#some really powerful shorts this saturday

[sftykth]

milk and cookies ⟢ anakin skywalker ii.

banner made by me!

╭ summary: your doll like face will be the end of anakin skywalker he was sure of it. however he must stay away from his disturbing thoughts as he was only your sugar daddy, and you two had agreed on a deal, no physical contact. Though for how long can you both resist the temptation?

╭ pairing: y/n x anakin skywalker

╭ genre: college au!, gap age (y/n is 20, anakin is 42), sugar daddy

╭ a/n: here’s part two of the series:) let me know what you think! any ideas of what you may wanna see, my requests are always open:)

part i

You huffed at the lack of notifications on your phone.

It has been officially two weeks since the last time you had spoken to Mr Skywalker. There was no messages, no calls, absolutely nothing. Your tendencies to please people made you overthink the worst, did he not like you? Were you not pretty enough for him. Shaking your head, you knew that could not have been the case. Though you could not shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You debated if you should reach out first, it was a Friday night and you were incredibly bored.

Reaching for your phone, you chewed on your lip as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Thoughts racing your head, thinking of what you could say to him. Keeping it simple and short would be best, you thought.

May 2024

[Dollface] hey how are you?

[Sky] Hello, dollface. I'm alright why are you texting me this late at night. No plans for the youngsters hm?

[Dollface] uhh nopee. i wanted to ask you something..

[Sky] Go on. Don't be shy now.

[Dollface] um well you hadn't messaged me at all, did you decide i wasn't up for the role or something..

You slightly cringed at your desperation, but something about him just made you so needy for his attention. You wanted it, no you needed it.

[Sky] I do remember we both agreed to the deal, no?

[Dollface] well yeah.. but its been two weeks i just thought

[Sky] There has been no reason for me to do so. My next event is not until next Saturday which I will send more details over near the date.

[Dollface] oh i see yeah that makes sense haha sorry i will leave you be now.

[Read]

You felt something wet hit your cheek, you didn't even realize you were crying. The cold attitude was something you didn't expect to receive, though you should have knew better. You were always so senstive to people's feelings towards you, always wanting them to like you, doing anything in your power to please them.

Wiping the tears that had managed to escape, you threw your phone to side as you laid down on your bed. You didn't understand him, some moments he seemed to be kind and then other times he seemed so harsh and cold. You wrapped your arms around you, craving warmth as you mind couldn't stop creating thoughts upon thoughts of why he was so mean. Falling asleep that night was near impossible.

-

One week had passed since you reached out to Mr Skywalker, or your sugar daddy you could say. It felt like a painfully slow week, barely managing to attend your classes not really having much motivation. The nerves on attending the event had kept you up most nights, wondering how will it plan out. Your head perked up at the ding coming from your phone, rushing to your desk you saw the name which made you feel so many emotions at once.

[Sky] Good evening, Dollface. I hope I'm not interrupting you, I just wanted to let you know the details of the event tomorrow.

[Dollface] hey! no no i wasn't doing much. and yes of course

[Sky] Good. Luckily, the event is a local one so travel will not be far. We are promoting a new product so many important figures will be there, so formal outwear is a must for this case. Most importantly, do not be late.

[Dollface] yes i understand Mr Skywalker, what is the address of this place?

[Sky] No need. My driver and I will pick you up at eight o'clock sharp.

A relieved sigh left my lips, having some form of knowledge on the event slightly eased my nerves or perhaps it was the fact I got to speak to him. You shake your head, you shouldn't be feeling this way towards a man who only is there to pay you essentially.

Now you had a major task up your sleeve, try and find something fancy enough. Oh God. You thought, this is going to be difficult seen as your wardrobe was made up of tiny skirts and dresses. You had always preferred clothes that revealed your figure, not really finding the problem in lengths. Though you were determined not to disappoint the man, and rushed to find something that will be acceptable enough.

-

Twenty minutes. That is how long you had before Mr Skywalker picks you up. You had managed to find a dress that you had long tucked away, a dress you mother had gifted you on your eighteen birthday, saying how you were finally a lady and should dress like one. You remember rolling your eyes at her, never understanding why she found your style to be such a big deal.

Glancing up at the mirror, a big smile crossed your face. The long black gown hugged your figure in every right place, a flower pattern embroidered in the material, paired with some black heels. It was quite see through which did cause a slight doubt in your head but you pushed it away, it surely wouldn't be that much of a problem. Typically, you would have your hair straightened but for tonight you had put it in nice curls, your make up enhancing your docile features even more.

You could only hope he also thought you looked pretty. Cursing yourself for once again thinking about him so much but at this point you could not stop your little mind.

A knock was heard from the downstairs, it must be him. You quickly rushed downstairs, not faring to be a second late. Opening the door it felt like your breath was knocked out of you. There he stood towering over you, his dark blonde curls perfectly styled. A giddy feeling had crept in at the fact you were unintentionally matching, him in a full black suit.

He raised his eyebrow once his eyes had landed on you. Giving you a look over, "You look different." Was all he said before turning around and walking to the car parked in front of us. Your lip quivered, what did he even mean by that. Glancing down at yourself, you thought you looked pretty okay, yes it was very far from your usual style. Approaching the car you tried your hardest not to let out a sob, you didn't want to cry in front of him, he wouldn't understand your sensitive side, you thought.

The atmosphere inside the car was thick, you tightened your arms around yourself. Not a single word had been spoken between you, you felt so uncomfortable. So much so you almost were tempted to stop the car and run as far away from him as possible.

A shake to your shoulder made you jump from your thoughts, arrived already? "We are here. Now remember we are here as a couple so try to be on your best behavior." he says before leaving the car. Getting out the car the slight breeze hit your legs, you should have brought a jacket with you.

You felt someones hand touch yours, you jolted at the touch as you saw he had intertwined your hands together. Your doe like eyes peered up at him, forgetting for a minute at the reason behind such intimate action. He only gave you a tight smile before leading the way towards the building, you could only hope your poor heart won't give up on you.

Entering the massive hall you were surrounded by what you could only assume other rich people. Instantly, a lady had come offering drinks you both had declined her. You were not prepared to get drunk in front of all these people, knowing your self your ass would act out. You were a very emotional drunk.

"Here comes Mr Windu, he is my main opponent at the minute. Always challenging my role, that idiot.." he rambled on, you listened quietly finding it slightly cute at the tiny frown that appeared on his face.

"Just don't say anything got it." you nodded in response, you were unsure what type of man Mr Windu was, you had heard of his role in the state wanting to take Mr Skywalker's position from what you heard on the radio.

"Well well, what do we have here. Mr Skywalker it is a pleasure to see you. Have come all prepared as per usual." the older man grinned as his eyes never left Mr Skywalkers's. You gulped at the intense eye contact between the two. Only for Windu's eyes to glance down at me, your eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights.

His dark eyes looked you up and down, "Oh and what a delight do we have here. I don't think I have seen you here before. Last I seen it was the beautiful Mrs Amidala"

A twinge of pain crossed your chest for a second, you almost forgot about his wife, or ex wife you could say.

"There is no longer a Mrs, Mr windu. If you have forgotten I had divorced my wife long time ago" Mr Skywalker's voice was strained, you could tell he did not want to be speaking about his ex wife with the man right now.

"And this is my new Lady, if you could excuse us now," he tried to walk away but was stopped by the grip Windu had on my wrist,.

"Now now, there is no reason for such a rush leave. I only wanted to learn the name of this gorgeous being, Skywalker. Does she not speak for herself, hm." he questioned as his hold never left my wrist. You winced at the harsh hold, "It's Y/n" you whimpered in response.

Dropping your arm he smirked, "It was nice meeting you Y/n, and of course you too Mr Skywalker." Watching him walk away, a huge sigh left your body you didn't even realize you were holding your breath.

Turning your head sideways, Mr Skywalker was already staring at you. Blushing at the long stare he was giving you, you looked down at your shoes biting your lip. You felt a gentle tug at your chin, raising you to look at him. Glancing at his eyes, you could see concern?

"Are you alright dollface? He should not have dared to put his hands on you like that. No man should. Are you hurt?" his questions made your head dizzy. The unexpected concern for you made you feel something inside. Giving him a slight node, "I'm okay Mr Skywalker, thank you. I just didn't expect it is all."

"Please use Anakin, dollface. It is easier to say and I feel so old when people use my last name so often." he chuckled, reaching for your hand again he held tit so gently this time, giving it a small squeeze as he led the way towards the bar.

You couldn't help but grin at the affection he was suddenly giving you, the cold attitude from earlier fully wiped away. It almost gave you a whiplash. "Would you like something to drink, dollface?" he asked as he ordered himself a whiskey. "Maybe just a coke, please."

"Not a drinker huh?" he questioned, taking a seat to your left on the high stools. "Not really, I just hate how I get when I get drunk. So rather just not cause a scene." you gave him a nervous laugh, playing with the ends of your hair to distract yourself from the piercing eyes that belonged to such a handsome man.

"Oh? And what would that be, dollface?" he raised his eyebrow, eyes never leaving me. The use of the nickname made you gush inside, loving how it sounded coming from him. You debated whether you should answer him but the affections side he shown you made you feel comfortable enough for some reason.

"I-I just get very emotional.. I'm just sensitive when it comes to things I guess. Or well more so than others, my mother always told me I need to grow out of it. But that is the thing its just who I am. I can't change something like that" you rambled on, in that moment it felt almost right.

He hums, "You shouldn't feel like you need to change for anyone, dollface. I'm being serious you know, you need to embrace yourself for who you are whichever way that is." The way he spoke to you was so soft and nothing like before, you almost didn't recognize the man facing you.

"Thank you, Anakin I really do appreciate that." you gave him a big smile in return. His hand reached out and brushed a piece of hair from my face, tucking it behind your ear, you didn't even notice the gap that began to close as his face neared yours.

"Now what do we have here." A stern voice spoke out.

let me know what you guys think!:) and what you may wanna see in future series 👀 also let me know if you wanna be in the tag list!

tag list:

@cl0esblogg @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack

#anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfiction #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagines #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker #darth vader #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker masterlist #star wars

[caelichythcat]

aaaahhhh

#tom cardy #bdg #brian david gilbert #beautiful mind #2023 #dancing #some really powerful shorts this saturday

[the-busy-ghost]

The neeps will arrive tonight, I can almost hear them calling to me...

#Hallowe'en #It's the most wonderful time of the year #New power drill new turnips big Hallowe'en plans #Actually not so much as I'm away on Friday and Saturday so only have a short amount of time for neep and pumpkin carving #The pumpkins can wait but the neeps take longer and they also need about four days before Hallowe'en #to really be their most grotesque creepy wrinkly but not rotted selves by Monday #Didn't much like the look of the reviews on the tesco page though #Everyone was complaining that they were really small #This could cause some problems if I need to place lanterns

[pedrito-friskito]

hey kay bb!! hope you're doing well 💖

mando has been on the brain lately so i'm requesting fluffy smut with him pls 🥺😫 (the yearning is *extra* today)

niiiiiiiiik my darling my dear hope you are also well 💗

ok…this got away from me. I blinked and suddenly a plot! exposition! SMUT! (multiple scenes at that) all the things. I’m a slut for Din Djarin and it really jumped out on this one.

(smut below the cut, a full plot, the helmet comes off, a bit of inexperienced!din, reader is kind of a bad ass, descriptions of bodies, unprotected p-in-v sex - wrap ur shit even if ur in space ok)

sleepover saturday

uncharted territory

(word count 9.1k - it REALLY got away from me okay)

gif by @aceofwhump

Then you are a Mandalorian no more.

Din Djarin aches in a way he has never felt before, much more powerful than any injury he could ever sustain. His Creed, demolished. His son, gone. His life, upended. As he staggers out of the Covert, trying to think of where to go next, he cannot shake the feeling of lost that settles around his shoulders like a cloak.

Maybe coming to Glavis was a mistake; maybe he should have stayed back on Nevarro, kept taking jobs from Karga until he finally had enough credits to take the old man’s advice, get himself a camtono full of spice and disappear into the Twi’lek healing baths until he forgot the whole thing.

The truth of it? He knew he could never forget. There wasn’t enough spice in the galaxy to help him forget it all. It wasn’t possible. And the larger part was that Din didn’t want to forget.

His leg aches as he walks. The bacta Paz had sprayed him down with had helped some, but the ache runs deep, and the drills the Armourer had forced him to run with the Darksaber had only made matters worse. He should find a place to lie down, to hide for the night before he decides what he plans to do next, where he plans to go.

Where will he go?

You are a Mandalorian no more.

The echo of the words make his head split, and for a moment, he has half a mind to wrench the helmet off, to launch it off the ring, let space swallow the beskar whole. But he stops himself; it feels as though his armour is all he has left.

His armour, and the Darksaber. The right to the throne of Mandalore.

Maker, he can’t think straight. The ache only worsens, his limp more prominent, and it gets to the point where he can take no more. He falls onto the nearest crate, his injured leg stuck straight out in front of him. His body feels twice as heavy, his head even more so, and he tips it back against the wall to lighten the load. He’ll rest just a moment, he’ll just shut his eyes for one—

“Mando?”

Din pulls his blaster from his holster as his eyes shoot open. There’s the sound of shuffled steps, something metallic hitting the floor, a murmured dank farrik! He hits a button on his vambrace, turns off the thermal setting on his visor.

“Sweets?”

You look exactly the same as he remembers. It’s been ages, but he could never forget your face. He knows what’s underneath your clothes, too, and the memory speeds to the surface of his mind faster than a pod-racer.

+

Before he had an in with Peli on Tatooine, the Razor Crest routinely parked and tuned up in Hangar 3-5, he had you. You were well-known within the Guild, had more than a few contracts with different gangs and hunters in the galaxy. If something on a ship broke, you were the one to fix it, and you had enough heavily-armed thugs on your side to make anyone think twice about trying to mess with you.

Some called you the Mechanic, simple and descriptive. Others, those you let a little closer, knew you as Sweets, a moniker earned by your penchant for candies and treats. You’d let your favoured clients off easy if they were short a few credits, but had something sweet from the far reaches of the galaxy to offer in lieu of the missing cash.

Din knew he was one of your favoured clients, perhaps your favourite. Or, had been. You’d crowed endlessly about the Crest, desperate to get your hands on it any time he hauled it in for service, whether it actually needed it or not. Sometimes he genuinely needed something fixed, some times he’d found some candy or sweet in a far off corner of the galaxy that he’d brought back just for you.

Other times, he just wanted to see you.

You were sweet in other ways, too. He knew first-hand. And he knew he was the only client you let into your bed. He’d been drawn to you the first time you’d been introduced — a common contact between you and Din sent him your way when the Crest was in serious need of a tune-up, and you were the closest mechanic he could get to without doing more damage to the ship.

Your knowledge astounded him, to start. You were barely into a diagnostic and you knew exactly what needed to be fixed, what parts you had and didn’t, how many credits it was going to cost him. And you hadn’t even set foot on the ship yet. Your competency drove him wild, only spurred on when he brought you aboard the Crest to give the interior a once-over, eager to see if he’d kept everything original, or if you had any modifications to offer that he might be interested in. Din followed you around the ship silently, answering whatever questions you had, mostly just watching you work. It was intriguing beyond belief.

“That’s not much of a bed,” you’d commented, cocking your head to the side when you hit the button that opened the bunk. “When’s the last time you had a new mattress?”

He just shrugged.

“One thing you should know,” you said over your shoulder, descending the Crest’s ramp, heading back towards the entrance to your shop. “I don’t use droids.”

Din nearly fell over. “That’s not a problem.”

“Good,” you replied, tapping at your data pad, your brow scrunching. “It’ll take longer than your usual hangar; I do everything myself.”

“I’m happy to wait,” he said, dipping his helmet, thankful it was hiding the way he was raking his eyes over you. I don’t use droids. Had someone made you in a lab somewhere, on some backwater planet, just for him? “I know she’s in good hands.”

The grin you’d offered him was sweeter than anything he’d ever seen, and you shooed him out a moment later, muttering something about getting back to work.

When he returned three days later to retrieve his ship, he almost didn’t recognize it. You’d repainted most of the outside panels, replaced all the ones that were missing, and the engines were so shiny Din could see his helmet reflected in them. Inside the Crest was another story; you’d outfitted him with a carbonite cell system, top of the line and primed for use. That meant no more mouthy bounties, no more wasting durasteel cuffs and gags when he could just hit a button and have a quiet ride back to the Guild.

And in the bunk, a new mattress, complete with a pillow, and bolted on the wall, a mount for his helmet.

“You don’t sleep with that thing on, do you?”

“The carbonite system,” he nearly sputtered, rubbing a gloved hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t have the credits, I didn’t—”

You poked the toe of his boot with your own. “Call it a gift, Mando. Let’s just say I shouldn’t have had the thing hanging around to begin with.”

“Is that gonna cause me any problems?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p. “Wiped all the identification numbers from the system. No one will know where it came from. Except you.”

He stared at you a long moment. “Except me.”

He was sure to pay you in full, plus the candied flowers he’d found at one of the vendors in the markets. You’d smiled again at that, and while Din committed the sight to memory, he also promised himself that he wouldn’t let it be long before he saw your smile again.

And he kept that promise. The next time he landed the Crest in your hangar, it wasn’t because he needed a tune-up or new parts. He’d struck gold at a black market on Coruscant; his bounty had lead him into the belly of a sweet shop, and after the Gungan had been dealt with, Din did some hunting of his own. He took as many boxes as he could carry, trying to take one of each flavour, a few extra of the ones he’d seen on the shelf in your shop.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here?” you’d called as soon as he landed, stepping out of the shop and into the hangar, your hands on your hips, cocked to one side. “You ruin my handiwork that fast?”

“Not exactly,” he’d replied, walking down the ramp, his arms laden with goodies. Your eyes had gone huge. “I come bearing gifts.”

“For me?” you cried, gasping as you took the boxes from him, tongue poking between your teeth. “Mandalorian, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He’d never been so grateful for his helmet at that exact moment. He might have crumbled to dust if you’d seen how red his cheeks were. “I-I owed you,” he stuttered out, “for the carbonite.”

“You didn’t owe me anything,” you quipped, swaying from side to side on your feet, staring down at your treats. “I told you, it was a gift.” You gave him one of those smiles again, and Din felt his stomach twist at the glitter in your eyes. “Why don’t you stay a while? I’ll feed you and everything.”

You disappeared into the shop, and Din paused a moment before following.

He saw you disappear behind a dark curtain that had definitely seen better days, and Din followed your further to discover there was an apartment of sorts attached to the shop. Apartment was perhaps too kind a word; it was one large room, a kitchen to one side, a large futon spread in the middle. Trunks and boxes and crates stacked along the far wall, a few grease-stained jumpsuits littering the floor. You stumbled over your feet trying to pick them up, tossing the offending fabric into a nearby crate, before you turned back to him. “What are you hungry for?”

You served him first. Noodles with dark sauce and some kind of shredded meat you thought was bantha but weren’t quite sure. But, as you stated with a shrug, “it’s good, and it hasn’t killed me yet.” After you slid the bowl across the table to him, you turned back to the stove and stayed that way. After a moment, Din wasn’t sure what to do, but then your head turned slightly, your eyes trained directly to the left, not wandering towards him over your shoulder. “I won’t look. Swear.”

He lifted the helmet just enough to shovel the food into his mouth. You were right, the mystery meat was good, and the sauce you’d made to go with it was even better. He nearly inhaled the food, not wanting to keep you too long, and when the helmet slid back down, the mechanism hissing back into place, your head turned again, still not looking at him.

“You’re safe,” he said, sliding his empty bowl back across the table.

You turned fully, serving yourself, and he expected you to sit across from him, keeping a bit of distance between you, but instead, you rounded the table and plunked yourself down on the stool right beside him. You ate much slower than he had, and Din let his eyes graze over you. The streak of engine grease on your cheek, the scar that split your lower lip, the intricately messy way you wore your hair. A silver chain sat around your throat, strung with a tiny silver ring. It disappeared down the front of your shirt most of the time, but right then it sat awkwardly, the chain caught on your collar, the ring sitting in the hollow of your throat. He resisted the urge to reach out and fix it.

The jumpsuit you wore was nearly identical to the ones you’d hurriedly swiped off the floor. Torn on one knee, zipper unfurling beneath your chest, a symbol he didn’t recognize patched onto your thigh. You’d tied the sleeves around your waist like a belt, a dirty rag tucked in at your hip. The Mechanic, herself. Sweets.

He thought you were beautiful. He had a feeling you’d look beautiful in anything.

Or nothing.

Din was distracted by your thumb at your lips, swiping a drop of sauce from your chin and sucking your finger into your mouth. His flight-suit was tight beneath his beskar to begin with, and you weren’t helping matters. “So,” you said simply, reaching for your food again. “Tell me a story, Mando. A good one. Best bounty you ever caught.”

The conversation filtered between you two easily. You were a good listener, easy to talk to, and Din felt like he couldn’t stop talking to you, telling you about his first kill, his first bounty. His first ship, before the Crest. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you about the before, before the Guild, before he was just the Mandalorian, when he was just Din Djarin. A foundling. Part of him wondered what you think, what your reaction might be to his past, but a larger part forced his mouth shut.

At some point, he turned himself towards you on his stool, one arm braced on the table, the other resting on his thigh. After you finished your food, you leaned heavily on the table, your head pushed into your palm, legs crossed at your ankles, swinging slowly, the toe of your boot tapping his shin every once in a while.

He could see you were tired, the way you started covering your yawns and rubbing at your eyes. “I should go,” he said, starting to get to his feet. “You’re tired, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Your hand flashed out quick — not quick enough to startle him, though — and wrapped around his wrist. You’d managed to wedge your fingers right into the space where his glove met his vambrace, and he felt you against his pulse, against his bare skin. “You don’t have to leave, Mando.”

