufasa doesn’t take that bait. He gives Simba an answer that is not “himself-based.” Not selfish. “Look at the stars.” I don’t care what ya’ll say. Mufasa has faith in something outside of himself. He says “and so will I,” but that’s after contextualizing himself within “something bigger than us.” (And oh my gosh, he doesn’t even answer with, “let me give you a lesson you’ll need for your whole life.” He doesn’t even take credit for this faith, for himself. He gives his own father the credit.)

And really, all of those traits can be summarized with the phrase: Lives His Life Sacrificially For Others.

That’s what a leader, a good father, a king, a good man, does. And pay attention: That is what Simba is supposed to be. Simba is supposed to be Mufasa. That’s who Simba really is, that’s where he’s supposed to go. There is a “real you.” But you have to agree with it and accept it, even though your natural bent is to give in to the illusion that you “don’t have to be that, you can choose who you are.”

Yeah, sure, in a sense you can reject Who You Really Are. You can spend your whole life playing pretend, like you’re not That. But you’ll be doing just that: playing pretend. Unfulfilled. Dissatisfied. Running from the misery that is the natural response to your silly game of pretend. Insisting that “there is no misery, this is what I want.”

Okay. Sure it is.

I’ll save Simba for another post.

The point is, Mufasa is a template for who Simba Really Is. Look at those traits. When it’s Simba’s turn to exemplify those traits, does he?

Act I: Is he authoritative? He tells characters what to. And he makes his own decisions—sometimes for good, sometimes bad. For example, he won’t let Zazu deter him from going to the elephant graveyard, so that’s a bad decision, but he does choose to go back and help Nala instead of running to save himself. Authoritative and protective. But it’s all misplaced because he doesn’t “Live His Life Sacrificially For Others.”

Act 2: He’s not. Timon and Pumbaa tell him to do something and he goes along with it. Timon and Pumbaa claim an ancient tradition and his father’s lesson is stupid and Simba goes along with that. He’s no longer making decisions of his own accord, for anything but his own comfort.

The idea is, in Act 1, you see Simba has the same traits as Mufasa, budding inside of him. But they’re all misdirected, and they’re all twisted, because they’re missing one key ingredient: he’s supposed to use those traits in the context of “Live His Life Sacrificially For Others.” Simba doesn’t want to do that. Simba wants to do whatever he wants.

Sure, there’s a part of him that combines that motive with “I want to be like my dad.” But that part dies on the vine and turns sour when his father dies saving him.

So then in Act 2, not only is Simba clinging to “I’m going to live life all my way,” but he’s changed what that means by pushing the nugget of “I want to be like my dad/I WANT TO BE WHO I REALLY AM” completely away. Because it’s too hard, and he’s got shame tangled up in it.

And worse—he starts doing basically the opposite of all of Mufasa’s traits, all of the traits that make him Who He Really Is. He’s not prioritizing family—he’s abandoning them. He’s not protecting others—he runs from the idea of going back to help Nala. (tiny glimmer of it still being inside him because he does try to protect Pumbaa from her.) Kind and humble? No. It’s unkind to tell your best friend you won’t help her because you’re afraid. Humble, no, because humility is thinking of yourself less, not thinking less of yourself.

Ask the question. When Simba’s living in the jungle with Timon and Pumbaa, is he exemplifying any of the traits of Who He Really Is? Or is he doing his best to bury that?

But then after Mufasa reminds him of who he Really Is, and Rafiki shows him how to get his past out of the way so he can accept it, Simba goes back. Into Act 3 we go

Now. Does Simba exemplify Mufasa’s traits? Does Simba start becoming Who He Really Is? There’s not a lot of time left in the movie. Look at the traits, see if he does.

Authoritative? Yep, comes up with the plan to break in and get to Scar, doesn’t back down from the confrontation.

Kind and Humble? Yeah, he willingly admits the truth (he thought it was true) that makes him look bad to give his mom closure. He’s kind to Nala and to Timon and Pumbaa, admits his mistakes, when they come to help him. Hugs the old shaman who cracked him in the skull with a stick—just like Mufasa hugged Rafiki to show us kindness and humility at the beginning of the movie.

Teaches? We don’t really see an opportunity for him to do that yet at this point in the story and his life, give me a break.

But protects? You bet. That’s why he’s there for the confrontation in the first place. Shows mercy?

Yep.

Because he’s not like Scar. He knows who he is. THE POINT.

And when he runs in for the big confrontation, he doesn’t immediately leap on Scar and rip him to pieces. Even though the storytellers make sure to show us he clearly wants to.

Instead, he runs up to his mother to see if she’s all right and show her that he is. And again, he tells her the truth because that’s what she needs even if it’s not what she wants, and he’s learned not to run from what he’s “done.” And faith in something bigger than himself?

Yeah. His father’s voice comes through the clouds just before he decides to roar and claim his title. Through the clouds. Because that whole “we’re a part of something bigger, something more important than ourselves,” was always what he was missing. He was just thinking about himself.

And all of this is because Mufasa is the example of Who Simba Really Is: Lives His Life Sacrificially For Others. That’s Mufasa.

That’s Mufasa, in the story of The Lion King. That’s his purpose as a character, that’s who he is.

So now if you make a movie that’s just about him, what you should be doing is showing how he got there. How he accepted who he Really Is instead of choosing who he wants to be, on his own. And you should make his father, and learning humility, an enormous part of that. Because self-sacrifice is such a pillar of his character. It’s the whole thing.

What you should certainly not be doing is telling a story that ends with finding self-worth or a kid who makes a name for himself. I repeat: if the Mufasa live action movie ends with Mufasa doing anything that revolves around self, they got him wrong and they set him up nonsensically for the next movie.

He should have to decide whether or not he wants to believe his own father, because of that one line, “let me tell you something my father told me.” That shows that he accepted his father’s lesson. And what was his father’s lesson about? Faith. In something BIGGER THAN YOURSELF. So then Mufasa grows up to be a character who lives his life sacrificially for others, and you can trace the roots back to that: “I learned a lesson about something bigger than myself from someone who was not myself, and I humbly believed and accepted that lesson.”

I mean jeez, the line is: “LOOK AT THE STARS.” Whenever you feel alone. Whenever you’re wrapped up in who you are and who you’re not and failure and the idea of what you want to be, knock it off. Quit looking at yourself and look at something bigger than you. And then you’ll get “Understanding of Who You Really Are”—no matter what mistakes you’ve made, no matter how you’ve failed, no matter what your circumstances are—thrown in.

…Of course, the Lion King remake ruined him anyway by having the point be “I’m not worthless.” And that was never the point. But whatever. I’m rambling now. You get the idea.

Mufasa is exactly what he needs to be for the original The Lion King. He’s exactly what he needs to be for Simba’s story. Mufasa is awesome.

[thatfrenchacademic]

"The biggest issue is students using it, me spotting it and having no recourse whatsoever to do anything about it." can you elaborate a bit further

Hello !

So to explain a bit more: we [aka your lecturers, teachers, teaching assistants, etc...] know that some students will use ChatGPT.

And there is a discussion to be had about how to work with this, how to design assessment which allow students to leverage something which may simply become a fixture of writing in a workplace environment, but that is not the discussion we are having here. Because that is not what we are worried about.

The defensible, problematic situation is: a student straight up entering the essay prompt on ChatGPT, and using the grand skills of Ctrl+C / Ctrl+V, submits it as their own paper.

And our main worry, I think, was for a long time that we would not be able to catch it. That students would, actually, be able to fool us and that we would actually think this was a student who understood the course, who put in the work, and who deserve to be rewarded for their grade. That was the main fear.

But here is the thing.

And listen up, students :

Essays written by ChatGPT :

Suck

Are spotted from a mile away from the person reading it

For real. They suck.

I cannot stress enough how easy they are to spot. You are NOT fooling anyone. I do not need the platform's AI-detecting tool to know when an essay was written by Chat GPT. It is so, very painfully obvious when that's the case.

But the problem then becomes : ok, I have spotted a student who cheated.

What am I even supposed to do with it.

It is one thing to KNOW that an essay was AI-generated, it is another to defend it to a plagiarism committee. First of all, does it actually count as plagiarism ? Second, how do prove, with certainty, that the student did not write it ? How to I convince the plagiarism committee that this is worth looking into ? I am in the role of a police officer, who needs to convince the DA that this is a winnable case, that prosecuting will not be a waste of their time. But I don't have a Similarity Percentage to rely on. I don't have an original source to say "look, this is the exact same wording!" like in a classic plagiarism case.

Best case scenario, I can make my case for thee student to actually be called to the plagiarism committee, where we probe into how, exactly, they wrote their essay, until they fold. Unlikely, morally questionable, and in all likelihood, ineffective on students already so confident in their bullshit that they have the audacity to submit a fully AI-generated work for their finals.

Now, students, gather up, especially if you have considered using Chat GPT this way. Because right now, you might think it means you can get away with it.

But let me tell you something. First, that essay is getting the shittiest grade we can give you. Because you know what is more difficult than a lecturer proving that a student used AI to generate their essay ? A student proving that they deserve a better grade. Once we give you a grade, burden of evidence is on you to prove that you have not been graded properly. And we can come up with 15 reasons why an essay is a shit essay. We put on kids' gloves, when we lecture and give feedback. We give the simplified version of most theories, we give the basics of how to structure an essay, the bar we set is spectacularly low, because students come in good faith, they are learning, they will not be held at the same standard as academics. But if you try to argue that you need a higher grade, when you had the audacity to not write a single word of your work, the kids gloves are going to come off real quick, and your lecturer will be able to very convincingly explain why, actually, giving you a passing grade was a mercy in the first place.

Second. Academics, especially angry academics, are a gossip machine.

You may get a passing grade, and there may be no official note of it in your file whatsoever. But I can guarantee you that your lecturer will chat with their colleagues. That every single one of your essay that year, and the years to come, will be looked at with so much scrutiny I hope your referencing for every single work reaches perfection. Every single paragraph will be looked at with the knowledge that you are likely to have had it AI-generated. Lecturers will tell their TA to look at for That One Student when they grade you .You will not be getting any flexibility from us, no extension without full documentation to support it, no letter of recommendation from any member of the faculty, no word in your favor if you are bordering a grade bracket. If we are feeling especially petty, we might even forget to answer your emails or answer any question you have with such warmth and kindness you really still never feel like asking a question again in our class. And I know that, because that's already happening. I have the name of three undergrads that we know, for a fact, did not write their own essay. Two are not even in my modules at all.

Now. That's pretty mean. But if you have the absolute audacity and lack of ethics required to submit an essay for which you have not written a single word, and thought it would actually work, when your lecturer spent probably more that 80 hours working in this module this term, gave you the opportunity to meet for office hours, to ask any question in person or in email, to have extensions, accommodations, additional time ? When you decided that putting exactly zero second of your time, considered that you were above that - and above other students- and yet we were not able to officially sanction you for it, we had to give you a passing grade, the same passing grade as students who actually made an effort?

Yeah, sorry, you are not getting any sympathy from your lecturers anymore.

[slytherinboysvip]

hiiii, i love ur writing so much, u capture the slytherin boys perfectly chefs kiss 😘 and i was wondering if u could do 69 or ab/thigh riding with any of the boys?? heehee 🤭 if ur not comfortable with that that’s totally ok, js wanted to ask and see

thanks!!

Hide and seek- T.R

(tw: thigh riding, 69, ab riding, overstim, praise, slight degradation, prey+predator mindset)

first of all thank u smmm, annnd okay sooo how about both.. hehe >:)

you see, tom was a man who was into many things. some, usual, and some well.. deranged?

he wasn’t the type to immediately get into sexual relations upon getting together, but believe me once he’s there, there’s no going back. he watched over you constantly as if you were his prey, ready to be taken over by him, your main predator.

and when i say predator i mean it, once hes got you you’re his and there’s no getting out, he will literally eat you out the second he’s got you. he loves playing this special little game, one where you run, hide, and he seeks. now it seems easy, the castle is huge there’s no way he could catch you.

not to mention the fact that you two only play at night- prefect privileges.

you’re running, heart pounding against your chest at the thought that any given moment tom would snatch you up and you’d lose your game, though that’s what you really wanted. the adrenaline starts kicking in when you hear echoed footsteps from another hall, attempting to sprint away as quietly as possible failing miserably; hearing the footsteps getting louder and closer.

no thinking necessary you ran out of the castle and it was pitch black. peeking behind as you were running you caught a glimpse of tom chasing after you- this time you did think but only for a split second before running towards the forbidden forest not looking behind at all and rushing throughout different bushes and passing creatures.

finally stopping for a second to take a rest and catch your breath you slid down a tree and sat breathing heavily. you closed your eyes for a second and as you were getting up you heard a twig break. looking behind you there stood tom smirking. you had two options in this part of the game, surrender and have some mercy, or the fun option, run more and whatever happens.. happens.

obviously choosing the fun option you immediately ran for your life in the opposite direction of him and swerved around trees trying to offset him from your trail, to no avail you heard twigs breaking behind you after you’ve thought you’ve gotten away.

stopping for a moment you realized there were no more breaking twigs, or any noise at all for that matter. you looked around worried, there was not even the sound of a cricket. all you could hear was your breathing, until you felt warm sporadic breathing over your left shoulder. abruptly turning around you were stopped by strong arms. “caught you dove”

even though you knew it was tom, even though you knew he wouldn’t hurt you, your heart was practically beating through your chest. you could never imagine what he was going to do to you whenever you lost this specific game, even if you’ve never actually won.

“you know, running into the forest like that.. not very smart of you. i think someone might need a bit of a punishment”. his hand met your throat tightly wrapping around it, whispering a charm that brought you back to his dorm. “how the fuck” you breathed out suddenly dizzy. “watch your tone” he slapped your ass harshly pushing you on the bed.

“strip for me doll”, his voice was deep and seductive his words making you hypnotized doing exactly what you were told. removing your skirt slowly looking up at him with your fuck me eyes, followed by removing your shirt giving him a smile. “i have no problem ripping that shit off hurry up.” no hesitation you threw your underwear and bra across his room revealing yourself completely.

“mm you get hotter and sluttier everyday” he breathed out walking towards you unbuttoning his shirt. though your boyfriend didn’t look it, he was hiding a raging six pack underneath that white button down. absolutely toned to perfection you stared in awe, as you did everytime he took his shirt off. “can i touch” you looked up at him reaching for his stomach.

he smirked slapping your hand down “actually, you’re going to do something for me.” he laid on the bed and looked over at you, “you’re going to ride my abs, just like the slut you are doll” his smirk only growing wider at your visual embarrassment. “what’s wrong? i thought you loved them..” he chuckled mockingly in amusement.

your face was an indescribable color of crimson and you couldn’t even look him in the eyes as you straddled yourself over his stomach and brought yourself down onto his abs. “spit” he nodded towards your pussy not even looking back up at you, doing as you were told you spit down onto his abs lifting yourself slightly so it could roll down underneath you, lowering yourself back down.

his hands met your hips harshly and began grinding you back and forth onto his abs, to your surprise your clit was being perfectly stimulated dragging over his abs your wetness now mixing with the previous spit as low moans escape your mouth. “i knew you’d like this shit whore” he slapped your right breast causing a loud moan to leave your mouth “i need you tom” you cried out desperately for his dick.

“well dick is only for good girls who surrender for me, someone didn’t surrender.” he pushed you off of his stomach and shoved you on his thigh, “get yourself off for me, and maybe, just maybe i’ll let you have dick” his eyes darkened waiting for your next move, wanting any chance to fuck him you began moving your hips chasing your high just looking at him.

you desperately moved yourself back and forth leaving a slick spot of wetness on his school pants that he’d yet to remove. your eyes trailed up and down his body- scanning his abs admiring how shiny they look covered in your arousal. balancing yourself onto him your hand landed onto his raging boner. it felt like a complete fucking rock. and you absolutely needed it. just the thought of it alone made your immediately reach your high. moaning for him as he watched you carefully.

he reached his fingers down to your pussy sliding them under and pushing them inside the pleasure making you moan even more before he abruptly removed them taking them into his mouth “so delicious dove” he smirked. “i think overstimulation is the perfect punishment for your forbidden forest incident.” he pushed you off of him and onto the bed, getting off the bed and dragging your legs to the end. he bent down and his head dived into your pussy.

he shook his head back and fourth licking and twirling his tongue all over your clit you could feel another high coming and you didn’t want him to stop no matter how much the pleasure hurt. just when you were about to cum he shoved three fingers inside of you pumping them in and out at a harsh speed. you were unable to control your own reactions drool ready to spill from your mouth as you moaned like there was no tomorrow.

you tried to keep yourself from cumming, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of it. he sucked and twirled his tongue around your clit licking up and down all while fingering you expertly. he knew every spot that made you feel pleasure and had no problem finding new ones. everything finally took over and you couldn’t hold back.

even when you screamed “i’m cumming oh fuckkk”- he didn’t stop. tom curled his fingers up and began curling and un curling them all while pumping in and out of you, his long slender fingers hitting your g-spot perfectly. he suddenly stopped. removing all fingers and his face from your pussy. without any words he got back on the bed and smirked. “ever done six nine before, love” he winked dragging your ass to his face and immediately going back to eating your pussy.

through your moans and undeniable pleasure you tried your best to remove his throbbing boner from his pants, most of it springing out of his boxers you took what you could in your mouth and began bobbing your head. “fuckk” he took a break from your pussy leaning back and groaning lowly. you swirled your tongue around his tip multiple times before taking all of it and leaving it there for a second.

you were about to keep going when his mouth began to suck harshly on your swollen clit. your moan barley escaping over his dick in your mouth the vibration itself gave him pleasure, he continued abusing your clit, slapping your ass over and over before you bobbed your head more. you were a moaning mess gobbing on tom’s cock, spit was all over yours and tom’s body.

managing to get one arm to his dick you pumped the base of his shaft and sucked only the tip, attempting to give him a taste of his own medicine. you knew he wouldn’t last long if you did this. just then he began thrusting himself up into your throat fucking your face all while eating you out. at this point it wasn’t only a game of pleasure and overstimulation, but it was a game of you trying to breathe while he attempts to catch his own high.

his thrusts were harsh and your throat would surely be bruised by tomorrow but oh my god did it make you want to cum. and so you did, you came hard, loud, and well, you squirted all over his face. the noise that left your mouth was almost demonic-yet heavenly to him as the pleasure truly became too much. and with that you felt tom’s cum shooting down your throat making you gag at the harsh impact of his thick cum.

