#even if they hadn't used it all and there was no reason for it to be plugged in in the first place they'd have debilitating anxiety

[sizebrained]

I'm not sure if this is *supposed* to be a pair of giant legs the way the telephone pole and line make it look.

But I love this so much I had a little story idea pop up in my head I couldn't get rid of so I had to write it down.

Also great glow up from the last version, love tofupixel's stuff.

Whoops new g/t universe... CW: None, SFW

Word Count: 2,000

*** The town siren's crying wail filled the air. Easily heard over the increasingly louder and louder wind, even all the way out here. As if the angry sky wasn't enough of a warning of what was heading their way. The cows and horses on Jane's farm knew long before the siren had confirmed it. There was a tornado coming. First one of the season. Jane hadn't wanted to grow bigger before the storms, but the animals had panicked. They kept pulling out of Jane and her mother's grips. Desperate to follow their instinct to run away from the oncoming twister.

At her normal size of exactly 5 feet tall, Jane could never have managed to get them to the barn when they were this agitated. Even with her mother and ten year old littler brother Bobby helping.

Bobby's normally annoying demeanor disappeared in these kinds of situations. He was trying very hard to actually help. But one twist of the cow's head sent the poor boy flying sideways every time.

So she focused, held her breath, and grew. When she was done, she was four times her normal size.

It had been several years since Jane had discovered that her body had this "compunction" to grow bigger. She didn't know if it was nature, or magic, or what. She could just grow bigger. A few, mostly random, townfolk who knew about it too but they promised to keep it secret.

Jane provided manual labor for them sometimes when she was bigger that would have either been impossible or very expensive otherwise. It helped ensure their silence.

It started shortly after her father died. Also right after she began puberty, like that wasn't hard enough without this complication. At first there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason as to what set Jane to growing, how big she would get, or how long it would last.

For lack of a better word, the family doctor had settled on what happened to Jane as a "compunction." There was nothing in any medical text that he had come across to explain it. Other than being a danger to low ceilings and tight places, he said Jane was otherwise a pretty typical, healthy teenager.

When their family doctor made the first house call to find a 20 foot, very embarrassed looking girl in pigtails looking down at him in the barn, he took it rather in stride. "Not the strangest thing I've seen to be honest," he told Jane's mother. It always made Jane wonder just what he had seen that her being bigger than an elephant didn't register at the top of his list.

When she first started getting her compunctions, she made the animals nervous in their stables. Even though Jane had cared and fed some of them for years, most were unnerved by her newfound size.

Eventually, the animals got used to Jane's bigger version when it happened. Now, most of them now didn't seem to think it was unusual to be moved around as easily as a child's favorite stuffed toy.

Like the two cows that Jane had tucked under her arms as she walked them to the barn to be stored away like it was time for bed.

Thankfully, Jane's clothes, and anything else that happened to be touching her body at the time, grew along with her when she did. They couldn't afford to go through clothes at the rate of her body's "compunction spells" otherwise.

One time she grew while she was brushing her hair. It ended up being 10 feet long. Jane had never timed it right to be holding it again when she shrank back down. So the 10 foot brush was hidden up in the barn's haystacks till she did.

Over the past several years she had learned to control it. Somewhat.

Better at directing it was more accurate. She couldn't really control it that much or for that long. It was like tensing a muscle or holding her breath. Trying to hold her breath seemed to slow it down.

Jane's body would do what it wanted to do whether her mind agreed or not. She felt like her body betrayed her. Sometimes in more ways than just getting bigger.

And getting back down to her usual size could sometimes take days. She was thankful to have finally graduated high school so she didn't have to keep coming up with new excuses for her absence while she waited to return to her normal five foot nothing self. Jane's eyes passed by her bedroom's second story window as she made her way to the barn with the cows. Jane's mother had taken Bobby by his hand, heading as fast as she could manage across the open field between the barn and their modest farmhouse.

They passed each other heading in opposite directions. Jane with cows and her mother with Bobby. Jane's mother yelled over her shoulder at her first born. "Jane! Get those two in the barn now! And if you're not fixing to shrink down in the next 5 minutes to fit in the shelter then you need to make sure you're nowhere near that twister!" "Yes mama. Don't worry about me, just get safe in the shelter with the ankle biter."

At this size, Jane only had to speak in her normal voice to be heard over the increasingly louder wind. Her enormous red converse sneakers were making big oblong imprints in the grass with every step. It felt like she was just going outside in a light rain storm at this size. Bobby wasn't quite small enough to be a literal ankle biter.