Din. He wanted to tell you. My name is Din.

Slowly, his own hand reached out, hovering in the air, shaking more than a vibroblade. He saw your eyes trace its path, watching until it lowered, dropped until the flat of his palm met the curve of your thigh. His gloved fingers wrapped around the meat of your leg, his thumb pressing towards the inside. 

He heard you gasp. 

He moved forward an inch, and his hand moved higher, thumb riding the seam of your jumpsuit. You hummed, fingered squeezing around his wrist, and Din moved closer, until he had one leg between yours. He let his hand wander higher, listening carefully to the changes in your breathing, the hitch in your throat. The heat between your legs was almost stifling, and something feral in the back of his brain screamed for more.

Whatever snapped in him, it seemed to break in you at exactly the same time. You both shot to your feet together, and Din’s hands moved to your waist, to where your sleeves were knotted at your waist. Yours roamed his chest plate, fingers tapping along beskar until you hooked them in his cloak. He halted his own hands, ready to help you remove the fabric, but you handled it just fine on your own, finding the hidden snaps with ease.

His blood turned to flame when he felt your fingers along his throat, seeking his pulse in another spot. “You should stay,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a murmur. “Please, Mando, I want you to stay.”

He forced himself to nod, his mind now preoccupied with ripping his gloves from his hands. He needed to feel you, no barriers in between.

He needed to see you, something in him screamed, no barriers in between.

He silenced that voice before it could spur him further. Busied himself with diving his hand beneath the waist of the jumpsuit, the broken zipper catching on his wrist. You were even hotter beneath, and he sucked down a breath when he found you wet, slick coating his fingers.

Your body leaned into him, chasing his touches, and he hooked his other hand around your thigh, lifting you up and backwards onto the table. He could feel you watching, your eyes moving from his helmet down his front, to where his hand was jammed beneath the jumpsuit. He crooked one finger, testing, pressing it into you, and grinned beneath his helmet when you moaned.

Din hooked his arm under your waist, lifting you just enough that he could maneuver the jumpsuit over your hips, down your legs. His cock jolted between his legs at the sight of you bare, leaned back on the table, your chest heaving. Even though the visor, he could see how slick you were, the evidence shining on the insides of your thighs.

He wanted to taste you.

He pushed the thought away again. Another time, when he wasn’t smearing the inside of his flight-suit with precum, when you weren’t keening into his touch as he dragged his fingers against the sensitive skin between your legs, when he could turn the lights off and shed his armour, bare himself to you the same way.

You moaned again when his fingers found your clit, drawing a sloppy circle that had your muscles tensing against his hand, knees closing against his hips. “F-fuck, Mando,” you ground out, tipping your head back on your shoulders. “You’re good with those hands.” Another stuttered breath as he twisted his wrist, curling two fingers just inside your entrance, thumb stretching up to swipe over your clit. “Really good.”

He was grinning beneath the helmet again, eyes glued to your face as he pressed further, fingers threading deeper into you. He could feel everything, the twitch of your thighs, the clench of your cunt. You reached out with one hand, using the other to balance yourself, and closed it around his elbow, your fingers digging into the thick fabric so hard he was shocked your nails didn’t bite right through.

“How do you like it, Sweets?” he asked, leaning forward until he was nearly hovering over you. Your hand moved from his elbow to chest, fingers hooked in his armour. “Tell me what you need.”

Your hand moved again, this time moving straight down his front, past his waist, right between his legs. His cock throbbed as you palmed him, a cat-like grin on your lips as you tilted your head level with the visor. You leaned up slightly, pressed your lips to the beskar edge that mirrored his jaw. Another squeeze, and the slow pace of his fingers faltered, his head nearly smacking into yours. “I need this.”

Din couldn’t hold back anymore. Something in the way you stared up at him, eyes tracing over the helmet, told him you didn’t want him to.

“I like it rough.”

It all happened in one fluid motion. He pulled you closer, right off the edge of the table, and you spun in his grip, leaning forward over the table, planting your hands flat. The jumpsuit slid further towards your ankles and you arched your back, your ass grinding against his hardness, and Din groaned audibly, tilting his head towards the ceiling. Your legs spread as much as the jumpsuit would allow, and Din worked his own zipper down, freeing himself from the flight-suit. You made the most delicious noise as the tip of his cock smacked against your ass, the tip dripping with precum.

Your head turned as he took himself in hand, tapping your ass with his cock again. “Maker,” you breathed out, your eyes widening. “I knew you’d be big.”

Beneath the helmet, Din turned crimson.

He planted his other hand between your shoulders, tipping you forward. You went willingly, eyes rolling back as he pushed his hips against your ass. He could see how wet you were as you bent, slick still dripping down your thighs.

There was nothing stopping him from dropping to his knees right then and there, lifting the helmet just enough to drag his tongue through your cunt. The thought alone made his cock pulse.

But then your hand reached back, twisting in the fabric covering his hip, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He bent his knees slightly, notching himself at your entrance, and pushed inside.

The noise you let out was nearly enough to make him cum right then and there. He knew he wasn’t gonna last, and judging by the sounds you continued to make and the way you were bearing down on him, hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, he didn’t think you were either. He set a fast pace, the space filling with the slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your moans echoing each move. Din’s gaze dropped, trained on the sight of his cock disappearing to you. Your hand flapped at his hip, scrabbling for purchase, and he wrapped his fingers around your forearm, groaning when you did the same.

He was right; you didn’t last long, and neither did he. Your entire body clenched as you came, one hand slamming against the table, nails digging deep into his wrist. It spurred his own orgasm, that coil at the base of his spine snapping, and he pulled out, cumming hard across the curve of your ass.

Silence settled over the both of you as you caught your breath. Din couldn’t help himself, rubbing his bare fingers over the expanse of your back, tracing over your spine. You arched a bit into his touch, making a satisfied noise before you lifted yourself off the table. You turned to him, leaned up to press a hot kiss to his bare throat. It made him shiver.

“Think we could do that again?” you murmured, lifting a finger and dragging it along the edge of his helmet. “Maybe you take all the metal off.”

Din cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched, already wanting a second round. “Helmet stays on.”

You stared at him a long moment, smile on your lips. “Helmet stays on.”

+

He kept close to you after that night. He rarely took bounties that took him to further reaches of the galaxy, loathe to admit that he was always within a few parsecs of your hangar. He brought you a long-distance commlink so he could tell you when he was coming back, so you could contact him if you ever needed him. He didn’t worry about you, per se; you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, and he knew for a fact you knew how to shoot the blaster you kept holstered on your thigh when he wasn’t around.

But then the comm went quiet. He called, you didn’t answer. A lead weight formed in his stomach, and he pushed the Crest’s engines are fast as they’d go. Carefully, though — he wouldn’t dare ruin any of your handiwork.

When he landed in the hangar, the lights were all off. It didn’t help his worry, and it only grew worse as he sprinted off the Crest, heading straight for the shop door.

It was locked, but the lock was no match for his vibroblade and a bit of brute force. Inside, the space was empty. no trace of you left inside. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood smeared on the floor or the wall, but it didn’t ease his mind any. What if someone had come for you, spirited you away in the dead of night to some backwater planet? Dank farrik, what if someone had put out a bounty on you? His mind reeled, raced, chewed him up and spit him out.

He never meant to get so attached to you.

Din switched the settings on his visor, finally determining that all the footprints he could make out on the floor were your own. Then he saw it, sitting on the edge of one of the shelves in the kitchen. The commlink, perched precariously, just enough out of sight that no one else would think twice, but not Din.

He thumbed through the screen, saw the icon flashing with a recorded message. Your face lit up the screen instantly, and he stifled the way his stomach clenched. You looked…scared. Not hurt, not injured, but scared.

“Someone sold me out,” you said, your voice distorted and warped. “I can’t give you details. I can’t really tell you anything. Just know I’m going somewhere safe, and I’ll miss you, Mandalorian. Take care of yourself.”

Your eye were shiny as you reached out to cut the recording, and Din’s heart sank into his toes.

He put the commlink in his pocket, and returned to his ship.

He’d watched the message so many times the words were engraved into his brain. The change in your voice, the way you’d blinked harder the more you spoke. The way you paused in the middle, glanced over your shoulder with a shock of fear in your eyes.

And now here you are, standing in front of him, a pile of metal spilling out of a crate tucked beneath your arm, that same streak of fear in those big eyes. Eyes that have haunted him all these years. You nearly drop the crate as you crouch, your gaze zeroing in on the wound on his leg. “Maker, Mando, what the hell did you do?”

“Long story,” he groans out, wincing as you adjust his leg slightly, leaning to the side so you can get a better look. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reply, getting back to your feet, retrieving your crate of parts. “C’mon, let me clean you up. You look like hell.”

Din goes willingly, not sure what else to do, his mind racing from the combination of the Covert and you appearing out of nowhere. He lets you pull him slowly to his feet, tuck yourself under his arm. “Sweets,” he starts to protest, but you drag his arm around your shoulders.

“Shush,” you whisper, glancing around as you start to lead him in the opposite direction he’d been going. “Lean your weight on me.” He does as you say, nearly crumbling with relief. “There you go.”

The ache only worsens as you go, Din resisting the urge to lean his head against yours. When you finally turn him towards the door, he thinks he may topple over completely, but you’re quicker, producing a remote from your pocket. The door slides open, revealing the inside of a hangar, and you all but carry him through, discarding the crate of parts the moment you’re through, hitting the button again once you’re inside. The door slides shut, and Din lifts his head enough to look around. It looks nearly identical to your old hangar.

Then he hears a curious little beep, and looks down to see a tiny droid scurrying towards you. A BD-1 unit; he recognizes it from Peli’s, though yours is a little more rusty around the edges, the cleaner bits of metal painted grey and yellow. “Not now, Shrimp,” you grit, waving at the droid. It beeps loudly back at you, like an arguing child, and Din stifles his laugh.

“I thought you didn’t use droids,” he mumbles.

“He came with the hangar,” you reply, moving him across the hangar. Shrimp follows a few more steps before darting off, disappearing into a pile of crates. “Couldn’t bring myself to scrap him. Besides, not like he’s much help; tiny thing can’t even lift a socket wrench.”

He laughs out loud this time, and when you pull him into the shop, he laughs again, despite himself.

There’s a shelf of sweets above the workbench.

There’s no curtain between the shop and the apartment, instead another sliding door, another remote. Din lets out a low hum when he sees the apartment beyond. More than one room, furnished with actual furniture. It’s…nice. It’s really nice.

You deposit him on the couch, propping his leg up on the table in front of it. “Wait here,” you mumble, pointing a finger at him before disappearing into another room. 

He doesn’t move, but hooks his fingers into the edge of his helmet and yanks it off, depositing it on the couch beside him. He sucks down a breath of unfiltered air.

You gasp as you walk back into the room, nearly dropping the silver case in your hand. “Mando, you—”

“Din,” he says instantly, reaching down, tugging his gloves off, tossing them onto the helmet. “My name is Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you repeat, slowly, like you’re tasting his name on your tongue. The corner of your mouth quirks. “Din…Djarin.”

He just nods. You approach him carefully, like you’re walking towards an injured animal instead of a man, the silver case clutched against your chest.

“Your helmet,” you start, gesturing vaguely. A memory sparks. He told you before — not in so many words — about his Creed, his upbringing. You’d asked, and he’d answered. It wasn’t information he gave willingly. The second time he had you, when you were sprawled out completely naked on that old futon, writhing and moaning beneath him, when he’d shed almost all his beskar, felt the warmth of your body pressed up against all of him. Afterward, when you’d both been sated for the time being, you’d peered up at him from your place on his chest. “Do you ever take it off?” you asked, your voice laced with sleep.

And he’d answered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says now, eyes darting towards the curve of silver. “I’m not a Mandalorian anymore.”

“What?” you ask, your brow furrowing. He wants to reach out, let his thumb ride the space between your eyebrows, feel it smooth over as he kisses the spot. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” He trails off. Loaded question. What does it mean? Truly? “My name is Din Djarin.”

There’s still confusion etched into your features, but you don’t question him further. Your brow doesn’t loosen, and you perch on the table.

“What’s in the case?” he asks, jutting his chin towards the silver case still in your hands.

You look at him for a long moment, eyes sweeping over his face, over his features. Like you’re committing him to memory. He’s doing the same, almost scrutinizing your face, trying to remember what it looks like without the filter of his visor, what you truly look like, with no barriers in between.

He could taste you easily now.

The thought catches him off guard, the throb between his legs a welcome change to the pulsing of the wound on his thigh. The bacta the Covert had given him has worn off almost completely, and the pain is climbing. 

“B-bacta shot,” you stutter out, shaking your head slightly as you flipped open the case. Your eyes moved to the wound on his leg, peering at the plates of beskar, the flight-suit, the discarded helmet on the couch. “That needs to be cleaned.”

Din just nods.

“Think you can walk to the bedroom?” you ask, shoving the silver case into the chest pocket of your jumpsuit. He recognizes it — the tear in the knee, the patch on your thigh. You fixed the zipper. “It’ll be easier.”

It’s slow-going, getting him back to his feet, shuffling carefully to the bedroom. You ask him if he wants to bring the helmet; he just shakes his head.

What does that mean?

Your bed is unmade, but Din barely notices. The scent of you is amplified in here, and he’s sucking down breaths like he’s been deprived of oxygen. You help him lower to the edge of the bed, and he starts on the armour. You sink to your knees in front of him, setting the bacta shot on the mattress beside him. He removes a pauldron with shaking fingers, and you’re right there to take it from him, your movements sure, setting the metal carefully onto the floor, waiting for the next piece.

“You disappeared,” he says, after more pieces of beskar have been removed, when you’ve moved onto his boots, setting them both carefully at your side.

Your brow had just smoothed out, and it pinches again. “I had to. I left you a message.”

Din pulls the zipper on his flight-suit, reaches into the pocket sewn into the lining, and produces the commlink. “I know.”

Your lips part as you look at the piece of metal, dwarfed by his hand. “You found it.”

“I did.”

Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you look back up at him through your lashes. “It wasn’t safe.”

“You’re safe now,” he says, and you reach for the bacta shot. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you reply, your voice bordering on stern. “Somebody sold me out.”

“I knew that much,” Din mumbles, and you shoot him a glare.

You sigh. “Let’s just say, there were some parts in the hangar that shouldn’t have been there, someone wasn’t happy with some work I did, and then next thing I knew, there were Imps on my tail. So I disappeared.”

“You could have told me where you were going.”

You shake your head. “They were listening. Tracking every message I sent out. I couldn’t let you get roped into it too.”

“You could have gone to the Guild,” he says. He’s too distracted to notice you pull the syringe out of the case. He doesn’t see the needle until you’re pushing it into his muscle above the wound. He grits his teeth audibly, hands curling hard around the edge of the mattress. “Dank farrik.”

“Sorry.”

“I would have come for you,” he says, breath hitching in his throat as you push the plunger down. It feels like his body has been flooded with ice water, his teeth chattering for a moment before the cold turns to a woozy sort of warmth that spreads through his chest like Corellian fire whiskey. He blinks hard, slow, one eye than the other.

“Can you stand?” He nods. Or thinks he does. “The bacta will help, but I need to put a bandage on that wound, at least.” More nodding. He’s vaguely aware of you draping his arms around your neck, your arms sliding around his waist to haul him up. He plants his feet beneath him, forces his weight over his ankles. His movements are slow, languid, like he’s moving through water. You manoeuvre one arm out of his flight-suit, pushing the fabric down his shoulders, until it settles around his hips. The metallic sound of the zipper seems to echo through his brain, and he knows you’re touching his waist, moving the fabric slowly over his injured thigh. But it doesn’t hurt.

All he can feel is you.

You sit him down again, work on pulling the suit off completely. Your hands are warm, soft, gentle against his bare legs, and he nearly buries his nose in the crown of your head when you bend down. Once the flight-suit has been removed, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt, you disappear again, and Din’s not sure if it’s thirty seconds or thirty minutes.

Something cold presses against his thigh, and he flinches. “Does it hurt?” you ask instantly, and your voice is clear, then muffled, then clear again. “It shouldn’t.”

“Nuh-uh,” he slurs out. He hears you laugh, and the sound is like tinkling bells. He wants to hear it again. “Sweets.”

“Yes, Din?” Clear, muffled. His name is a song on your lips.

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“Mesh’la,” he mumbles, and then his eyes fall shut, his body slumps back, and he thinks you laugh again. He’s not quite sure; sleep is too busy yanking him under.

+

Din wakes to the sound of running water.

He’s disoriented, confused, not sure where he is until he pushes up on his elbows, looks around, drinks in the sight of your bedroom. The memory floods back; the Covert, then the hangar, taking the helmet off, the bacta shot that knocked him out.

But more importantly: you.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes. How long was he out? He can’t be sure; there’s a window on the far side of the room, but time on Glavis is different, artificial nighttime and starlight instead of sun. His armour has been moved from the floor, neatly piled on a dresser against the wall, his boots on the floor underneath. His flight-suit is spread out on a worktable in the middle of the room, and he can see from his spot that you’ve tried to mend it, patching the spot the Darksaber had cut open with a square of fabric. It’s looks to be the same kind of material, but the colour is darker. Beneath the sheets, his leg is wrapped in cotton bandages, and there’s no sign of blood seeping to the surface.

His head turns in the direction of the noise of the water, and he pauses, waits for some kind of pain to prick through his body, but it never comes. He feels…good. Well-rested. His eyes follow the sound, and then he sees it.

The door to your bathroom is wide open, and from his spot on your bed, he can see directly into the shower. You’re inside, steam pouring over the top of the glass wall, and Din’s whole body jerks. He never forgot what you looked like naked, and it’s been a long time, but somehow it still feels like the first time. He can feel the blood rushing south, and his hands clench in the bedsheets.

He just stares, watching the water move over you, cascading down your spine, rolling in rivulets over your curves, following the lines of your body. He wants to follow them too, wants to read you like a map only he knows the key to.

Dank farrik, he’s missed you. He hadn’t realized how much.

The water shuts off, and he sees you reach for a towel, wiping your face first. He sinks back down on the bed, wondering if he should feign sleep, feeling like a kid caught doing something he’s not supposed to. But before he can— “You’re awake,” he hears you call, and looks back just as you wrap the towel around your middle. “I thought you’d be out for the night.”

Din coughs, shifting the blankets, trying to hide the tent that’s formed in his boxers. “You don’t close the door?” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You laugh. “I live alone,” you say, stepping out of the bathroom, walking towards the dresser his armour sits upon. “Force of habit.”

He clears his throat. Loudly. Pauses. “…it’s a nice view.”

Your tongue peeks between your lips as you walk over to him, still in just the towel. Your hair is still dripping, water droplets dotting your shoulders. You sink slowly onto the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“G-good,” he spits out, adjusting himself, making more room for you. “Really good.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I’m glad. You scared me, Man—” You catch yourself. “Din.”

A drop of water splashes down from your hair, starts a path down your upper arm, and Din reaches out, catching it on his finger. You watch his hand, lips softly parted, and he continues the path, drawing his hand up and down your skin, the backs of his knuckles against your bicep.

“I wondered where you were, all these years,” you whisper. There’s longing in your voice, he notices; the same feeling sits like a weight on his chest. “I never stopped wondering.”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” he whispers back. There’s something forming in the air between you, thick like the steam that still foams from the open bathroom. Din can almost taste it, and the thought he’d had in your living room resurfaces, making him twitch beneath the sheets. He could taste you so easily now. “It’s a long story.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I got nothing but time.”

So does he, he realizes. He’s without a ship, without his son, without anything anchoring him to one planet or another, to any sort of path. He’d been wandering already, trying to find the Covert, and now he is unmoored once more, yet somehow managed to find his way back to your hangar.

To your bed.

His hand stops chasing water droplets, and he sees your teeth sink into your lower lip. He lowers his palm until it rests on your bare thigh, and he can feel how your skin is still hot from the shower. “I never kissed you,” he rasps. “Before.”

Your head shakes slowly, and you turn towards him more fully. The towel is loose around your chest, your hand holding it in place, and he reaches for it, slowly uncurling your fingers from the fabric, until your grip falls slack, and the towel goes with it. “You should fix that,” you murmur.

“I’m out of practice.”

Your lips twitch again. “How bad?”

“Few decades,” he says softly. “Since before I swore the Creed.”

“You were a child.”

“It was a childish kiss.” He pauses, moves his hand again, brushes dripping locks of hair from your face. “I don’t want to kiss you like that.”

“Just…” Din leans in slightly, tilts his head to the side. “Do what feels natural.” You mirror his movement, and his eyes are glued to your mouth, to the way your lips stay parted even when you’re done speaking, the way your collar lifts with shuddered breaths. He sees your hands move the towel out of the corner of his eye, pulling the fabric away from your body completely until you’re bared to him, head to toe.

You’re just as beautiful as he remembers. If not more.

The tip of his nose drags along the slope of yours, and his hand slides from your thigh to your hip. “I need you closer, Sweets,” he murmurs, and you nod against him, your foreheads tapping together. There’s a bit of shuffling, the blankets moved back, his tented boxers exposed but barely acknowledged as you climb into his lap. He revels in the way you look above him, your knees pressed either side of his hips. You’re hesitant to lower your weight onto his leg, and he guides you slow, giving you a quiet it’s okay as you settle onto him.

He doesn’t feel any pain; he just feels you.

Once you’re comfortable, your hands clutching at his shoulders, he adjusts his grip on you, palms skimming up your spine, mapping out your ribs and the curve of your ass. You make a quiet noise when he squeezes one cheek, the movement propelling you forward, making your hips roll into his, your core pushed against his hard cock. It makes him hiss with pleasure, and he slides one hand up to your hair, knotting his fingers in it and dragging your mouth down to his.