“good fucking girl.. fuck y/n” he sighed heavily pulling you off of him and bringing you on top of him, “i love this game” you sighed catching your breath.

this was so fun to write tbh not having to come up with my own ideas is great LMAO

[larothoughts]

shi wudu thoughts (tgcf spoilers)

ok so i don't look into fan stuff until after i finish a series and for some reason i keep having wildly different impressions of events than other people?? maybe i just can't read lol

for example: i always thought the reason shi wudu strangled shi qingxuan was to force he xuan to make the choice instead of sqx.

like, there this asshole is torturing sqx, forcing him to pick between two terrible options as a twisted way of bringing sqx down to he xuan and shi wudu's level. he wanted to make the only innocent party in this fiasco dirty his hands by choosing, because until now swd had always shielded sqx. he never had to face the two-men-one-cup problem as swd always bore the guilt of choice for the both of them. sqx's naive optimism (paid for by he xuan's tragedy) is therefore both infuriating and endearing to he xuan. and after days of trying to get sqx to not interfere, he finally decides that sqx must suffer for his ignorance.

so there he xuan is menacing the two of them: sqx crying and having a meltdown and still trying to find a way out of this with both his brother and best friend intact. swd powerless and at he xuan's mercy, snapping at sqx to pull himself together. i know the common interpretation is very face value: that swd would rather he and sqx die than be cursed to wander around with horrible fates.

i just find it more interesting to consider that swd's last act successfully took the choice out of sqx's hands.

my assumption when reading was that swd did not actually want sqx to die. he simply knew the best way to keep sqx from choosing was to force he xuan to kill swd first. remember, swd has watched over sqx and 'ming yi' for centuries at this point. these last few days have also made him aware of how he xuan consistently protects sqx even now. the best way to get him to abandon his plan and kill swd outright, then, is to threaten one of the few things he xuan still seems to care about: sqx's life.

swd's sudden beheading achieved everything he wanted: sqx spared the guilt and regret of having to make one choice over the other; swd cemented in the role of the ultimate villain even to his brother by his attempted fraticide; and the last leg of he xuan's plan derailed. even better, it was a sign to he xuan that shi wudu knew.

the main takeaway i got from the shi brothers' backstory was that swd would do literally anything to keep his brother safe. maybe that's why i figured the only way he'd try to strangle sqx to death was if he was absolutely sure he xuan would kill him before he succeeded. it was swd's final fuck you to he xuan, forcing him acknowledge the steep price of his revenge: his relationship with sqx, and the affection shi wudu knows he still holds for him.

[simpinformonkies]

Hiiii I love your writing! May I request some MK and Wukong who are their normal selves until the reader gets threatened/hurt/captured/idk and they go absolutely ballistic

DUDE I FUCKING LOVE MK SO MUCH HE'S LIKE MY FAVORITE MAIN CHARACTER NEXT TO LLOYD GARMADON AND AANG... BABY....

I got you bro

WARNING: SEMI-GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF BLOOD AND VIOLENCE! THERE ARE ALSO SPOILERS FOR S4 SPECIAL! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

~~~

WUKONG

-First off, Wukong loves you so fucking much that it physically hurts him sometimes. Not in the 'oh im in pain', but more in the 'heart repeatedly struck by cupid's arrow'.

-Or maybe that just makes him a simp, idk

-Wukong definitely takes you nice but casual places- be it quiet but quality diners, a picnic in his hidden grotto, a field of flowers to relax in (read: a field that he uses so that he can nap on your legs and cuddle you while basking in the sun)- just the whole nine yards, really

-So imagine his indescribable rage when he finds you've been kidnapped, and later follows your scent (he has it memorized by this point, plus he scents you, its obvious that he can find you) to see you getting attacked by demons, your clothes ripped and fresh wounds that drip droplets of crimson to the beautiful flowers and green grass below, staining them red.

-And just like that, Wukong fucking lost it- he flew off the handle so hard that his mind blacked out, and he only 'came too' when the demons were half dead covered in their own blood, his hands and claws stained the very same crimson.

-As soon as Wukong came too, he's checking you over worriedly, careful not to aggravate your wounds further.

-He didn't even notice his glamours dropped until you said something, and before he could even attempt to slip them back on, you cup his cheek and tell him how beautiful he is, both with and without the glamours.

-You even smiled, "Your eyes really do gleam like rubies and gold, huh?"

-Wow, way to catch his heart again, damn.

-...Wukong stops wearing glamours around you, dropping them as soon as the two of you are alone, and he's always cuddling you in some way or form.

-He will not lose you again.

-He refuses too.

~~~

MK / QI XIAOTIAN

-First off, let's get it out of the way that MK is the most loving and sappy boyfriend ever, who is either rizzing you up or being controlled by his anxiety. It depends, really.

-He's always doing the most basic but sappy couple stuff, and despite how cheesy it all is, it's genuinely flattering.

-MK is also incredibly protective of you- he tries not to control you with his protective instincts, and let's you do as you please because you're his beloved, and you deserve to do as you please.

-You're both adults! It's fine! He can handle this!

-He cannot.

-It's post S4 when MK gets notified of a demon causing problems, and goes to take care of it when he sees who the demon has as a hostage.

-You. Chained up, with ripped clothes, deep cuts, and teary eyes.

-Oh, MK fucking loses it.

-He goes full monkey at the drop of a dime, and is scratching and punching the villain (the bastard) that dares hurt his beloved.

-MK is a merciful hero that loves to help!

-But even HE has a limit to his compassion and mercy.

-Once the villain is gone, MK picks you up and just... holds you in his arms, hissing and just staring people down if they come anywhere near you- his tail curled around your leg and puffed, eyes slit and ready to attack at any given moment.

-It takes nearly an hour to get through to him, but when you do, you're treated by Sandy as MK sobs in your lap about not protecting you well enough, while you simple pet his hair gently, careful not to tug or snag on his hair as you stroke it.

-MK... is a lot more protective of you from then on- but he doesn't force himself into your activities. More so watches than anything else.

-If it keeps you safe, he'll do whatever he needs too.

[kirain]

I saw a comment of yours about Ascended Astarion and I just wanted to say him sacrificing 7000 bloodthirsty vampires that can't control their bloodlust isn't a bad thing. If anything it's a mercy killing. People enjoy Ascended Astarion because it's cathartic for a lot of people who've suffered similar abuse. You lack empathy.

I think you may have the wrong person, because I've never commented on ascended Astarion. The only time I've come relatively close was when I discussed Neil Newbon's stance on him in the comments of a viral post, where a Tumblr user got mad at him for saying, "Meh. He's not for me." And even then, I made it abundantly clear that I don't have a problem with people who enjoy ascended Astarion. I was more so defending Neil for having a preference, which he's allowed to have. Is that what you're talking about? Because I haven't discussed ascended Astarion anywhere else. 😅

As for your comment ... what? First of all, an unconsensual sacrifice isn't a mercy killing, it's murder. They didn't want to die. Those innocent people—and yes, they are innocent; Cazador captured and enslaved them—don't simply die. As per the infernal contract, they go to hell. Specifically to Mephistopheles, the second most powerful and cruel archdevil in the hells. They will suffer for all eternity. That's not merciful. Personally, I'd rather be an undead spawn who has to drink rat blood every now and then.

Second, if you feel that way about all those spawn, then you should keep the same energy for Astarion, because he's the same as them. The only difference is they haven't had a chance to live in the real world or learn to control their hunger. Now, I do agree setting thousands of spawn loose on the Sword Coast is a lot, and potentially dangerous for the living, but the Gur will keep an eye on them, as is their oath. If you let them go, you give them a choice. They're still slaves to their hunger, and they likely always will be, but they get to choose how to satisfy it. If they truly can't resist harming others, then the Gur (and paladins) will surely kill them; which sounds horrible, but at least they'll be spared a gruesome afterlife.

Cazador took their choice away, as he did with Astarion. If they deserve to die, if they don't deserve a chance to prove they can live peacefully in Faerûn, then the same goes for Astarion. That's part of what makes his ascension so hypocritical. He's no better than Cazador, in the sense that he takes their agency away and uses them for the exact same purpose. Those spawn even could've been Astarion. He just so happened to be the "lucky" one who had a parasite crawl into his head. He's special to the player because we know him, but he could've been any of his siblings. He is all 7,006 of those spawn.

I will admit I didn't ascend Astarion, as I personally think it's the worst path for him, but you have it backwards. I didn't deny him ascension because I lack empathy. I denied him ascension because all I have is empathy, and that extends to characters who aren't the main focus of the game. You do what makes you happy, but I don't think becoming the worst version of yourself is healing, and I care about Astarion (and the people around him) too much to watch him continue the cycle. Sebastian, Dalyria, Chessa, all the others trapped in the cages—they have names and they're victims, too. For me, the most cathartic moment of Astarion's quest was when he realised it and set them free.

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Four)

Summary: You and Tommy suddenly find yourselves in a small predicament as the impending hour of your engagement ball draws near. Only to be made worse when you make an unexpected bold move in your war of words. As alliances begin to form between the gangster and an unlikely guest later that evening. Yours and Tommy's feelings also begin to show when he makes a move that will leave you as equally breathless. But with someone watching from afar, another problem comes your way. One that could leave everything in jeopardy.

Warnings: Language, angst, domestic violence, use of one racial slur, very brief 18+ themes.

Word Count: 5692

Authors Note: The waltz played at the engagement ball is called "Second Waltz" by Dmitri Shostakovich. Which was also used in my trailer for this series.

"So, what seems to be the problem?" you asked with gritted teeth, hovering over the workman with half his body buried deep under the intricate rail work of pipes as you silently prayed for a better outcome than what the current situation held.

" Busted main pipe, Miss" Mr Potts grunted as he hoisted himself up from under the dusty floors of your aging home.

Well, bollocks, you thought to yourself as you wiped the layer of sweat that had accumulated on the back of your neck. The sweltering heat that had descended over the country, having no mercy on you and every other citizen that was accustomed to summers your southern neighbors would consider dreary and wet.

" Is it possible you could fix it...by tonight?" you questioned in hopes things could be swiftly sorted before your engagement ball set to take place that evening. The soirée you had no choice but to put a brave face on for. But not a sweaty, frazzled-haired one if you had any control over your bathing habits.

" Mr Potts?" you queried once again when a hearty crescendo of laughter left the plumbers jiggling girth at your lack of knowledge for manual labor, and the hours it would take to fix such a problem.

" Tonight? Are you 'aving a laugh?" he snorted as you crossed your arms, the deepening creases of your brow furrowing with every chuckle that left his raspy lungs.

" It's not that funny..." you mumbled as he continued to echo his amusement. Could probably fix it myself, given the chance, your strong willingness pushed through your pouting lips when Tommy came striding down the hallway.

"Y/N" he greeted you with a soft smile, dressed in only a vest and suit trousers, his suspenders hanging loosely from his hips. It would almost be unusual to see him fully dressed in your presence at this point, you thought to yourself as you watched him wipe the sticking heat from under his chin down to his toned collarbone. Hot. So...so, terribly hot...

"Mr Shelby" you greeted him back with flushed cheeks, pulling yourself away from your steamy thoughts as he stood arm to arm with you. His darting eyes unable to divert from the beads of perspiration that had settled on your rising chest, dripping down to the curves of your...fuck

" Pipes about to burst " you said, catching his wandering eye as you subtly shimmied the frills of your dress over your steamy display.

" Right" he replied as he cleared his throat, finding a degree of innuendo in your passing statement he felt would be best kept to himself than shared with the room and it's causing effect. You.

As you both watched the plumber plod about, a silence momentarily settled between you both, free from the bickering, cocky remarks and slamming of doors.

Something had unexpectedly changed since Tommy turned up in both support and respect to your father's funeral. The sudden shift away from butting heads, replaced by the echoing spark of yearning from your first encounter. But for how long, until you faced yet another bump in your precariously winding road to admitting your sentiments towards the other?

"Me and my boys will be 'round first thing tomorrow" the workman announced as he settled his cap on his head, breaking the tension between you both.

" But...but how are we supposed to wash?"you hurried after his heavy footsteps, left inconveniently in the lurch.

" Servants' quarters aren't connected to the main buildings' plumbing" he replied, turning around as his pout belly bounced into yours, the sudden impact causing you to fly back two feet. " Their bath is hooked up to the pipes for the horses stables. That ain't gonna be a problem is it now, Miss? he asked with his hands on his hips as his eyes honed in on your bumbling lips.

" I...I didn't build this house, Mr Potts" you said with darting eyes and reddened cheeks, feeling like you were suddenly the one to be blamed for the houses' layout, and the divide it created between classes.

" I can assure you, had I been the one to oversee the architecture..." you rambled off into an incoherent speech on how you was for workers rights as the plumbers' brow began to scrunch at your nattering to a comment he made in jest.

" No, it's not a problem. Absolutely, definitely not, a problem" you answered, catching your breath with a weary smile as your embarrassment for not being able to reply to a simple question without going into a rant caught up with you.

" Splendid" he replied, hooking his thumbs under his suspenders as he turned around. A chuckle leaving his lips for the high society lady he had left in a dizzy.

Spinning on your heel, you came face to face with your smoking squatter, casually leaning against the wall as a small grin of amusement he had no intention of hiding, lurked behind the fumes of tobacco as you slowly padded towards him, awaiting the dose of humiliation you were sure was on the tip of his tongue.

" One bath" he said stood in front of you as his eyes darted back and forth to the servants' quarters.

" Hmm" you hummed as you watched him brush the droplets of heat from his brow. Both of you in dire need to cool down. But with only one bath, the race to it's location was now tethering on the starting line as you both waited for the other to make the first move.

"Excuse me" you said before taking off down the very hallway he'd been eyeing up, attempting to get a head start on your mutually shared agenda.

" Stifling isn't it?" You said, flapping the top of your dress in attempt to get a draft down to your sweating crevices as he quickly appeared beside you, matching your quickened pace as you both exchanged pleasantries to hide the determination you had to get to the only bath with running water.

" Suffocating" he replied as you jogged breathlessly next to his long strides, distracted enough for him to take a quick peek at the beautiful sight of your bouncing bosom.

" You dropped something, love" Tommy warned you as he glanced down at your feet, causing you to momentarily stop in your tracks.

Dropped something, your eyes narrowed in on him briskly walking away with a throaty chuckle. Dropped your guard for him mischievously fooling you more like!

" You cheat!" you pouted as you summoned the will of your inner child, racing after his steps like a charging young boy, red-faced and sweaty about to tackle down his biggest rival, when you came to a stumbling stop into his body, quickly wrapping your slippery hand around his on the brass handle of the door as you both fought for dominance.

" Ladies first" he relented to the gentlemanly way of doing things, gesturing for you to go as you blew a lock of hair from in front of your eyes,

" No, you go" you replied coyly, intending to play a back and forth game of politeness until your graciously gave. Ignoring the fact you had launched yourself into him seconds earlier, ready to fight him to the death on who gets first dibs.

"Well, if you insist" he opened the door with a smirk, swiftly shutting it behind him.

"But..but..." He left you muted and mumbling as you stood with crossed arms, your eyes darting in disbelief to and from the room he had just entered.

What a... you scoffed to yourself unable to find the appropriate insult as you heard him turn the water on, obnoxiously whistling to himself in the process.

And to think you thought the unspoken ceasefire between you was a treaty you had both signed.

What was he doing, practicing his butterfly stroke? you thought to yourself as your eyes honed in on the bathroom door. One hour. One full hour he'd been in there bathing himself as if he was a Greek goddess in the seas of Pathos.

" Right" you stormed up from the chair placed directly outside the door you had been waiting in front of for the hour of your life you'd never get back.

"Mr Shelby?" you politely knocked for the first time since his arrival, only to have a response of silence.

"Mr Shelby!?" Your patience lasted all but two seconds as your fist began to pound on the door before you dramatically swung it open. It's not like you hadn't already seen the lengthy manhood the gods had bestowed upon him, you reasoned to yourself as you charged through to see him with his head lulled back against the ceramic bath, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers.

" Get out. It's my turn" you huffed with your back against the sink as you watched him with annoyance, peacefully submerged in the cloudy water filled with Epsom salts.

" Oh, It's you. I would've never guessed" he opened one eye with a smirk to see you getting furiously irritated by the locks of hair sticking to your face.

" It's been an hour. Now leave" you said as you turned to the sink, fiddling with the cold tap to relive yourself from the heat radiating from your skin.

"It's been ten minutes" he said, lifting his cigarette to his lips as his eyes roamed over your dress adhered to your skin with sweat.

"You've used all the water! I can't...I can't believe you!" you snapped, turning the silver faucet to the very end for only a pitiful drop of water to settle in your palm.

" You can use mine when I get out" he said, causing your eyes to widen as big as his cocky grin. He may very well have been accustomed to sharing mucky bath water when he was a child in a bid for his mother to save on pennies, but you had never done anything of the sort. Let alone with a grown man you had only known for a matter of weeks. "Or there's a pond at the bottom of the garden"

" Pond?!"

" Too posh for ponds as well, ey princess?" a sly smirk settled on his ridiculously plump lips as he waited, watching you in the corners of his blue irises with amusement.

"Leave" you demanded, succumbing to the realisation that you had no choice but to bathe in his leftovers than share a pond with any potential slithering beings that lived in it.

" Five more minutes" he said closing his eyes, blowing a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. Had he become so accustomed to your daily bickering, that he was in fact doing this on purpose just so he would have an excuse to interact with you? Yes.

Whatever possessed you to do what you did next, when you propped your foot on the edge of the toilet seat and unclasped your garter straps, shimmying the stockings from your legs along with them. Would plague you for the rest of the evening if not, your entire life.

" Out" you approached the side of the bath, throwing your most intimate of undergarments on top of his bundled up clothes on a nearby chair.

" I think I'd rather stay, darling" he said watching you pull your dress from over your head as his cigarette slowly submerged itself under the murky water. The sight of you now only in your under slip leaving him momentarily stunned.

"Fine" you said forcing a sarcastic smile through your slowly evaporating bravado.

There's no going back now, you thought to yourself, dipping your foot into the bath as Tommy bolted upright until his body was firmly against the back of the cool enclosure.

"Fuck, what are..." he was lost for words at your unexpected display of both competitiveness, and a boldness that would match any Small Heath lass he'd ever encountered.

" What does it look like I'm doing? I'm having a bath, Mr Shelby" you replied, following through with your endeavor without a blip as you poured a tinned jug of water over your locks, watching Tommy shift position as he rubbed the droplets of water sitting on the curls of his long lashes away with his hand. Was he seeing things? Dreaming, hallucinating?

" Do you ever relax?" he asked you after silently observing you laver the soap onto your chest and arms in the quickest manner you could possibly achieve to do it in. Watching the bubbles of perfumed lavender seep down to your ample cleavage as your entangled legs and little room to move, made matters worse for the growing predicament he now found himself in.

" Huh!" you scoffed at his remark that would be better attributed to himself as you went to reach for the bar of soap, when your slippery hands had it sinking to the bottom of the watery deep. Inconveniently close to his side of the bath. Dangerously close to his side.

Locking eyes, you cautiously dipped your hand under the water when you felt him grab hold of your wrist, saving you from discovering the effect you had on him, and grabbing something he'd prefer stayed attached to his body.

With a heaving chest your eyes met in a lustful gaze as you felt the gentle tightening of his hand around yours in the cool water. Beckoning your thoughts to join him in the unspoken line he wanted to cross. The line you had both been dancing precariously close to ever since you met.

Whether it was fear of what would come after, or the nerves you felt about being intimate with someone again after your first disastrous time. You abruptly stood up as Tommy's mouth fell agape at the sight before him. Your body sheathed in your slip, drenched in enough water to see through the thin fabric to reveal your bare body beneath. Knickerless. Fuck.

" Stay" Tommy's breathy voice churning with desire mumbled, swallowing the lump in his throat as his straining cock twitched at the sight of your bare body in front of him. His hands edging to wrap around your legs and pull you down on top of him to relive you both of the tension you had let build through weeks of bickering.

" I won't" you left, leaving him with the angry echo of your voice and the puddles of your parting footsteps. Anger you felt only for yourself, and the yearning you had to indulge in your forbidden desires. Knowing it would only further confuse your mounting feelings for him, and the emotional web it would create if your future dealt you the wrong hand.