Jane smirked about that as she was glad she didn't have to duck under the barn door to fit with the cows. Jane walked into the barn carrying the cows like housecats, instead of several thousand pounds of beef. She set the cows down in a big pen in the corner with the three others she had wrangled inside. Jane shushed the animals, scattering some feed like spilt table salt in her enormous fingertips and more calming reassurances in her deep booming voice. Jane felt an overwhelming relief that they hadn't lost any of them. While she was distracted by that fleeting thought of gratitude, like she had jinxed it, their old mare Midnight got her stable door open.

The horse made a run for it out of the barn trying to get away from the coming storm. "Midnight! No!" Jane cried and stomped out of the barn after her. Unfortunately, Bobby also saw Midnight emerge from the open barn door. And while his mother was occupied getting the shelter door open with both hands, Bobby also ran after Midnight.

He started towards Midnight in a straight line as his sister emerged out of the barn shaking the earth in pursuit. Jane glared at the boy's recklessness. "Bobby get your scrawny ass in the basement! I'll get her!" Jane boomed across the field at her little brother. The ten year boy old froze in place at the sound of his big sister's much bigger voice giving him orders. Their mother rushed over to Bobby dragging him, slack jawed and staring at his huge sister, back and down into the basement shelter. Jane caught up to Midnight in a few rushed steps. She slid to a stop and scooped the scared horsed up with one hand. Her kicking hooves lifted up into the air frantically searching for the ground. Jane heard the clattering of the shelter's steel door. Her mother was having a hard time getting the shelter door shut. She looked over to the horizon. The tornado was in sight and it was getting closer.

It was a big one. She felt scared.

Then Jane felt the wrong thing.

"Aw crap," she thought to herself. Jane quickly set Midnight down on the ground again. The horse whinnied but stayed put, agitated but loyal. Jane didn't need to deal with an overgrown horse trampling everything on top of what she knew was coming.

Jane looked down at her shoes. She saw the ground racing away around them while the shoes stayed put.

Jane's mother and Bobby stared up at Jane for one long moment before shutting the shelter door and locking it from the inside. Jane felt queasy as the ground swirled below. Except that wasn't what was happening. Jane was getting bigger. And bigger. Jane looked at the 50 foot telephone pole on the side of the road in front of her house on the long dirt road leading into town. At first she was looking up at the top of it, then she could stare at the top of it level.

In a few heartbeats, Jane was was looking down at it.

And down. And down. It got smaller and smaller as she went up and up.

She could feel her feet sinking into the ground as she got heavier and heavier with every passing moment. Midnight trotted around the growing set of shoes. The horse decided the safest place was in the gap between them. She settled there while they continued to get bigger.

Jane could tell this was going to be a bad one. She closed her eyes and grimaced feeling sick to her stomach like she was on one of the state fair's carnival rides. Jane didn't notice the old blue truck rushing into her driveway. It came to an abrupt stop at an odd angle next to the telephone pole. Another girl, the same age as Jane, stepped out the truck and looked up at the towering figure filling the sky. "JANE?!" the girl yelled up into the clouds, making Jane's name into two syllables instead of one.

To the girl, it looked like Jane was trying to have a grow off with the approaching tornado. It looked like Jane was fixing to win. She'd never seen her this huge before. The girl yelled again cupping her hands around her mouth, hoping it helped. Jane heard her own name like a whisper. She ventured to open one eye and slowly tilt her head down. She didn't feel like she was going to throw up anymore. That meant it was over.

But everything was tinier than it had ever been. Much, much tinier.

It meant she was big. Really big. Jane didn't want to hazard a guess at just how big. Seeing the 50 foot telephone pole barely reach her ankle told her enough. "Uh...Hi Bets..." Jane said looking down at the ground. She saw the girl cover her ears and cower as Jane's few words shook everything.

Her normal speaking voice at this size was as loud as the town siren.

Jane was suddenly thankful there was a tornado to help cover up her compunction. Jane looked over at how much closer the tornado had gotten and sighed.

She recognized her girlfriend's parked truck. It looked like one of Bobby's toy tin cars next to her huge shoe. "What are you...nevermind...there's no time..." Jane apologized while bending down. One huge finger extended from Jane's hand and gently pushed her girlfriend back into her truck's still open driver side door with the very tip. Then she pushed the car door shut as delicately as she could manage.