It’s not artful; he’s sure it doesn’t look pretty from the outside. There’s a lot of teeth and tongue, the fumble of hands as he tries to get you even closer. He’s sure you’ve been kissed better than this, and it makes his cheeks heat, makes him pull away, tucking his chin towards his chest. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey,” you say softly, your hands moving to cup his cheeks, tilting his face back up towards you. “It’s okay. Just…follow my lead?” You say it like a question, your thumbs swiping over his face, through the smatter of facial hair along his jaw. “I got you.”

Din nods, lets his lips part as you cock your head to the side, leaning in slow. You kiss his top lip and then his bottom one, giving him just enough teeth that he wants more, wants it harder. He grips your hips as you move, but your kiss stays tender, slow, your tongue a wet heat against his own. He’d dreamed of this, of kissing you, and this one — albeit the second attempt — is everything he ever imagined.

Finally, your mouth grows more insistent. He’s hard as steel between his legs, and he can feel how hot you are, your wetness spreading across his boxers with every roll of your hips. Your mouth is sweet, almost sugary, and he finds himself chuckling against your lips, still trying to get you closer. Your stomach presses to his as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder, your tongue licking into his mouth.

“Sweets,” he grinds out when you start pulling at his undershirt, insistent to get it over his head. He lets you, and when you lower your head again, your mouth moves to his throat instead, and it makes him moan. “Mesh’la, wait, please, I need—”

You pull back instantly, your eyes bright with worry. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I want…” His eyes drop, tracing a path down your body, his throat growing dry when they land on the apex of your thighs, the glistening wetness he knows he’s caused. He lets one hand follow the path his eyes made, rubs his thumb over your clit. Your whole body shivers. “I want to taste you.”

Your eyes go big, pupils blown with lust, and Din uses your momentary shock to his advantage. He’s stronger than you, perks of the bounty hunting lifestyle, and he flips you easily with one arm around your waist, his other hand hitching your thigh over his hip. You squeak as your head hits the pillows, clinging to him until you’re laid out beneath him.

It’s his turn to kiss his way down your throat, and he does, laving his tongue against your pulse as he makes his way down your body. He pauses at your chest, moves to the side to close his lips around your nipple. It makes your back arch, a high-pitched noise falling from your mouth, and he grins against you, giving you just the edge of his teeth before he’s wandering across your chest to give the other the same attention.

You’re a writhing mess by the time he’s settled between your thighs. He can’t keep his eyes still, raking over every inch of you, trying to remember every part. He can see the muscles in your legs jump as he traces his fingers over them, the more sensitive parts of your skin making you keen.

With your legs spread, he can see everything, and his mouth waters at the sight of your wet cunt, walls fluttering around nothing as he teases you with his fingers, collecting your wetness on the tips before drawing them to his mouth.

He moans at the taste. Of course, you’re sweet. Deliciously so.

“Din,” you groan out, propping yourself up on your elbows. He can feel you watching, and his gaze flicks up to yours as he drops his jaw, lowers his mouth to you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, one hand moving to knot in his hair, and Din moans into you. His tongue explodes with the taste of you, sending shocks down his spine, making his hips rolls into the mattress, seeking relief.

Just do what feels natural, your words echo in his head. So he does. He licks into you, wide stripes with the flat of his tongue, smaller kitten licks to your clit. He can’t get enough of your taste, hooking his hands around your thighs, pulling himself deeper into you. And you guide him some, your hand in his hair an anchor of sorts, tugging slightly to get him right where you need him, a gasped oh fuck, right there! reaching his ears.

It’s not before long that you’re smacking at his shoulder, muffled moans on your lips with your teeth sunk into your lower one. He detaches from you, gets one more good look and lick in before he’s following your grip, kissing every inch of you he can reach as he makes his way back up your body.

“I need you inside me,” you slur, your hands reaching down, pushing at his boxers. His cock springs up against his stomach and he groans, the sound growing louder when you wrap your fingers around him. “Please, Din, I want to cum on your cock.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum right then and there, hearing your words turn filthy. And filthier still as he hauls himself over you, plants one elbow beside your head, looks between you, reaches down to line himself up and—

Freezes.

He can feel your eyes on his face, features pinched with anticipation. Your hands have found homes along his ribs, fingers tapping out rhythmless patterns. Hips lifting, you must see something in his expression, because you move a hand to his chin, lifting his eyes to yours again. “Din,” you say, and a shiver shoots down his spine again at the way his name sounds on your lips. “It’s okay. We can stop, if you need to.”

“No!” he nearly shouts, and feels himself flush, lowering himself slightly, careful not to drop all his weight on you. “No, that’s not what I…I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, understanding. You give a soft laugh. “I know you’re not a virgin, but if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I won’t say any—”

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off, petting his hand over your still-damp hair. “I want to. I want you. It’s just that…” He chews at his lip. “No one’s ever seen my face, while we…when I…”

Realization slides through your features. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have to look,” you say quickly, skimming your knuckles along his cheek. “I can turn over, if you like, if that’s easier than—”

“No,” he says, not a shout this time, but firmer. “I want you to see, Sweets.” He drops his chin, emboldened by your softness, your understanding. He kisses you soundly. “I want to kiss you while you cum.” His words pull a silky noise from your throat.

He breaks the kiss as he takes himself in hand, pushes into your dripping cunt. You’re hot, clenching down on him instantly, arms draped around his neck as he lowers himself further, latches his lips to yours. He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, drives into you deep. He had you close on his tongue already, and he rolls his hips hard, catching something deep inside that makes your entire body seize.

“Yes, Din, please, oh gods, please, please, please,” you’re babbling against his lips, one hand pressed flat between his shoulders, the other knotted in the back of his hair. “Yes!”

Just as he said, he kisses you while you cum. He feels it pulse through your body, your limbs taut and then lax, still holding him close. Your hips chase his, cunt clenching tight as a vice, and Din’s not far behind you, pleasure lighting a fuse down his spine.

You pull your lips from his just as he starts to spill in you. Your hand moves to grip his chin, and you force his gaze to yours. He gasps and your mouth mirrors his, lips parted in a soft o, turning to a grin as he grinds into you, painting your insides as deep as he can go. It feels like an implosion, his bones rattled in his body, but then set on the softest bed of silk as he collapses into your chest. You hold him close, petting one hand through his hair, breathing deep and slow until his own evens out, matches yours, until your heartbeat syncs with his.

“Mesh’la?” he calls after a moment, cheek still pressed to your sternum.

“Yes, Din?” you reply, your voice scratchy as your nails start to drag along his scalp. His eyes are heavy.

“I missed you.”

He can hear the smile in your voice. “I missed you too.”

+

Din wakes alone in your bed again.

He thinks it’s the next morning — the rest of what he assume to be evening was spent in your bed, both of you naked and wrapped in each other. Again and again and again, he pulled pleasure from your body, let you pull it from his, found your bliss together. By the time you were both too tired to move, sprawled on the mattress, your head on his shoulder, you’d whispered, “You’re a good kisser, Din Djarin.” And then you were asleep, Din not too far behind.

He dresses quickly, boxers pulled back on, undershirt in his hand as he pads out of the room. He finds you standing in the kitchen, a steaming cup of caf in your hands. The droid — Shrimp, he dimly recalls — is perched on the table, beeping out a message to you. You’re nodding along, blowing the steam off the top of your caf, and your eyes flick to him as he steps into the kitchen.

“You know Peli Motto?”

Din’s brow crinkles with confusion. “You know Peli?”

You scoff. “That woman taught me everything I know.”

“You’re joking.”

“Swear on my hangar.”

Din just laughs, walking around the table. He slides an arm around your waist once he’s close enough, leans into kiss the side of your head. You lean into him. “Why are we talking about Peli?”

“She sent me a message,” you say, offering him your caf. He takes a sip, only feeling more confused. “Asking if I had any spare ships laying around my hangar. A replacement for her Mandalorian friend.”

Din balks. He hasn’t told you about the Crest. “Sweets…”

You step away from him, pressing a hand to his chest as your eyes go wide with realization. “Din Djarin, what did you do to that ship?”

“I didn’t—”

“Din.”

“It was Imps,” he says, trying to reach for your hip. “It wasn’t—”

“Where is the Razor Crest?”

He sighs heavily, and reaches out to take the cup of caf from you again. “Now it’s nothing but a scorch mark on the planet Tython. It was the Imps. They took my son.” The words are out before he can stop them.

Your eyes go so wide he’s worried they might pop out of your skull. “Your son?”

“It’s a long story.”

You pluck the caf out of his hands, walk around the table, pull out a chair and sink into it. “I got nothing but time.”

#sleepover saturday #my fics #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin headcanon #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian headcanon #the mandalorian fanfiction

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Ok, this is the last preview I'm giving y'all for this story! I know this one has taken a while but I very much appreciate your patience! I'm hoping to post the full thing either tomorrow or Saturday! Hope you like it!

Mild warning for ~grinding~

Special thanks to @luc1fersducky @animationmovieshipps @bat-boness and @misfitgirlwrites for letting me send you my process, you guys are amazing <3

"And where do you think you're going?," you asked coyly, stopping him in his tracks entirely.

“I umm, just uhh…giving you privacy?” He tentatively went for the handle again, but your arm shot out, keeping the door in its locked state.

“Oh, we’re way past decency here, Lucifer.” You maneuvered him away from the door and sat him down on the large white bench that was affixed to the wall. You leveraged your foot against the area just below his hip and rested one hand on the top of your thigh, the other on your hip. “Besides, you’re not really in any condition to be in the public view” leaning forward and shooting a quick glance down at his crotch, “now are you?”

Lucifer could only shake his head.

"Glad you agree," you smiled and pecked his lips, an almost inaudible whine leaving Lucifer's throat. "I have some more dresses to try on. You can look, but you cannot touch unless I say, alright?"

"Yes, love," he murmured obediently. You smiled and turned around to pick up the black dress you had let fall to the floor. You bent over slowly to pick it up, giving Lucifer a lovely view of your barely covered ass. You heard a deep inhale behind you followed by a shaky exhale.

You hung up the black dress and moved onto the next dress, a beautiful lavender colored Bardot dress with sleeves that hung off your shoulders. Luckily this one didn't have a zipper, you only needed to step in and shimmy it up your body. You liked this one more than the last, you did as few twirls in front of the mirror checking every single angle.

"What do you think of this one, hon?," you asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror. It seemed as though he was gripping that bench with just a little too much force.

"Ravishing," Lucifer breathed. You had given him permission to look, and he was taking fully advantage of your generosity. He was chopping at the bit, fighting every urge to pounce right then and there. Lucifer's eyes were hungry, his lips curled into a smile to try and hide how badly he needed you at this moment. You admired his will power...but how strong was it truly? You made your way back towards him, chuckling playfully. Without warning, your knees found their way onto the bench, now fully straddling the mess of a man beneath you.

"W-what are you-mmph!" Lucifer tried to ask you but was cut short by your lips suddenly on his. You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a small peck to his forehead.

"You always say just the right things, Luci," you cooed as you began to shift your hips against him. Hearing the mangled moans coming from Lucifer was nothing short of euphoric. You noticed he had released his grasp on the bench and began to move towards your hips. You gripped the back of his head, his hair firmly between your fingers, and tilted his head back gently. Lucifer grunted softly as you brought your lips to his neck. "Ah, ah, ah, what did I say, love? No touching," you scolded, now sucking and nibbling at his tender skin, desperately needing to mark him.

Lucifer whined and reluctantly brought his hands back to their original position on the frigid bench that paled in comparison to the feeling of your warm body that was pressed against him. "I-I can't do this f-for much longer, darling," he whimpered, "I can only h-handle- hnng, so much, I...ssshhhhhhiiittt-" Lucifer's hot breath became increasingly labored as you continued to rock your hips against his painfully growing bulge.

Just then, you heard the sound of a door closing. Someone had just entered the room next to you. With the threat of being heard now looming, you lifted yourself from his neck to see that Lucifer's eyes had turned an ominous red. It felt as if his slit black irises were staring straight into your soul, attempting to burn you from within. He was losing control fast. But you weren't done with him just yet. With a smirk, you placed a finger over his soft lips. "Shhh," you whispered almost inaudibly, "you may want to keep your voice down from now on."

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel smut #my writing #preview #i continue my streak of blue balling lmao #thank you to everyone i sent this preview to in advance i love all of you

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Life in the City 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.

Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader

Note: Heloooooo.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you. No tag list, do not ask for updates.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As promised, you’re shown to your new office by the end of the day. You put your meagre box of belongings on the desk and unpack a piece at a time. Isn’t an exhaustive task so you take your time. 

You put your watermelon post-its by the base of the monitor’s pedestal and your cell phone screen lights up. It’s been buried in your bag for much of the day but you took it out to reconnect to your work accounts. Melanie’s name fills the top of the screen. You still haven’t responded to her since the weekend. 

You swipe up your phone and cross the office. You answer as you shut the door, eking out a tiny hello as you turn back and bite your thumb. You pace aimlessly as your stomach knots. You don‘t think you’re mad at her, just embarrassed about how it all turned out. She knows how many times your excitement was burnt to disappointment, you hoped she wouldn’t have added to your pile ashes. 

“Hey, girl, you busy? I’ve been calling you all week.” 

It’s Tuesday, you think to yourself. 

“I’m sorry, I just have a lot going on at work--” 

“That’s great,” she interrupts, “did you see my texts? I really am sorry about the other night. You know, I was stressed. Clark was out of town for his job and I hadn’t seen him all week. Really, I didn’t forget about you, I just thought we were meeting Saturday, not Friday.” 

Your mouth slants as you weigh her excuse. You don’t know if you believe her but it could be true. How long have you been friends? Doesn’t she deserve the benefit of the doubt?

“Everyone gets busy,” you say with a brittle laugh, “I totally get it. Next time I’ll be clearer, that’s all. Make sure there’s no misunderstanding.” 

“Of course,” her voice is trills and is overly affected, “I just wanted to check in since Clark said you were so upset.” 

“He did?” You frown as you stop by the desk and take your stapler out of the box. 

“Uh, yeah, he did. So, in the future, if your upset, you can just let me know, hon,” her tone drips like syrup, “we’re friends, aren’t we? I mean, it’s a big city and we gotta stick together.” 

“Erm, sure, I’m sorry, I didn’t think... I wasn’t upset. I didn’t say anything, you know, I was just tired.” 

“Whatever, hon, it’s behind us now, isn’t it? You forgive me?” She pauses, waiting. 

“Y-yeah?” You answer. 

“Aw, that’s so wonderful,” she chimes, “anyway, you sound busy. You must be working so I’ll let you go. Ciao.” 

She hangs up and you hold the phone to your ear for a moment after the line dies. That was weird. Like she wasn’t really talking to you, but more putting on a show for someone. Strange. 

You drop your arm and a knock comes at the door. You wince and put your phone screen down. You face the door and fold your hands. 

“Uh, who is it?” You call out. 

The door opens and a throat clears, “just me,” Thor says as he enters, “wanted to be sure you got some of the leftovers.” 

He has a container in his hands. You try to blow off the tension and force a smile. You drop your arms straight and drag a finger up and down the seam of your pants. 

“Thanks, that’s too sweet,” you chirp. 

“Ah, I made sure to get you some cinnamon cookies,” he nears and offers the container. 

“Oh, my, I shouldn’t,” you accept the box. 

“You shouldn’t?” He wonders, “you’re not on some diet, are you? You hardly need one.”  

You laugh nervously, “oh, no,” you back up and spin to put the container on the desk. You go back and reach into the box, “I just... I have a rotten sweet tooth, you know? Sugar keeps me up.” 

“Mmm, well, you should indulge. Enjoy. Nothing wrong with allowing yourself the small things,” he goads, “so,” he claps his hands, the sound making you jump, “your office. How do you like it?” 

He looks around theatrically as he pivots. You take out your small blue mug with the teddy bear on it and follow his gaze, “it’s nice. Big.” 

“Yes, I suppose you don’t take up much space,” he remarks, “if you need any supplies, you can just let me know.” 

“Oh, um, I shouldn’t. I... I could just contact finance--” 

“Come to me,” he insists, “accounting takes too long.” 

“Okay,” you agree. 

“Are you excited?” He asks as he turns to you. 

“Sure,” you answer. 

“Mm,” he hums, “you’re sweet, but I don’t want you to stress. If there’s anything overwhelming me, don’t be afraid to let me know.” 

“I know, thank you, Mr. Odinson.” 

“Thor,” he corrects you with a wink, “you don’t know want to know Mr. Odinson.” He grins and you look at him blankly, “my father. He’s an old grump.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you put the cup down and rub your palms together, “it’s been a long day.” 

“It has indeed,” he checks his watch, “you’re almost done... I should let you finish.” He flicks his finger towards your desk, “tomorrow, the heavy lifting begins.” 

“Yeah,” you murmur. 

“Don’t forget your treats,” he points to the container, “you’ve earned it.” 

“Right, thanks again,” your smile trembles as fatigue nips at the corner of your eyes. 

“See you tomorrow morning,” he avows before he spins and goes to the door. 

You return your attention to the box as you sense him hovering at the threshold. You think he’s looking at you but you’re too nervous to check. Finally, the door closes and you exhale and close your eyes. You can’t believe how much today has taken out of you and the days to come promise much of the same. 

🏙️

You yawn as you come out of your building, eyelids heavy and itchy as you rub them with your knuckles. You hitch up your bag as you turn down the sidewalk and cross to the stop on the other side of the street. You barely slept through the anxiety and anticipation. The unknown stresses you out more than anything and you really have no idea what you’re walking into. 

You let your head lean back as you give another silent roar of fatigue. You roll your shoulders and urge yourself to wake up. You got to get with it. You can’t show up at the office half-asleep. 

The whir of an engine approaches and you look towards the direction of the bus route. Its too quiet to be a bus. Instead, there’s a vaguely familiar car that slows instead of passing. You squint and cross your arms defensively. You have to keep reminding yourself this is the city. 

The window rolls down as you bounce on your feet awkwardly, “hey,” your name rises in the deep timbre. 

You bend and find Clark smiling at you. Of course! That’s why you recognised his car. 

“Heyyyy,” you say, “what are you doing... here?” 

“Working on a story, actually. Was in the area and... what timing, huh?” He pushes his shoulder up as he keeps one hand on the steering wheel, “you on your way to work?” 

“Yup,” you answer brightly, swallowing another yawn, “bus should be here soon.” 

“The bus? Get in, I’ll give you a ride.” 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to... that’s too far.” 

“Where do you work?” 

“Tempest,” you answer. 

“Tempest? That’s right by the paper. I’ll take you, no problem.” 

“Really?” Your brows arch dramatically, “that’s so nice of you.” 

“Of course,” he pats the passenger seat and the door unlocks with a loud click.

“I owe you one." You open the door and get in, tempted to melt into the seat. It’s so much better than the stiff ones on the bus. Ugh, your head is tenuous at best. It could start pounding at any minute. 

“How are you?” Clark asks as you buckle in. 

“Alright,” you repress yet another yawn, “how are you? How’s Melly?” 

“Melly?” He chuckles, “she’s fine, I think. I'm... fine too.” 

“Oh...” you twiddle your fingers in your lap as he slowly leans on the gas and pulls away from the curb, “just fine?” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve just been... talking a lot. You know, relationship stuff,” he drives with one hand, combing his other through his hair. 

“Ah, right,” you nod, “hopefully it’s okay.” 

“Huh,” he scoffs and puts his other hand on the wheel, “you’re a good friend.” 

“I... guess,” you shrug. “I... I just think Melanie really likes you.” 

“Oh, I know she does,” he laughs, “doesn’t keep her from being... how she is. I like her too but we both know she can be very demanding.” 

“She can be,” you agree, “but I think that’s just her personality. Sometimes I wish I could be more like her.” 

“Why would you want that?” he asks. 

“Er...” 

“I just mean, you’re you. Everyone’s different right and you’re just so sweet,” he says, “this world has enough Melanies.” 

“Maybe,” you turn your head and cover your mouth as you yawn at the window. 

“I’m dying for a coffee,” Clark says, his tone shifting smoothly with the topic, “how about you? Green tea?” 

You look at him. He remembers your order? You rub your cheek and drop your hand to your lap. 

“I’m okay, but thank you--” 

“Really, it’s no big deal,” he flips the blinker on, “I need an espresso so, how about it? Iced, hot?” 

You bite the inside of your lip. You really could use a boost. You don’t often get the chance. Your bus ride is too long to factor in a cafe run. 

“Could I get a matcha latte, iced? I have some change,” you open your bag and shove your hand inside. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves you off. 

“Really, you’re giving me a ride. The least I can do--” 

“The least you can do is let me buy your drink,” he insists, “because I kinda have a big favour to ask you.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah, uh, it’s for Melanie. You must know her birthday is coming up.” 

“Yeah, I know--” 

“I really wanna work through things with her and I figured if I threw her a party, maybe it’s better than all this talking,” he joins the queue for the drive thru, “and you’ve known Melanie a lot longer than me so you’re like an expert. Do you think you could help me out?” 

“A birthday party? Well, I... could try. Mel’s always been the one into parties and planning and all that.” 

“I’m not good at it either but you know what she likes. I could use help at least with colours or whatever,” he suggest, “I mean, obviously, you don’t have to. I’m not going to blackmail you with a car ride and a latte.” 

You laugh rockily, “well, I could try. It wouldn’t be so bad and I should do something special. We’re both finally living in the same city. Maybe this would help with us too.” 

“Us? You and... Mel?” 

You give him a look then look through the windshield. You fidget as he rolls up to the speaker and orders. You wait until he’s done. 

“Things were awkward the other day when I crashed your date night,” you say, “I’m sure you caught on.” 

“Yeah, yeah, she wasn’t very gracious,” his tone lowers sharply. 

“It’s okay. She didn’t mean anything. I’m not upset--” 

“Did she apologise?” He asks abruptly. 