" Fucking hell..." Tommy threw his head back, slowly engulfing himself until he was fully submerged under the water. You'd be the death of him.

What the hell was you thinking, you pushed your damp hair away from your face as you walked down the heavy wooded stairs into the foyer. The sight of an unknown woman in the dining room capturing your attention enough for you to momentarily forget your impromptu bath with the blue-eyed trespasser.

" Ghastly, isn't it?" you said with crossed arms coming to stand beside her as she pulled the cigarette from between her ruby painted lips, lowering her sunglasses enough from the large portrait of Tommy to look at you.

" So you're the one" she said with a pursed smile, her hazel eyes igniting with a shared mischievousness for infuriating your mutual acquaintance.

" And you must be?" you queried as she stubbed out her cigarette on the frame of Tommy's imposing painting.

" Polly Gray. Aunt Polly to some" she said, reaching her immaculately painted talons out in a polite handshake before returning her eyes to the large framed picture.

" Whatever do you think possessed him to commission such a monstrosity?" your nose scrunched up at the beady-eyed horse and it's owner looming over you.

"Grand home, grand aspirations" she waved her hand in front of her at the strokes of paint, and it's ill fitting placement. A dining room. His mug watching everyone eat their breakfast. How delightful.

" Grand ego, more like" you said when a puff of smoke to your left came into view as you carried on your torment, knowing the very owner of the painting both you and his Aunt were ruthlessly insulting was standing right beside you.

" Well, he certainly has enough of that" she replied with a smirk, as Tommy furrowed his brow at you both simultaneously ganging up on him, having only met moments ago.

He liked his portrait, he thought to himself as he stiffened his posture, admiring the work that had been done when a burst of giggles came from next of him.

" You two finished?" he said as you both pulled your eyes away from the brooding painting of himself to the grumpy human version.

" Oh, Mr Shelby. I didn't see you there" you said with your hand to your chest, his shaking head not joining you and his Aunts shared amusement.

" Tommy. Y/N and I were just getting to know each other. Or rather, your interesting painting" she said, turning to pick up the folder of documents her nephews' distracted thoughts had forgotten to sign, when Tommy ceased the opportunity to enclose the small space between you as his Aunt bundled her belongings together.

" You left these with my clothes" his hot breath whispered into your ear with a curling smile, prickling the skin of your neck in a gentle wave of pleasure as he reached into his back pocket to pull out your laced underwear.

" Give them" you said quietly through gritted teeth, as you both tugged on the delicate item of clothing until they ripped and Tommy let go with a breathy chuckle.

" What's with you all of a sudden, eh?" Tommy quietly mumbled to you, gently elbowing you in the side to get your attention, you reciprocated back twice as hard just as Polly turned to see the tense display between you both.

Don't think she hadn't noticed, nor the fact both of you had hair still damp with water. Just what had you two been up to?

" It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gray" you bid his Aunt goodbye with the bundled knickers scrunched in your hand behind your back as Tommy's thumb gently brushed over the fleshy part of your wrist.

Why were you suddenly playing so hard to get? You had got in the bath with him for Christ' sake, he thought to himself as his eyes followed you out the room. Were you playing games? his thoughts further nagged him with the idea of you toying with him. He'd seen you looking at him. Seen you stealing glances when you thought he wasn't watching. How long were you going to keep pretending you didn't want it as much as him?

" Until next time" she said with a curious smile, intrigued to know more about you and what had her nephew away from the office so frequently after mouthing to anyone forced to listen, how much you got under his skin.

" Now that's a rare sight worth painting" her drawn lips closed into a tight smile as the door closed and her head turned to see the pining eyes of her nephew, held in captivation for the woman that had just left the room.

" Be careful Thomas, anyone might just think you're in love" she arched her brow with a matching smirk before making her way to his office. Leaving a huffing Tommy with a disgruntled thrown as he shoved his hands into the depths of his trouser pockets.

Shit.

" Don't think I haven't noticed, Mr Shelby" your Grannie lifted her chin, her eyes looking at the gangster from head to toe stood beside her.

"I've seen that look" her lips pouted with a knowing smile, catching him staring at you from across the ballroom later that evening, as your fiance loomed over you. A look she herself had shared with a man not so different to Tommy.

" And what look would that be, Dowager? Tommy said through the toying smirk on the corner of his mouth as he took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, before taking a seat on the gold plush settee next to her.

" A look as old as time" she said, lifting the glass of bubbles to her lips as Tommy's eyes creased into a mischievous smile.

" Your secret is safe with me, Mr Shelby" Grannie's eyes met the spark of youth in his as she returned to keeping a watchful eye on you. Her loathing for the gangster having taken a sudden blow after witnessing his attentiveness to you at her son's funeral in the absence of your betrothed.

"Brute!" her eyes filled with anger as she watched Cal grab hold of your arm, pulling you into the darkness of the corner of the room.

" I can have him find his way into the cut, if you'd like" Tommy scoffed cocking a brow, passing your Grannie the small pocket square of white cotton from the front of his tailored tux, to usher the tears for your bleak circumstances away.

"Behave" she let a small giggle slip, patting his leg as her new budding companion for the evening sent her a boyish grin as she dabbed her eyes through her laughter.

" I'm afraid my dear girl will have even dire choices if Mr Astor happens to go missing. Her last remaining option looking ever the more bleak with each passing day" she sighed as her head cast down in exhaustion to her fingers clutched tightly around the champagne glass resting in her lap.

"Arrow House" Tommy let a breathy exhale out. Your Grannie only confirming his suspicions as to what had you clinging on for dear life to the house that would be better torn down than the many repairs needed to fix the state your father had left it in.

" For what it's worth, Mr Shelby. Your arrival may have thrown a spanner into my granddaughter's secret scheming, but it also brought a spring in her step for the life she once lived to it's full. Something I haven't had the joy of witnessing for many years" she confided in him, resting her aged hand creased with the wrinkles of wisdom she had earned on his arm. "And for that, I'm forever grateful to you"

" You're hurting me" you flinched at Cal's hand clasped tightly around your wrist, his eyes darkening into a bottomless glare of blackness.

" I will have you answer me, Y/N" he demanded, pulling you further into his body, hiding your guests from the controlling nature of your relationship.

" Why was he there, hm? Did you invite him?" his eyes blazed at you with fury. Breaths away from insulting you for his own insecurities having learnt of Tommy's appearance at your father's funeral from your brother.

" Are you whoring yourself out to him?" His paranoia spat through gritted teeth, his tightening hold numbing the extremities of your throbbing hand as your eyes welled with fear." Answer me!"

" Y/N?" Tommy's concerned voice drifted to you with his enclosing footsteps.

" Mr Shelby" you turned away from him, wiping the tears from your eyes with your bruising hand.

" Once again, Shelby. You seek out my fiance" Cal seethed though a throaty laugh, stretching the strain from his fingers that were moments away from snapping your wrist.

" It seems he is quite fond of you, dear" he scoffed with amusement as Tommy handed you a glass of gin, his look of disgust for the man beside him and the state of upset he had left you in further angering him when your limp hand had no strength to hold the small glass of liquor you quietly mumbled your gratitude for.

" A backstreet gypsy boy trying to win himself a woman of society. Whoever gave you the idea you could achieve such a thing?"

" This backstreet gypsy has never been one to turn down a challenge, Mr Astor. Especially not something as pretty as your wife to be" Tommy raised his brow, letting his mouth fall open with a challenging smirk, knowing the bastard in front of him wouldn't have a leg to stand on if he tried his luck with the cutthroat gangster, notorious for killing anyone who dared to come up against him.

" Fellas" your brother came between the two men in an attempt to calm the tension before a bloody shootout ensued.

"Dicky, Harold, meet Mr Shelby. My baby sister's houseguest" he turned to the men beside him as Tommy and your fiance continued to lock horns with a glaring, shared stance.

" Oh yes, the criminal" they tallest sniggered as the other took a chuckling bite of fish eggs on the wafer thin piece of bread in his hand.

" Harold Sterling. We share a business acquaintance" Tommy's head snapped to the giggling duo as he pointed his finger.

" I doubt that" he scoffed as his wife appeared beside him, curious as to who the smartly dressed gentleman was.

" Mr J.R Hughes from Hampstead, London" Tommy reminded him, lighting a cigarette, blowing the first drag of tobacco in his smug face.

" He mentioned you'd be attending this evening's ball. Said for me to send his regards to your wife, Kitty." His eyes narrowed in as Mr Sterling's widened with embarrassment.

" Your secretary, you've been sleeping with her again, haven't you? You dirty pig" his wife quietly snarled at him, as he tried to usher her away from causing a scene in front of the many dignitaries and fellow business partners present.

" Oh I'm sorry, I mean Gladys" Tommy named his second mistress through his cigarette loosely sitting between his lips before he could escape his dues.

" You bastard, you rotten bastard!" She snapped, swatting him across the arm as he cowered away.

" Dicky, how's your old man? Hear he got locked up?" Tommy turned to his next victim, picking them off one by one as you looked down at your drink, biting your bottom lip in an attempt to stop the smile of amusement you had for Tommy's brutal onslaught of the insufferable gang of merry men your brother spent time with.

" You have the wrong man, Mr Shelby. You don't know my father" he spat, turning to leave.

" The whole of Birmingham north of Aston knows him. The butcher of Bordesley Green"

" Your father's a butcher?" Johnathan's brow furrowed as his friend's lips wobbled without an answer.

" If butchering people is a profession" Tommy raised his brow. Ruthlessly unveiling the man's secret, his family had done their upmost to keep hidden from high society. But not from the backstreets of Birmingham his father's midnight killings had landed him in a life long stint at his majesty's pleasure until the noose called his name.

" Good lord, man!" Johnathan looked to his friend in horror, taking a step back from him and the small caviar knife on the porcelain plate in his hand, he feared he would use to gauge his organs out having learnt of his father's murderous hobby, as Tommy watched your finances eyes dart back and forth to him, waiting for the gang leader to reveal his own dirty secrets.

" Gentleman" Tommy left with a wicked smile of satisfaction. Leaving Cal momentarily with the comfort that his own legacy was safely secure. Safe for now, that is.

Watching you from afar at the side of the ballroom later that evening, Tommy continued to quietly endure your brother's nattering of unwarranted business ideas. Only entertaining his nonsense so he could peacefully steal glances at the woman who truly held his interest.

" Compelling, Johnathan" Tommy absently noted, pulling his eyes away from you as he took the last sip from his emptying glass of whisky.

" Another, old chap?" Your brother pointed to his glass, eager to continue his ridiculous business proposition he hoped would earn him big money.

" Yeh" Tommy cleared his throat, passing him his empty tumbler, thankful to be rid of him as he made his way to the lonely seat next to you.

" Mr Shelby" you looked up at him, away from the dancing guests as he settled himself beside you. " I want to thank you, for earlier" your tired eyes looked to him, hoping he understood the depth of your gratitude for intervening.

" Y/N..." he sighed, taking your battered wrist into his comforting touch, brushing his thumb gently over your bruising skin deepened once again with the marks of control your fiance had over you.

" Please, please don't say it. Just let me forget, if only for a moment" you interrupted him, resting your fingers gingerly over his hand as Tommy let out a stifled huff of frustration.

"So, what's this one?" Tommy changed the subject, turning his head to the swaying of ball dresses being guided in step around the ballroom.

" The waltz" you answered, thankful he'd not insisted on the matter you knew looked painfully frustrating to any bystander.

" And why aren't you dancing it, ey?" he turned back to you with a playful grin, keen to see you be spun around if to only have you smile for just one moment like he had witnessed at the ballet.

" I'm untouchable, I'm afraid" you said, raising your left hand and the diamond sitting on your finger. " Only male family members and Cal are seen as suitable dance members" you scoffed, looking down at the weighty piece of jewellery in your hand, only ever letting it grace your skin for events such as tonight's.

" You lot" Tommy chuckled leaning back in his seat, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the rules and expectations of the world you lived in. Small Heath didn't seem so bad after all.

" They show no mercy when they start gossiping" you looked back to the full room of unknown people who were only connected to you by wealth and status.

" Then let them talk" Tommy grabbed your hand, pulling you up and away to the patio doors as Grannie watched from afar with a hiccuping smile in her seat of observation as Tommy shot her a wink.

Naughty boy, she giggled to herself as the years of her own youth and the excitement it brought hurtled back to her.

" Wouldn't happen to have your hawk eyes on Mr Shelby, would you Grannie?" Your brother appeared beside her with two glasses of whisky, as he scanned the room for Tommy.

" Johnathan, must you lurk! Go make yourself busy, child" your Grannie jumped with fright, taking one of the glasses of liquor from his hand, then swatting him away with the other as Johnathan wandered off with a pout.

"Mr Shelby, what...what are you doing?" you breathlessly gasped, having been pulled from your seat to the outside patio quicker than you had time to react to.

" What does it look like, Y/N? I'm dancing " Tommy arched a brow as he pulled his wrapped hand around your waist further into his body.

" Don't be ridiculous, you can't dance" you rolled your eyes, trying to distance yourself from his strong frame, and the blushing effect it had on you.

" I'm a quick learner, love" he smirked as he straightened his back, grasping your hand in his.

As the booming drums rumbled from within the ballroom, Tommy began to lead you into a waltz with your guidance, or what he would best describe, bossy instructions he suspiciously didn't seem in need of, having picked up the steps of the dance astonishingly quickly for a novice.

Quick learner, your skeptical eyes looked up at the cocky grin trying to push past the bottom lip he was biting down on when the interlude of pounding drums had Tommy stomping his feet in unison.

" Stop it!" You huffed, swatting his arm at his playful mocking, when the thunderous sound of the strings recommenced and Tommy suddenly spun you around in his hold, freeing you both from the small patch of concrete he had kept you in as he guided you with long strides across your impromptu dance floor like he had danced it a thousand times.

" Tommy!" His name slipped past your squealing lips when he unexpectedly lifted you up to the starry night of stringed twinkling lights as your dress bloomed around you. The sound of his name and your beaming smile sending his thumping heart racing when he brought you back down into his arms, while your flushed cheeks and darting eyes revealed the embarrassment you felt for losing yourself in the moment.

" Mr Shel..."

"Y/N, shut up" Tommy quietened the use of formalities you had continued to insist on when he pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss, holding you tightly in his strong hold.

Breathlessly pulling back, your glistening eyes shone through the nervousness settling in your chest as your hands reached to rest on his pounding heart as he wantonly looked down at you, when the urge became too strong and you mutually crashed your lips back together in a passionate hold filled with a longing you had both been desperate to fill. Lips plush against each other, tongues intertwined in a secret dance only you knew.

" Mr Shelby?" Your brother called for the man who was currently locked in a heavy embrace with his sister as he pushed the French doors open with his back, simultaneously sipping from his whisky tumbler.

"Oh, dear" he quietly muttered as the remaining amber liquid poured to the greying concrete floor from his limp hand as he turned to see the unexpected sight of you together, oblivious of his presence.

Now this was a problem. A problem for him and your impending nuptials he was hoping would get him out of the small pickle he found himself in.

Oh dear, oh dear...

NEXT PART

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted (unable to tag) @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

@emotionalcadaver @mamawiggers1980 @sweetcheesecakesblog @cljordan-imperium @peakyswritings

@tiedyedghoulette @mostly-marvel-musings @classygirlything21 @dana-rmz

[sweetimpurity]

cw: toxic dynamic

Miguel’s need to control carries on into every aspect of your life with him. In the years you’ve been together, that’s the main thing you’ve had to come to terms with. And it doesn’t seem like something he’s willing to change. Especially not when it applies to sex.

He’ll have you any way he wants, because he knows how to make you feel good. If only you’ll stop squirming and let him do it. He’ll tell you to shut up, stick his fingers in your mouth and make you suck on them to keep you quiet. Clasp his hand over your mouth when you’re being too loud. Especially if it’s in his office where anyone walking by the door might overhear.

When you come home after a longer day and he’s been waiting for you. Dragging you to the couch once you step in the door and pounding you into the cushions. First it’s real sweet, kisses, caresses, sucking on your tits, kissing your neck, marking your skin so everyone knows. Everyone knows.

Starting in missionary and stretching your pussy out, working you out; almost making you sore within the first round. Making you cum no problem, he doesn’t even need to try. Then you’re on your stomach, his cock drilling into you from behind, eyes rolling back and his thick buff arm wrapped around the front of your neck. Your flushed face cradled in the crook of his beefy arm. Keeping you in the position he wants. Always. Hand finding its way to your throat, his hips slapping into your ass with every push, taking your whines and cries to know he’s doing a good job. That he’s pulling you apart one orgasm at a time.

“One more, baby… that’s all, one more…” He doesn’t beg. He tells you that’s how it’s gonna be. Flipping you back over, your head on the sofa armrest and hands grabbing at him. Babbling on about how it’s too much and you can’t take anymore. He hasn’t even let himself cum yet and you’re already overstimulated to the brink of insanity.

“Lie still babe… let me do it all… just be still and take it… pretty pussy wants it so bad, sweet girl.” He mumbles, his own mind half gone already. He pushes your hands down, big palms pressing your wrists down to the armrest and keeping them there, thick thighs pressing your legs apart, keeping you spread and open, pumping into you, rocking, your bodies as one, one moving machine, no matter how you might resist, how you may beg him for mercy.

But you’re cumming again… and then one more time after that. His fingers gently pressing on your pulse point and then brushing the hair off your neck. Focused, furrowed brow studying your expressions and taking this job as seriously as he does his actual 9 to 5.

“Please Mig… no more I can’t…” You pant, fucked out and overwhelmed. Your hands pinned over your head by him. Dark eyes scanning you always. Nodding firmly, knowing you’ve been good. Kissing your lips sinfully soft, his face dipping into your hot neck, letting himself finally focus on the pocket of pleasure in his own stomach. Spurting soon after, fucking his essence into you, hissing and groaning, semen staining the upholstery.

“Such a good girl… did so good baby…” He whispers once it’s all over, kissing your cheeks and your lips, helping you wash up and serving you the dinner he made while waiting for his girl to come home.

[604to647]

Safest with You (✨Series Finale✨ Ch. 22 - The Long Road to Forgiveness)

16K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

No Summary or Warnings to avoid spoilers! (18+ Content, MDNI please - there are no warnings that would apply that haven't been noted on a previous chapter in the series).

A/N: This is it! Our series finale!! 😭😭🥰 (And it's a monster - sorree🫠) I love these two so much and I don't think I will ever truly say goodbye to them - there is still an Epilogue coming and possible one-shots in the future, but this is the end of our main story/relationship arc for them; I hope it's enjoyable and satisfying 🥹. Thank you to everyone who has read along with the series - it was my very first foray into fanfic and I've learned (and I hope, improved!) so much as a writer over this past year - I can never thank Din, Pretty Bird and all of you enough for this experience. Merci, merci, merci et je t'aime 😘😘😘

Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 😘 / Series Masterlist

You don’t know how long you stand there, unmoving. 

He’s here. 

You truly believed you would never see Din again, but here he is sitting before you, looking more handsome than you remember.  The strong lines of his face and soft waves of his hair are both longer than when you saw them last but he’s still the same man who exudes a gravitational pull that you can’t help but feel tug at you.  And yet, you remain rooted in place - unable to go to him, but unable to leave.