Jane picked up her girlfriend's truck between two fingers, with her back inside of it, and lifted it. Up and up and up. Betsy screamed, holding on for dear life inside the truck cabin.

Jane reached down with her other hand and also, very delicately, picked up Midnight with just two fingers like she was picking up a house spider to take outside. Jane turned her head to look at the tornado. Luckily, tt would pass harmlessly in the field between the barn and house. She got worked up and huge for nothing.

Mom, Bobby, the animals, and all of their earthly possessions were safe.

Jane lifted the truck up to her face and gave her girlfriend Betsy an awkward smile that filled the other girl's windshield like the morning sunrise. Betsy waved back, still frightened.

Then Jane carefully and slowly stepped over the telephone lines and dirt road parallel to her house. The enormous 19 year old took a few steps to the side and watched the tornado pass by her.

At this vantage, she could admire just how beautiful it was and was thankful that the tornado would help cover her enormous sneaker tracks a bit. ***

look at my forever wip

[carylmeanslove]

LUKE NEWTON IS NOT SUPERFICIAL, SHALLOW OR EGOTISTICAL!

To the anon who messaged me about Luke's preferences. I firmly & confidentially stand by the title of this post. I have never been wrong about anyone in my whole life. I have always been an on point, excellent judge of character & have a very sharp, very keen intuition. I have always trusted it & always follow it. It has always served me very well. I don't let the wrong people into my life, so I have never been hurt by anyone by following it.

So many people who actually know Luke have said wonderful things about him. None more than Nicola Coughlan. She knows Luke Newton (More than anyone seeing as he is secretly her husband, right now secretly due to an NDA contractual agreement, but still). Nicola says he has no ego, that he is the kindest, nicest person, a good egg. That she has a relationship with Luke like she has with no one else (Curious isn't it, that she does have many close friends? So, it's not that.) I could go on & on stating all the many wonderful things she has said about him & called him, but it would take too long. She speaks of him in very GLOWING terms. Married ladies in our circle have said they can relate to her words about Luke, with their words of their own husbands. Friends to lovers is a beloved & popular trope for a reason. It's because it's realistic & there are couples in real life who have had that same love story journey as Luke & Nicola/Colin & Penelope. So those that have & can pick up on the same things they feel in their own love stories as we have seen with Luke & Nicola can understand them.

Nicola spoke of only one other person in her TIME Magazine article in September other than her own late father. She didn't bring up her brother keeping it to blood family. No, she brought up just her beloved late father, who was/is very important to her & then the other most important man in her life, her (husband) Luke Newton, who is also very important to her & whom she loves. She does that in a major article in a major magazine that has a major history. It is a historic magazine & so that article & the things she has said in it will be historic. It will last throughout history. So her relationship with Luke Newton will go down in history.

I didn't see JD brought up anywhere in that VERY important article. That would be an insult to any 'boyfriend' that you deluded people believe her to have. The fact that other than her own father, she brought up Luke Newton. So, they would be etched into history together. Her TIME Magazine was a tentpole breadcrumb in my intuitive insight opinion. There are a number of tentpole breadcrumbs. I am not going to list them here though; you have to do the homework. The truth is there in the pudding so to speak in the breadcrumbs that Luke & Nicola has given us. The truth is NOT the PR fakery/red herrings that had to be employed all because some fame hungry, no talent, bitter woman-child forced their hands by legally blackmailing our wonderful pair.

Anyway, anyone who thinks the way that you said in your Anon message, well, all I can say is it's those beliefs that prove who are the superficial ones, who are the shallow ones & who have giant egos. It's you & others like you. My intuition tells me this is correct, but I know I don't even need to go by my intuition to know this. You made it abundantly clear.

My advice to you is to do some growing up, gain some maturity & become a better person/do better because you are certainly not there right now. Newsflash! This just in! You don't know Luke Newton. You can't say he is the things in the title because anything that goes against what those who actually know & love him have said he is, are not true. All those people say he is the kindest, sweetest… & most like his character, Colin Bridgerton. Colin, who loves Penelope (Newsflash: Nicola plays her) & Luke has said that Colin would have still gone for her even if she hadn't had the glow up. He talks confidently about his character, because he knows him, he is like him.