“Uh, yeah, of course, but she doesn’t have to--” 

“I think you deserve the apology,” he interrupts again. “You know, you don’t deserve to be walked all over like that. Hell, if I had friend like you, I think I’d treat you a lot better.” 

“I’m not upset,” you assure him, his mood making you uneasy. It’s flattering he would be so upset on your behalf but you’d rather just put it all behind you, “she said sorry, it’s all good.” You wiggle your foot as you think, “alright, I can help with the party.” 

“Ah, yes, you’re a life saver,” he pulls up to the window and pays. He gets the drinks and hands you the matcha before he slips his in the cup holder, “great, I’ll get your number and we can throw around ideas when you have a chance.” 

“Oh, yeah, sure, I could...” the cup soaks your hands in condensation, chilling you, “I’ll do my best. I have a new assignment at work so I’ll be a bit tied up.” 

“No problem, whenever you can. Hope you don’t mind if I send you a couple of pictures I saw,” he says, “tryna come up with a vision, you know?” 

“That’s cool,” you pause to sip the matcha, nearly sighing at the refreshing flow that coats your stomach, “thank you so much for the tea.” 

“Any time,” he says as he pulls out into the street, “anything you need at all.” 

#clark kent #thor #dark clark kent #dark thor #dark!clark kent #dark!thor #clark kent x reader #thor x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #life in the city #au #multifandom #dcu #dc #marvel #mcu #avengers #superman

[jgracie]

WHEN YOU’RE CLOSE TO ME

masterlist | rules

‘cause you are my medicine, when you're close to me

pairing travis stoll x demeter!reader

warnings none!

on the radio . . . on melancholy hill (gorillaz)

an i had to put u guys on my vision !!!!!!!!! reader is a daughter of demeter… i wonder why ?! this is short but i just had to write something other than percy for a second LOL also when they're sitting at the cafe tgt i imagine the ‘on melancholy hill’ trend on tt hence the song choice

you’re so pretty. too pretty. ever since your little quest - which consisted of retrieving his father’s caduceus for him - ended, your face was all travis could think about.

whenever he closed his eyes, he saw your sparkling eyes and bright smile, as well as the flowers that couldn’t help but bloom all over you, your excitement causing your powers to go haywire.

being one of the few demigods who’d been living at camp since birth, you were dying to see the outside world for as long as you could remember. so, when you heard travis needed a second for his quest, you begged him to choose you, and despite many of his siblings wanting to go too, he did choose you, unable to say no to your cute face

with you, new york, a city travis knew like the back of his hand, went from being mundane to a city from one of those fantasy books the athena kids were obsessed with. you marveled at everything around you, taking a million different stops and trying a million different food and drink items.

soon enough, you passed by a cafe that you just had to have a drink at, and who was travis to deny you? his father could wait, he was immortal after all. so, the two of you made your way to a table in the corner and ordered drinks. travis got a coffee you insisted was too bitter, while you got matcha, which he thought tasted awfully similar to grass.

during your time at the cafe, you made small talk every once-in-a-while, but mostly just basked in the comforting silence that blanketed the two of you. you rarely ever interacted at camp, but for some reason, it felt right for travis to be alone with you.

eventually, you did find the caduceus and returned it to hermes, who was eternally grateful and offered to fly you to barcelona for a one day getaway, but that didn't matter. all travis can remember about that quest is your presence. the longer travis knew you for, the more y/n-shaped blossoms bloomed in his heart.

which is why he did what he did. he knew very well that the demeter cabin sold bouquets to both demigods at camp and flower shops outside of camp, and after some sneaking around, he was able to find out that you worked with your siblings on tuesdays, thursdays and saturdays.

today happened to be a saturday. travis sent a request for a bouquet today, knowing you'd be the one to put it together. after borrowing a book from michael in the athena cabin, he was able to choose the flowers he wanted for this very special bouquet: pink bluebells, carnations, alyssums and camellias.

"travis! i have your bouquet!" you said, breaking his train of thought, "i knocked three times but no one answered so i let myself in, i hope you don't mind," in your hands was the bouquet, tied at the stems with a pink ribbon.

taking it from you, travis took a good look at it. naturally, it was perfect. he didn't expect any less from you, "thank you, y/n, but i need this delivered. it isn't for me," he said, praying his plan worked.

"oh, okay, who's it for? i'll get katie to deliver it now," you said, a warm smile tugging at your lips.

"it's alright, i'll do it myself. she isn't too far from here," he said, before handing you the bouquet, a blush coating his freckles. maybe he should've confessed in a more traditional way.

you looked down at the bouquet, confused, then up at him, and understood. violets bloomed in your hair as you said, "travis, this is really sweet of you. no one's ever done something this nice for me!" your smile got wider then, and travis was close to swearing on the styx to get you a bouquet of flowers every day if it meant you'd smile at him like that

a sudden wave of boldness washed over travis, and he knew what he had to do. just as you were about to leave, he said, "since i'm so sweet, would you wanna go explore new york with me again? no quests this time."

you looked over your shoulder and back at him, and at that moment, travis knew he wouldn't need the infirmary as long as you were his. you were better than any medicine the apollo cabin could prescribe him

"sure, travis, but only if we can take your dad up on his offer afterwards!"

#travis stoll x reader #travis stoll x you #travis stoll x y/n #travis stoll #travis stoll x fem reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #travis stoll fanfic #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfic #travis stoll drabble #travis stoll x demeter reader #demeter pjo #children of demeter #daughter of demeter #cynwrites

[everything-redacted-and-others]

Some random redacted head canons

————

Geordi wears hearing aids and looses them frequently

Guy does this thing where every Saturday he will have a bubble bath and wear face masks and just have a whole spa day, and sometimes he convinces Honey to do it with him

David’s tickle spot is right under his rib cage and one day while him and Angel where cuddling they accidentally poked it and he giggled so now whenever they get the chance they’ll start poking under his rib cage just to get a reaction

Darlin likes to shift while laying on the windowsill and they’ll take naps there and then when they wake up they’ll cuddle sam while shifted cause there fur is all warm from the sun

Doc has a cat named skrunkly and Hush likes to follow it around

Lovely does not have a drivers license

Gavin has a dumpy

a lot of the Shaw pack as teens had a crush on darlin

Damien loves to bake and when Huxley found out he bought a bunch of ingredients and they had a fun time just baking together and talking about life and stuff

Darlin still beats themselves up for getting with Quinn till this day

Lasko spilled a cup of coffee in an Uber once and was so embarrassed, he tried to clean it up but it just made it worse

David has ridiculously long eyelashes and angel is jealous

Baabe does Asher’s makeup when they’re bored

Huxley collects cool looking rocks he finds

Hush has long black hair and sometimes Doc plays with it and puts it in braids, buns, etc.. (someone pls draw this I beg of u)

Honey is 6 foot and Guy is only 5’4 so he looks tiny compared to them

Darlin has thick thighs, Asher has nicknamed them “Sam’s earmuffs”

Lovely dances outside during thunderstorms to remember their powers

Sam likes to kiss the scars on Darlin’s body

Vincent has curly black hair

One time Angel caught David listening too Ariana Grande

Milo and Darlin used to watch horror movies as teens to see who would chicken out first

Sweetheart smokes when they’re stressed enough

Milo is really hot (fact.)

Gabe was a dilf (confirmed, I saw him)

Lasko’s first crush as a kid was Nala from the lion king

one time Coworker saw one of those TikTok’s that was like “if you need to get over him think of ___” and one of the things it said was “imagine him tripping and falling while trying to catch the bus” and they scrolled and said “eh he’d do that anyway” and Lasko was sitting right there

Freelancer sometimes sneaks into one of the boys apartments and steals their snacks

Angel isn’t short or skinny David is just huge (I will stand on this hill until the day I die)

Darlin and David are roughly around the same size and height

Vincent used to blast lil peep in his room when he was a newborn vamp (my lil emo baby🫶)

Damien doesn’t like alcohol

Both smartass and Darlin call their partners “old man” (lovingly)

Gavin listens to corpse when he cleans the house and he jams out to it

————

this has gotten too long lol

#redactedverse #redacted audio #redacted headcanons

[vitaminseetarot]

PAC: Messages From Your Spirit Guides 🌬🌨🛎

Sup y'all, I'm back for another reading on what your spirit guides have to say! We are approaching a powerful micromoon on Friday night into Saturday morning, and I hope these piles will help you with whatever you're manifesting or clearing out of your life.

Sidenote: I have been in the background trying to get my Paypal account working so I can have the chance to finally offer paid readings. I know some of you have been asking me about when I'll be doing private readings! Long story short, Paypal thought I was a bot and locked me out of my account. (They won't even tell you it's locked, it'll just act like your password isn't working, lol) After struggling for a while, I had to actually call for support. 😅

It's all fixed (for) now! I'm now going over some ideas for what readings I will offer. They will likely be basic 1 and 3 card type spreads for starters. I'll fill you in when more details are hashed out. I'm still also planning another game in March, so stay tuned.

So let's dive into your readings! You can either pick your pile option through the palette cards or the corresponding pictures below for your quick message.

Pile 1 - Lavender Sky Pile 2 - Air Blue Pile 3 - Snowfall Pile 4 - Rainwater

Pile 1

Lavender Sky, Sweetness, Lava; V Hierophant, Queen of Wands, 3 of Cups, 10 of Cups

Pile 1, the guide (or guides) contacting you is the type to play it by the book. They know how to fill your cup because they've gone through it too. This is likely a passed ancestor in your family, though it doesn't have to be. Just someone who's really gone through it thick and thin while living on Earth, experiencing the highs and lows of existence. They're guiding you because they've been in your shoes. Their message is simple. They want offer you a cup of cheer. Although that's traditionally a Christmas saying, I picture of cup of healing tonic being passed to you. It's rich and warm, like a cappuccino or spiced chai. They invite you to sit down and relax with a similar soothing beverage.

I heard lyrics from the Evanescence song "Imaginary" while pulling out the palette card. "In my field of paper flowers and candy clouds of lullaby, I lie inside myself for hours and watch my purple sky fly over me." I'm sensing some detachment. They say you've been spending a lot of time closed off into your own inner world and not communicating as much as you'd like to, but not out of loneliness. In fact, this time alone may have revitalized you, or you may consider it a comfort zone to be in. You could have been laying dormant, working on yourself, wondering when it's finally time to stretch.

But the Queen of Wands, as confident as she is (and you are), truly enjoys being around others. It's where her light shines. If she wants to perform, she wants to do it with a crowd. If she speaks, she wants it to be with another. She knows her light, but it's not enough; the light must expand outward and be shared. Imagine that, instead of shining only in your mind, your creative abilities and unique personality can stand out in the real world to be seen and heard. For your unique truth to be recognized and lauded.

Your guides would gently like you to get out of your head a little. You have a bright mind and a caring disposition. There is no reason to hold yourself back from healthy communities. Your affirmation card says, "My truth flows through me gracefully." Holding your emotions and true self back is useless, anyway. The lava will come spilling out one way or another. Use that strong confident energy you have when alone, and channel it to reach out and connect with other people. Things likely will turn out better than you could have imagined. This could be your year for forming great new friendships that may even stand the test of time, if you're up for it.

I'm getting a lot of people in this pile may identify as shy or socially awkward. Your guides see your struggle and know this isn't an overnight event, it can a long haul process to come out of one's shell. And if reaching out to people in real life is still too difficult, please know that your guides are with you. They are available to talk whenever you need them. I suggest working with candles (safely!) or water scrying as possible methods for communication.

Pile 2

Air Blue, Ghost, Bee; 0 Fool, 9 of Cups, 5 of Wands, 7 of Swords

You received two affirmation cards in this reading because the yellow rose fell out almost immediately: it says "I am at peace in my life. I am at peace in the world. I'm getting some strong anxiety with this pile. It feels like the anxiety experienced on a regular basis. It's a strong contrast to your guide's energy, which is carefree and lackadaisical. I hear they can be a bit of a prankster with you? I'm seeing someone getting frustrated with computer equipment or some other machinery like a cash register. Really riding on that Mercury retrograde energy when it's there, they're opportunists. This could be your guide's primary way of talking with you, by causing strange and chaotic things to happen that put a brief halt in your day-to-day life.

It may seem somewhat cruel that a guide would 'tease' like this, but they keep pointing at the yellow rose, which symbolizes friendship. They have reached out and offered support in the normal, usual ways, but there's a sense of denying and not returning in the interaction? Have you ever met them? If you want to connect with your guides, the first step is to acknowledge that they're there and that they're reaching out to you. Otherwise they'll start to act like cats who sit on books and knock glasses over just to get your attention, if they want it badly enough. They can get even urgent about speaking at times, I heard the song "Urgent" by Foreigner.

They want you to see that things aren't as bad as they seem to be in the present, though. They disrupt your day precisely to get across that somewhere, you're getting yourself stuck in a rut. They're there to help you break bad cycles of thought that aren't helping you. It's an odd way of doing it, but if you can reach out to them and learn from them, they won't always be like this. It's only because they want you to embrace life like every day is a new beginning. Allowing yourself to get worked up in fear sets up the day for exactly that. They see your capacity for joyful and successful working and living and want to bring that out in you.

You may have times where you have very high hopes for something to happen in your favor, only to burst into panic when one little thing falls out of place or goes wrong, even if it gets resolved. Your guides aren't trying to work you into a tizzy; they want to teach you how to handle the day's hiccups with more ease instead of relying on control all the time. They want you to speak positive affirmations to yourself on a regular basis with the idea that peace and ease are available to you. Your other card says, "I can speak powerfully with ease." Your words are strong, especially what you say to yourself in earnest. Speak your wishes out and your guide will listen. Bottle it up too much, and your guide will find a way to pour it out for you. Focus on the BEST outcomes!

And if your anxiety still feels like it's getting debilitating, your guide will support you in getting you any outside help that you need. Ultimately, they want to see you thrive, both inside and outside chaos, even if their methods are unconventional.

Pile 3

Falling Snow, Fear, Swan; 9 of Cups, 3 of Swords, Page of Coins, 5 of Wands, VII Chariot

Pile 3, your guide is a colorful and gentle being, I'm picturing someone childlike here with the Page of Coins. This guide flourishes in nature and the innocently playing with their creations. Perhaps you're an artist or someone devoted to a craft that brings out your inner child, your unique joy? This being wants to guide you in these endeavors. Your guide embodies a playful spirituality, far from religious status and regulations. They enjoy seeing ideas come to life.

It seems like you've been calling out for help in dealing with relationships in your life, or lack thereof. If it isn't to do with love or people, the Swan card could suggest a creative passion that you already have in mind. You see this person or passion as the "One" you've been praying for, the "One" to forever come or stay in your life. Your guide wants you to begin by seeing that you are the "One" you've been looking for. See that there are two swans in the card. One of them is you, seeking the kind of beauty that's already blossoming atop your head.

I'm drawn in by the purple flowers. If you work with chakras, your crown chakra is calling for your attention. Your affirmation card says, "I am connected to the wisdom of the universe." You may have recently been hurt from a relationship, or you've been worried that dating seems far away from you. The kind of school to help you hone your talent may feel at a distance. I'm getting 5 of pentacle vibes with the Falling Snow card, like the opportunity is "snowed in". But it's an illusion; you're moving faster and more suddenly through life than you may believe, though there are times when relationships don't work out, or we get turned down from an opportunity that looked to be beneficial to us.

It's okay to be honest about how sucky rejections feels. Your guide, as playful and rambunctious as they are, wants to hold your hand with a compassionate smile. They can see the flowers blooming beneath the snow, but understand that you have a right to process how you feel. Their main encouragement to you is to give yourself the time, just as spring has time to thaw from winter. In due time, you'll be feeling better again once you've given yourself the chance to mend your heart. I shuffled an extra card for 5 of Wands, which gave me Chariot. You will be able to move on, through the fearsome fire and smoke, to the other side. Allow yourself to heal, then allow yourself to proceed, knowing you won't be burned like that again.

If pile 2 resonates with you in any way, I recommend checking it out. There are messages there about dealing with fear and speaking out kinder thoughts to yourself. See yourself and your creations as the beautiful swan, even if circumstances leave you feeling like the ugly duckling. Your guide only sees the beauty and laughter in you.

Pile 4

Rainwater, Sadness, Ladybug; 3 of Cups, 4 of Cups, X Wheel of Fortune, 10 of Wands

It seems clear to me that your guide is heavily connected to water in some way, be it the rain or the ocean (it all runs together any way). They appear to me as very old and wise, like an ancient sea spirit. Far from hermitage, they are connected to all life underwater, as well as the water that flows through us. They're pointing out to me the way everything in life follows a cycle. The powers of the water and the moon demonstrate this on a regular basis, showing how the essential patterns of water can be found in other parts of life as well, even if abstractly. See, for example, how cats can squeeze themselves into jars like liquid, or how crowds of people can flow like streams. When we talk about rain, we can think of either abundance or loss. Rain can represent the release of powerful emotions, or it can bring life to withering crops. To understand water magic is to see how versatile the power is.

Your guide wants to let you know that your life follows an ebb and flow like the tides of the sea. There may come times when it floods over and all feels hopeless. There may also come days when the cool rain shower comes as a welcome on dry and dreary days. Your guide says there is nothing inherently wrong with you, if you are feeling a bad streak of luck. They (though I'm feeling a strong feminine energy here) want to help you with your perspective on life. You are not 'deserving' of bad things to happen, they say, as it's an unhelpful belief to deal with troubling situations. Life happens around us, and many times we get caught in hurricanes caused by others, or by our own actions. These ebbs and flows stop for absolutely no one.

We, as people, should be more drawn to compassion towards each other because of this. I'm getting worldly energy when I channel the guide's connection to you, like your guide is a deity like figure or you are highly attuned to the earth in some way. You may feel drawn towards this need for giving and receiving compassion. Though what I sense your guide is pointing at refers to boundaries. It's dear to them that you feel connected to the world's energy, or to the pain that mother nature and her people feel, but please practice boundaries so you can give yourself a chance to breathe and live your own life instead of letting psychic woes eat at you.

Your guide wants to assure you that luckier times are ahead. The Wheel of Fortune combined with the Ladybug shows that you have the chance to count the blessings in your life to attract more of the same. To attract good luck and abundance for you is to do the same for others. Imagine if emotions were contagious, and you had the chance to spread good luck around by changing your perspective? Your affirmation card says, "I am able to let go of all sadness and negative emotions that don't serve me." There are times when things get turbulent, but don't let it stop you from getting ahead.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2024, @VitaminseeTarot ™

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[melodygatesauthor]

Chapter 11: Torn to Pieces

prof!Steven Grant-Jake Lockley-Marc Spector X f!Reader

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake

Mood Boards - Book Cover - Masterlist

Chapter Summary:

Jake feels guilty, but wants to see you again too badly to care. You continue to see "Steven" when he texts you and tells you to meet up with him. Marc is still trying to get Steven to come back.

Tags/Summary (these are for the ENTIRE fic):

college AU, no powers/not in MCU/no Khonshu (as a deity), talk of mental illness, Marc has DID, forbidden relationship, age gap, reader is 21y/o, Boys are 38y/o, reader attends college in America but isn't necessarily American, smut, sex, masturbation, p in v, creampies galore, reader is on birth control, dubious consent due to identity issues, ANGST, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex, falling in love, reader is not race coded, minor mentions of alcohol addiction and depression.

Word Count: 3.2k

SPECIAL WARNING - DUBIOUS CONSENT. READER DISCRETION ADVISED.

----

Marc woke up on Saturday morning feeling like he’d hardly slept at all. He knew it was possible that Jake or Steven had fronted while he was out, but everything was still right where he’d left it the day before. Steven’s phone was on the end table, Marc’s clothes were still in a pile on the floor, and when he checked the closet, like he did everyday checking for any sign of Steven, there wasn’t a single shirt out of place. As far as he could tell, he’d just had a bad night’s sleep. He went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Nothing but his own reflection was looking back. Marc realized then that he missed Steven.

Marc may have taken a back seat after they moved back to the states, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t still been a fly on the wall, keeping an eye on Steven. The years of guilt he’d racked up meant he wanted to personally ensure that Steven could have that happy life he and Jake had promised all along. Now that Steven was gone, Marc was reminded that all he seemed to be able to do was ruin Steven’s life. He only hoped that Steven would come back and understand why he had to do this.

It had been a while since Steven hit the gym, so since he began fronting a couple weeks ago, Marc started going again. It helped him burn off some steam, especially with the guilt weighing so heavily on his shoulders. On his way back from his session today, he noticed you walking down the street. You seemed to be heading toward the coffee shop where you and Steven had first met. For a split second, Marc had thought of stopping the car to explain everything to you.

It would’ve been foolish, which is why he didn’t actually do it, but the guilty part of him wanted to tell you everything. He wanted to tell you why it was dangerous, beyond the loss of his career and your degree, for you and Steven to be together. He wanted to tell you why Steven shouldn’t have had you at their apartment. Mostly, he wanted to come clean about the mental issues, and the truth about who Steven was, and why Steven was. Marc felt like you deserved all that, and more, but it was too late now to tell you. You moving on from the breakup, he hoped, and telling you about their traumas would only drag you back in thanks to your empathetic nature. It was for the best if you hated Steven; at least then there would be little risk of you ever coming back.

Thanks to Jake though, you weren’t able to easily move on…not really anyway. You felt better though, thinking that Steven still wanted to be with you, and that he was willing to keep seeing you. You just wondered when. You’d hoped to hear from him that morning, to wake up with a text telling you that he wanted to see you that night, but you didn’t. In fact, you wouldn’t hear from him again until Sunday night. Your phone buzzed, lighting up with a text from him. Your heart skipped a beat.

Steven: Come outside at 11pm.