Finally, Din stands and rises to his full impressive height, looking at you pleadingly with soft, unsure eyes; he starts to slowly move closer, one gentle footstep a time - as if afraid to spook you.

You count his steps.  One… Two… Three… Twelve… Fifteen… until he stands right before you, close enough for you to reach out and touch. 

There’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you that even though Din sought you out, that you’re the one who has to speak first; your words the only ones with the power of invitation… or dismissal.

The only problem is you don’t know what you want to say.  You had already made peace with the idea that you and Din would never speak again and chosen not to lingered on what remains unsaid, never mind how you would ever go about approaching those topics.  While you frantically try to navigate the questions that suddenly flood your mind, Din gingerly holds out the peony bouquet to you in offer.

And like he had done so a million times during your relationship, Din quiets your overthinking mind with a simple, but sweet gesture so you can think clearly.

You reach out to take the flowers from him and briefly admire them – they’re beautiful.  Your favourite.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Din’s voice is equally soft, cautious.

Raising your eyes from the pretty pastel blooms you find Din looking at you with such familiar tenderness that you can’t stop your heartstrings from strumming.  It was one thing to have worked through your feelings, finding a peace in being over Din while on your own; it’s another thing entirely when he’s right in front of you.

“Din, what are you doing here?”

Din’s countenance is one of resignation and apology, “I- um.. I just… I just wanted to let you know you’re safe.”

You don’t know how to respond to this declaration.  Din takes your silence as a request to further clarify, “To be clear, you were always safe… always protected.  I just mean that the threat made against you has been eliminated… no one is after you.  And no one will ever come after you.”

It’s still not much of an explanation, but you ask, “And the others, they’re safe too?”

Of course you would worry after the others, smiles Din, “Yes, everyone is safe.  You’re perfectly safe.  You’ve always been safe and you always will be.”

And while you immediately understand that Din’s intention in coming today is to reassure you, give you closure, you find his words insufficient.

Eyes piercing, but voice soft, you sigh, “I didn’t feel very safe.”

“Oh fuck, pretty bird.  Shit.  I thought you knew that even if we weren’t together, the Family would protect you.  I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean f-”

Your hand comes up slightly to interrupt, “You misunderstand, Din.  I didn’t mean I felt like I was in any danger or that I was scared.  Because I didn’t.  I meant I didn’t feel safe.  How could I?  When the person who made me feel the safest, the one who I trusted the most to care for my well being had abandoned me?” 

You inhale and exhale a deep, surrendering breath, “There’s a difference between knowing I’m safe and feeling I’m safe, Din.”  Unsure of where these words are spilling from, you couldn’t stop them even if you wanted to, “You need to know that you have more to offer someone that just protection.  To me, you were comfort, steadiness, security – my port in any storm no matter how big or small.  With that taken from me, how could I ever feel safe?”

The look of devastated comprehension on Din’s face nearly makes you regret your words.  You hadn’t meant, nor do you harbour any desire to make Din feel badly - he had come to you today with the sweetest of intentions. And so, you try to give him a kindly smile through your sad eyes, “Din, it’s okay.  Really.  I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel bad or because I need you to apologize for it.  I know you did what you thought was the best for me, what kept me the safest… but, for the sake of the next person you’re with – I hope you can consider that making someone feel safe is as much about being there for them, being reliable, as it is protecting them from danger.”

The silence that follows is heavy with regret and contemplation.  And even though it wasn’t the point of your speech, Din, for the moment can only speak to the one thing he’s sure of, “There’s never going to be anyone after you, pretty bird.”

“Din…”

“It’s the truth, but I know that that’s neither here nor there.  I didn’t come here today to try and beg you for another chance or to see if you wanted to still be with me.  I know it’s impossible - I ruined any possibility of us.  But, please know - there isn’t any universe where I get over you.  Where there’s a ‘next person’ - you were it for me.  And having heard what you said today, I now know that as much as I thought I did what was needed to keep you safe – I do have to be very sorry and apologize because it turns out that I still failed.  I’m so sorry, pretty bird.”

Din sinks to his knees and wraps his big strong arms, the very ones whose warmth and security you knew so well, around the back of your legs and presses his face into the softness of your belly.  As you card your fingers through the silky curls of Din’s hair, the familiarity of the gesture softens your heart even further.

You know Din is sorry.  You can feel his remorse and apology with every fibre of your being - and so, heart complacent in the face of Din’s complete surrender and capitulation, you forgive him. 

There’s nothing more to it.  Din’s sorry and he carries an albatross of regret for having hurt you - you have no desire to punish him more. 

It had been naïve of you to think you had nothing left to say to Din - there are words that had, unbeknownst to you, been hiding in your heart, trapped with nowhere to go for the last four months, now beating loud against their makeshift prison to be heard.  For your own hard-won peace, you can’t let Din go without having him hear them. 

“Din, I meant what I said: you are so much more than the protection you provide.  You were the keeper of my heart.  Being with you was a dream – I had never felt more confident, content, and hopeful for the future.  Everyday, I was the most cherished, adored woman on earth, and I believed you would safeguard my heart as if it was your most precious treasure.  Every time you decided for me that my safety was compromised by being with you – every time you left – it felt like you were ripping that comfort and security away.  Please, Din - I’m not saying I don’t appreciate your concern for my physical safety, but it should never have come at the expense of the safety of my heart.”  Din rises as you punctate your point, “The hardest thing was losing the security I thought I had that our love was worth something to you too.”

You start to walk and Din follows, the emotion and sincerity in your voice holding him a willing hostage.

“And it’s not just how you approached the threat made against me, Din.  I know you always kept secrets from me about parts of your life that, I don’t know… you thought might make me see you differently?  And maybe that was partially my fault for being okay with it in the beginning out of some desire not to encroach on things that might not have been my business.  I don’t even know anymore.  But even if you didn’t know how I would react or thought I couldn’t handle the type of things you said I was too ‘good’ for, I think it hurt us in the long run that you didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt to try.  Did you genuinely think I would choose to leave?  I mean, Din - are you ashamed of who you are or any of the things you’ve done?”

In every battle Din’s ever fought with himself when it came to being with you, he’s asked himself this question, “I… I can live with myself, pretty bird.”

“Then maybe I could have, too?  For the entire time we were together, you only ever made me feel supported and uplifted, comfortable no matter the situation, Din.  I was certain there was nothing that I could tell or share with you that could ever make you love me any less.”

Against your wishes, your eyes well up as you think back to Din’s abandonment, “That’s how much I trusted you, how much my heart believed in your goodness.  I… can’t help but be hurt that you didn’t trust me the same way.”

You allow Din to walk you down to the subway platform, and when he curls himself around you to shield you from the wind tunnel the incoming train brings, you heart pulls unexpectedly with a longing that you had thought was long extinguished.  It’s this: this care, this thoughtfulness that has always been, to you, the measure of the man Din is – you leave him with this final thought before the subway car doors close behind you, “You didn’t need to protect me to make me feel safe, Din.  You were enough.”

Din goes home and thinks about what you said.

He doesn’t think anyone has ever loved him the way you did – he had never had any one say that they saw him beyond being a protector.  It touches something deep inside him to know that he gave you comfort and you had loved him for his soft and giving nature, not the hardness of his utility.  He chose to provide for you in the manner he thought he was best suited, but what you had sought was something he never considered anyone would want from him: a true, equal partnership.  That you had felt he didn’t believe in your love, in you - and that he hadn’t held both in the high esteem that he does?  Well, that was inexcusable.  Din adds it to the long list of ways he had hurt you that he could never forgive himself for.

Din doesn’t harbour any illusions that he has another chance with you, but this he can still make happen – he can show you that he does trust you. That he had held dear your belief in him and still does.  He can show you that the love you had bestowed upon him was the greatest gift he had ever received.

He can find the courage to be truthful about all the things that he had thought he had to keep a secret from you.  You were right - he hadn’t been wholly honest with you.  Saying it was for your protection, but the truth was Din had been afraid if you knew the realities of his world, the darker side of who he was, perhaps you would look at him differently.  Maybe you wouldn’t have been able to look at him at all.

But you were the most reasonable, smartest, sweetest, generous person he knew – and he hadn’t treated you as such.

You were right.  He hadn’t shown very much faith in you or your love – but he could fix that.  What did he have to lose by showing you the truth of who he was?  He had already lost you - the least he could do is try and take away some of the hurt he had caused.

To say you’re surprised to see Din again the next day is an understatement.  Having once again resigned yourself to never seeing him again after leaving him on the subway platform yesterday, you can’t deny the warmth that blooms tentatively in your chest when you find him sitting in the courtyard waiting for you after work once more

This time, it’s you who approaches him – an unspoken question on your bemused face.

Din rises to meet you and holds out another bouquet of peonies, just as beautiful as the one with which he had met you the previous day, “So, pretty bird, do you want me tell you who was behind the threat?”

Din comes every day to pick you up after work and sees you all the way home.  Some days you take the subway together and on others you walk the long walk – but Din always stays to walk Al with you once you reach your building.  He waits patiently downstairs while you go in to get Al and lovingly greets the pup who receives him as if Din hadn’t disappeared from his life for nearly a year.  It makes you smile to see that their bond remains unchanged.

You and Din talk - freely, unrestrained; no more secrets, no emotions withheld – nothing is off limits.

As promised, Din starts with the topic of what came of the threat made against you and other Fett Family loved ones.  You insist that Din not spare any of the details that he might be tempted to temper or deem too unsavoury for you; you don’t know that Din has already made the commitment to be nothing but transparent with you.

It was the Hutts.  Everything had been the Hutts all along: from the small incidents of vandalism and theft to the minor outbreaks of violence that had increased in intensity and frequency all the way up to Cass and Rikard’s wedding, even the assassination attempt at Boba’s birthday, and then the threats made against you and those nearest and dearest to the Fetts.  The Hutts had been behind it all, though they had not done it alone.

Ultimately it had been the Fett-Pyke engagement announcement (made some time when you and Din first started dating) that had set things in motion.  When Cass and Rikard announced their intention to marry, there had been a small, contingent group of Pyke Syndicate members that had not been as happy for the couple as they claimed to be.  They had tolerated the relationship even though they found it distasteful, but a marriage?  A marriage meant a formal, legal tie to the Fett Family and that they just could not allow.  It had been years since there had been any bloodshed between the two clans, but in their eyes, some things could never be bygones.

But what could they do?  They were an older, fading minority in the Syndicate.  Lom and Marg were progressive leaders who had numbers and support - if they wanted the union to happen, their followers would fall in line.

So, they reached out to someone who abhorred the idea of the Fetts and Pykes coming together even more than they did: The Hutts.  The Hutts couldn’t care less about the legacy of old grievances - what they didn’t want is for two of their rival clans to become allies, even if they were, for the moment at least, only getting along for the sake of a couple of kids.  They feared that the ties between the Fetts and Pykes would only become stronger and that eventually, familial ties and business ties would blur.  If the Fetts and the Pykes were to work together, they would indisputably become the strongest crime syndicate in the city, easily overpowering and out-muscling the Hutts and other clans if they wanted to.

The small group of Pyke conspirators worked with the Hutts to slowly, and without raising suspicion, create discourse between the Fetts and the Pykes.  They even enlisted the help of the Crymorah Syndicate to sow the seeds of mistrust.  Those months of unrest and escalating security incidents during your relationship with Din had been the work of their efforts – Din had been right, there had been a behind-the-scenes culprit orchestrating it all.  At first, they hit all the clans and their territories with impunity - not marking anyone as an obvious target in order to foster a general atmosphere of unease and instability.  Then gradually, they increased the pressure on only Fett and Pyke marks, hoping that it would cause the two clans to start pointing the finger at each other and destroy any goodwill that the engagement had garnered.

To their great frustration, aside from putting everyone on high alert and causing undue stress on security teams from both sides, it seemed that the newly forged bonds of friendship and trust between the Fetts and Pykes, while tentative, were holding strong.

The wedding had gone off as planned to the displeasure of those who had been conspiring against it.  A few of the lower-level Hutt footmen had made a last ditch attempt to make their frustrations known by crashing the end of the wedding and getting into it with the younger Pyke cousins; but even that disturbance had been easily squashed by Din and the Mandos.

The brief period of respite that had occurred after the wedding was due to the Hutts and the rogue Pykes regrouping for their contingency plan.

This time, instead of targeting both clans in order to insinuate some kind of escalating payback between the two families, they would target only the Fetts and frame the Pykes.  The plan included a two-pronged strike on the Fetts: first, on territories and businesses that bordered those of the Pykes, and second, where it would hit the clan the hardest - family.  Between the threats made and the unyielding onslaught of attacks and violence, they hoped to run down the Mandos and throw the organization in such disarray that the Fetts would foolishly follow the planted clues leading to the Pykes being responsible – thereby breaking up any potential alliance and possibly even leading to a war that would end the possibility on a permanent basis.

It was diabolical.  And it could have very well worked if not for Boba’s instincts and his belief in the inherent good of those Pykes that he now, through marriage, considered family.

Din tells you every detail of his and Paz’s investigation: every false lead they chased down, the twist and turns of every revelation, and each and every time they fell for one of the Hutt’s traps.  You hear the names of more Hutts and Pykes and Crymoreans than you can keep straight and you learn how Din got the information needed out of each one of them.  Din doesn’t mince words and he leaves nothing to innuendo: he trusts you with the whole truth, no matter how dirty, gritty, or damaging.

Your expression gives nothing away.  You ask a million questions.  Din answers every single one in full.  He talks so much that your time together eventually extends to include Al’s late-night walk so that Din can share as much as he can before needing to wait before he sees you again the next day.

You’re not sure when, but during one of these nightly dog walks, Din’s fingers tentatively lace through yours and instead of pulling away, you give his hand a gentle squeeze and leave your hand resting comfortably in his.  He holds your hand every chance he gets after that.

After he finishes his tale with an assurance that those responsible in the Pyke Syndicate have been weeded out and dealt with, along with some graphic details on how Boba exposed and put an end to the Hutts’ subterfuge, Din opens up to you about his past.

He tells you everything you’ve ever wanted to know about the type of work he’s done for the Fett Family in the past and what he still does to this day.  Every scar on Din’s body that you’ve ever traced beneath your delicate fingers has a tale of savagery and he tells you every single one.  You grimace at the graphic descriptions, but your eyes never shy away from Din, tender and worried even now for wounds long since healed over.

Your heart breaks for Din with every story he recounts where he lost a friend, was betrayed by someone he had trusted, or where he saw the duplicitous nature of the people who occupy the world he was born into.  Every loss, every breach of trust has carved a mark into this man that you thought you knew so well, molding him into the cautious warrior that he is – only now, perhaps, do you truly understand why Din is so protective over those he holds dear, why he had been so protective over you.

He’s the man you always knew he was: honourable, loyal, true of heart, wise but somehow not jaded or world weary.  Din remains unchanged in your esteem: a good man who tries his best.  You can’t help but admire him.

One night, right before you and Al head in, instead of wishing you a good night, Din looks nervously at his feet.  

“Pretty bird, can I kiss you?”

You look at Din, not without affection but still unsure of how you feel or how you want to feel now that your story seems to be continuing beyond what you had reconciled yourself to, and shake your head, no.

Din nods understandingly and tries to give you an expression that’s devoid of disappointment; while he would have loved for you to have answered affirmatively, he would never push you.

He continues coming to see you every day and the conversation resumes without reservations.

You go back in time in your relationship and ask questions you didn’t even know you had back then.  Din remains candid and open – he’s found it to be easier to be plainly honest with you now that he’s started.  For your part, you’re astonished to learn of things you probably should have suspected, like how the boxing circuit is mob dominated because of the rampant gambling, and other things you never have would guessed, like how Mayfeld owns a successful chain of barbershops.

Sometimes the conversation veers again to how you and Din separately fared over this past year.  He always apologizes profusely and refuses to shy away from any re-airing of your insecurities and confusion about this time.  For the first time, he confesses aloud the depth of his depression and the emptiness he felt without you in his life.  It brings you no joy to hear how Din struggled and how he’s punished himself while you were apart.

It’s with sincerity that Din tells you that he found a small comfort in knowing you had moved on, that if not gone, at least the hurt he had inflicted on you had lessened; you tell him about your healing turning point: when you returned his items.  He listens, full of emotion, as you recount how going through his things unearthed memories of a loving relationship and that you consider him to be a great love of your life.  When you tell him this, it’s with an unnamed swirl of feeling that thunders in your chest.

You chuckle somewhat awkwardly when Din tells you about how Peli had stormed into Mando’s after you dropped off his boxes, bellowing that even though you had made Paz promise not to tell Din he had seen you, she “didn’t effing promise.”  Though the image that Din paints of an irate Peli is amusing, you sheepishly explain the reasoning behind the promise you extracted from Paz.  Din can’t quite believe it – you had wanted to protect him?  After everything he had done?  He thanks you for having attempted to shield his feelings, though he doesn’t think he deserved it - but then again, he never thought he deserved you.

With earnestness, you assure Din that he did and even after learning everything he’s now been so transparent about, your opinion hasn’t changed - he’s a good man.

It takes several weeks of you repeating this for Din to maybe concede that he could be.

Every night before he leaves you, Din asks you the same question, “Pretty bird, can I kiss you?” 

And while your affections for Din continue to grow and your trust in what he says solidifies, still you shake your head and say no.  Your nightly refusal is received with an understanding nod – no guilt, no pressure. 

After about a month walking you home everyday, Din suggests getting dinner one night.  You could bring Al, he says, hopefully, and cites the nice weather and abundance of dog friendly patios.

You have dinner together that night.  And the next night.  And the next.

Din’s company is as comfortable and easy as you remember; his very presence can still calm you and his sweet words and longing glances set your heart a flutter the way they used to.  You find yourself sometimes wishing Al’s nighttime walks were longer just so you can stay with Din, even though you know you’ll see him again the following day.  And yet…

“Pretty bird, can I kiss you?”

Your answer remains unchanged.  When you look deep in Din’s eyes, you see a yearning that mirrors the one that’s started to grow in your heart, but even with all that’s been said between you and him over these past several weeks, you’re still terribly unsure.  Unsure if you can trust Din with your heart again. 

Tonight, instead of just nodding at your response with graceful acceptance, Din looks at you with seriousness and gingerly brings his hand up to cup your face - he wants to makes sure you see in his eyes the sincerity that comes with his next words.

“Baby, I want to be clear - I love you.  I’ve never stopped and my feelings for you are as strong as they’ve ever been.  But I have no expectations and I would never ask you for anything.  If all I can ever be to you is someone whose company you enjoy once in a while, then I’m happy.  These past few weeks is the happiest I’ve been for almost a year.  I don’t expect you to feel the same way as me and I won’t push.  If you want me to stop asking to kiss you - if it makes you uncomfortable, or you just don’t want that thought to have any place in this friendship we’re rebuilding, then I’ll stop and I promise I’ll be okay with it.”

There he is - the considerate man you had loved.  The one who took intimate care of your emotional safety and for whom disrespect and unkindness were never an option.  You don’t know if there’s a future for you and Din in the way that he’s imaging, but Din’s sweet words and the way he’s looking at you right now make you hopeful for the possibilities. 

“Don’t stop asking,” you say in a shy voice.

The smile on Din’s face couldn’t be more radiant - it lights up his whole face and he breathes, eyes soft, “Ok, pretty bird.  I won’t stop asking.”