He even said during his People's Sexiest Man Alive interview that when people call him Colin he just let's them. He is that happy, he is so happy with Nicola in his real life that he has gotten to a point that he is just REALLY relating to his character more than ever before. Which is also why on the same day, after picking 'Fairy Tale ending' in the 'this or that' game video, he mentioned 'end of season 3 vibes'. Which he is referencing because in that happy ending, Polin are married & are new parents with their first child. He is SO relating.

With the multiple breadcrumbs having been given to us by Nicola & Luke, we are soon going to be shown they are exactly where Polin were in the ending of Season 3. The time is coming. Prepare yourself for a major shock. Notice I said for you to do this. I won't be shocked, those of us that have been paying attention, we can see it coming. I can see & sense it coming (Thanks to my faithful intuition).

Also to add to what I want to advise you. Please go have your eyes checked, because if you can't see the way Luke looks at Nicola then I just really am concerned about your sight. His eyes so devour her; the man is a 'hungry boy' just like his character & he is always looking at Nicola as if he wants to eat her (of course metaphorically), but he wants her like he needs to breathe. Even his heart eyes for Nicola are as clear on display when his amorous eyes aren't. He always has a loving & affectionate, gone for, down bad look for her. It's pure & complete true love he shows through his eyes. If you can't see that than something is amiss with your sight. Please get them checked.

I shouldn't even get into the contrast when you compare it with how he is around A because that will make me start laughing too hard. It is comical, absurd & utterly ridiculous that some can see that contrast & think he is in love with that nobody. It's clear that his whole body is just rejecting even being near her, let alone just the look on his face. The man is miserable around A. It's plain as day & crystal clear. I really do feel sorry for you with your lack of sight.

Last bit of advice, never message me again, because I am never replying again. If you refuse all my advice I've given you in this message than you are a hopeless case & I am not wasting anymore of my time. I know what I know, I'm an expert at following my intuition, fore it has never failed me. I see what I see, I have 20/20 sight, health wise & in a spiritual sense. I also have critical thinking skills that many of us Lukolas have shown/proven we possess. We are too busy with our FBI level investigating & research along with having real lives off the internet.

I'm sure you people, who are obsessed with thinking likes on social media is all there is in life, can't relate to having lives off the internet like Lukola & those of us who understand them have. You wouldn't understand our time is too precious. You blind people keep spending all your time blindly following a textbook/by definition stalker. Whom I must add, knows nothing about Nicola or Luke. It's complete & utter hot air, anything she claims to be true. Perfect example of the blind leading the blind as ever there was one. Sheep being hoodwinked by a wolf in sheep's clothing that will very likely end up in a restraining order or major criminal charges being put forth. More advice, distance yourself from her or you may also be served/charged.

--

For anyone reading this that may be new & are wanting to know about the aforementioned breadcrumbs. Go to @Frantastical to have a look at her pinned compiled list of a lot of them. Maybe it will help you to have your eyes opened. Of course, this compiled list isn't every single breadcrumb from Lukola's whole timeline, but it does have a large amount. It mostly covers Aug 2024 to now, with some that pre-dates then.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

He's Your What?

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you finally get the courage to confront Din, you find him in a vulnerable position. Takes place after Season 3 when Din and Grogu have been living in their cabin on Nevarro. This is the sixth fic in my Sugar, Spice, and Starlight Series!

Tropes: Bakery AU, Grumpy vs. Sunshine, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Sick Fic, SLOW BURN, Miscommunication (It's HEAVY), Stubborn!Din, Sick!Din.

Word Count: 9.5K (It's a big boy- but it's really cute)

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, FLUFF, Miscommunication (Again), Sick-fic, Idiots in Love that won't say anything, The reader is really soft and likes to bake? Din being a little bit self-deprecating to himself? Din might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Din, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: Okay, I don't want to say that I'm back because I'm still not writing as much as I have been wanting to... BUT, I really love these two and I was inspired to write the next fic for them

Guide:

Cyare: Beloved

Cyar'ika: Sweetheart

Reader POV

Dust kicks up around your sandals in a wave of gray with each unsteady step you take over the desolate plains, sending rocks skittering out from underneath your feet. The wind rips and tugs at your hair playfully where it's hidden beneath a dark green scarf you tied deftly over the strands to keep the dust from catching in the soft tresses. The wind makes your favorite dress billow out from your body like a cloud, the soft fabric smoothing against the delicate skin of your legs.

The sun beat down on your shoulders, soaking through the thin material of the dress, but unlike in the city, the sun here is harder, oppressive, a dry heat that makes sweat trickle down the back of your neck and follow the subtle curve of your spine.