The text was short and sweet. You didn’t need to ask what he would be driving, you had a feeling you’d see him in that black car again, and you did. Layla was sleeping when you snuck out, wearing the skirt you’d worn on the day he broke up with you, a pair of lacy panties he’d mentioned liking once, and a form-fitting shirt.

Jake was waiting, sitting in the car on the other side of the street with the engine running. When he saw you coming, his breath caught in his lungs. You were so beautiful, it was no wonder Steven nearly ruined everything he and Marc had worked to give him just to be with you. You were perfect. Jake wasn’t someone who fell victim to anxiousness very often, but you had a way of making his palms sweat, and his breath feel shallow.

You slipped into the car and he pulled away from the curb. He seemed so different to you, and you wondered if this was what Steven was really like, calm and collected, smooth and mysterious, and the teaching thing was just a front for…whatever this was. It felt off, but you weren’t going to draw attention to it, you were still riding the high of having him back after the trauma of losing him. The fear that he might leave you again kept you quiet, despite your suspicions. You brought your hand to rest over his on the center console. You thought he would squeeze your fingers and hold your hand but he didn’t.

Jake felt your hand touch his and he thought he might swerve into oncoming traffic by mistake. He felt like his lungs might collapse and his heart might stop. Intimacy wasn’t something he was accustomed to. He wanted to take your hand in return, he wanted to, but somehow doing even that small of a gesture would increase the guilt for him, so he didn’t move. The disappointment was clear on your face, he could see it out of the corner of his eye.

When he parked, at the same place he’d been with you before when he picked you up, he got out of the car, leaving his jacket and hat in the front seat when he made his way to the back. He was standing by the door and clearly waiting for you to get in first. You felt nervous for some reason, but you pushed through and moved out of the passenger’s seat to the back. Maybe the cause of your nerves was that he wasn’t saying a word to you. Even as he joined you in the backseat, and pulled you onto his lap, chest pressed against your back, he didn’t say a single thing. The deafening silence continued, even when he put a hand on your spine and pushed you forward in between the front seats over the center console.

“I…I missed you.” You murmured from the front.

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement, pulling your skirt up to reveal your gorgeous rear.

“You don’t talk much these days, miss the sound of your–oh my…”

Jake had taken off one of his gloves and was rubbing his palm over your right asscheek. You’d worn such a pretty little thong. He reveled in the way the delicate fabric looked, barely covering the bits he craved. He brought his finger down and touched between the space where your pussy lips peeked out from behind the panties. You whined in front of him, squirming at the sensation. He smirked, throwing any reservations he still had about what the two of you were doing out the window. The sound of your arousal made him weak, forgetting any guilt he may still have. He needed you.

You heard his belt buckle clanking while he worked on his pants. You leaned back a little letting your cunt brush against his knuckles while he was getting his button undone. You turned your head to look at him. He had his head down, curls in front of his eyes so you couldn’t see him, but you watched him stop trying to get his pants down and instead he focused on you. You rolled back again, and once more his balled fist offered you some friction against your needy clit.

Jake shuddered, you were so wet for him already and he’d hardly touched you at all. It was delicious, the way you wanted him so badly. He only wished it was really him that you wanted. Would it be so bad if he came clean right then? Told you that he wasn’t the man you thought he was? Would you run? He decided quickly that couldn’t bring himself to tell you…not yet.

The panties became a problem when he finally pulled his pants to his thighs and was ready to take you. He tried to tug them aside, but they were so snug against you that he couldn’t fit his cock past them. With both hands, he pulled on the fabric, tearing it off you in two pieces and tossing it in the front seat by your hand.

“Did you just…those were expensive–oh my fuck–”

You felt the hard press of his fat tip against your tight entrance. He dragged his cock between your folds. It sounded so wet and felt so warm, you wanted him so bad. You rocked your hips backward, feeling his head push through your hole followed by a sweet and deep groan leaving Steven’s lips. He grabbed your hips on either side and pulled you over him completely, forcing you both to let out choked moans into the car.

You gripped the edges of the seats on either side of you for stability while he thrusted into you roughly. You thought your hips might bruise from the force that he was grinding you into the center console. The sensation of his hands exploring the globes of your ass was nice, like he was relishing the way your body felt under his palms. You felt the little slaps and grabs he did with his fingers while continuing you. He’d never been so fixated on that part of your body before.

When Jake looked down he lifted up his shirt so he could see his cock disappear into you with every glide forward into your tight hole. The way your cunt grabbed onto him and swallowed him whole made his body tremble. He’d been with a few women in his time, but none that made him feel the way you did. When he grabbed the headrests on either side of himself, he leaned back a little and watched in amazement as you worked yourself over him.

“Mm, así bebita,” Jake said, but quickly realized his mistake while caught up in the moment.

Of course, you caught onto it, turning your pretty face around to look at him, eyes bright and eager.

“What did you say?”

He put a hand over your back and shoved you into the center console again, fucking you harder so you couldn’t think too much about his minor slip. It seemed to work, because you just started moaning and whining so loud he could hardly hear himself think clearly. He grabbed your hip and drove himself in as deep as he could, feeling your walls clench in response. He wanted more, he needed to make you whimper and cry harder.

Jake spit on your tight ring of muscle and heard you gasp softly from the front. He used his thumb to press against the rim, circling around it to help you relax. When you finally let him in, he hooked his thumb in there and started pistoning your rear in tandem with the way his hips worked into your cunt. There you were, filling his car with the sharp choking whines that he craved so much.

Cool, calm, and collected Jake drooled on his pristine white shirt at the feeling of your tight little pussy opening up for him with every slide forward. He could feel your soft and slick, velvety walls stretching out around him with every pass. The tip of his cock was grazing against your cervix, he was so close, and judging by the way he felt you tighten around his length and his thumb…you were too.

“Oh, Steven. I’m…oh shit!”

Your walls clamped down over him, as did your tight asshole. Despite saying the wrong name, the way you felt drew out Jake’s orgasm quickly. He looked down, choking on his groans while watching your pussy milking every bit of cum from his twitching cock. He pursed his lips, letting out a sharp exhale as he continued filling you up as full as he could. 

Your hopes for an intimate conclusion to the evening was denied when Steven promptly pulled out of you the second he was finished spilling into you. He waited outside for you to get yourself together and back in the front seat. You couldn’t put your panties back on, they were completely ruined, so you decided you’d leave them on the floor for now. He could deal with the mess he’d made. When you got out of the car, after using the napkins in Jake’s glove box to clean yourself up, you noticed him crushing something under his shiny shoes. He looked at you, face riddled with something that looked like guilt.

“Are…are you smoking? Steven…” You took a step toward him.

“Get in the car.” He said, pulling together a British accent, hoping you’d believe it.

Whether you were buying the facade or not, you furrowed your brow, turned on your heel, and got in the car. He could tell you were irritable by the way you kept your head turned out the window the entire way back to your dorm. You didn’t even kiss him goodbye that night, you just got out, slammed the door, and went into the building. Jake knew that he was going to have to work with Marc sooner than later to get Steven back. He couldn’t keep this up for long, and he couldn’t let you walk out of their lives.

“He was smoking,” you whispered to yourself, while walking down the hall to your dorm, as if to remind yourself of what you saw.

There was no doubt in your mind. You could smell it when he joined you in the car earlier, the distinct scent of a burnt out cigarette. It was the kind of smell that permeated everything around it. You weren’t going to lose your mind over it, sometimes people smoked, and the fact that he was smoking wasn’t necessarily the problem. You were more concerned with the fact that you’d never smelled it before that night. This was a new habit, that much was clear, and you were wondering what made him start it up in the first place.

----

Marc awoke with a start on Wednesday. He had a weird dream…a dream that involved you. He thought about it while showering and brushing his teeth. It kept flashing through his mind. You bent over the center console of a nice car he’d never seen before while he thrust into you. There was another dream he recalled where you were on his lap in the back seat of the same car, back pressed against his chest while you panted and moaned as you were riding his cock.

He felt himself getting aroused just thinking about it more. The way you sounded while he fucked upward into you, sharp gasps escaping your lips while you got used to his size all over again. He remembered you wearing a nice pair of red panties, plain as day, and then you thanked him for them, as if he’d gifted them to you. He shook the thoughts from his head.

“Great…now I’m thinking about her,” Marc grumbled while exiting the bathroom.

“She’s hard not to think about hermano,” Jake said from the headspace.

Jake knew what was happening. He wasn’t dreaming about you, he was remembering you. Jake had seen you just last night, bringing you a replacement for the panties he’d ruined. He wasn’t even going to fuck you that time, but you insisted, telling him to ‘take me, please, I’m so fucking wet’. And take you he did. He fucked you in the backseat once more, playing with your swollen clit while he buried his cock into you over and over until you were collapsing back onto him in his lap.

“Yeah, well…” Marc picked up Steven’s phone from the bedside table. There was a new text. “The head of the history department texted Steven.”

“How do you know the head of the history department?” Jake asked.

“Had to make sure none of Khonshu’s men were workin’ there when we got Steven the job, remember? I ran checks on everyone.”

“Ah, si.”

“He says that if Steven doesn’t come back soon they’re gonna have to discuss his future at the school. Guess being a new and absent professor doesn’t look good.” Marc dropped the phone back on the table with a loud thud. “For fuck’s sake. Steven!”

Marc stormed over to the three-way mirror vanity. Jake was there on Marc’s left, but he only saw his own reflection in the other two panels. 

“Steven, buddy, I know this sucks. I really do…alright. I’ve had my fair share of breakups, but we have to get things back to normal.” He kept looking at his reflection as though he were challenging it to move on its own.

“He will come out when he’s ready, we can’t–”

“Yes we can,” Marc’s voice cracked as he looked away from the mirror.

Jake recognized that tone. Guilt. Marc was feeling an immeasurable sense of guilt that was weighing on him heavily. Steven had suffered for years, forced to be a passenger in the body while Marc and Jake were doing unspeakable things. He’d finally found happiness, a good job, a girlfriend, all the things any guy could want…and now that was ruined too. Marc just wanted Steven to be happy, but not at the cost Steven would have to pay if things went awry.

“Steven…” Marc looked back at his reflection, “Steven I’m sorry, okay? I’m really, truly sorry. Not just for this, but for all of it. I can’t fix this situation. I can’t let you be with her, but I promise that we can work on finding you a new girlfriend. Right, Jake?”

Jake tried not to think about you, and all the things that he loved about you too. The way you smiled, the way you kissed, and mostly the way you looked at him like he mattered. It was such a simple thing, but most of the time no one looked at him like that. He was the ‘scary’ one of the three, often forced to front when neither of them were conscious or when things got physically dangerous, and they hadn’t been in physical danger for quite some time. Jake was nothing…except when he was with you.

“Right,” he answered begrudgingly, knowing that Marc was right in his suggestion to help Steven get over you by finding him someone new to fall for.

“See? You can find someone else. Plus you have all those students who look up to you that I’m sure would like to have you back.”

Marc was trying so hard to keep his cool. He started pacing around, eyes darting to every reflective surface they had in hopes that he would catch a glimpse of his alter. He flopped on the couch and slumped over, burying his face in his hands and groaning.

“We have to try a new approach. Jake…do you remember how to make Steven’s favorite meal?” Marc looked up at the television screen to meet Jake’s eye.

“Si.”

“Good. I don’t know if it will work, but at this point…I’m willing to try anything.”

----

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

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[lance-space-mommy]

Cleaning Out The Refridgerator

Izuku never knew a life without his mother. It was always Inko and Izuku against the world. Izuku never once met his father Hisashi and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Inko was everything Izuku needed and without her being at the forefront of his life, he’d never become the person he was. It was all thanks to his mother.

Inko died at the age of sixty. It was out of the blue and she had died of a heart attack. Izuku was only thirty-five. The day he got the call his mother had died was the worst day of his life.

His hero work kept him busy and he rarely got days off. Whenever Izuku managed to get the time, he’d always have dinner dates with his mother. It was clear Inko had appreciated those little moments together.

They’d cook together, catch up on life, and just cuddle for hours. They felt like the time they shared always slipped away and those moments felt so short even if they spent the whole day together.

Izuku and Katsuki got married at the young age of 20. They didn’t want to waste a moment and desired to experience all life had to offer.

When they were sixteen, they watched the other die. They knew how fragile and short life could be. Death was promised and they wanted to enjoy the life they had left.

Holidays and celebrations were always a grand event. Inko and Mitsuki would often hang out together, but having their family members join them for a party was an exhilarating experience. Every day, every moment, was lived to the fullest.

Izuku could say there was so much more he wished he could have experienced with his mother, but he was satisfied with the time he did have with his mother.

It didn’t make things any better, but having no regrets was something that made Izuku grieve his loss without any guilt laced with it. Izuku could miss the amazing woman Inko was and miss his perfect mother.

For months, Izuku was inconsolable. Katsuki did everything in his power to help Izuku through Inko’s death, but he couldn’t imagine the pain Izuku was going through. Katsuki loved Inko dearly, but he didn’t know what it was like to lose his mother. Katsuki didn’t even want to imagine a life without Mitsuki.

It was a random Friday when Mitsuki had invited Izuku over to have some tea and talk. It was nice to just talk to someone who cherished Inko just as much.

Mitsuki was crying, hugging Izuku. “I ran out of her pickled daikon radish! I don’t know what to do!”

Izuku paused, feeling something click in his mind. Even if Inko was no longer with him, there was something she did that no random person in the world could mimic. Inko’s cooking and baking were inimitable. The only person on the planet who could make Inko’s recipe was Izuku.

Izuku pulled back, his hands resting on Mitsuki’s shoulders. “I’ll make you some!”

Mitsuki’s eyes widen, blinking away her tears in surprise. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Yes, I’d love to make it for you,” reassured Izuku, his face filled with an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Mitsuki seemed to melt, relief flooding her. “Thank you, Izuku. I can’t wait to taste it!”

Izuku grinned, quickly hugging Mitsuki again. “You won’t be able to tell I made it, trust me.”

The next day rolled around and a beautiful Saturday greeted Izuku. Izuku threw himself up and took over the kitchen. The windows were opened and the morning breeze lulled Izuku into a peaceful rhythm.

The sunlight warmed his skin, matching the warmth his heart felt while making the same food Inko happily prepared him when he was a child.

Katsuki walked over and instantly spotted the mess. Shaking his head with a small smile, Katuski made his way over. Wrapping his arms around Izuku’s waist, Katsuki pressed a tender kiss to Izuku’s temple. “What are you getting into?”

“Just cleaning out the fridge,” fibbed Izuku, knowing Katsuki wasn’t going to buy it.

“Sure and I’m not your husband,” remarked Katsuki, giving Izuku a gentle squeeze.

Izuku sat down the knife before turning around to hug Katsuki. “I’m making some pickled radish for your mother.”

Katsuki paused before a look of recognition crossed his face. “She’s probably over the moon knowing you can keep supplying her addiction. She’s obsessed with Inko’s pickled food for as long as I remember.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe I was so depressed I forgot that I can remake all the foods my mom made by heart,” chuckled Izuku, snuggling into Katsuki’s secure hold.

“Anything I can do to help?” questioned Katsuki, knowing the answer was going to be no, but he wanted to check anyway.

Izuku shook his head before pecking Katsuki on the lips. “Nope. This is quick and easy to make.”

Katsuki nodded before releasing Izuku. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Within thirty minutes, Katsuki heard a loud thumping in the kitchen. Rushing out, Katsuki watched as Izuku jumped in place, filled with excitement as he was chewing. Katsuki sank in relief upon witnessing the childlike joy written in Izuku’s expression and bouncing.

Izuku spotted Katsuki staring and quickly shoved the pickled radish into Katsuki’s mouth. Katsuki immediately could tell why Izuku was so excited. The crunchy yellow radish tasted exactly like the kind he had eaten his entire life. It was identical to Inko’s.

Izuku knew that if he kept making food that tasted identical to his mother’s, he’d never stop eating. If food was how he planned to keep his mother alive, he’d happily eat each meal like it would be his last.

“Good job, Izuku. It’s perfect,” complimented Katsuki, diving in for more.

“It’s so wonderful,” cried Izuku, following his husband's lead and eating more.

Inko may be gone, but for the rest of Izuku’s life, he’d never have to live a day without her beautiful, one-of-a-kind meals. Inko showed her love through food and Izuku would forever be grateful that homemade meals will forever be their thing. Even after death.

#izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha deku #mha fanfiction #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bkdk #mha bkdk #inko midoriya #mitsuki bakugou #tw death #midoriya x bakugou #future au

[crepe-of-wrath]

Shouta Scarf Smut Saturday

the second one in a row!

tags same as the first: 18+, bondage, power dynamics, fem reader

Shouta's looming shadow in the frame of the bedroom door startled you.

"If you're going to call it 'hard to get,'" he said, "you really should try to make it a challenge."

Haughty, deep-voiced Shouta made your insides melt and your brain short out, so it was no surprise that, before you could come back to reality and dodge him, your arms were pressed against your little nightie, wrapped up in his scarf.

As you went to make your escape move--he didn't bind your legs, what was he going soft?--you met resistance.

Shit. He'd somehow wrapped his scarf around both you and the damn spindle of the headboard. You weren't going anywhere unless you dragged the whole fucking bed behind you.

You struggled a bit anyway.

"Mmmm," he said, still stood in the doorway, deliberately devouring you with his gaze. "A sweet little thing with no place to go..."

His voice was stern, but he was smiling; you knew it pleased him to indulge you like this, so you closed your eyes, anxious to hear what filth was about to come from his mouth.

"...guess I can take my time."

Your eyes flew open. He was smirking at you.

"My beautiful princess gets my blood up." You now noticed he was fiddling with something in his hand. "I have to go slowly, make sure I don't do anything irrational. We wouldn't want that, would we, sweetheart?"

Damn it, the thing in his hand had been a hair tie. He carefully put his hair up and then he gave you a look that promised glorious ruination. Your legs quivered a little as you clenched, and, with your upper body fixed, you tried to adjust below the waist to relieve some of the pressure.

"All of this," said Shouta, as he took a step forward (but just a step, damn him!) unbuttoning the top of his shirt, "because of a little neck, a little...collarbone?"

"Shouta!" Your powerless arms tried to reach to him anyway. Damn it, you sounded so--

"Needy, needy princess," Shouta said, tutting as he took another step, unbuttoned another button. The prickle of the binding cloth was somewhere between pain and pleasure, the pressure in your center was now genuinely distracting, and you could hear the sounds of slick as you shifted your legs in a desperate search for even the slightest relief.

This torture continued for what seemed like forever. When he finally stripped his shirt off, revealing the glorious shoulders and arms that brought you safety and comfort, your legs almost gave out.

"Whatever you want," you choked out hoarsely, unable to tear your eyes from his torso. "Wherever you want. Use me, Shouta, I'll do anything, just please--please!" Your breath was now stuttering out of you and you leaned once more against the bindings to try close the distance, despite the obvious futility.

Shouta finally--finally--was close enough to touch you, but, instead of ravishing you, he put a finger under your chin to tilt your head up so that he could really look at you. He studied you for a moment, his countenance overflowing with fondness. Little tears of your own overwhelming affection glistened in your eyes.

He blushed, clumsily pressed a kiss into your forehead, and started to lower himself on his knees, gently supporting and spreading your legs a little as he went.

He gazed up at your face, where realization was slowly dawning, and then cast his eyes down, softly mumbling into your thigh:

"Really, sweetheart, why do you think I did the bindings from the waist up?"

#aizawa shota #aizawa imagine #aizawa x reader #aizawa x you #aizawa smut #bnha aizawa #mha aizawa #my writing #scarf smut saturday

[auroravictorium]

glitch (interlude ii) (k.b.)

Summary: pekka rollins likes to plot. Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship, not seen explicitly in this piece) Word Count: ~550 words Warnings: allusions to coming violence, brief mentions of theft, maiming, etc Genre: too short to really have one

Author's Note: oh man, my fingers slipped and here's the second interlude for the midnights series. the next proper part is coming soon! this is just plot for people who want a very, very brief glimpse into what pekka rollins has been up to!

Pekka Rollins did not like to sit idly. 

He drummed his fingers on his desk, awaiting the most recent letters' arrival. For eight weeks, he schemed up plans and dispatched his closest associates to find information on this Y/N L/N who had appeared on his radar. Each Friday on the evening's eighth bell, he received numerous reports, and he spent the following Saturdays adjusting his plans as needed.

Initially, Rollins expected the girl to merely be a weapon of Kaz Brekker's making. He assumed she would be nothing more than someone caught in the web of gangs in the Barrel, a university student who strayed too far. Rollins would have no problem hurting her to get to Kaz Brekker.

But as the reports came in, week after week, Rollins discovered that Y/N L/N was a threat in her own right. The girl was connected to numerous thefts, maimings, and killings since her arrival in Ketterdam. Most were in the Dregs' name, as expected, but the earliest crimes were of her own accord. At sixteen, she attacked, robbed, or mutilated some of Ketterdam's wealthiest. Her earliest association with the Dregs was the same year: she stole a valuable necklace from one of the Merchants and easily evaded capture. Presumably, that was her ticket into the Dregs. And in the three years since, she'd only become more lethal.

It didn't take long for Rollins to realize that he'd chosen a good target. He could take out a significant threat before she could turn her attention to him, and he could weaken Kaz Brekker in the process.

The door to his office creaked open, and Rollins sat up straighter. A Dime Lion slipped inside, a letter in his hand, and Rollins thrust his hand out. "Well?" he prompted. "Is that all?" He surveyed the gang member, some low-level grunt he didn't care to remember the name of. The glint in his eyes indicated he hoped another letter was hidden on the kid.

"Yes, Boss," the Dime Lion said, ducking his head and looking at the floor. The Boss's gaze had only become more murderous and impatient since he heard about Kaz Brekker's newest weapon. "It's the one you've been waiting for, sir." He passed the letter to Rollins and quickly excused himself, eager to escape that piercing glare. 