Din’s daily presence and the time you spend together become such a comfortable part of your life that you hardly recall what it was like before; as time goes on, your conversations become less expository and return to an easy, natural rapport.  

You ask after Paz, Lisa, Poe, Cass and Boba, and even Fennec and her mods, all the Mandos, Peli and the more colourful characters from the gym – delighting in all their recent shenanigans.

Din always asks about your friends.  When he admits how much he admires them, especially Rory, you tell him he reminds you of her sometimes and that she’s surprisingly been his biggest champion.  You think he looks proud at this.  To your surprise, Din tells you that he’s read Bea’s book – he happily discusses its characters and plot points with you, and you giggle at how he tries to hide his excitement when you tell him insider info on the upcoming second book in the series.

Topics of discussion come out of nowhere but the conversation never wanes: what books you’re both reading, new and upcoming fighters at Mando’s, Greef’s short lived attempt at mandating a required book club for all the fighters (“Gentlemen, we need to also exercise the mind”), the latest season of the Korean dating show that you were both addicted to, Katie’s upcoming play, Mayfeld’s sad attempts to recreate your garlic knots.

When you offer to make a batch and bring it over to Mando’s one day, Din jokes that he won’t tell Mayfeld unless you want him to replace Din at your next after work pick up.  Inwardly, his heart is doing backflips at you making any future plans that involve him, however tangentially.

He’s in love with you and he won’t even lie to himself anymore about wanting you back.  But he meant it when he told you he’ll never push or pressure; it would pain him to make you uncomfortable in any way.  Din drinks in every happy smile you give him and floats on the waves of your musical laughter; contents himself with stealing admiring looks when you’re not looking and he holds your hand like it’s the most precious thing he’s allowed to touch - because it is.

Din endlessly compliments you and it truly takes him no effort to make you feel the way he always did: special, beautiful, smart and witty, and like everything you do and say matters.  Your kindness and sweetness to him seems to know no bounds – he should have never expected anything less; even knowing everything you do now about him, you still treated him like he’s someone worth being around.

He thanks you for this.  For being you. 

You tell him there’s nothing to thank you for as you squeeze his hand and something in your expression gives him courage; he asks you again, “Can I kiss you, pretty bird?”

Tonight, you nod.  As Din leans in, your heartbeat quickens not just from anticipation, but also fear. 

You’re frightened.  Frightened because you want Din to kiss you.  Frightened because you think you want to open up your heart to him, but you don’t have any assurance that he won’t abandon you again.  Frightened because you want to take the risk, because you think he’s worth it.

As soon as Din’s lips touch yours, the tingling spark that spreads throughout your entire body from the familiar and missed touch leaves you shivering.  Din must feel it too because he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close, crushing his mouth to yours to deepen the kiss.  When you open up to invite him in, you unexpectedly let out a loud sob that bubbles up from your chest without permission and hot tears spring from your eyes, running down your cheeks.

“Baby,” Din gently cradles your head in his large hands and strokes your hair soothingly.

You hiccup and choke out, “Was I so easy to leave, Din?”

“Oh fuck, sweet girl – no, of course not.  Leaving was the hardest thing I ever had to do; it nearly killed me every time I walked away from you.”

“You did it so many times,” you cry, sad and exposed.  Din had left you.  Even if you understand his flawed reasoning, you still can’t quite reconcile it with the love he professes to feel for you.

“I know,” Din hangs his head in shame, he tilts your trembling face to his and tries to brush away your tears. 

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll probably never understand the anguish I put you through – I told myself it was better than if any physical harm were to befall you, but I hated it, hurting you.  I only ever wanted to keep you safe, care for you, and give you everything you deserve, but I had convinced myself that it was worth it if you were safe.  When I saw the way you looked at me that night with Vanessa, I could see the betrayal you felt… it gutted me and I knew right away I had made a mistake.  I felt like the biggest piece of shit on the plant.  I was the biggest piece of shit on the planet.  And it was probably nothing compared to how I made you feel.”

You want to tell Din that you don’t like it when he talks poorly about himself, but you let him continue.

“I already didn’t deserve you, but the way I left you… the way I hurt you?  Well, that just confirmed it.  How could someone who could hurt an angel be deserving of that angel?  But baby, I loved you so much - you were my everything, my sun, my moon.  And I missed you so fucking much.  Every single waking moment of every day, all I could think about was you.  How you were, if you were okay, hoping I hadn’t somehow hurt you beyond repair.  Part of me wished you would have forgotten all about me so that I couldn’t hurt you anymore, and the more selfish part of me hoped you wouldn’t – that you might still remember what we had before with love.  When you told me that you had questioned everything about our relationship, I realized how stupid I had been to think I understood the damage I caused.  I was a bigger piece of shit than I already knew.  If it was possible, I was even less deserving of you than I thought.  I didn’t expect you to ever be able to forgive me.  So whenever I thought there was another choice between your safety and my happiness… I couldn’t choose my happiness.  I didn’t deserve it… and you deserved better anyways.  So, I always chose your safety and walked away.”

Din’s own tears have now begun to fall; he lets you wipe them away with your soft thumbs.

“But it was never easy, and I am so, so sorry, pretty bird.  Walking away from you is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.  I love you more than life itself.”

He looks broken.  He’s so hard on himself, you think.  Din’s words touch you and you believe them to be genuine, but you don’t know how much stock you can put into them, “How do I know you won’t do it again, Din?  How do I know that when push comes to shove, if you think it will somehow be good for me, or if I deserve better, or if you’re saving me, or whatever, that you won’t leave again?”

“I could never leave you again, pretty bird.  I would rather die than hurt you ever.  And it would fucking kill me; it almost destroyed me to be apart from you this last year.  Absolutely nothing could ever be worth betraying your trust and heart again… even imagining it makes me sick to my stomach.  I love you and I won’t ever go away unless you wish me away.  I’m going to dedicate everything in my power to making you happy and to make things up to you, to earn your trust back – because that’s what you deserve.  You deserve complete devotion, loyalty, unquestioned love.  I was too stuck before on if I was deserving of you, but fuck – that was so fucking stupid of me – the only thing that matters is giving you what you need and deserve.  I’ll never leave again, baby – I promise.”

Din debates getting down on his knees to beg you, “If you give me the chance, I’ll spend every day proving it to you.  Every day trying to earn back your trust.  Would you be willing to give me the chance?”

The truth is you don’t really need to think about it - for these past few months, Din has already been on the long, slow road back into your heart.  It hasn’t always been easy and there had been unexpected turns, but Din has been unwavering and consistent in his pledge to be open and honest.  He’s extended himself and now you want to do the same; you look at him, soft and earnest, and nod your answer.

Before the joy that blossoms in Din’s chest can explode, you place a tender hand on his cheek and your happy expression mixes with one of concern, “Din, promise you’ll never call yourself a piece of shit again, okay?  The man I loved, the one I want to love me again is honourable, loyal, unflinchingly kind and sweet - and I need him to know he’s a man of value and true genuine worth.  You said so yourself, it was simpler for you to walk way when you thought you didn’t deserve me - when you believed you weren’t the one for me.  I need you to feel like you’re the one for me, okay?  Forgive yourself, please.  I deserve a man who is as kind to himself as he is to me.”

How are you so fucking sweet?  Din doesn’t deser- no, that exactly the type of thinking you just asked him to stop feeding into; he shakes it off and agrees to your request.

Din means it.  He could never leave you again - even if the world was burning down, he’d stay by your side.

He reminds you of his vow ever day after.  Tells you.  Shows you with his soft and hard kisses and with the way he holds you and treasures every touch you share.  He demonstrates it in his commitment to and the dependability of his love - showing up everyday and being unflinchingly open and honest about everything.  His raison d’etre is to cherish you, adore you, support you in the way you deserve.  Din’s love for you has never wavered and he can only show up day after day after day so that you hopefully never have a reason to doubt it again.

And then one day, Din’s not there.  You leave your office at six, around the usual time when you’d find Din waiting for you.  Only today he’s nowhere to be found - not in the courtyard, or alongside the building, or out towards the street.

You’re momentarily confused - he’s here every day, where is he?  When your head clears, you realize that it’s not just that you expected Din to be here, you want him here.  You look forward to seeing him every day and enjoy having him as a regular and consistent part of your life again.  Whatever is going on between the two of you, however or whatever you’re still figuring out, it makes you happy that he’s here. 

And today he’s not - your heart constricts at what this might mean.  Is Din okay?  Is he hurt?  You hurry down the steps of the courtyard straight to the street to flag down a cab so you can head directly to Mando’s.  It never even crosses your mind that Din has had a change of heart, that maybe he no longer wants to walk this slow road that the two of you have been treading - the one paved with trust and forgiveness, all leading to a destination you haven’t even defined.  Not for a second do you worry that Din may be giving up on what has essentially amounted to the hint of a promise that the two of you were working towards being to each other what you were before.

Because you already were.  Because you believe every word he’s said about never leaving you again, how he would be open with you about everything, that being apart nearly killed him, and how he would never give you reason to doubt him ever again.  You had told yourself you wanted to believe in Din and that you eventually could, but your heart already had.

So, if Din wasn’t here, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be - there had to a reason.  You’re nervously fidgeting in the cab when you get a string of texts about halfway to the gym.

Unknown number [6:27 pm]: Hello!  This is Jimmy!  A big delivery of equipment for Mando’s came late today and we’ve been unloading it and Din left his phone up in his office and didn’t realize what time it was.  He told me to text you and tell you he’s sorry he’s not there to pick you up and he’s really sorry and he’ll call you when he can get back up to his office and he’s really sorry! 

You breathe a sigh of relief and laugh a little at yourself for how worried you had been. 

You love him. 

Your head’s been proven right with what your heart already knows: Din will always come through.  He’s your steady rock – your person to depend on, to trust.  You love him.

As soon as the cab pulls up to Mando’s, you spot Din.  His back is to you as he pulls a giant box off of a truck to load onto the pallet that Jimmy’s patiently holding the handle to.  Din’s back and arm muscles stretch and strain against his shirt as he lifts the heavy cargo in one swift motion, carrying it almost effortlessly - though you can see from the bulge of his veins and the tension in his neck that an impressive effort is being exerted.  And though he looks positively drool worthy, it’s the knowledge that that same strength devotes itself to your care and safety that has your heart racing.

The moment he’s set down the box you’re running to him, calling his name; Din turns at your voice and the surprise on his face is quickly overtaken by a grin so bright it might send you stumbling if you weren’t so determined to get to him.

Slamming into his hard chest, you bury your face into the comforting wall before you happily breathe in Din’s familiar, musky scent. 

“Hey pretty bird.  Did you get Jimmy’s text?  I’m so sorry – I really meant to pick you up as usual.  This delivery just took longer than I thought it would.  I’m sorry, baby.”

Mumbling into his chest, you nuzzle in further, “It’s okay, Din.  I know you would have been there if you could.  But…”

Pulling back so there’s no misunderstanding when you say what your heart wishes for Din to hear, you lace your fingers behind his neck, “I hated that you weren’t there and I just wanted you to know that.  I want you always, Din.  I don’t want you to… away.”

Din presses you back to his front and chuckles into your hair, “Okay baby, you already know I’m yours, always.  And after the way I fucked up this last year, I couldn’t be apart from your even if I was stupid enough to try.  It would fucking kill me - I’m never going to ‘away’, sweet girl.”

“Good,” you murmur, tipping your head back and letting Din’s lips find yours.

It feels like a first kiss.  Not a tentative or exploratory one like the first time your lips touched all those many moons ago, but like the first kiss heralding in a new era.  One full of promise, of giddy bliss and of partnership.  A future.  Every stroke of Din’s tongue against your own is brave and insistent and he fills your mouth with the emotions leaping from his chest that he can’t quite articulate because you won’t allow him the air to speak.  You nip and lick and sigh – wanting nothing more than to devour him, and you just might have if the hoots and hollers from your audience at Mando’s didn’t tear you, suddenly shy, from Din’s kiss swollen lips.

“Alright, alright, knock it off,” Din shouts over his shoulder good humouredly - he looks down at you, unable to contain his elation, “Pretty bird, should we go and get Al?”

You nod happily.

Over the next two weeks, you and Din enter a new phase of your renewed courtship.  No more hesitation or careful treading of your feelings, only open and jubilant reveling in your affections and love for one another.  Din dotes on you and spoils you as he always did, and you let him – generous in return with your praise and reassurances that he makes you undeniably happy.

He wines and dines you with enthusiasm, taking you out nearly every night even though you insist it’s not necessary.  He tells you that he has a lot of dates to make up for.  You make out like teenagers and take Al out on longer than necessary walks just so you can stay in each others’ arms.

Though your time together gets progressively more amorous, you don’t spend the night and Din hasn’t even come up to your apartment - as much as you can’t keep your hands off one another, you haven’t had sex.  You’re not exactly sure why this is, except that you know Din is respectfully letting you take the lead, so it must be you.  It’s not that you don’t want to – Din remains the most delicious man you’ve ever set eyes on and just one look from him can sometime send your heart racing and pussy clenching.  The way he’s been gripping your waist tighter, coupled with the heat that radiates from his hands when he runs them down your back and over your ass when you say goodnight indicates Din wants you just as much as you want him.

But for some reason, you just can’t cross that threshold with him yet.  You don’t have any doubts about Din’s commitment or devotion, and you want him with a near constant ache between your legs, so what is your deal?  Do you just want this flirty, almost innocent phase of your relationship to last a little bit longer?  Is it that once you fuck him again, you know you won’t be able to stop and you don’t want sex to overshadow the bond you and Din have been rebuilding?  Or is that while you believe in him, your brain can’t stop reminding you that at the end of the day, Din’s promises are just words with no tangible assurance that they’ll be kept?  Are you a crazy person?

You need someone to talk you off the ledge – you’re counting on your friends to help you figure out why you’re being so ridiculous when you go out tonight for Jen’s belated birthday celebration.

---

Unfortunately, you never get the chance to ask your friends for help in analyzing your self-imposed celibacy because the dinner goes off the rails almost immediately.

It starts when your pre-dinner cocktails come and inexplicably included is a round of beer that none of you ordered.  Your waitress gives you an apologetic look and explains that a group of guys at a nearby table sent them.

It’s an obvious ploy so they can invite themselves over since none of you ordered beers, so you send the pints back over with a polite, thanks but no thanks.

They approach anyways.  There are five of them of varying ages, but all old enough to know better – and all imbued with too much liquid courage and arrogance to care that they’re intruding and unwelcomed.

Successively, the men come over individually or in pairs, as if their smaller numbers might put you and your friends at ease.  It doesn’t.  Your polite assertions that it’s a girls’ night and that you’re looking to spend time with only each other are purposefully ignored; as your dismissals get more insistent, so do their efforts.

You and your friends get no reprieve or peace from the group’s increasingly aggressive advances and inappropriate comments.  When one of the men gets too comfortable with putting his hand on your lower back, you recoil and an unsettling chill runs up your spine.

It feels calculated and unnerving – too aggressive to be considered eager, but just this side of menacing.  You suspect that your table’s would be suitors aren’t playing dumb; the decision to ignore you and your friends’ clear wishes and boundaries feels deliberate.  It’s almost as if once their rejection was assured, they thought it would be fun to mess with you, scare you.

When Lala runs back from the bathroom to report that one of them grabbed her on her way back, that’s when your general sense of annoyance and discomfort morphs into anxiousness.

While the obvious answer might be to leave, you all realize quickly that at least in the restaurant, you’re in public – you’re more than sure that if you attempt to leave, your group will be followed out of the building… right into a dimly lit, possibly empty street.

And since your harassers haven’t done anything for which you can lodge a formal complaint (there were no witnesses to Lala’s run in), the five of you remain trapped at your table, unsure of what to do next.

“I’m going to call Din,” you finally say - whenever something feels off or potentially unsafe, your instinct is to run to Din

“What can he do?”, asks Jen.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he’ll have some ideas,” shrugging, you dial Din's number and hope he’ll pick up.  Luckily, he does so after the first ring, “Hey, pretty bird.”

You almost sigh in relief, “Din…”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You can’t help but grin into the phone, “How do you know something’s wrong?”

“Just your voice,” Din says lightly.

Suddenly you're plagued with uncertainty.  Why did you call Din?  What could he do?  Would he be annoyed that you bothered him over something that really amounted to a 'bad feeling'?

“I don’t know if it’s anything,” chewing your bottom lip, you're hesitating when Din interrupts with the soothing tone and words that you need to hear.

“Baby, if you called, then it’s something to you.  And that means it’s something to me.  Tell me what it is.”

He’s always been so good at reassuring and grounding you - you continue with a little more certainty, “Well, you know how the girls and I were going out to dinner tonight?  Well, we’re at Toshi’s and there’s another table of just guys that have sort of been… harassing us?”

You can practically hear Din frown and you hurry to explain the series of events that led up to your call, finishing, “It’s not that they’ve threatened us or anything?  They just haven’t left us alone all night.  They know we’re not interested but keep coming by and making comments that make us feel uncomfortable like how they’ve already decided who’s going home with whom from their group?  One of them tried to grab Lala when she was going to the washroom and now none of us want to get up by ourselves and we’re starting to wonder what’s going to happen when we try to leave the restaurant.”

Din doesn’t miss a beat, “How many of them are there?”

“Five,” you grimace, “same as us - they’ve made that observation out loud already.”

“Okay, pretty bird, you did the right thing calling me.  Would you be okay putting me on speakerphone?”

As soon as you press the button and place the phone in the middle of the table, you and your friends lean in.  Din’s voice comes through calm and sure, “Hey everyone - I’m so sorry you’re going through this and that your evening has taken this turn.  I know it’s easier said then done, but don’t worry.  Everything will be okay - no one is going to bother you again and you’re all safe.  I know the owner of the building that Toshi’s in and I’m going to give him a call right after I hang up – building security will keep an eye on things until I get there.  I’ll bring a couple guys and we’ll be about ten minutes.  Is that okay?  Do you need me to bring anything?”

Everyone shakes their head and choruses a thank you to Din before he hangs up; you’re happy to see some relief settle over the faces of your friends.

It probably takes less than ten minutes, but the wait for Din feels long.  Your appetizers arrive but no one is really in the mood to eat; everyone remains kind of somber, though Bea and Katie do attempt a few light hearted jokes about how things would be so much easier if Toshi’s was a mob front.

Even before you see the look of recognition flash in Rory’s eyes at someone or something behind you, you feel him - your body untenses as if it senses that Din’s entered the room and it comes as no surprise when a few seconds later you feel the familiar curl of his strong hands around your waist.  You close your eyes and without turning around, lean back and completely relax against the warmth of Din’s hard chest.

“Hi, pretty bird,” he whispers in your ear, giving your temple a soft nuzzle with his nose.  Tilting your head back, you feel his soft lips brush over yours, “Hi, Din.”

Once he’s sure that you’re comfortable, Din gets straight down to business, “Is everyone okay?  I know which table of guys you were talking about – just the ones over my left shoulder?  None of them have bothered you since I hung up, right?”

Your friends confirm readily and Din continues, “I want you to know that you’re all safe.  You’ve been safe since the moment you called me.  But I know there’s a difference between knowing you’re safe and feeling you’re safe.”  You turn your head to plant a soft kiss to the base of Din’s neck upon hearing your own words used to comfort your friends.