The door slammed behind him in his desperation to get away.

Pekka ripped into the letter like a man starved for information. He unfolded its contents and quickly skimmed the words scribbled across the page. Inside were the names and signatures of three men agreeing to be part of Rollins' plot; beneath those was the amount of kruge wanted in return for their services.

He hissed through his teeth. Saints be damned, it was a steep price, but if all went as planned, he wouldn't have trouble paying it. The money would come from Kaz Brekker's pockets, leaving him vulnerable on numerous fronts. Rollins just needed his Dime Lions and the three mercenaries to do their damn jobs and do them well.

With luck, Pekka Rollins would make sure Kaz Brekker was no longer a problem and wouldn't have the power or money to recover from the blows Rollins hoped would land.

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yoda, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3, @statsvitenskap, @sapphiccloud, @casualladyinternet, @d34drapunzel, @noctemys, @whitejxsmine, @so6, @franzelt

#kaz brekker #crooked kingdom #six of crows #six of crows duology #kaz brekker x reader #kazzle dazzle #soc kaz #soc fanfic #shadow and bone #the grishaverse #shadow and bone season 2 #sab season 2 #grishaverse fanfic #freddy carter #the crows #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x you #sab season two #kaz brekker x y/n #pekka rollins #pekka rollins up to no good #midnights but make it kaz brekker

[blindmagdalena]

Eat Your Ego, Honey (Ch7)

homelander x oc 18+  escort services, sex work, voyeurism, stalking, Homelander in general. see ao3 link for detailed tags. chapter index. check out the playlist!

chapter summary: Following Homelander and Layla's disastrous morning after, she bumps into another hero at Vought Tower. Upon seeing the state of her, Starlight offers solace and the opportunity for Layla to put herself back together before she faces the world. Shortly thereafter, Homelander erupts on live television, changing public perception of him forever.

additional tags: unhealthy/codependent dynamics, panic attacks, references to sexual assault, excessive drinking. this is where all major canon deviations begin! 🖤

Halfway down the hall, Layla hears something crash and shatter in the penthouse behind her. She nearly loses her footing, but by some kind of miracle, she maintains her composure through the walk to the elevator.

She swallows back the taste of her own blood, wipes the tears from her cheeks, and viscerally feels the looks she garners from the handful of bewildered Vought employees she passes. The building isn’t nearly as empty as she would have hoped it would be on a Saturday. Such as it is when the heroes all live in-house.

She presses the button and waits, bitterly musing all the while how utterly ridiculous it is to have two elevators for a building with one hundred floors.

It’s been years since Layla has faced a walk of shame like this. She’s been so careful to curate her experiences–her entire life–in order to avoid this dreadful humiliation. She knows the picture she paints: a skewed and wrinkled dress, her jacket draped haphazardly on her shoulders, bruises scattered on her body, mascara tracks down her cheeks. It’s an ugly, empty feeling.

However, it’s easier to focus on that ugliness than it is to process everything that just happened. She isn’t ready to replay the events in her mind just yet, to backtrack the descent from a blissful morning-after to the bloody mess she stumbled out of.

She touches her tongue to the stinging slice on the inside of her mouth, closing her eyes.

You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot.

Looking up, she sees a mural above the elevator depicting the heroes of the Seven. Never in her life has she wished more for Transluscent’s power of invisibility. She stares at the painting of Homelander. It doesn’t really look like him, the jaw too wide and too square. His hair is too blonde, lacking his darker undercut. It’s like some kind of caricature of him.

Then again, she’s hardly the expert on the man. This morning taught her as much.

Unfortunately, she isn’t invisible. That much is clear when she physically feels someone stop near her, senses the tentativeness in the air as she hears them take a breath before addressing her.

“Uhm, I’m so sorry, excuse me,” comes a gentle, feminine voice. Layla screws her eyes shut, and forces herself to remember how to be a person. “I’m not trying to be rude, but you… Is there anything I can do for you?”

Opening her eyes, Layla prepares her best placating smile, but she comes short of it when she actually looks and sees who’s talking to her.

Starlight is beautiful. Flaxen locks tumble over her shoulders in loose curls, and she stares with such warm, big brown eyes–so overwhelmingly full of empathy and concern–that Layla is temporarily stunned. She’s thoroughly embarrassed to be seen in such a state by someone so lovely, so widely adored, so much younger, that she flushes.

“You’re so sweet, no, I’m okay,” she says, self-consciously adjusting her coat. She lowers her voice when she says, “It’s worse than it looks, I’m…” She hesitates, trailing off. Starlight has taken a small step closer since she started talking.

She looks wholly unconvinced, and if Layla were in her position, she knows she would feel the same. She pushes out a strained smile, and gives a small shrug, fighting desperately against another bout of tears the longer she’s stared at by those mournful, painfully understanding eyes. The connection is so immediate. It’s raw and human in a way Layla realizes she desperately needs.

“Listen, I’m not trying to overstep, it’s just that I’ve been where you are,” she says gently. Layla recalls the Deep, and Starlight’s very public campaign against him. It’s no wonder she’s responding so urgently. “And if you want, you can come to my apartment,” she offers, standing right next to her now, her voice hushed. “You can get cleaned up, get changed. I have lots of clothes. You’re totally safe, okay? I promise. I’ll be there the whole time.”

Layla wants to tell her that it’s a misunderstanding, but the words don’t come to her. She glances at the illuminated dot on the elevator. Still over forty floors down. The thought of withstanding the ride all the way back down, pretending not to notice the way people are staring at her, makes her nauseous. Fearing that if she opens her mouth, she’ll lose her poise completely, she only nods.

“Okay! Okay, come with me,” Starlight says, putting a hand on Layla’s elbow to help guide her. Starlight walks with impressive command, seeming tall despite her relatively diminutive stature. As they walk together, it isn’t Layla that catches their attention. It’s the shining star at her side. She’s grateful for the cover of her glow, feeling less and less like she wants to disappear into herself.

They don’t speak on the way to Starlight’s suite, but her hand does remain on Layla’s arm. She swaps sides with her when they pass a group of employees, offering them a friendly greeting, throwing in a wave. She makes for a radiant distraction, every move purposeful.

It’s the kindest thing Layla can ever remember a near perfect stranger doing for her.

They reach a distinguished door that perfectly suits Starlight’s ensemble, embellished with white paint and accents of gold. She inputs a passcode that she doesn’t seem concerned with obscuring from Layla–0163–and the door automatically swings open. She leads the way inside, and the door closes behind them.

Only then does Starlight leave her side, walking ahead of her. “Let’s grab you some things really quick, you can just pick whatever, I’ve got a ton of promotional stuff if you don’t mind looking like a walking advertisement for Vought, but really, take whatever you want,” she says, gesturing for her to follow.

Starlight’s apartment is stark and modernistic, full of sharp angles and sleek lines. The archway to her living room is made of thick speckled marble, and beyond that, an accent wall of pure gold. It’s intensely opulent, and while it may suit her hero colorscheme, it’s considerably colder than Starlight herself seems to be. It’s not unlike Homelander’s penthouse in that regard: it speaks only of the image Vought wishes to present.

Following along, Layla says, “Thank you, Starlight. I’m Layla, by the way.” That causes Starlight to stop dead in her tracks, turning around. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, right, hi. You don’t have to–you can just call me Annie,” she insists, laughing at herself. “Wow, I am so tunnel visioned sometimes.”

“Annie,” Layla repeats with a smile. The name suits her far more than this apartment does. “Thank you.”

Annie returns a warm smile before resuming the task at hand. Her room is just as luxurious and sleek as the rest of her apartment, but unlike the other rooms, it’s clear she’s made this space more her own. There’s a pinboard hanging above her dresser with over a dozen photos pinned to it. Below that, a framed photo of Annie in her younger years, donning her classic Starlight attire, standing next to a woman Layla assumes might be her mother.

Etched into the frame is:  “He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.” Psalms‬ ‭147:4

“Okay, so, for real, help yourself to anything,” Annie says, gesturing broadly to the closet. “It’s kind of funny that I even have all of this when they only ever want me in the Starlight get-up.”

Upon closer inspection, sure enough, Annie’s closet is largely of a variety of high-end brands, specifically in crossover with Vought’s brand. Ever prone to opulence herself, Layla can’t help but touch the sleeve of a cardigan that catches her eye. It’s white with a faintly shimmering metallic trim, and slightly bulbous gold buttons. It looks designed very specifically for Starlight, and by a renown French designer no less.

“Go for it,” Annie encourages.

“This is a Balmain,” Layla says, looking at her in earnest astonishment. “This is easily worth thousands of dollars.”

Annie turns a slight shade of pink, looking just as surprised. “Oh, uh… Well, it was–it was a gift, you know. Promotional stuff. A crossover thing, I think, I just… It’s not really me. It’s nice, though! And if you like it, you should take it. I don’t think I’ve ever paid more than fifty dollars for a sweater. I’d just get it dirty,” she says, the words tumbling from her lips like marbles rolling down a flight of stairs. “You seem like you’d make better use of it than me.”

“Have you worn it before?” Layla asks, easing the garment from the velvet hanger that it rests on. Annie shakes her head. “Have you even tried it on?” Another shake of her blonde tresses. Exhaling an amused little breath, she puts the cardigan into her hands. “You should. It was made for you.”

“It was made for Starlight,” she corrects, but there isn’t any trace of disdain in her voice. Instead, Layla recognizes a sense of melancholy in the way Annie stares at the garment.

Starlight–Annie–provides a stark and mystifying contrast to Homelander. There is an aura of disconnect between who she is, who she wants to be, and who the world has made of her. Layla had expected her to be something of a princess: sweet, but aware of her royalty. Not embarrassed by it.

Homelander desperately wants to be the king of his kingdom, but the crown has fallen around his throat, and he chokes violently against it.

“I’m sorry, that sounds ungrateful now that I’ve said it. I just mean that it was made for me to wear, but it wasn’t made for me. It’s–I don’t know, it’s strange being me, but… Not me,” she says, holding the cardigan between her hands, absently moving her thumbs along the smooth, exquisitely soft fabric.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Layla assures her, turning back to the closet. There are more Balmain pieces, as well as a handful of Cucinelli, and even a Burberry gown. There must be hundreds of thousands of dollars hanging in this closet. 

“You have a strong sense of yourself. That’s good. This world will eat you alive if you don’t,” she says, combing her fingers through the rows of clothing. Her hand stops on a simple white blouse–still costly, she knows from the feel of it that it’s made of viscose–and plucks it from the rack. She finds a long patterned skirt to match it. “For what it’s worth, I was happy to see this look of yours come back,” she says, gesturing to Starlight’s current ensemble, her signature cape and dress returned to her. The body suit with a plunging neckline and thigh high heels had looked ripped straight out of a playboy magazine, not a superhero lineup. “It suits you,” she continues, finally looking back at Annie, who’s smiling up at her with those big warm, shimmering brown eyes of hers. 

Annie nods, idly hugging the cardigan to her middle. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

Layla smiles, folding the clothes she’s selected over her forearm. “That said… it’s okay to enjoy your spoils a little bit,” she says, nodding her head towards the closet. “You’re not any lesser for indulgence. I know, I know–strong women don’t care about pretty clothes, the ones who do are vapid airheads, hell on earth because Eve ate the apple, yada yada. But I’ll tell you a little secret,” she says, leaning in conspiratorially. She whispers, “Sometimes an apple is just an apple, and apples… are delicious.”

They both laugh, the undercurrent of unease that had been lingering since the moment they met finally abating.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're, like, dangerously easy to talk to?” Annie asks, hanging the cardigan back up in the closet. Layla notes that this time, she moves it amidst the clothes she regularly wears.

“Yes, people love to tell me things,” she muses, following when Annie beckons her towards yet another room. She’s made an entire career off of making people feel comfortable enough with her to divulge some of the darkest, most secret aspects of themselves. A little girl talk is a welcome reprieve.

 The bathroom is as lavish and impersonal as the rest of her apartment, feeling more like a hotel than a personal residence. There are tiny wrapped soaps and Vought branded bottles on every shelf. There are neatly folded stacks of pristine white towels, all of which are embroidered with a golden S. The level of detail to the place is almost unnerving, especially given how very unlike Annie it all is.

Much like with Homelander’s penthouse, it’s like walking through a meticulously crafted custom enclosure, not a home.

“Again, help yourself to whatever, I’ll be in the living room if you need anything,” Annie says from the doorway, offering a little wave.

Layla thanks her, and once the door shuts, she lets out a long, deep breath, her eyes falling shut. Her whole body feels heavy and aching, more exhausted than she can put into words. All she wants to do is lie down and never stand back up, but beneath her dress her skin feels tacky, and her muscles are yearning for the soothing caress of hot water.

She scrounges up the will power to undress and climb into the shower, taking her time to wash away the events of the last 12 hours from her body. The same can’t be said of her mind. Her fingers linger over bruises that have only grown darker, pressing lightly against her tender flesh. Homelander may as well have written his name, these marks ensuring she won’t forget their night any time soon.

It was so very nearly perfect.

She plays it over in her mind again and again, her body on autopilot through washing her hair. His son, the mother of his son, his relationship to them, his relationship to Layla herself, to his own name, it was all… “Complicated” was what he’d called things with his child. That seems to perfectly sum up just about everything in his life. She had tried to spare them the mess of an argument, falling back on familiar coping mechanisms–disconnecting and evacuating to find perspective–but the situation had escalated so rapidly from that point, she can barely track it even in hindsight. 

“Please don’t leave me,” he had begged, looking smaller than she'd ever seen him. ”It’s my birthday.”

She doesn’t know how true that is. She’s always assumed the yearly birthday bash Vought celebrates on July 4th was a corporate thing in line with his personification of America, not his actual birthdate. She doesn’t know if this is a further entanglement of John and Homelander, or if there’s something deeper–something more sinister–at play.

Perhaps Starlight can shed some illumination on the matter.

Finishing the shower leaves Layla refreshed, albeit still weary. She draws her hair into a sleek updo and applies her favorite red lipstick as both comfort and armor. She won’t let any more of the world see her in shambles.

Stepping out into the living room, she finds Annie waiting patiently at the circular dining table, pouring over what looks like a script, though she closes the binder when she sees Layla approaching. “Hey!” Annie greets brightly, looking equal parts relieved and delighted. “Hey, wow. You look amazing,” she says, standing.

“I have you to thank for that,” Layla shoots back, reaching to take her hand, which Annie readily offers. “Thank you, Annie. Really. This meant more to me than you’ll ever know,” she says, squeezing her hand between both of hers.

Annie flusters, making a handful of noncommittal, dismissive noises. “No, no, it was the least I could do–and I mean that, okay? Like, the least. I could do more. I’m technically co-captain of the Seven now, and if you… You know, you wanted to–” Layla squeezes her hand again, smiling. “I understand. Thank you, Annie.”

She smiles back, but it doesn’t entirely reach her eyes. Layla can tell that she desperately wants to do more. She’s a hero, after all: she’s looking for a villain to defeat. Unfortunately, there isn’t one in this story. There is no clear cut antagonist for Starlight to conquer.

There are just two people whose jagged edges failed to line up, cutting them both in the process.

“Okay. Okay!” She says, but it’s clear that she’s having trouble dropping it by the way she keeps hold of Layla’s hand. “Okay, but if you change your mind, you can call me. I’m kind of a big deal,” she says playfully, leaning in as if it were a secret. “And I can pretty much guarantee you I can kick their ass. It’s not like it’s Homelander.”

Layla’s expression falters, her smile falling from her lips. Annie recognizes it before she can recover, and the dawning look of horror that comes across her face is one that Layla will never forget.

“Oh my god,” Annie whispers. “It was Homelander? Homelander?”

God damn it.

“Please don’t say it like that,” Layla pleads, expression imploring. “It’s not what you think, it was consensual, it just… It ended poorly, and we fought,” she continues to explain, but Annie only looks more and more bewildered as she goes on. “Please don’t tell anyone. My–our relationship is complicated, and it’s better that no one else knows.”

“Relationship,” she echoes incredulously. “Your… relationship with Homelander,” she says, clearly processing the words as she says them. “Holy shit.”

“Yes, and you’re very sweet to want to help me, and you have, but there’s no villain for you to unmask here,” she says, pulling her hands away.

Annie barks a sharp laugh at that, but catches herself quickly. “Sorry, sorry, that, uhm… Okay. I’m sorry, I just… I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Please,” Layla says again, leveling her with an even stare. “I need you to promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. It’s not something I can afford to be embroiled in,” she says, hoping that Annie’s desire to protect her will extend into this plea for secrecy. 

Reluctantly, Annie nods. “I get it, I swear, but are you sure you’re safe? I don’t think you understand who he really is,” she says, her shock and incredulousness fading into a very urgent concern that makes something in Layla’s stomach twist up. “He’s not safe, Layla. Like, I mean really, really not safe. He’s freaking unhinged,” she whispers, as if he could be listening right this moment.

It occurs to Layla that he actually could be.

That twist in her gut sharpens, and her brows furrow. Instead of concern, however, she recognizes it as a sharp jut of defensiveness. Her lips part, but she takes a pause. “Is today his birthday?”

Annie’s expression smooths out in a wave of surprise. “What?”

“His birthday,” Layla repeats a touch impatiently. “Is today really his birthday?”

“Oh, uhm,” she frowns, clearly caught off guard by the abrupt switch in gears. “I don’t know. He certainly seems to think so.”

Huh. Does he truly not have anyone?

“I should go,” Layla says, reaching for her jacket where it hangs off of the back of one of the dining chairs.

“Wait, I’m sorry! I’m reacting badly, I know that, I’m just–I’m worried,” she says, an edge of panic audible in her tone.

“I know, I know, it’s okay. I’m not offended. I just have a lot to think about,” she says in turn, offering a slightly strained smile. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I really do, but I need time.”

She finds herself needing a lot of that lately.

Annie looks wounded and young at this, making her difficult to walk away from. After a beat, Layla moves closer and takes her into her arms, closing her eyes as she squeezes her tightly. “You’ve been a friend to me today, Annie. Thank you.”

The embrace is returned by strong arms that remind Layla this is no simple young woman. She has a similar gravity to her grip as Homelander, but her hold lacks his tangible desperation for touch. When they part, Annie doesn’t leave claw marks.

“I can still be your friend,” she says softly, pressing something into Layla’s hand. Opening her palm, Layla finds a folded posted, and unfurling that, a phone number. “The offer stands. If he… if… Just call me, okay?”

“Okay,” Layla relents, doubting she’ll get out of here if she doesn’t. She slips the paper securely into her purse. “I will. I promise.”

There’s a touch of relief in Annie’s expression at last. She manages a weak smile. “Thank you. Will you text me so I know you got home safe?” She asks, sounding every bit like a fretful mother hen.

“Sure, yes, of course,” she assures, mirroring Annie’s smile. The tension in the air is undeniable, an anxious thing that lives and breathes between them, but there is no fix for it. Layla does what she does best, and turns to flee from it, unprepared to face Annie’s ominous warning head on. The split behind her bottom lip stings when she touches her tongue to it.

All the while, Annie watches her go, her perfect brows pulled into a tight pinch. She has the ache in her gaze of someone who desperately wants to do more, but has been left at a loss for how to do it. Layla almost feels guilty for the distress in her eyes, but currently finds herself lacking the emotional bandwidth for it. She’s stretched so thin, she barely finds the strength to pull the door open.

That little piece of paper in her purse feels heavy, but not as heavy as Annie’s desperate words tumbling around in her head like bowling balls.

“He’s not safe… really, really not safe.”

Layla orders herself an Uber, and this time around garners significantly less attention walking the halls of Vought tower, glancing warily over her shoulder. She can’t shake the anxious–or in some small and twisted way, hopeful–feeling that she might see him looking back at her.

However, he remains a phantom possibility in her periphery. She slides into the car that pulls in to pick her up, and somehow manages to keep herself together on the drive back to her apartment.

It’s already 10am by the time she makes it inside, slipping out of her shoes and her jacket, dropping her purse on the floor, leaving them like a trail of breadcrumbs from her front door to her kitchen. Her head is throbbing, so she grabs a Tylenol from the shelf above her microwave and pours herself a modest glass of a rich dark merlot to wash it down. If she had any sense left in her she would serve herself a mimosa to at least pretend to herself she’s drinking responsibly this early in the morning, but the heavy tang of the red on her tongue makes her temples tingle and soothes the fray of her nerves.

Exhaling a rough breath, she pulls a container of semi-questionable leftovers from her fridge and sits down with it at her computer. Her empty stomach leaves her buzzed from the single glass, but she’s determined to put her mind anywhere else. She eats cold pasta with a spoon, and opens several emails with the intention of answering them, though after about an hour all she has is several half-hearted drafts and a perpetually churning stomach.

Certain that she won’t manage anything more productive, she pours herself another glass of wine and plants herself on the couch in front of her TV. Turning it on, she winces at the immediate flash of Homelander’s face, staring proud and determinedly down at her in an advert for his newest film. Quickly, she flips to another channel, letting out a long suffering breath before taking another swig of wine. She puts on something she’s seen before, something easy, and sinks back into the couch, pulling her blanket off of the back of the sofa and into her lap.

She doesn’t watch so much as she dissociates to the sound of her television, nursing the too-full glass she’d poured, taking the occasional sip as her mind circles the drain of the events of the morning over and over and over.

Homelander crashed into her life like a meteor. In such a short burst of time, he blew a hole in her life the size of a continent, and as she sits by herself day drinking to old episodes for comfort, she realizes how achingly empty the thought of his permanent absence leaves her.

By the time she finishes her glass of wine, she’s slumped almost completely horizontally. She sets the glass on the floor and completes the descent, curling up under her blanket. She passes out in the clothes Annie gave her and falls into a deep, troubled sleep.

Hours later, Layla wakes in a fugue state. Her apartment is silent, the television paused on a prompt that wonders if she’s still watching. The way that almost feels like the warmth of concern for her wellbeing is slightly alarming. With a groan, she pushes herself upright and digs both thumbs into her temples, looking around. 5:42pm.

“Fuck,” she sighs, swinging her legs off the couch. She knocks the wine glass she’d left there flying, and gives another emphatic fuck as she gets up to fetch it. She walks it to the sink, but upon seeing the mostly empty bottle of merlot still open on the counter, she decides she may as well finish it off, and pours the rest into her already wine-stained glass. She carries it to her fridge, where she digs around until she manages to assemble a plate of shredded mozzarella, a pepperoni sausage and a jar of pickled mussels.

She brings her assortment back to the couch and settles right back down in front of the television, taking a  sip of her wine before she finds something slightly more stimulating to watch while she piles cheese on the end of the pepperoni with each bite.

The process of eating feels entirely mechanical. She’s only half paying attention to anything, but when she hears her phone alarm suddenly going off, she startles. Untangling herself from the blanket, she goes to where she dropped her purse near the front door, and fishes her phone out of it. Her stomach drops. BIRTHDAY BASH her screen reads. She’d promised him that she’d be watching from home. She forgot that she’d set an alarm.

Layla chews her tongue indecisively on the walk back to the couch, settling down with an uneasy sigh. It’s starting now. She taps her nails incessantly on the back of her phone, stomach twisting. The wine glass is empty and there’s a slight spin to her vision. Sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth, she picks up her remote and flips the channel. She’s met with the middle of a performance, a hero she doesn’t recognize singing some kind of boy band pop ballad.

Her stomach flips wildly. There are golden statues of Homelander on either side of the stage, and she finds she can focus on little else. It’s not hard to understand why he thinks himself a god when he is surrounded by golden effigies of himself and feverish, screaming worshippers. The world has created an impossible standard for all that he is. She absently touches her bruised lip, pressing on it until it stings.

The performance ends, and she recognizes the next hero–A-Train–who emerges on stage. He lends credit to Supersonic for his performance, answering her earlier quandary. She’s taken heroes for granted most of her life, considering herself removed from their fame and services. A part of her had even resented them for a long time. If the world was so full of heroism, why hadn’t any of them saved her parents?

Christ, the wine was really getting to her.

She snaps back to attention when A-Train announces the man of the hour, a severe looking portrait of Homelander flashing on the screen behind him. Her mouth feels dry, and she suddenly wishes she had another tall glass of wine in her hand, but she finds she can’t unglue herself from her seat. She sucks in a shallow breath, paying careful attention to his body language as he steps out onto stage.

Despite the celebration centering on Homelander, the camera favors Starlight as the two make their entrances. It’s surreal to remember that just this morning, she had shared space with each of them respectively. That she was wearing bruises from his hands and clothes from her closet. That feels like another lifetime entirely.

Homelander hasn’t stopped nodding since he stepped on stage. His smiles are tense and fleeting, flickering on and off like a sputtering flame fighting the winds around him. Starlight speaks, conducting herself well, but the look on her face when she’d realized who Layla had been with haunts her, coloring her perspective now. Annie looks like an entirely different person on that stage, voice tight and guarded. She’s not sure how much of that is an echo of He’s not safe. Really, really not safe, though.

Regardless, the announcement is going well right up until–

“Hey, Homelander! Your nazi died!”

Layla’s jaw drops. Anxiety hits like a chunk of ice falling into her gut. The camera remains painfully still, focused on Homelander’s frozen expression. His smile is too wide, full of teeth, and his eyes hollow. The silence left in the wake of that man is chilling.

Starlight intervenes, breaking the tension with an attempt at mediation. “Homelander, he’s just–he’s a human!”

“No,” Layla blurts aloud, standing from the couch. She pushes her hands into her hair. “Oh, Annie, no, no, stop.”

“He’s just like the rest of us. And we all make mistakes, right?”

It’s all wrong. She can see it in Homelander’s face, in the rapid way he’s blinking, in every twitch and spasm of his jaw. He looks like he’s about to explode.

To her mortification, he does.

“I’m not ‘just like the rest of you.’ I’m stronger, I’m smarter… I’m better. I am better!”

There’s so much fury and righteous vindication in him, but so too is there pain. His eyes are glassy, and she feels as if she can hear the wardrum pound of his heart even from here, see the vein throbbing in his neck. He looks like a caged animal lashing at the bars, roaring, demanding that the spectators see him for what he really is. See how tired he is of pacing for them, pretending he isn’t a wild creature that could rip them apart if he simply chose to.

Layla’s sick to her stomach. It feels like watching him rip himself apart in real time.

“You people should be thanking Christ that I am who and what I am because you need me!” He looks directly into the camera, and Layla feels it to her core when he says again, “You need me!”

The broadcast cuts abruptly into a glaringly loud ad, and Layla collapses back down onto her couch, breathing as if she’d just delivered the impassioned monologue. 

“Oh god…” she exhales, covering her face. She isn’t egotistical enough to think herself the sole cause of such a catastrophic meltdown–it’s clearly been a long time coming–but witnessing it, she can’t help but feel like she may have been one of several straws that broke his back. The desperation in his glassy eyes from this morning haunts her. His image is everything to him.

What happens to a man like that if he loses it? What happens to the world?

Her mind spirals on a series of progressively more dire theoretical scenarios, and whether or not she could have avoided all of this had she just stayed with him. Talked him down. Her lip doesn’t sting anymore, but the repercussions of this will echo a great deal further.

She winds up pacing for nearly an hour, unable to settle her mind. She tries calling Chris, but after two failed attempts, she remembers their conversation about his honeymoon in Italy with Jason, and she curses under her breath. The other bottles in her bar cabinet are looking progressively more tempting when a distinct thump outside catches her attention. It almost sounds like something landed on her balcony. She thinks it must have fallen from an above neighbor, or maybe a bird, until she gets close enough to realize there’s a person out there.

“Oh my god, Homelander,” she rasps, frozen still in her place. He perfectly silhouettes her own reflection, staring at her through the glass, his expression gnarled in terrible anguish. It’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but he looks as though he’s been crying.

After a beat of hesitation, she walks to the balcony door and twists it open just enough to stand in it, staring at him at a loss. “Can I come in?” He asks, voice reedy and thin. Pleading. It’s a shocking contrast to the anger she witnessed on the broadcast, but hardly surprising. She could see this torment lurking beneath it even then. It breaks her heart nonetheless.

She can already feel her own eyes beginning to prickle hotly in sympathy tears. “I don’t think that’s a good–” “Please,” he interjects, teeth locked in a tight grimace. “Please, Layla, I don’t… I don’t have anyone. Do you understand? I-I fucked up tonight, I fucked up bad, and I have nothing. If any of it was real, if you care just-just one fucking bit about me, then please. Please let me in,” he begs, bringing up his gloved hand to brace above her head on the doorframe, subtly rocking back and forth.

With every breath she takes, Layla feels the jagged edges of her aching heart pierce her lungs. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she takes a tentative step backwards, and then slowly opens her door to him, adrenaline pumping through her veins a mile a minute.

Of course she cares. She cares so much it makes her feel sick.

With a small nod, he steps inside, shaking out his hands. “Did you… Did you…?” He trails off, seemingly unable to bring himself to properly ask, but she knows what he’s trying to say.

“I saw,” she says gently, closing the balcony door.

“It’s over. It’s over, I’m fucking-I’m fucking finished,” he says with a wild gesture, running his hand through his already mussed hair.

She remains in place, keeping a subtle distance between them. “You’ve been under unfathomable stress. You were mocked on live television for something you’re still grieving, something that wasn’t your–” “It doesn’t fucking matter!” He snaps, both hands in the air. “No one cares about that, no one gives a fuck how I feel,” he hisses through his teeth, fresh tears welling in his eyes. He screws them shut, as if willing the tears to disappear. “I’m not their god, I’m not their hero, I’m-I’m nothing,” he says, starting to tug at the collar of his suit as if it’s choking him. He exhales a rough, mirthless laugh that sounds closer to a keen of pain.

He hooks the fingers of both hands in his collar, sucking in a strained breath, and Layla realizes with a start that he looks like he’s having a panic attack. She moves swiftly to him, gingerly taking hold of his wrists. “Shhhh, let go, let go,” she says kindly but firmly, knowing he responds best to a mix of the two. Thankfully, it works, his eyes meeting hers, his breaths a shallow frenzy. 

“I can’t breathe,” he tells her, his confusion obvious in his tone and the furrow of his brow. If this has happened to him before, it’s been a long time.

“You’re panicking. Let’s take this off you,” she says, unfastening his suit top. “Listen to me breathe, alright?” She takes a deep breath in, and then on the exhale, counts out, “One, two three…” Another inhale, then, “One two three…”

She’s seen this happen before. Sometimes her sessions get intense. They can unlock memories and triggers her clients didn’t even know they had. This is far from her first time talking someone down from a panic attack.

He still looks confused, but he lets her disrobe him to his undershirt, the padded suit sliding off of his shoulders. They fight with his gloves briefly, slipping those off first, and then the top falls to the ground with a particularly heavy thud. He keeps his focus on her, and after a few rounds, he’s breathing with her, lips very faintly following along to her repetitive countdowns. 

“That’s good, you’re doing so well,” she praises, cupping either side of his head. With her thumbs, she massages his temples. “Little longer now, breathe in, one two three four five…” She counts, holding a longer exhale, and then a deeper inhale. He follows her lead, leaning into her touch, and eventually his eyes fall shut, his breathing even.

Relieved, Layla tenderly pets down either side of his face, relaxing the muscles in his face, hoping to ease him back into himself. When he opens her eyes, they’re dreamy and tired. He looks more devastated than she ever could have imagined him. His eyes nearly close as he leans in towards her, but she turns her head away before he can kiss her. He lets out a strained little whimper, forehead coming to rest on her shoulder. He clutches desperately at the fabric of her shirt like he wants to pull her closer, agonizing for the reassurance of touch.

“What am I gonna do?” He asks morosely. She can hear the tightness in his throat like there’s a hand choking him.

“Sleep,” she tells him, taking his hand in hers.  “For right now, all you need to do is sleep.”

With that, she guides him to her bedroom. He’s perfectly malleable in this state, moving when and where she leads him without an ounce of resistance. She sits him on her bed and kneels down to unfasten his boots while he watches her, dazed. She never could have imagined their places swapped like this when she first had him before her, fastening the heels he’d bought her.

Tugging his boots off, she sets them aside. His belt comes next, much too clunky to sleep in. He stands back up for this part, helping her, but he pushes his pants off, too. She supposes the padding likely isn’t very comfortable to sleep in, either. She stops him when he moves to push off his undergarments as well, though.

“Leave those,” she says gently.

“I can’t,” he says tightly, paused with his thumbs hooked under his shirt. “I can’t sleep with… I can’t,” he says, struggling to articulate himself. She wonders if it’s a sensory issue. 

“Okay, alright. It’s okay,” she says, helping him to take off his shirt, too, followed by his underwear. Giving his hand a squeeze, she uses her opposite hand to pull back the covers, and gestures him into bed. He goes easily, but when she begins to pull the covers up over him, he stills her hand with his own.

“Aren’t you getting in, too?” He asks, brows furrowed over top of large, watery blue eyes.

She hesitates. “Homelander, I–” He flinches so hard that she stops. His gaze drops from hers, shame written clearly in the lines of his face.

“...John?” She attempts, but he shakes his head wordlessly.

He’s in shambles, and despite the little voice of reason demanding that she create distance, she aches too badly for him to leave him like this. Swallowing, she gives him a gentle pat. “Okay, darling. Move, move in. Roll over,” she says, which he does readily, sliding to the center of the bed. She slips in behind him, and after only a brief hesitation, slides her arm around his middle.

He greedily accepts her touch, laying his arm over hers and interlacing their fingers, letting out a shuddering breath that sounds like relief. He squeezes her hand, and she presses her forehead to the nape of his neck.

Their bodies slot together with such ease, it nearly feels like they were made to. Embracing him like this, she finds she better understands the story of Icarus and why he was so compelled to fly to the sun, even as it scorched him.

There is an inexplicable feeling that comes along with holding close something that burns so hot, that feels so much grander than yourself.

They lay like that for hours. Layla’s not sure how much of it he actually spends sleeping. She drifts in and out herself, rousing when his shoulders shake with silent sobs. She soothes him each time, hushing at his ear while she strokes his thumb with her own. He always settles. Eventually, she manages to drift into a deeper sleep, lulled into it by the heat of him in her arms, cradled preciously to her chest.

Unsurprisingly, he fits perfectly into the craterous void he left in her.

Chapter eight.

#homelander x oc #homelander #homelander fanfiction #my writing #eat your ego #AAAAAA my god i FOUGHT with this chapter #but it's here and it's almost 7k lmao #a thousand blessings on everyone who still cares about this fic and has stuck with me

[the-sage-libriomancer]

i try not to overthink the worldbuilding in Scoob and Shag because it's a thin premise that can't withstand much scrutiny (especially stuff relating to Toone), but i did have some thoughts that don't blow up the story's logic, so.

-first of all, the concept of "cartoon characters = actors" is inherently fascinating. especially since a lot of the actors seem to be government workers as well, implying the government used their own staff along with professional actors (like Yoge). what was the criteria? did they just have to look human? did Toone write show premises around whatever "characters" they had available? maybe that would explain some illogical plots and clunky lines in saturday morning cartoons - the actors didn't have much acting experience, and for all we know the writers were entry-level accountants.

-ballyhoo is also fascinating. it's basically a living metaphor for how an audience can influence their media: a toon's ballyhoo is directly empowered by how much love the human population gives them, just like how enough love of a fictional character makes them popular enough to keep appearing in media. it increases their strength (bc they have influence over the world) and extends their lifespan (bc they don't "die" until people stop caring about them), and all the ballyhoos are named after tv/movie terms like Picture in Picture or Jump Cut, implying that using tv/movie screens as a medium influences what sort of abilities they can get.

-the fact that too much ballyhoo causes you to instinctively, uncontrollably break the fourth wall is super fun and super fascinating and (as Bugs demonstrates) super horrifying. too much energy from meta sources causes the confines of your narrative to break down, leaving you in a weird spot in-between your world and a world you can't see.

-i can't stop thinking about The Inspector's backstory. it's just so tragic. born an android, given a literal soulmate shortly after creation, constantly looked down upon for not having a ballyhoo, losing his soulmate to old age, then losing his home to a war caused by the very thing you were devalued for not having. Bugs said that a toon's ballyhoo can extend their lifespan (likely bc a character who's beloved by fans doesn't really die), so the fact that Penny got old and died means she wasn't popular enough with the humans, which makes sense - Inspector Gadget is the iconic one after all. he's the one who everyone loved and remembered, and it was completely useless to him because he didn't have ballyhoo. no wonder he never smiles.

-i just realized that the Inspector was forced to leave Penny's grave behind when he escaped Toone. he can never visit her again :(

-speaking of screen partners, i love thinking about how the dynamics in cartoon series translate into real life and vice versa. it's a chicken and egg question: did certain characters land roles together because they were friends, or did they become friends because they worked together as actors? were Spongebob and Patrick actually buddies? did Felix the Cat work with Mick back in the beginning days of sending broadcasts? what's Scooby's professional opinion on Scrappy-Doo?

-(i wonder if you could justify the short period in Scooby-Doo history where Shaggy and Scooby were the only members of the gang regularly appearing in shows as "the government needed a way to keep the dangerous terrorists busy so they literally Could Not let those two stop appearing in things" asjhshbjahsjahsja)

-i I love that all the commanders are cartoon characters who were so popular/beloved that they seeped into (usamerican) popular culture: Mickey Mouse, Homer Simpson, Bugs Bunny, etc. They were the most powerful because their cartoons became the powerhouses of their respective eras - you can't get more loved than them.

-i wonder if the Simpsons were basically an ageless family back on Toone because they're still popular even after 40+ years, halting their aging. actually, i bet a lot of toons stopped aging after ballyhoo became commonplace. if your lifespan was defined by how loved you were by a fickle human audience, how do you think that affected relationships? it must've been hard if you had a tangible, literally life-affecting gauge of how popular you are according to alien beings you've never met.

-i was thinking about why Kermit is included as an mc when he's a muppet and the other toons are strictly western animation characters. the doylist explanation is that the author hadn't decided to limit the media used (similar to how Mario and Goku appear in early episodes), but i have a watsonian theory. i think Kermit is from the old Muppet Babies saturday morning cartoon, all grown up. he might've been a child actor who stayed with the government even after aging out, possibly explaining why there aren't any other muppets: they left the business and probably didn't escape Toone as a result.

-relatedly: my headcanon is that traditional (i.e. not toon-led) animation IS possible in this universe, and any animated project not usamerican is created that way. so anime is to the toons as a cg character is to humans, and the Goku pic is the equivalent of...i dunno, a photo of Avatarized Jake Sully lol.

-the fact that anime characters apparently didn't exist on Toone is probably for the best. can you imagine how powerful characters like Sasuke and Bakugo would be lmao.

-lastly, i was thinking about the old gods (or whatever they are). i'm pretty sure they're beings who exist behind the fourth wall. when Dee is pulled into the purple one's domain, she at first sees it as a wide open area in space, but then she starts processing it as more of a glass cube, with one huge window screen, large tubes, and wires running through the floating spheres - not unlike being held inside a tv. the purple god even says that staying too long will cause her mind to "shatter under the weight of reality" which...i think discovering you're actually a fictional character in a webcomic would do that to you. so the gods "interfering" is them going against the story's narrative to give the characters a boost. (this might tie into who Bugs is talking to when he/she addresses the camera - it's not technically us, it's the gods behind the wall.)

i have other thoughts but uh. this post is probably long enough.

#scoob and shag #analysis #i just finished rereading the webcomic and i'm obsessed with it again #there's so much going on and so much still untold #the metaness of it all is so much fun to read! #i love not knowing which characters will show up #and how their cartoons will be molded into new backstories #every single one always hits me like a truck #sage speaketh #i hope it updates again. i miss it #edited for your convenience #<- just cleaned up some wording + formatting

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Can I Stay? (A Baekhyun Story) Part 9.

Pairing: You x Baekhyun

Rating: M

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: Light angst. A romance between two adults with an unspecified age difference between them, an English story that uses the word Noona for lack of another word in English that carries the same feeling, if you don’t like this, then don’t read this story.

Author‘s note: remember all those years ago I said I’d write a Baekhyun x Noona fic? This is that fic.

Inspired by the Ray LaMontagne songs Can I Stay

Tag List: @andimoon @his-mochi-cheeks

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Work was different.

After the cosmic shitshow of a Saturday had passed and it seemed like everyone had lived to see another week. Your Monday morning workday was back to normal.

But it was so unbelievably outside of anything normal you had ever experienced. There was so much that had changed in such a short amount of time.

You’d woken up very early that morning — you did not have an exact hour to call it but you knew you’d caught brief glimpses of the dim light of a freshly rising sun through your window. You’d only caught small bits of that particular shade of dawn with your sleepy eyes and your otherwise-occupied mind registered even less through the soft moans, indulgent touches, and wordless love-making that started your day.

Baekhyun had to leave quite early to go home and get changed for work; all the while lamenting on the distance and even going so far as threatening to sell his apartment and buy something in the fancy new high rise that had just gone up across the street from your building. Or better yet (his words), he could just move in with you and never have to wake up without you in his bed ever again.

You had to gently remind him that all of that talk sounded pretty abrupt and dramatic for a three-day old relationship and his face worked through a variety of emotions before finally settling into a deep pout that would not leave his face even after your many assurances that no, you weren’t planning breaking up with him, and yes, you really did love him even more than he loved you —which in itself involved much back and forth until you both just agreed to disagree.

So work today, it was back to normal but normal seemed to have a brand new definition. You were busy but not too busy. You were floating through your tasks with the ease that came along with the familiarity of it all, all the while doing your absolute best not to just sit and watch him all day long.

It was actually quite difficult — keeping that look out of your eyes whenever he was around you. That look that a woman gets when she looks at the man who had pressed her back into a mattress for hours the night before.

You had to make an effort. Your eyes were so easily and naturally drawn to his face; your ears to his laughs; your smile to his smile; your goosebumps to his secret touches; your hushed giggles to his close whispers.

He’d watched your face too closely and much too knowingly when you declared in your best manager's voice that the blinds to your office would stay open all day long without exception and he was expected to remain out of touching distance from you whenever he was in here.

His whispered ‘Yes ma’am’ did not inspire any confidence at all. In fact hearing that triggered something in you that made everything worse.

You wondered when this powerful spell would wear off enough for you both to be able to act like normal functioning adults with full-time jobs around each other. You figured the close proximity wasn’t doing either of you any favors but you still couldn't stand the thought of sending him away so you could get some actual work done.

It was just before lunchtime when the first real close call happened. A mere 3.5 days into this brand new relationship and already — already.

Yes, it was your fault. In fact, Baekhyun had been the better behaved of the two of you. It was probably because it had just been so long since you’ve felt this feeling. It had been so very long since you’d had someone to love and genuinely felt loved by someone that you had simply lost your mind a little bit.

Baekhyun had been hovering near your desk holding your schedule calendar in his hands as he flipped through, reading an occasional line from the upcoming week. You had a few meetings, most that he read out loud, one that he mumbled his way through that would be coming up later today. You only half listened as you watched him speaking from down in your desk chair. You’d pulled the lever below your seat and leaned way back in the chair, looking up at him as he spoke and he took occasional glances down over the top of the book he held up covering part of his face. You could see only from his cute nose upward but every now and then his hands would drop the book just a little and his pink pouty mouth would appear as he emphasized some word he was saying for importance. Every time those lips pursed outward it reminded you of kissing him. When his lips parted you caught the occasional tip of his soft tongue.