“You don’t have to all look at once,” he chuckles, “but building security has had their eyes on you for the last ten minutes.  There are two guards by the bar, one at the stairs, another at the top, and a fifth by the bathrooms.  The manager of Toshi’s has also been alerted, so any move by those guys would have resulted in them being thrown out and it still will.”

You’re sure the entire restaurant hears the collective sigh of relief from your table.

“Now, the five of you – you’re in total control of what happens next, but there’s no rush or pressure to make any decisions.  If you’re done with this evening, we can leave right now and I’ll escort you upstairs where Jimmy and Woves will ensure you’re unbothered as you get in the cars.  We’ll personally drive you all home or anywhere else you might like to go.  But you’re also welcomed to stay if you feel comfortable enough to try and salvage your evening – again, you’re perfectly safe.  I’m here now and I’ll make sure of it.”

Contended, you see that all your friends are smiling, their shoulders and overall energy decidedly more relaxed; Jen even starts eating her calamari.  Din’s tone is authoritative, but accommodating – he’s here, here to take charge and take care of you and your friends, but just as importantly, letting you call the shots and doing what makes you feel comfortable instead of dictating the terms of your well being.

His next words surprise even you, “The other thing that is completely up to you as well, is what you want to do about those guys.  You can let bygones by bygones and pretend they never existed, because for all intents and purposes, they don’t exist to you anymore.  Or, if you would like them to be taught a lesson on… how to respect women?  We could do that too.  Completely up to you.”

You look up at Din in wonder.  Of course, you know what he is suggesting, but him being so forthcoming and transparent with your friends about this side of him?  It’s so… vulnerable.

“I think you all know what I would choose,” says Rory, frankly and without a hint of hesitation, “but honestly, Lala, you’re the one who got the biggest scare when that guy grabbed you.  What do you think?”

“Oh!  I mean… yeah.  That shit was inappropriate and no one should ever get away with thinking that was okay,” Lala says thoughtfully, “but I’m not the only one they got physical with.”

She looks pointedly at Din and he looks down at you, voice a little graver, “Did one of them touch you, pretty bird?”

You sigh and your face says it all, “It was just my lower back, Din.”

“Which one, baby?” 

Before you can decide if you really want to answer the question, someone else chimes in, “The one in the blue.”

“Bea!!!”  You look wide eyed at Bea and she makes a face like, What? No remorse at all.

It’s not that you care to spare any of those assholes from their deserved fate, but you don’t want Din to get more keyed up than he already is.

Trying to get things back on track, Katie waves her hand in the middle of the table and puts forth, “I think I might like to stay and eat.  I’m starving and I think I would prefer to wash away the memories of the last hour with some more pleasant ones.  And… my vote is that those dickheads get what’s coming to them.”

It seems like everyone agrees, but as the main courses start to arrive and the waiters comically try to arrange the plates on your cluttered table, Din looks down at you, “That okay with you, baby?”

Your heart melts at how he’s still deferring to you, even though you know from the way his fists clenched at Bea’s words that he likely has his own preference on how he’d like to handle things.  You appreciate the effort he’s making to let you lead - you appreciate him.

Nodding, you whisper, “Thank you for coming.”

“I’ll always come for you, pretty bird,” Din whispers back.

“Your pretty bird.”

Din is doing his best to do things differently.  He’s taken into account all the things you’ve talked about over the last two months in regards to him letting you into his world and not shielding you from things that might be less than innocent – he’s unsure if he’s doing it right but he knows you’re worth the effort, “Mine?”

You look at him with soft, but sure eyes, “Yours.”

He practically growls, “Mine,” before slotting his mouth over yours.  The kiss starts sweet and gentle, but you quickly deepen it to show Din some of the urgency that’s been building since he arrived.  He returns your affections with a similar insistence and possessively tightens his hold around you.  When you finally pull away, it’s with a gaze of devotion that you shyly drop before snuggling into his shoulder, fitting comfortably into your favourite nook beneath his jaw.  Din places an affectionate kiss to your hair and murmurs, “Eat,” - gently turning you towards your food.  Your heart fills with joy when you look at your friends - for the most part they look like they’re enjoying themselves, eating and chatting as if this were a regular evening.  Din did that, you smile to yourself.  Happily, you turn your attention to your plate, mindful of Din’s reassuring presence and the ever-present hands on your hips that steady you on your stool.

---

By dessert, things feel back to normal - just a regular fun night out with your friends.  The only reminder that anything was amiss earlier is Din standing sentry at your table.  Though his presence is perfunctory, that hasn’t stopped Din from joining in on the conversation and joking around with your friends.  You’re practically gleeful seeing them get along so well – knowing that in some ways, Din has won back the hearts of your friends the way he has yours. 

After the last plates have been cleared and the last of the drinks drank, Din wraps his arms around you and plants a loving kiss to the top of your head, “Ready to go?”

“Anyone need to use the restroom?” He winks at Lala, who punches him in the arm and laughs.  You beam, proud that your strong protector’s warm blanket of safety has enveloped your friends and put them at such ease that they can now laugh off events that were so upsetting only an hour ago.

“Yep!  Right after we settle the bill,” chirps Bea.

“Oh, uhhhh…” Din scratches the back of his neck and avoids eye contact with your friends, “I took care of that already.”

“DIN!”

You don’t even need to join in, your friends ready to reprimand your boyfriend without any assistance from you.

Din puts his hands up in surrender, “Look, I settled it over the phone on the way over!  I wasn’t sure if you guys would want to leave right away, so just in case, I paid so there wouldn’t be any unnecessary delay.  I’m… sorry?”

“Oh. That was smart,” concedes Rory.

“And incredibly thoughtful,” you add, smiling appreciatively at your considerate man.  The truth is, you’re prodigiously proud of Din’s display – he’s smart, strategic, decisive, but never arrogant; he’s good at this.

“Alright, pretty bird.  You lead the way, okay?  Jimmy and Woves will be right outside to get you.  I’ll bring up the rear.”

You nod and do as Din says without question.  As you’re climbing the stairs towards the restaurant exit, you spy from the corner of your eye that table of guys also getting up to leave and a (very small) part of you feels sorry for them. 

Upstairs, your relief and happiness at seeing Jimmy and Woves is second to only how you felt when you saw Din earlier.  They hug you cheerfully and greet your friends with protective warmth and familiarity before ushering you all into Din’s truck after your friends say they don’t mind squishing together in the back.  You notice that when Din comes up, he’s followed by who you assume are the five guys from building security that he mentioned earlier.  They line up to block off the sidewalk in what you recognize as a flanking position – they’re there to cut-off any escape routes.

Oh.

Din walks over and opens his passenger door, leaning in to give you a quick kiss; with a look you can only describe as apprehension, he whispers, “Pretty bird, you don’t have to look.”

You know what he’s saying.  This is the part of him and his life that he’s always shielded you from – a type of violence and barbarity that he deems you too ‘good’ for; he won’t hide it from you anymore, but it doesn’t mean you need to have a front row seat.

Kissing him back fiercely, you need Din to know that he has nothing to worry about - there’s nothing you can see that will change how you feel about him, who you know him to be.  You think his slightly dazed expression when he checks in to makes sure everyone in the backseat is doing okay means your message was received.

Through the still open car door, you hear a growing commotion and raised voices; via the windshield you see that the offending group of men have emerged from the restaurant and are now being roughly handled and herded by Jimmy and Woves into an alley.  Though they outnumber them, the guys from the restaurant are no match for the two Mandos’ size, strength and skill; with the additional intimidating presence of building security, they have no choice to comply – but it doesn’t look like they’re doing so without loud protest and undeserved indignation.

The last thing you hear before Din closes the passenger side door is Woves laughing, “You dumb fucks really don’t know whose girl you were messing with, do you?”

You don’t watch. 

Not because you don’t want to see Din when he’s like this or even because you’re especially squeamish, you just don’t really see any reason to.  The minimal sounds that you can hear through the door coupled with your friends’ gasps and reaction commentary tell you enough of what’s happening in the alleyway.

You know it’s over when you see Jimmy reach into the car in front of you and hand Din a towel to clean his hands right before he walks over to his own driver side door.  Quickly, you whisper to your friends, “He’s going to be anxious that we saw him like that, okay?”  It’s probably unnecessary, but you give them a look that that conveys how important it is that Din feels comfortable about having shown them this facet of his character, knowing how difficult it was for him.  You don’t care what happened or what he was doing outside of this truck only a minute ago, all you care about is that Din extended himself, opened himself and this part of his life up to you and even your friends – you want him to know he's appreciated for his efforts.

When Din gets in the truck, you can tell he’s uneasy - so without saying anything, you take his right hand and place it on your upper thigh, closing your legs and trapping his fingers between.  You then wrap yourself around his arm and look up at him with tenderness - you want him to know that you’re not afraid of these hands.  You adore these hands.

Upon understanding your feelings, Din’s entire stance relaxes with relief and gratitude; he leans in to press his lips to yours, sealing in his returned affection.  No words are exchanged, none needed.

It’s Bea’s deadpan that breaks the silence.

“So… is this what you meant when you said you could ‘take care’ of Gideon for me?  Because, I would have taken you up on it.”

The entire car fills with laughter and even Din can’t help but chuckle – you’re glad to see any remaining tension he’s held onto evaporating as he realizes that your friends are still comfortable around him.

And though he no longer worries that they may think so, Din still wishes to make sure that you and your friends don’t view him as some type of violent thug – a monster, “Just so you know, none of those guys are severely injured; no one has to go to the hospital.  They’re just… banged up a little.  Not trying to ruin anyone’s life or anything – just wanted to teach them a little lesson like you wanted.”

“What were you guys doing at the end?” Lala looks genuinely curious.

“Oh, you saw that, eh?  Yeah, we made them hand over their IDs and we took down their addresses, just to keep an eye on them for the next week or so.  Plus, maybe a Mando or two shows up unexpectedly to remind them not to forget the important lesson they learned here tonight.”

“Dannnngggg, Djarin.  You’re cold,” marvels Katie, half amused, half impressed.

“Well,” Din voices lowers, serious, “I don’t take very kindly to men who take pleasure in making women feel uncomfortable.”

Your friends nod appreciatively.  You lean over the centre console and press a soft kiss to the pulse of Din’s throat; the movement forces his hand to slide a little further up your inner thigh and you smile against his skin when you feel his Adam’s apple bob beneath your lips.

“Still had to wail on that guy in blue a little though, huh?”

Din catches Rory’s eye in the rearview mirror and sees her playful smirk, returning it with one of his own, “Well, you know.  It takes some people a little longer to understand the lesson than others.”

The car fills with a lighthearted laughter again and then that’s the end of any talk regarding what transpired tonight.  The men that harassed you and your friends earlier this evening and their comeuppance now a thing of the past – nothing good can come of thinking or talking about it anymore. 

As Din pulls the car away from the curb, you can’t help but gaze at him in admiration; there’s no need to tell him that he was impressive or that his display of restraint was commendable - you know that he didn’t do any of it for accolades.  Din did what he always does: protect and uphold his duty to make things safer for others.

Your friends chat comfortably in the back seat as Din drops them off at home, one by one.  You don’t join in the conversation – instead, you lean against Din’s arm and soak in the warmth of his hand in between your legs, focusing on the way he steers the car one-handedly.  The showcase of power that he exudes with just his left arm, open palm deftly pressing against the rotating steering wheel and the way the veins on his forearm flex when he power steers the truck through tight turns has you practically drooling.  You’re no longer able to deny the hot sticky desire that’s pooling just a few inches from where Din’s right hand currently resides.

At every stoplight, you notice how the streetlamps catch the handsome profile of the man next to you and wonder again at the goodness he exudes.  Even knowing now all that he’s done in the past and having bore witness to some of that brutality tonight, you want to tell Din that you see no viciousness in him; that it’s easy to see past his ferocity and to the good that drives him, to the decency that’s the core of who he is.  You want to tell Din that you know him - you want to show him that you know him.

The ride to your place is quiet, but comfortable – filled with light touches, soft looks and even softer kisses.  The serenity in the car is quite opposite to how you’re feeling inside - it’s nearly overwhelming now, how much you want this man.  Never having had a chance to talk it through with your friends tonight, you’re still not sure what your reticence to sleep with Din was, but whatever the reason was, it’s moot now.  Tonight, Din not only showed you the measure of the man you’ve always known him to be, but the man he’s become for you.  So many of his actions and efforts tonight, both overt and nuanced, took into consideration the feelings you had laid bare for him over the last two months.  Every doubt, insecurity, hurt that you had given voice to regarding Din’s secrets, making decisions for you, not trusting you – he had taken each to heart and you saw first hand tonight that he was never going to put you in the same position that had driven the two of you apart almost a year ago.

You don’t expect Din to be perfect, lord knows you’re not – but you can trust him to care, to look after your heart above all else.

When he turns off the engine, Din looks over at you with some returned hesitation, as if he’s still not sure how the events of the evening might have impacted you and where the two of you stand.  Bringing your hands up to scratch Din’s facial scruff the way he likes, you kiss him with surety, knowing what you want and more confident in your feelings for him than you’ve ever been, “Din, do you think Jimmy and Woves might be willing to drive your truck back to Mando’s?”

He nods, eyes still uncertain, “Sure, pretty bird.”

Your own eyes bright and sure enough for the both of you and you shyly offer, “So you can come up and spend the night?”

The smile that breaks out across Din’s face lights up all his handsome feature and takes your breath away; the thought strikes you that you want to always be the reason he smiles like this. 

Din helps you out of the car before handing his car keys over to Jimmy and you float through your goodbyes to the Mandos for the night, but remember to thank them again and again for coming the rescue of you and your friends.  Their heartfelt hugs remind you again of the joy you’ve always felt at being accepted as one of theirs and you’re so grateful to be familiar with that feeling yet again.

The kiss that begins in your elevator is all consuming and hungry, open-mouthed and full of anticipation.  Din licks into your mouth like a man starved - you match every stroke and brush of his tongue with a more ravenous one of your own.  You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, even if you wanted to – you need to touch him, grab him, hold him, never be apart from him again.  Din’s own large hands roam your body, possessed by some primeval need to explore, mark and claim – the desperation in his touch makes staying quiet an impossible feat.  You moan and simper shamelessly, body throbbing with want.

Your joint passion carries the tangle of your bodies through your front door, into a place where the last held memory of the two of you was one of heartbreak.  You erase it with your desire for one another tonight, letting your renewed love and whispers of affirmation and devotion wipe the slate clean – you’re making new memories now.

Pulling back for what feels like your first breath of air since you walked into your building, you cup Din’s face in your hands and nearly gasp at the tenderness and love you see in his eyes.  You hope he can see the same in yours, “Din.  You let me see.  You let me see you in that alleyway tonight.”

He nods into your palms, rubbing his rough scruff against your delicate skin, “And you didn’t run away, pretty bird.”

Smile bright, you declare yourself as his, “Why would I?  Why would I run away from a man who stands up for what’s right?  Who comes to the aid of those he cares for with no hesitation?  Who care for their safety in every way that matters?  Why would I run away from a good man?”

No words.  There are no words in existence that can convey the depth of Din’s feelings for you.  He’s overwhelmed by your openness, your sweetness, and yes, your goodness.  After everything the two of you have shared over these past several months, he’s made it his priority to be forthright with you and not shield you from the truth of his world, no matter how ugly - he had faith in your love, and it was time he showed it.  But even so, there had been a part of him that worried despite your pure intentions, when actually faced with the darkness that was sometimes a very real part of his life, you might find it too much.

But tonight, as always, you proved to him that you were more than he could have ever dreamed.  Not only did you not run away from him, here you are, readily telling him that you still believe in him.  In his goodness.  Fuck, he loves you.  And though he’s promised you that he would no longer think himself undeserving of you, he still can’t quite figure out what he’s done in his life so that he does. 

He supposes he will just have to do what he can to deserve you from this point forward.

“Need you, baby,” Din groans against your neck, humming into that sweet spot just below your earlobe; adding, when he feels you shiver, “Don’t worry, pretty girl – we’ll go slow.”

As Din trails his lips down your neck, slow and sensual, you tilt your head to give him more access and sigh, “But what if I don’t want it slow, Din? What if I want it rough, daddy?”

Now it’s Din’s turn to shiver.  He growls against the hollow of your collarbone before nipping at the delicate skin there with his teeth, “Then I give my girl what she wants.”

Authoritatively guiding you backwards towards the big balcony window, Din undresses you without ceremony as you cross your darkened living room.  The trail of your discarded clothes tells a tale of impatience and desperation, and when you’re finally pressed against the cool glass, it’s with a firmness that makes you gasp as much as the sudden press of the frigid surface to your naked body.

Din’s eyes, blown wide and dark with lust, devour you.  Already hard and panting just from the exertion of stripping you of your clothes, now that he has you bare and gorgeous before him after so long, Din can’t imagine how he ever thought he’d go slow.

He descends upon you - hands groping your hips and ass harder than the softness of those curves deserve, but you whine into Din’s mouth to express your approval.  Din smiles a wolfish grin against your lips before he parts them with his tongue to consume you again and you willingly accept his frantic and punishing kisses.  The cold glass that you’re being pressed against doesn’t feel quite so cold anymore - you’re warm all over despite being naked and only getting hotter as the searing heat of Din radiates off of him in waves, fueling your own desire.  Greedy and shameless, you claw him for more, more, more even as your arousal drips and coats your inner thighs.

“Need you, daddy,” you whimper, hands reaching out to feverishly relieve Din of his clothes; he steps back to tear his shirt over his head and undoes his belt with a fluid flick of his thumb.  Pussy thumping, your mouth waters as your eyes rake over the perfect male specimen before you.  If possible, everything is bigger than you remember – Din’s shoulders span wide and impossibly broad, framing the thickness of his expansive chest; it calls to you in the dark, hard but inviting.  His arms are like tree trunks, powerful even in their current dormancy - you eye the tight muscles currently flexing as Din’s hands itch to touch you again.  As you ogle lower, the sight of Din’s softened stomach makes your entire being melt; before you is evidence of a hard man who has fought and earned his right to a gentler life.  You don’t dwell on this tender moment however, because your eyes can’t help but trail further down to the already hard, girthy cock that bobs between your bodies.  Mesmerized, an involuntary whine escapes your lips; you lick them as your body instinctively arches towards Din’s, pussy practically crying to be filled.

With the reflexes of a hungry wolf pouncing on his prey, Din’s hand flies out at your needy whimper and pins you at the base of your neck with his paw of a hand; though not squeezing, he nevertheless holds firm your body as he pushes you flush against the window.

You gasp at this display of roughness, but it’s Din’s next words, huskily growled as he towers over you, that have you buckling at the knees:

“Did that guy really think he could touch what’s mine?”

You shake your head the best you can while still in Din’s grip and bite your lower lip, looking at Din with a coquettish look, “No one can touch me but you, daddy.”

“What else, pretty bird?  What else am I the only one allowed to do?”

You pretend to think, “You’re the only one who can kiss me.”

“Here?” Din murmurs as he bends to kiss your neck tenderly – a marked contrast from the hard grasp he still has on its base; at your breathy moans, Din takes his time nipping softly from the sensitive spot under your ear, down the column of your throat and back again.

Din’s barely touching you and you’re already vibrating with need.  “Mmmhhmmm,” you answer his question with the lightest of sighs.

“Where else, sweet girl?”

“On my mouth, baby.  Only you can have my mouth, Din.”

Din groans at your words and seals his lips to yours.  You open eagerly for him and his tongue enters your mouth to claim you brusquely, kissing you harder, deeper.  His hand releases your neck, but Din keeps you pressed against the window with the heaviness of his body, slotting his knee between your legs and groaning a throaty roar when your slick wets his thigh.  “Dirty girl,” he hums as he moves his to worship your breasts, cupping them both in his meaty hands and thumbing your pert peaks. “What about these pretty tits, baby? Is anyone else allowed to touch these perfect tits?” he buzzes against your lips.

The sound you make is near pornographic as Din starts to grope your breasts - pulling, twisting and teasing so you dissolve beneath his touch, “Only you, daddy!  Only you can play with my tits… oh f-fuck.  And only you can suck on my nipples, daddy.”

Din takes your direction to heart - lowering his mouth to kiss your breasts, sucking and decorating your soft flesh with marks of his devotion.  You roll your hips at the sensation, urgent in your own search for some friction, but your body is jolted from its lustful efforts when you feel Din take one of your nipples between his teeth and tug, “Yes, yes, yes, Din. Just like that…”

“You like that, pretty girl?  Is this what has you moaning like a slut?” Din mumbles as he moves to give your other breast the same treatment.  The abandoned nipple is soon comforted by Din’s furious and equally talented fingers - rolling and tweaking, pinching and pulling on your hardened tip until you start to tear up from the overwhelming sensation.  It’s almost too much for you to handle and you let loose a string of unabashedly needy ramblings, “Oh god, yes, please, Din.  Right there, oh yes, daddy, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it… Din, Din, Din!  Yes! That’s what your little slut needs, oh yes, yes. Please.”

Mindlessly, you start to grind down on him, so lost in the pleasure Din’s giving, you grab onto the soft curls of his hair for some semblance of stability.  Spurred on by your near incoherent babbling, Din’s hands move down to your ass and he lays down a sudden hard spank across your backside that has you gasping in surprise.  Grabbing a cheek in each hand, he stills your movements and hums, his face still buried in your chest, “Is there something you need, sweet thing?  Something only daddy can do for you?”

Whimpering from the still reverberating ring of Din’s smack on your ass, you eek out, “Only you can make me feel good, daddy!” Almost contrite, you plead, “Need you to touch my cunt, please, please.  Fill her up, please, Din.  This pussy is yours, no one else’s.  She needs you.”

Din looks up and the sight of you already wrecked above him nearly sends him to the moon.  He almost gives up on his assigned task of being rough and unforgiving with your lithe body – all he wants to do is kneel at your altar and venerate the needy mess he’s reduced you to.  How long could he conceivably petition you to let him pray, awestruck, to this goddess above him with her half-closed eyes and dirty thoughts spilling from her perfect pouty lips?  Forever, he hopes.  He could love you forever. 

Except you want him to touch you now.  With no choice but to obey, Din runs his hands from your ass down along the back of your legs and then over the top of your thighs, inching closer to your crying core.  Mouth still occupied with sucking, nipping and licking between your peaked nipples, Din’s hand knuckles over your slit before sliding the tips of his dexterous fingers through your drenched folds, “Look at you, already soaked.  Who is my good girl so wet for?”

Sighing from relief, you smile dreamily, “You, daddy.  This pussy only gets so wet for you.”

Din’s response is to sink two of his thick fingers in to the hilt with one swift motion; you cry out from the stretch of him, having nearly forgotten how he fills you so completely.  Your body hasn’t forgotten – flooding Din’s hand with a fresh wave of slick, your pussy pulses around his fingers as if to say welcome home.  He pumps into you with the gratitude of a man whose been denied the light of day, resigned to blindly feeling his way in the dark and is now being offered the salvation of the brightness and warmth of sunshine.  His sunshine.

“Still so fucking tight, baby,” Din grumbles, mouth still full of your heaving breasts.

“She missed you, Din,” you confess as your arms tighten around his neck, hands fisting his wavy hair.

Din bites down on the pillowy soft flesh that fills his mouth and growls, “Missed her more,” before increasing the intensity of his movements; the wet slapping sounds of his worship drowned out only by the wail you let loose when Din angles his hand so he can press his thumb down on your throbbing clit.

When Din’s other hand comes down, open palmed and harsh against your ass, you scream from the pleasure of the sting and it launches you towards your first orgasm.  You’re trapped between Din’s two monster hands: one that’s thrusting and curling to your deepest, most sacred parts and the other kneading and groping your cheek so hard, you welcome the hand marks you know you’ll find there tomorrow.

“Open your eyes, pretty bird,” Din commands, “Want to see you when you come.”  You open your eyes at his rough tone, but the eyes that meet yours are soft, a sea of devotion, veneration, love.  The very sight pushes you over the crest of your own pleasure and you shatter – chanting daddy, daddy, daddy, as you flutter.

He fucks you through it with words of praise that only serve to prolong your high – Such a good girl.  My pretty slut looks so perfect when she comes.  Never going to let you go again, bun.

You’re still catching your breath when you feel Din slip out of your sopping hole; you barely have time to bemoan the loss when you feel Din spin you around to face the window.  In the darkness of your apartment, illuminated by the brightness of the moon, you see the reflection of yourself and Din perfectly - the sight has a fresh wave of honey leaking down your leg.

“Look how fucking gorgeous you look, baby,” Din murmurs in your ear as you take in your fucked out expression and the dark obsidian of Din’s eyes as they travel your naked body; his hands roam every inch of you as he maneuvers your body into the position of his liking.

Spreading your legs to make room for himself, Din places your hands against the clear glass so you can brace yourself, before pushing gently on your lower back to arch your ass out to him.  Taking a moment to admire the view before him, he notches himself at your entrance and then curls over your body, hands covering yours, “Gonna fuck you now, bunny.”

You hum, low and welcoming as Din pushes in, his girth presses its attention against your warm walls and your cunt quivers as she remembers who he is.  You wiggle your ass playfully, beckoning him in further, which earns you another smack to your ass that has you clenching and gushing.

“Greedy little slut,” chuckles Din darkly, but he gives you what you want and thrusts in, bottoming out and punching all the air out of your lungs.  The two of you stay like this as you get used to him again - you feel so full, needy, loved.  When you tilt your head back, Din captures your mouth in a hungry kiss; you invite him in and moan as his insistent tongue glides over yours and leads it in a passionate dance, pausing only for air.

“Daddy, need you to move now, please,” you sigh through your oxygen deprived daze.

And move he does.  Thrust after thrust, drag after drag, Din’s cock moves inside you and lays claim to the heaven he’s been dreaming of for longer than he can remember.  He sets a steady but fervent pace, gritting out dirty words of praise in your ear that have you pushing back against him for more, even as your body screams at you to run from how good it feels:

My perfect slut, taking me so good.

Wish you could see how you’re creaming around me, pretty bird.

This needy cunt is so tight, it’s choking my cock.

You had forgotten how vocal Din can be and how much you love it, crying back your own song of filth and desperation:

Daddy, fuck, daddy – no one fucks me like you!

Love taking your fat cock so deep, baby.

Wreck this pussy, Din – it’s yours.

You move with him, meeting every drive of Din’s length with a downwards bounce of your own so that he bottoms out and taps your sweetest parts every time.  Din’s dirty words, hot breath, and nipping teeth on your shoulders push you closer and closer to the edge.  But it’s the wrap of his protective stance, the curving of his large frame over your smaller one, and the overwhelming feeling of Din taking care of your pleasure that has you closing in on your summit.  Feeling you tighten around him, Din drops one of his hands and takes yours with it, cupping your heat together.  He presses your delicate fingers to your clit, and with his larger ones on top of yours, draws perfect tandem figure eights.  You’re so close, so terribly close, and you whine your predicament back to Din.  He coos back reassuringly as he continues to fuck you hard, pushing your pulsing clit into the pads of your fingers as his larger ones hold them firm, “Let go, pretty bird.”

It’s the sight of Din’s hand that’s still pressing yours to the window that sends you toppling over the edge.  Large and meaty with bruises and scraped knuckles that burn bright in the darkness, each minor injury a reminder of the violence and damage that its capable of inflicting and that it did inflict tonight – to protect, attend, avenge.  And yet that same hand holds you steady, cradles yours with care and devotion.  Din’s yours like he’s no one else’s.  You’re safe and loved and untouchable because you’re his.  You cry out as much as you come.

Then he’s punching up into you, chasing after his own high to those same musical cries, now incoherent and babbling.  Din’s own words somehow soft and sweet, belying the punishment he’s doling out to your cunt:

Love being so deep inside you, baby.

You were made for me, pretty bird.

Don’t want to be anywhere except with you.

You’re spent and limp, just a worn-out fuck doll for Din to use, but you hold yourself up for him, wanting him to join you in your euphoria.  And when his pace gets sloppy and sweat starts to dot his brow, Din’s laboured pants punctate the softest of his pleas: Do you know how good you feel, baby?  What you do to me?  How much I love fucking you?  How much I love you??

Your melodic refrain of I do, I do, I do sings Din off the cliff, the repetition of those two little words conjuring up a bright flash of an image of you in white, walking towards him down a petal strewn aisle and he comes with an ear-splitting roar; painting your insides before collapsing on top of you, pressing you both to the now foggy window. 

You do.  You do know beyond a doubt how much Din loves you.  The two of you trade quiet vows and promises as Din regains his strength while holding you tight.  You stay knit together, melted and molded to one another as he softens inside you – bathed in the pureness of moonlight and wading in the pool of your love.

“I love you, Din.”

“I love you more, pretty bird.”

Locked in your loving embrace, having been apart for too long, neither of you is in a hurry to let the other go – even though you both know you have forever.  Din’s strong, protective arms band around your chest and waist, his calloused but gentle fingers lace through your graceful ones that hold his just as faithfully.  Your soft breath fans over his lips whenever Din lifts his head slightly to look once again at the beauty before him.

“Din?” you whisper, smile playful.

“Hmmmm?” He mumbles, spent, into your hair.

“I think I might want it slow now.”

Din looks down at the heaven he holds, knowing he’ll forever cater to you, devote himself to you, unable to ever deny you anything - even if you didn’t have the sweetest, most beguiling smirk on your face right now, “Anything my pretty bird wants.” 

You loll your head back against Din’s shoulder and watch your reflection in the glass shudder as Din detangles one of his hands from yours and slithers teasingly to your core – gushing as he begins to draw slow, lazy circles over your still swollen clit. 

---

Later, at midnight, when you and Din are out walking Al, your phone starts buzzing incessantly.  You chuckle when you look over the messages coming in over the group chat.

Rory [12:03 AM]: So, we gave you until midnight.  You and Din are done fucking right?

Bea [12:04 AM]: RORY!

Katie [12:04 AM]: Omigod, Rory!

Rory [12:05 AM]: What????

Jen [12:05 AM]: Jesus.  What Rory means is, we hope you get this message before the morning.

Lala [12:06 AM]: Because we want to invite Din to brunch!

Rory [12:07 AM]: It’s not really an invitation because he has to come.  We won’t take no for an answer.

Katie [12:07 AM]: We want to thank him for helping us out tonight!

Jen [12:07 AM]: Tell him brunch is on us too. Since he paid for our dinners.

Bea [12:08 AM]: Do you think we should ask Jimmy and Woves, too?  Technically they helped as well.

Lala [12:09 AM]: Or another time? Maybe this brunch should be all about Din.

Bea [12:09 AM]: Yeah, you’re right!  Another time then – we owe Din a bunch of brunches.

Rory [12:10 AM]: Right!  He has to come to all the brunches for the next month at least.  Unless… like, he’s too injured… you know, from all the sex.

Katie [12:11 AM]: I swear to god, Rory!!

Looking up at Din, who’s already smiling down at you, you beam, “You’ve been summoned to brunch tomorrow.”  You show him your phone and he laughs, “They don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but it’s a big deal to them, you know?  And me, too.”

“They’re not… put off by what they saw?”

Your heart melts at Din’s hesitation.  He must still not understand how clearly his virtue and honour shines through.  You’ll have to spend the remainder of your days showing him.

Looping your arms around Din’s waist, you look up at him in adoration, declaring with all your heart, “Never.  They feel perfectly safe with you.  Same for me, Din.  I’ll always feel safe with you.”

Din looks back down at you, heart full and in awe, forever grateful to whatever mystical force brought you into his life, “And you always will be, pretty bird.”

You believe him.

Thank you to every single person who has read this series - I really can't express what it's like to know you were as invested in Din and Pretty Bird as me 🥹🥹. Tagging a few people who I hope will enjoy and find this ending to be worthy of their interest in the story 😘😘🥰🥰:

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @jeewrites @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe

@bebsjo @yopossum @cartonkid1200 @rav3n-pascal22 @sjc7542

@xxx-silhouette-xxx @pedroswife69 @kilamonster @mandoshoney

[justpoliteconversations]

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 4)

Link learns some things. And so do you.

Yet another for the ever growing pile of self-indulgent garbage refuse. Enjoy the process of decomposition with me for a while.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

The yiga. A faction of Ganon worshipping traitors formerly of the Sheikah clan, whose main objective is to kill the Hero known as Link (in other words, himself). Known for their distinctive red body suits and white masks. And, strangely enough, their love of bananas.

They were also currently at the very top of Link's (until recently non-existent) shit list, because AM had deemed their threat level too great to allow them to meet each other freely. As Blue had told him, AM's profession placed them at greater danger than the average citizen to the assassins' blades. What that profession was, Link was not told (despite his pleading and intense stares and even one memorable attempt to bargain for the information), but it was deemed necessary to maintain distance because of this.

There were plenty of other useful things in the book too. Not a letter or a note or even a small bundle of documents. A book. An honest to Goddess book. Because there was nothing else the ridiculously thick, neatly piled collection of leather bound miscellaneous papers, maps, diagrams, notes and documents could be. It was the thickness of Link's hand for goodness sakes.

Thankfully, Blue had taken mercy on him (and his desire to get moving as soon as possible) and bookmarked the pages and maps that would be most useful to him. All while giving him that bland, graceful smile of hers and explaining that AM was a very proactive information gatherer, but that they didn't always consider that not everyone wanted to know the exact region Sneaky snails bred in or where the highest priced wheat could be found.

Link very deliberately didn't tell her that he did, in fact, find those very interesting topics to learn about (and that he would be reading through the entire book when he got the chance. later). Because he was still stung that she'd given him a condescending little smile (smirk, it was a damned smirk and Link knew it) when he'd tried to bargain with her for more information on AM.

In total, he'd spent three days in Hateno, gathering information (as though the book wasn't enough), gathering supplies (because as many as were in the slate, it didn't have everything a warrior would need to maintain his gear. Blue's words, not his) and getting to know the people around the area.

Also, armor. Costume fitted (Link didn't think too hard about how Blue had gotten his measurements) as to AM's specifications before they'd left town. The order arrived a little later due to his (apparently) small size causing complications with some of the straps.

Honestly, it felt good. It felt familiar with a hazy kind of comfort that spoke of his body's remembrance of such armor resting upon it often. And suddenly, in that moment, the thought that he had once been a knight didn't feel so far off, despite having no memory of it and very little desire to become as such again.

Ready to go (finally) he put on his boots, tightened the straps of his new (fitted. maybe he'd see about getting his Sheikah armor fitted as well if he was in the area) hyrulian armor set, and took one last shot before departing.

"Where can I get more bananas?" Link tried, going for casual but coming off far too intense for it to be anything but prying. "For the Yiga problem."

Blue just smiled (small and condescending, and so frustrating) before replying evenly. "AM has that well in hand I'd imagine." The knowing glint in Blue's eyes put a pout on Link's face. "It's best you focus on your mission, Courageous One." Then she smiled genuinely. Just a bit, but enough to ease Link's heart as she continued. "Fear naught for your beloved AM. No harm shall befall them while my sister haunts their shadow."

Link believed her. And with that little bit of reassurance, the Hero of Hyrule set out into the world once more. With courage in his heart and his goal ever at the forefront of his mind.

Defeat the Calamity guy. Meet AM. Travel this vast, wondrous world with them for the rest of their days. Or, maybe one day settle down more permanently in Hateno and open a food stand.

Anywhere life took them. Whatever you wanted. This was the beginning of his new life after all, and he was so eager to spend it with you.

---

You stared up at the quickly growing pile of bright yellow fruit with something like regret stabbing at your heart. Just thinking about how much rupees you were about to drop on this one purchase alone was enough to put a hitch in your throat. It was enough to have you contemplating a long walk off that equally long (absurdly long) wooden bridge just next to the stable.

When you'd stopped at Lakeside Stable for the night and told Adino you'd pay him market price for any bananas he brought back to you before you left. You hadn't expected him to take that as a challenge. You hadn't expected Skims to get involved in it as well. And you most certainly had not expected Red to show up out of nowhere with a pile rivaling (and maybe even surpassing) Adino's.

And thus, within the span of a few short hours, you were suddenly several thousand rupees poorer (not that that pantry amount even scratched the surface of your accumulated wealth, but you digress) and many, many bananas richer.

At least they tasted good.

"Not that I'm against your presence. But why are you here, Red?" You asked the red clad woman after (with a heavy heart) passing out everyone's pay for the bananas they'd brought you. (Skims and Red didn't even have the grace to look ashamed for muscling in on the quick profit either, the jerks.)

She didn't even pause from where she'd been fingering through her newly acquired (ill gotten) gains when she hummed playfully. "Oh. Gran thought it'd be wise to send along a little extra protection to ensure The Hero's benefactor remained unmolested during these most crucial of times."

The look on your face must have been confused enough to spur Red to explain. "Gran told us to keep you in the dark about our motivations, but I like you. So I'll tell you the truth, since you seem like the reasonable sort." She finally put the rupees down and turned to face you, eyes hardening into a serious shade of near black as she explained.

"The Hero is without his memory, and until recently, was without motivation to see his mission through with the urgency it requires. Had he been as he was before, just the mention of the Princess would have been enough to send the guy running, if you believe the rambling of nostalgic old gossip crows." Her lips twisted into something too complicated to decipher before it was neutral again.

"But he's not the man he used to be. He's not the princess's knight anymore for all his destiny would push him to be. And so, he needed a new motivation to get him moving." She gave you a smile, but it wasn't a nice one (it was one full of spite and pity, though only the pitying part was directed at you). "That's you. The guy loves you already. Call it situational stockholm or just that damned knightly instincts of his, but you are the apple of his eye." She tried to soften her smile into something humorous, but it fell short.

"Bottom line. You're the replacement motivation. Just until he gets enough of his memories back to get invested in the Princess' wellbeing." She flicked a rupee off the stump she'd gathered them on, expression very closed off as she continued.

"Whenever Mr. hero gets a little too comfortable playing house, we're supposed to dangle you in his face and get him interested again. That you seem invested in his success was just a bonus. Be it the Will of Hylia or just simple coincidence, doesn't matter. You're useful, and if it gets the Princess out of that Hell, we're willing to use that."

Another smile, sharp but honest. "It's our duty after all, to serve the royal family. I'm sure you understand." Despite the way the information settled sourly in your stomach you nodded, keeping your expression as even as possible.