You weren’t really listening. He was very pretty when he spoke. You liked the sound of his voice and the way his lips moved when he said the word ‘Noona.’ Which for some reason he was saying again.

‘Noona.’

‘Noona?’

‘Noona!’

Oh shit, he was talking to you.

“You aren’t listening at all,” your brain sharpened to the words. “I’ve been talking for ten minutes. Did you hear anything I just said? The final reports, the wrap party venue, the one-two-three meetings after lunch? Hello?”

He was right. The very mild frustration you heard in his voice was adorable. You pulled your lips into a frown because you were very sorry, even if you weren't that sorry you knew you were acting up right now. This was just so very hard. Maybe it was because you were very sore all over and actually quite sleep deprived from the three (!) times he woke you up last night.

“Sorry, Baby, my mind was wandering,” you confessed easily, hearing the dreaminess in your own voice as you said it. And you heard the long and slow sigh that came from his chest. He was closing his eyes up and he was steadying himself before he spoke.

“I’m not going to ask…not going to ask,” he said to himself a few times and he held the calendar closed with one hand, a slim finger stuck In between the pages to mark his place and he lifted his other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not going to ask. I don't want to know. Do you hear what I said? I said, I do not want to know what you were thinking about. Do not tell me. I am not asking.” His eyes were wider now and you could make out a bit of desperation in his voice.

You lifted your foot, pointing the tips of your toes and you lightly traced the outline of his thigh.

“Gonna get caught. The blinds are open. Put your foot down.” He was speaking under his breath and you felt his hand come down and push your foot away when you’d slipped your foot around the front of his hips. Despite the admonishing words, you could very clearly see the smile at the edges of his lips and you could hear the playfulness in his tone. You giggled when another pass of your foot around the back of him, poking his butt earned you a harder slap and he took the smallest step away from you.

“Noona.” He hissed through gritted teeth, doing his best impression of a very serious man who meant business and you spun around in your chair laughing harder at the sound of him.

The spin was harder than you meant and it made your chair hit your desk. A small metal cup you kept full of pens that was on the edge of your desk went flying and you turned back around to see them go. They landed across the space behind where Baekhyun was standing.

You looked down at the mess on your floor and Baekhyun also turned to look down at the mess on your floor.

His eyes were just kind of wild looking when he turned back to look into your face and you looked at his face with what you imagined was a similar expression.

Neither of you moved right away and your mind whirled with the best way to clean this mess up. Did you risk the closeness and clean it up together? Did you get up and do it yourself, knowing that he would likely join you on this floor behind the couch, behind the desk, behind the view of those open mini blinds? Did you just watch him do it? You did really like the way his butt looked in his business slacks…

“Did you do this on purpose?” He whispered the question harshly and it didn’t sound like he was joking, but you felt the laughter rise up in your chest at his accusation.

“No, Baekhyun, I didn’t, I swear.” You were laughing while you said it and that didn’t do anything for your credibility. It was true. You really did not. But you sounded so guilty.

“Did you do this so I have to bend over in front of you and pick them up?” His smile on his face as he asked this follow up question was widening and you placed a hand on your stomach to try and stop your own laughter.

You stood up from the chair.

“I’ll get them.” You raised a hand and his own hands waved you away dramatically.

“No.” He said flatly, putting the calendar down on your desk. “No, no. I’m the one sleeping my way to the top. I should get the full sexual harassment experience. Do you want me to pick them up one by one so it lasts longer? Do you want me to struggle while I do it — act like they’re really hard to pick up?”

You felt at a loss. You were laughing too hard to be of any use in this conversation and he was grunting noisily as he bent at the waist and picked up the first pen.

“Ohh..Miss Manager, it’s so heavy,” he mewled suggestively and he placed the pen sideways in-between his teeth as he stood up slowly, arching his back seductively as he did it.

His voice changed and lifted into something more naive sounding, “Miss Manager, you said I could have a promotion if I did this, right?”

You caught a movement out of the corner of your eye that snatched your attention, your laughter, and your breath at the same time.

You heard someone clear their throat at the same time as a knock sounded out on your door. Your door had been opened just in time for his last sentence to have been heard by whoever was at your door.

“Assistant Byun,” you said flatly with a very serious tone taking you over. The change was so abrupt that Baekhyun straightened his spine and spun on his heels, quickly dropping the second pen from his mouth and dropping the other two he had already picked up. They landed on the floor at his feet adding back to the mess.

Your heart had dropped down into your stomach and all traces of your earlier laughter had stopped dead and you stood up straighter, running your hand down over the front of your blouse and smoothing out your skirt just in case anything has been out of place to make this situation look worse than it already did.

“Sorry, I was joking,” he said with his voice back to as normal and as professional and flat sounding as possible. “Bad joke, my apologies.” he added quietly with his head hung down in shame directed at you but only for the benefit of whoever it was that had just come in.

At your door, doing an awkward little glance back and forth between your face and your assistant standing with his chin pressed down into his chest was Sandi, one of your junior translators whose desk was just outside of your office. If she had any thoughts about what she had just walked in on, she didn’t seem to dwell for long on them.

“Manager, Sophie’s 1st is here for you. Should I let him in?”

Baekhyun’s head had lifted and you caught the drift of Sandi’s eyes as they touched on his face and she had a sweet smile on her lips directed at him.

“Hi Baekhyun,” she whispered lightly and his hand lifted with the smallest wave with a pretty smile before he was spinning quickly to squat down on the floor to quickly gather all of the pens.

He made quick work of the mess and Sandi was really standing at your doorway for much longer than necessary you thought briefly before your quiet appraisal of the danger of the situation you both had stupidly put yourselves into, well not both, this had been entirely your fault. You really had lost your entire mind. Your blinds had been open and you always emphasized your open door policy with your team. They only ever knocked when you had the blinds closed and even then you’d never minded their interruptions before.

“Manager?” Sandi’s quiet voice interjected and when you pulled your eyes away from the slim fingers that carefully arranged the pens neatly inside the metal cup that was sat once again on your desk where it belonged to look back up into her questioning face.

“Do I let him in?” She asked again.

“Assistant Byun, do I have a meeting with Chet right now?” You leaned and whispered to your assistant from a completely appropriate distance for a strictly professional relationship and Baekhyun straightened his posture, straightened his suit jacket, his tie, and adjusted the lanyard with the ID badge around his neck so it hung just so.

“Yes ma’am. I mentioned it when I was going over your schedule.” There was an edge to his voice as he said it. You felt weirdly blindsided. You grabbed for the schedule and flipped to today’s entry, finding a single four letter c-word that did not say Chet written in carefully penned tiny capital letters. Right there in his handwriting it sat.

‘CUNT-11a’

“You can let him in,” you called out to Sandi and when you looked up at the girl she had a weirdly familiar dreamy lost look in her eyes as she looked at your (boyfriend) assistant. It took her a few moments to register your words and she left your doorway with a nod of her head and another small wave in Baekhyun’s direction which he, again, returned with a sweet smile.

Your mood felt off.

Now Chet was here and Baekhyun had so much female attention in this office the man probably couldn’t go five steps without running into an admirer. Now you had to deal with Chet, the misogynistic hugger and why was he even here? You half hoped he would try and ask you out again just so you could once and for all burst that hopeful bubble of his, tell him it wasn’t going to happen now or ever so he should just give up and set his sights on some poor other girl in this office.

Not that there was anyone here who deserved that kind of attention.

You settled yourself down well behind your desk seated deep in your office chair and you noticed instead of his usual seat for these meetings at the far corner of your office where he wouldn’t be an interference of a distraction, Baekhyun parked himself just at the side of your desk, leaning a hip against the window sill that stuck out just enough for you to hit your elbow on it whenever you got up too carelessly.

Standing there, very much in between you and whoever might want to get back here with you for a hug — he felt like a bouncer to some exclusive night club.

Chet came in a few moments later with all of the charisma of a used car salesman trying to unload a lemon on some poor sucker and walked up to the edge of your desk with a wide smile on his face and his hands outstretched, clearly expecting you to come around for the usual hug. You didn’t stand and you didn’t move anything but your mouth to speak.

“Chet, what can I help you with today?”

His hands hung in the air and his smile faded just a little before it widened again, this time not reaching his flighty eyes. The man was clearly taken aback and he stood there for a while just watching your face with that same fake smile on his lips. After a while you saw his focus shift over to Baekhyun before you had his attention again. He did it a few times and you stared into his face as you waited for him to come to terms with whatever he was coming to terms with. It took a while. He was looking between you and your assistant who was, it seemed, carefully examining the leaf of the fake tree that stood by your window.

“Ahh, you never returned my call. Did you get my message about the uhh—final edits?” His confidence sounded a touch rattled, which you had never before heard from him.

You furrowed your brows and pouted your lips. Genuinely curious now. You hadn’t heard of any new messages from him. You had been rather distracted all day though, perhaps your flawless record at work had finally been shot by your own silliness all morning.

You were genuinely thinking now.

Message? What message? Did you miss a work message from Chet? You looked at your computer screen and found nothing unread in your inbox and your latest direct message chain with him was from a week ago. Nothing unread between the two. You looked across your desk at the beefcake and lifted your chin in the direction of your suspiciously quiet assistant while keeping your eyes on the man standing in your office.

“Assistant Byun, did I get a message from Chet?”

Baekhyun didn’t answer right away and you noticed that Chet’s focus looked just a little more frazzled than it had when he first walked in. He looked like his edges were just a little hazy. Like he was beginning to show some signs of annoyance with you, or with Baekhyun or maybe with the pair of you. The longer your assistant stood silent the more Chet’s patience seemed to be wearing out and after a few moments of it he looked to be openly glaring in the direction of where that fake tree stood by your window.

“Umm,” it took him too long to finally respond and when you did look, Baekhyun was posed with an index finger pointed up to his chin; on his face a look of confusion. “I don’t—think there was anything from Chet.” He was shaking his head in response.

“I left it with you.” Chet spoke up suddenly, directing his voice at Baekhyun without his any hint of his usual pep. You heard some attitude and a challenge now.

Baekhyun still wore that same exaggerated look of confusion and his head was shaking back and forth with his eyebrows raised. With what you knew about Baekhyun you were nearly positive this was intentional. He knew exactly what Chet was talking about and he was playing a game.

“It was just this morning.” Chet added in a downright hostile tone and you heard a sudden gasp from beside the tree. Inside of your stomach, a bad feeling was brewing. It felt a lot like whatever this was would not end here with this quick and unexpected meeting in your office.

Baekhyun’s mouth was open now. Sudden remembrance. He was snapping his fingers and making a big show of it.

You had to bite down on your tongue to keep from making any sounds.

“Actually, you know what? I think I do remember something, but Noona it was,” he lifted his fingers in front of your face, holding his index and his thumb about a centimeter apart from each other, “very small.”

He whispered the last two words and his lips pulled into a dramatic frown and he shook his head back and forth. You covered your mouth with your open hand and you held your breath, dipping your face so it was hiding behind your computer screen.

“What did you just say?” Chet asked humorlessly. Clearly he got the joke and took its intended offense. “Do you have a problem man?”

Baekhyun’s hand was on his chest and on his face was a look of exaggerated pity. He ignored the second question.

“Happens to a lot of guys, bro,” Baekhyun whispered and he frowned his face again.

It took you a moment to compose yourself enough to remove your hand from over your lips. You recognized that you had to intervene before this grew any more out of hand than it had already grown. You should not be encouraging this. It was childish and juvenile of a joke and your hidden laughter was only encouraging Baekhyun to act this way.

Baekhyun took a few steps closer to where you sat, coming into the space right beside and you very much behind your desk. He was obviously in the exclusive club that Chet had no admittance to.

He pointed to the notepad you kept beside your phone and in the very bottom corner, written with the finest point pen and in what had to be nearly microscopic handwriting was a just barely legible, ‘Sophie needs FE approved -Chet.’

You looked down at the note, lifting your attention to the big burly man standing with a face full of annoyance and his arms crossed over his chest and you had to look back down again at the note.

You swear you didn’t do it on purpose but the second you felt your vision strain over the tiny letters and you had to pull your eyes into a genuine squint, you heard a not very well concealed snort of laughter beside you.

He coughed into it but it was not at all subtle.

“Ahh, I see now. Yes. I’ll get that to you within the hour. And Chet, honey?” you let your face pull into one of sympathy. “You didn’t have to come down for that.”

He cleared his throat and you heard the beginnings of some sort of rebuttal.

“You’ll get it when you get it, Chet.” You raised your voice as you dropped the smile.

He absolutely didn't need to be here for this. You absolutely would get it done and send it over quickly and you felt extremely done with looking at the man now.

“Within the hour. Sophie’s been up my ass about this,” he said with a scowl on his face. His eyes touched on yours but every other breath had them bouncing over to your assistant’s face. He lifted a hand and pointed a finger in your direction, it felt a little bit like a threat. The action felt unlike anything he’d ever done to you and you watched his face with the most stone faced expression you could manage. His true colors had shown themselves and they were hideous. You wanted nothing more to do with him than you absolutely had to.

“You take care, Chet.” You refused to be bullied by this guy. He was at least three pay grades below you and it was pretty telling how little he respected you with the drastic drop in basic decently the second it became clear that he had no chance of sleeping with you.

A few moments after he had left and the quiet settled over your office you signed the final approvals and sent them over to Sophie’s office.

“Baekhyun?” You called out sweetly toward the man who was typing something out on his phone.

“Didn’t we agree not to mess around when it came to work?” You didn't want to scold him. You really didn’t. But you had both promised each other that the work was so important to the both of you that there would be no silly games.

You had his attention. He had let the phone sag in his lap and he was looking across the office at your face without any immediate answer for you. After a moment his eyes dropped another foot and he was staring ahead of himself without focus.

“I don't want you meeting him,” he said after a moment. His eyes lifted back up into yours and his face ticked back and forth a minimal amount. “I don't like you meeting him.”

“Sometimes I have to meet him,” you said with a sigh. You didn't like it either but at least for the next few days until the wrap, you really did not have any choice.

“Noona,” he began and you watched his face as he inhaled a small breath to speak and let his lips hang open without continuing his words. His lips closed back up again and he shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said softly and he pulled his eyes away from yours as he looked back down at his phone.

“Say it, Baek.”

You definitely didn’t want him to feel like he couldn't speak his peace.

“Nah, it’s stupid.” He said and he was scrolling on his screen. You could see the agitation rolling off his shoulders. You could tell something was up.

“Just tell me though, what is it?” You could be as stubborn as he could be and after a while he stood up with a defeated sigh carrying his phone in his hand, he walked up to your desk and sat it down with the screen up.

On his screen you saw your instagram profile, which you hadn’t even known he knew about, and he had the tab opened with your likes. You saw with your own eye the tiny heart you’d placed on a picture there. It was something Chet had posted, and you had no memory of having done this. The picture that you had hearted was just of some sunset he must have posted. Something innocuous and unconcerning but it clearly had bothered your boyfriend enough for him to be pointing it out to you right now. You did remember scrolling mindlessly before you got ready for work this morning. Could that have been when you’d done this?

“I don't like you meeting him. I don't like you liking his pictures. Especially not pictures he posted this morning, after I left your bed.”

You didn’t remember doing it. You looked down at the evidence and it was right there.

“I’ll block him,” you said quietly. “I didn't even know that was his picture, but that doesn’t matter because it’s obvious that I did that and I am sorry. It definitely won't happen again.”

Baekhyun was watching your face and you quietly pulled your own phone out, opened up the app and did just as you told him you would. You’d meant to block Chet after the mop-water incident but it honestly had just slipped your mind. So much had happened since then, your mind had been a bit of a mess. You just forgot and here you’d accidentally hurt Baekhyun’s feelings because of your carelessness.

He was swallowing and he blinked his eyes slowly as he looked away for a second.

“Now I feel like an asshole,” he said under his breath.

You pushed your lips into a small pout and his eyes glanced down at your face, lightly sniffing his nose once before he looked around again.

“It’s done,” you held your phone up and waved it at him with a smile. He groaned and closed his eyes up.

“Don't encourage me, Noona. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I told you it was stupid.”

“I was going to block him anyway, I just forgot to because I was distracted by my sexy boyfriend.” His mood still seemed a little down but maybe after a few compliments and perhaps some lunch he would smooth out a little.

It turns out Baekhyun had plans for lunch. He did often share a meal with a few of his fellow assistants and today it seemed like the day. The plans had been in place for a while now. He also reminded you that he had already told you about it, at least twice today, back when you had lost your mind.

It was fine. You could use the quiet for an hour. You had your headphones and you could even take a walk around the block to help your food digest. You assured him that you were a big girl and you could handle a few solo lunches. You’d had plenty of them before he arrived, and you’d been just fine.

And you were. You went for your stroll, you listened to some music and you ate something tasty from a shop around the corner. You drank too much water during your walk and when you came back you had to make a stop at the bathroom. It was perfect because you could refresh your lipstick and make sure you didn't look too much of a mess after venturing outdoors.

As expected, your hair was a bit messy but nothing a few fingers run through it couldn't fix. Your outfit was cute though and you slipped into the stall to empty your bladder.

After a few moments you heard the telltale sounds of office gossip; a group of girls whose voices felt oddly familiar to you came in giggling about the latest news.

Apparently someone was eating lunch with one of their friends. Someone who was ‘so hot’ and ‘single’ and ‘rich’ and looked ‘so good in the blonde hairstyle.’ Your ears sharpened to the words they were saying immediately. You also lifted your feet just in case they checked under the stall for spies. You weren't born yesterday, you knew the best gossip was obtained through illicit means.

It took you no time at all to understand the subject of their gossip. You felt a strange chill run through your chest.

He was eating lunch alone with her. Was it really only one other assistant? Not a group of friends but him and her alone? She was a young pretty thing and they made such a cute couple. Apparently they had been spotted giggling together. Flirting together, as he was often seen doing with lots of girls. You hadn’t really noticed his overly friendly behavior with the girls but the memory of the lovesick smiles Sandi sent toward him today pinged against your heart. Of course he flirted with you but the idea that this might not be strictly reserved for you made your heart clench. It couldn’t be true. It had to be nothing.

The conversation drifted naturally when one girl spoke your name out. You held your breath for the quick dismissals. No way. You were too old, there’s no way he’s into an older woman. The other quiet voice that defended you, called you smart and pretty enough for someone like him, had even seen some moments between the two of you that would raise a few eyebrows, that one quiet voice was quickly drowned out by the naysayers. If anything it was one sided. If anything it was pathetic for you to even hope. If anything you should know your place.

You’d heard enough and wanted no more of it. You hoped their lunch hour was going to be over soon so you didn’t have to hear any more.

Your hopes were realized quickly enough as you quietly washed your hands and exited the bathrooms. You could not calm your mind though.

How much was true. You trusted him and you believed in him but your feet carried you in an odd direction. You walked the long way around. It would eventually take you to the elevators that led up to your floor but, goddammit, you found yourself making a detour with your curious eyes watching the tables near the company cafeteria.

You were looking for something that was nothing. Something that meant absolutely nothing. You knew it was nothing.

Baekhyun was walking side by side with a bright smile on his face and his attention drawn to her words.

You had seen her before, she was the assistant of one of the other managers. You were pretty sure she was under contract for only a few more months. Like him, she would soon be moving on to something new. Like him she was young and green and still had so much to learn. Perhaps they talked about how hard their jobs were; bonding over having to cater to a picky manager's whims.

She was giggling. She was laughing loudly and she reached a hand out and laid light fingertips on his forearm. That uncomfortable feeling inside of your chest throbbed.

This was nothing. You didn’t have to turn it into something when it was absolutely nothing. The gossip that you overheard had been baseless and it was wrong. Yes, you knew for a fact that they had been wrong about you. Because he was into you, he loved you. If they could be wrong about that, then they could have just as easily been wrong about this too.

You felt a need for an escape. You longed to hide from this. They were taking an exit path that would put you in front of them and you felt like a fool as you ducked behind a pillar just in time for them to walk by.

“Yeah, yeah definitely. I’ll call you,” he was saying to her.

“Okay, let me know. Bye, Oppa.”

Younger than him. On friendly enough terms for that sweet nickname too. And he was going to call her.

Your mind was a mess. You wandered your way through the hallways headed probably somewhere that would eventually lead you up to your office. It took longer than you intended to make it back up to your office, but still not long enough.

When you walked inside he was already seated at the spot he usually occupied when he was busy with something and didn’t want his typing to disturb you. He only kind of glanced up to look at you as you entered and his eyes were back down on the screen of his computer. He had a chat window open there. He was talking with someone.

Talking to someone about something that was probably nothing.

You were acting like a fool. This man had taken a once smart, capable, and intelligent woman and in just 3 and a half days had turned her into a fool.

You scrolled through your emails, finding a thank you message from Sophie for the quick turnaround and a waiting direct message from Chet.

You clicked on the flashing bar and the message popped up.

‘I need to speak with you, can we meet?’

You didn’t have the patience for any of it and you sighed noisily and covered your face with your hands, momentarily and genuinely forgetting that you weren’t alone in your office. Before you could take the sound back Baekhyun had walked over to your desk and had looked at the message window on your computer screen.

You stared at your computer screen, your eyes focused on that one message from Chet. You could smell him, his hair smelled like your shampoo. Baekhyun had stepped into your space and he was bent at the waist reading the message on your computer screen, the message from the man he had been butting heads with through his little message games and deprecating jokes. Out the corner of your eye you saw his hand land over your mouse, he was moving the cursor and the arrow hovered just over the X to close the window.

You lifted a hand and laid it over his just before he clicked the X to close out the window.

“I said I don’t like you meeting him.” He was staring ahead at the screen with a darkness in his eyes and his jaw was clenched down tight.

“Assistant Byun-” He physically flinched when he heard it. You felt a burning inside your stomach, “I can handle it myself.”

[To be Continued]

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

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