She noticed though, and suddenly her hand was on yours (you hadn't noticed it tightening into a fist). "Don't fret, Apples." She smiled again, softer this time. Eyes lighted with a compassion that held such raw honesty despite her earlier words. "My sister and I are not going to let the elders use you like that. You might have asked yourself why Bluey isn't here instead, since, you know-" She smirked, side-eyeing Adino who'd gone some distance off to try to find more bananas (to take more of your rupees, the little bastard).

"We will fulfill our duties. For the protection of Hyrule and everything we love. But not at your's or your dear Hero's expense. At least, not like that. You see, Bluey has something I do not, and that is a gentle touch. She'll take care of the Hero in the way he needs, not the way that'll get the fastest results." Her smirk widened. "And she's got more of a rebellious streak than me too. Trust in her. She'll protect your dear Hero. Even if she has to spit in the elders' eyes to do it. She never could put her heart aside for the sake of duty."

You were silent for a time, digesting her words with the weight and attention they deserved, before looking back to her. A smile on your lips, and your hand out before her in the gesture of a shake.

"I look forward to doing business with you then, Red." You began, letting the edge of your resolve sharpen your eyes and embolden your words. "Let's do our best to protect Link and save Zelda. We'll give it everything we've got."

Red grinned, full and bright and smug (so unbearably smug, like she had won the lottery. which they didn't have here, and you were not interested in introducing any time soon either). "I knew you were gonna understand. The Goddess wouldn't choose just anyone to guard her chosen's heart."

You blinked. "What?"

Red picked up another rupee, flicking it at you. "What~?"

---

Now, off to work! And then the shadows to rest.

[mixelation]

worked on some async today. takes place immediately after tori attempts to turn minato into soup

Tori watched Minato disappear into the water in great satisfaction. She peered over the embankment. Steam clouded her view, but she could see his blue and green uniform under the rolling boil of the river. The bodies of dead minnows bubble up above him. 

Then he disappeared. 

Tori tensed automatically. She hadn’t caught him dropping any Hiraishin markers anywhere, but ninja were sneaky. 

Minato didn’t spontaneously appear behind her over the course of the next minute, and Tori relaxed ever so slightly. A bigger fish came to the top of the still boiling river, its body flipping over and over. 

So. Boiling someone alive did not kill them nearly as fast as she had expected. She’d seen various propaganda about Terumi Mei cooking people alive with steam, and that varied from “instant death” if you were pro-Mei, to “incredibly long and painful and cruel” if you were anti-Mei. But Tori had given little weight to the propaganda as actual evidence, aside from that she was positive boiling hot water could kill you. 

Hopefully Minato was currently dying of his injuries wherever he had gone. While Tori could not recall any stories about people being boiled alive, but she was something of a connoisseur in bizarre and horrific bodily harm. Sometimes adrenaline was enough to get a ninja through the initial part of receiving a major injury, only to collapse moments later. Tori balled her hands into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. She hoped his pretty eyes were cooked solid. Then he’d never be able to trick a poor girl’s heart with a pretty face ever again. 

On the other hand, given Tori had no real data about boiling people alive, she could be royally fucked if he lived. It occurred to her that he definitely had Hiraishin markers back in the village, and if he had pulled some sort of main character ninjutsu bullshit and was still fighting fit, he could just come back to the river and kill her. 

I guess I’ll just lie out my ass again, Tori decided, trying to convince her brain not to panic. She was very obviously just a civilian woman who couldn’t even get her life together to wash her hair properly. She could act hysterical and say the Kumo-nin had told her the trap did something else, or else that she was just trying to protect her home and beg for mercy. It would be humiliating, but while Minato obviously had no qualms about killing ninja without asking questions first, he did seem to want to play nice with civilians. 

Also, if he did kill her, probably he would just abandon her body like he had the Kumo-nin. He was unlikely to stick around long enough to figure out Tori’s little problem with dying and attempt to kidnap or question her over. 

It’ll fine either way, Tori told herself. She still didn’t go back to the village. Instead, she walked stiffly down the embankment as fast as she could without breaking into a run. She was going to miss the dirty laundry and the cute crab mug she’d left behind, but all her other belongings were in a storage seal, and she didn’t want to risk going back and discovering a pissed off and half-boiled Minato. 

Minato did not show to bother her at all that day, as she marched forth in a random direction. He didn’t show up during the horrible three hours of paranoid sleep she got while camping. 

When a full twenty-fours passed, Tori finally started to calm down. She’d found a fisherman and convinced him to take her further down the river than she could get walking, and while she wasn’t untrackable, she gained confidence that Minato was at the very least too injured to hunt her down immediately. 

She tried to travel deeper into Grass Country as fast as she could, paying for transport more often than she would normally. 

Days passed and no news sprang up about the Yellow Flash mysteriously dying, but also there were no new sightings of him. Tori had no way to draw real conclusions from this. Konoha was unlikely to advertise him dying or being grievously injured, but also he was a key player in the war and his enemies would be sniffing around for information like this. That there was no news could mean she’d succeeded, or it could be she’d failed and so there was nothing worth gossiping about. 

The lack of knowing what had happen turned to a festering sort of anxiety that kept her up at night and made her head dizzy at random moments. And so, Tori switched up her goals. Even if she’d killed Minato properly, that his body was somewhere where she couldn’t hide what she’d done meant Konoha could potentially track her down. She needed to protect herself more than ever. She holed up in a cheap hotel in the middle of nowhere and spent every waking moment making drafts of seal diagrams and fussing. 

How to set up a barrier that could activate faster than a ninja could kill her…? She could paint i directly on her skin, then link its activation to being hit, or to an increase in her heart rate. This would mean she’d inevitably activate it on accident when she walked into a table or got excited about something, but perhaps for now she didn’t care…

Weeks passed. Tori’s anxiety hit a maximum where she didn’t sleep at all one night, and then slowly started to calm. She obtained a raw potato and stuck it in her room’s windowsill to sprout, hoping to use it to add to her chakra phylogeny. She walked into town and stole a library book to try and add to her notes on plant and animal relatedness. She did accidentally activate her seal multiple times, but at least she knew it worked. 

Her funds were running dangerously low, and she’d have to move on soon. She started talking to people again, asking about where war refugees in this area were moving to, and if she could join a caravan. 

She was organizing her things one evening, preparing to move out the next morning. She’d spread all her various fuuinjutsu and research materials across her bed, and stood over it with her hands on her hips, debating the best way to repack and also, how to best transport a sprouted potato?

She looked up at her window potato, now in a paper cup with dirt. It had grown three alien-looking shoots, jagging out at random angles before reaching towards the window. 

Then, as she regarded her potato, a shadow passed over the window. Tori frowned. The window started to move upwards, a hand appearing in the open space, and Tori’s eyes widened. 

She panicked, obviously, which activated her barrier. This was still somehow not faster than the Yellow Flash could break into her hotel room. 

He was toe-to-toe with her in an instant, kunai in hand. Tori yelped in horror as the barrier flicked up around them, a dark pink bubble that was supposed to keep her safe. 

Somehow, Minato looked exactly the same as before, like she hadn’t done her best to turn him into soup. 

The barrier pressed him up against her, his chest and shoulders blocking her view of the rest of the room as he boxed her in, and Tori’s back hit the other side of the barrier. Minato's arm was forced forward as he bent over her, and thank God he was competent enough to roll the kunai in his hand so the broadside pressed against her neck rather than the sharp edge. His chin brushed against the top of her head. 

Tori wished he smelled bad, so she could find this new predicament gross. Instead, he just sort of smelled like dirt and an inoffensive odor of sweat. His body against hers was also warm and firm and bigger than her in a way she regrettably found she liked. 

He also maybe wanted to kill her. She needed to focus on that. The rush of adrenaline and the increase in her heart rate was very confusing in this moment. 

“Oh,” he said, sounding mildly surprised but not at all upset. The hand not holding the knife reached around her, knuckles knocking on the barrier next to her head. “Interesting. Well, I still think this is my win.”

What the hell is he talking about? Tori thought. She was sure he could feel her rapidly beating heart, as sure as she could feel his completely steady heartbeat. 

Well, if he wasn’t already pissed off, she could test the waters a little to see if she could figure out what he wanted. 

“You haven’t won yet,” she said hotly. “What are you going to do? Trap yourself indefinitely in an enclosed space with my corpse?”

He shifted slightly, bringing the kunai away from her throat. He could only pull his head away a couple inches, and he didn’t step back so his body was still pressed against hers, but it was enough distance that she could peer up and see he was smirking at her. His eyes were exactly as pretty as they’d been before. 

Oh no, his smirk is hot, Tori thought helplessly, regretting yet again that boiling was a less efficient murder technique than she’d anticipated. Her insides squirmed with some bizarre contradictory emotion. She was terrified, yes, but also she was a little turned on. 

Then suddenly they were standing on the other side of the room, near the door. He must have chucked a kunai across the room in the tiny fraction of a moment before the barrier had gone up. The barrier was still in place around them. 

Minato’s smirk slipped slightly. Somehow, Tori found his apparent confusion even hotter. 

“Oh, did you try to teleport us both out?” she asked, and smooth and coy as she could make her voice given her insides were flipping out in either panic or arousal. “You’re not getting me out of this that easily.”

Minato was outside of the barrier a second later, and the kunai clattered to her feet, undoubtedly scratching up her shoes. He’d left Tori where she stood, with the marked kunai still in the barrier in case he wanted to go back in. 

He hadn’t gone far— just back to where he’d stabbed a kunai into the wall over her bed. Somehow, on top of planting multiple kunai and outrunning her barrier, he’d also left her window potato completely untouched. Damn him for being so thorough. 

“How’d you do it?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. His eyes were bright and inviting in a way that made Tori want to answer. Even though he’d literally held a knife to her throat only a moment earlier, he just seemed like he’d be really easy to talk to. 

Touché, she thought. 

“Do what? This barrier?” she said. “Believe it or not, you’re not the only ninja who wants to kill me. A girl learns to protect herself.”

Minato flopped down to sit on her bed and cocked his head. 

“I don’t want to kill you,” he said plainly. 

“Uh-huh,” Tori replied. 

“So how long does your barrier last?” Minato asked, leaning back on his hands. “I have all night. Do you?”

Tori twitched in annoyance. The barrier was tied to her, so it would be up as long as she was alive and producing chakra, or until she chose to deactivate it. But she didn’t want him to know he could just teleport back in and kill her. It was better if he thought the barrier had a time limit, like most barriers would. 

The barrier was also draining her chakra, so it could “kill” her in a day or so without food to replenish herself. She supposed that was the time limit. 

That, or Minato could attempt to deactivate the barrier himself, which meant he’d have to teleport back inside the barrier and then remove her shirt and…

Tori’s face went hot as she imagined what his hands would feel like on her bare skin. This idea should frighten her, and yet she kind of wanted it to happen. What was wrong with her?!

Fortunately, Minato did not react to her blush and simply continued to just stare at her in mild interest. Tori turned her gaze to the kunai at her feet, desperate to distract herself. She had just enough room in her barrier to awkwardly squat down to pick it up. 

“How does this even work?” she asked, picking at the tag with the Hiraishin marker. It wasn’t hard, once she peeled up the edges, to pull the whole thing off the kunai’s handle. “This isn’t real fuinjutsu, is it?”

The tag was… well, technically it was seal script. But also it was just some characters. One of them was “love.” Why. 

Minato’s cheeks had actually turned pink. 

“It’s… it is a seal,” he spluttered. 

“What happens if I destroy it?” Tori wondered, tugging at the paper like she meant to rip it. 

Next moment, Minato was back in the barrier with her again, hands around her wrists as he pushed her back up against the barrier. 

“I stop you before you can,” he said, and somehow this made Tori’s stomach completely flip over. 

“So I can destroy it,” Tori said smartly. She wondered what he would do, if she continued to be sassy with him. 

Minato sighed dramatically. She felt the puff of his breath on the top of her head. She waited excitedly for his reply. 

He took a tiny half-step back, as far as he could get in the cramped space. He let go of her right wrist, but his other hand slipped up her arm to cover her left hand. He held it up in the small space between them, her wrist facing upwards. A brand new Hiraishin marker, written in black across the delicate skin of her wrist, glared up at her. 

Tori’s eyes widened. “When did you…?”

Minato’s stupid sexy smirk was back. “I don’t need ink to place one.”

Fuck, Tori thought. If she’d known this about the Hiraishin once upon a time, she’d definitely forgotten it. Truly this was an OP technique. 

Minato teleported back out of the barrier, this time appearing facing the bed. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the notebooks and scrolls Tori had left out, his head leaning back to regard her window potato.��

He can also control how close he gets to the marker and his position around it, Tori thought. What the fuck, honestly. She was glad she wasn’t a ninja. She’d absolutely hate having to figure out how to fight that. 

As it were, she was a civilian. If she fought anyone outright, she’d just die. Finding out the Hiraishin was even more OP than she’d thought just meant she could figure out new ways to trick him into teleporting directly into his own demise. 

“Who taught you fuinjutsu?” Minato asked, picking up one of the scrolls and examining it. 

Tori did not answer, instead glaring at him as he went through her things and she was helpless to stop him. How rude! She liked her things! 

“I’m honestly not going to hurt you,” Minato said after a couple minutes of silence, picking up a different scroll. 

Tori eyed him, rubbing at her wrist. The Hiraishin marker didn’t smudge the way ink might. Clearly Minato was still underestimating her, if he thought she wouldn’t be willing to also destroy a marker physically on her. 

“Not the vengeful type, then?” Tori drawled. 

Minato actually laughed. He tilted his head back slightly, grinning good naturedly at her. 

“They managed to regrow all my skin, so no harm, no foul.”

They did… they did what?

The face Tori made at this statement must have been funny, because Minato laughed again. It wasn’t mocking or cruel; he sounded genuinely amused. He really did seem like he was telling the truth, that he was just here to ask questions. 

Except, Tori knew better than anyone how good a manipulation tactic playing kind and demure was. Minato was a killer and a tool of Konoha above anything else. She couldn’t forget that. 

“This is a Konoha scroll,” Minato said conversationally, holding up the scroll in question. “Where’d you get it?”

Tori narrowed her eyes at him. I’ll make him break, she decided. 

“One of your buddies decided it would be a good idea to get drunk and harass women,” Tori said, which was the truth. “So I decided he’d be better off with a pair of collapsed lungs and none of his stuff.”

Minato’s easy smile shrank slightly, and his body language turned stiff. 

There, Tori thought. Now show me your true colors. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Minato said, voice tight. 

“I’m not,” Tori replied. “What did Konoha tell you to do about me?”

Minato cocked his head to the side. He studied her for a bit, even as he tucked the Konoha scroll into the pouch at his waist. 

Eventually, he said, “They don’t think you could possibly be real.”

Tori actually laughed. It ripped out of her against her conscious efforts, a single, resounding Ha!

Minato’s lips quirked upwards, his body language loosening. 

“I already knew you’ve killed Konoha-nin,” Minato said. He picked up her notebook and flipped through it idly as he spoke, not really reading it. “And Iwa-nin, and Kusa-nin. I’ve been following you for a while.”

“Really?” Tori asked, and then wanted to slap herself at how obvious it was she wanted the attention. Minato picked up on her tone shift immediately, resummoning his stupid sexy smirk and then stepped towards her. 

“There were rumors of a fuinjutsu master, so naturally I investigated,” he said. Then he snorted with laughter. “Konoha doesn’t believe any of the rumors could be true. So I have no orders from them about you.”

“So…?” Tori prompted. She wasn’t sure if this was good news for her or not. Although, hearing Minato had been looking for her out of personal interest made her insides go all funny again. 

“So,” Minato said, eyeing her up and down. “I’m not lying when I say I don’t really want to hurt you. I’m here to make friends. I just really, really want to know more about the mysterious girl who nearly killed me.”

Then he smiled that smile again, the one that had made Tori feel safe and cared for, the one that she knew was fake. Her face went hot again, but not from whatever confusing hormonal responses she was having. Truly, if she could kill people with her mind, Minato would be dead right then and there. 

“For example,” Minato continued. He held up a page of her notebook, which contained a draft of the chakra phylogeny she was trying to make. “What is this?”

“You know,” Tori said tersely, “if you actually wanted to play nice, you wouldn’t be going through all my personal belongings like a creep. You wouldn’t have snuck in here waving knives around.”

Minato’s eyes widened slightly. His cheeks went ever so slightly pink. 

“I don’t think I want to tell you anything,” Tori said, crossing her arms. 

“I came in waving kunai around because last time we talked, you nearly killed me for no reason,” Minato replied, annoyance seeping into his voice, although he didn’t raise his volume. He jabbed a finger against the outside of the barrier. “What if this had been an offensive jutsu instead of a defensive one? I want to play nice, but don’t think you can play harmless civilian with me.”

Tori scowled. Okay. So. He had a point. And she did… she did want his attention. She liked him smiling at her as much as she hated it. 

“It’s a phylogeny,” Tori said finally, pointing at the notebook. “It’s a family tree that shows evolutionary relationships between species. I’m trying to see if more closely related things have more similar chakra than distantly related things.”

Minato stared back at her, mildly dumbfounded. Her explaining this probably just created more questions than it answered for him. 

Good, Tori thought. She wanted to be mysterious and unsolvable. 

She pointed at her window potato. 

“So my hypothesis is that that guy will have more similar chakra to the trees outside than yours or my chakra.”

Minato eyed the potato for a moment, and then stared down at the phylogeny, then looked back up at her. 

“So you’ve been carving seals into trees,” he said slowly, “to use… tree chakra…?”

“Well,” Tori said. It was unclear to her if this was a secret she should be keeping or not, but if  she wanted to establish a friendly rapport and not be killed by an upset famous ninja, probably she should tell him something. This she couldn’t exactly hide, and it was less risky territory than time travel or Orochimaru or Ame. Also… something inside her was pleased, that he’d noticed she’d been doing that. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Huh,” Minato said. 

“So will you be reporting my creative endeavors to Konoha?” Tori asked cautiously. 

“I think they’d be even less likely to believe me,” Minato said, grinning cheekily at her. “As that sounds like crazy bullshit.”

Tori felt her face collapse into a pout, and Minato’s grin broadened. 

“How about…” he said, lazily tossing the notebook back onto the bed. “Next time I bring you another plant, and you show me how you're using plant chakra?”

Tori bit her bottom lip. What was this angle? So he was threatening to come back to her, to make her show him her fuinjutsu experiments? Was he just curious, or was he mining her for information to report back to Konoha? What would happen if she said no? What would happen if she agreed?

“So you’ll bring me flowers?” she said instead of a real answer. 

He winked at her. “It’s a date, then.”

And just like that, he was gone. 

Tori sank to her knees. Her hands were shaking, and she wasn’t sure if they’d been doing that the whole time or not. The adrenaline seeped out of her, and Tori felt exhausted. 

Minato definitely could have killed her. That he didn’t must mean something, but she wasn’t ready to believe he wanted to be friends. That didn’t make sense. That wasn’t the crapsack world she lived in, or how the people of the Third Shinobi War behaved. 

She stared down at her wrist, at the Hiraishin marker now permanently affixed to her. He had acted all nice, almost flirty, but also he’d made it so she couldn’t back out if she wanted to. He wasn’t a good person, and he wasn’t as friendly as he claimed. 

He had won this round, she supposed. But he was still underestimating her. He had left her like this, assuming she wasn’t crazy enough to hack off her own skin… and assuming she wasn’t smart enough to remove the marker herself. 

Let’s see who wins the next one, Yellow Flash, Tori thought.