How does Din stand it being shut up in that helmet all the time?

The thought of your friend makes your mouth dip into a frown, the memory of the last time you saw him like a dark cloud covering the sun. The things that he'd said in the street to you made your chest uncomfortably tight and your eyes burn, the harsh tone of his voice through the helmet, the sharp jerk of his arm out of your grasp, and the soft cries of Grogu who looked up at his father in confusion wanting you. You still didn't understand why Din had acted that way or what you'd done to deserve it.

It had been seven days since you'd last seen Din. Seven days of you pretending to smile and act like nothing was wrong while you showed your brother around town, seven days of you drowning in your anxiety and heartbreak over what had happened with Din outside in the street, seven days of you hoping that you would run into Din accidentally, and seven days that allowed the loneliness to grow inside you.

Your brother had left four days ago and you hoped that in his absence that Din would appear, that maybe Ez was the reason why Din was avoiding you, but he never did. You looked for him when you went to the market hoping to see the familiar flash of silver, you brought treats to the children’s school hoping to see Grogu only to find that he hadn't been to school in days, and you walked slowly through the streets hoping that you’d run into Din.

But nothing.

You didn't know where he was and didn't know why he hadn't come back. And although there was a part of you that said this was a bad idea, you had decided that you were going to find him, confront him- even though you were not the best at confrontation.

Especially not when talking to Din made whatever connected your mouth and your brain short circuit and the butterflies that lived in your stomach flutter.

But you were worried and you wanted Din to talk to you and tell you what was wrong. In the past you'd never pressured Din to speak, but now you didn't care. You wanted to move on from this, because you missed him.

You missed hearing the heavy sigh through his helmet, the warm feeling that flooded through your body when you felt his gaze on you, the sound of his laugh, and the strong feeling of his embrace when he walked you home at the end of the night.

Stars, you missed that.

Despite the armor, you missed being hugged by Din. The strength of his arms around you, the way he seemed to untense when you hugged him back, the soft audible sigh you heard through his helmet-

And that's why you had to do this.

You knew where Din lived, everyone in town did and avoided it. All you’d had to do was follow the path out of the city past the junkyard where everyone parked their ships and off onto the rocky plains.

It was a longer walk than you expected, made worse by the heat, and the large peace offering you were lugging with you. The "peace offering" was a handwoven basket filled with five different kinds of pastry, four kinds of meat pies, three different kinds of jams, two types of syrup, and one large tin of Uj cake.

Basically it was a basket filled with the things you’d stress baked all night long because you couldn't sleep. And you figured if Din was in a food coma, maybe he wouldn't kick you out of his house or his life.

Din's disappearance scared you. It made you think that maybe he was off planet on a job and something had happened. It had taken everything you had not to track down Karga and ask him if he'd heard from Din.

But also all it did was emphasize what you already knew, that you liked Din and that you depended on seeing him everyday. The thought that he was out here alone, stewing in his emotions, and angry at you made you want to cry all over again, and you’d done enough of that since that day in the street.

You agonized over how he'd spoken to you, the shift of his tone to something ugly, the tightness of his shoulders when he walked into your bakery that morning and saw you with your brother. You tried to analyze each moment. You so desperately wanted to understand why it was he was angry with you and why he'd been avoiding you.

And because it had been seven days without Din and Grogu, you were climbing up the walls, and you knew that you needed to do this, because if you didn't you were going to have a mental breakdown and you were trying to limit yourself to once a month.

Din's cabin is quaint, but it's wonderful.

A small house hewn from strong stone with a small porch where a bench sits unoccupied. There's a garden in the front with a pond where a few frogs sit in the warm water sunning themselves and some flowers have begun to bloom in colorful patches. You imagine Din sitting there watching Grogu from afar, resting his head back against the stone wall while he took a few moments to himself.

It was something that you knew he probably never did, that Din was so focused on everyone else that he forgot himself. You saw the way he cared for Grogu and saw the way that Din cared for you… it was why you wanted to take care of him, to make things for him, to comfort him.

The memory of Din and you in the street sours at the back of your mind, bringing a wave of sadness crashing over you.

You shake it off.

It was so quiet out here, so much free space to roam, to build, to just exist. A place where you wouldn't have to worry about how loud your upstairs neighbors were or really anyone in town watching you. It reminded you of where you grew up, where the nearest neighbors were miles away and your grandmother and you would load up the speeder and drive boxes of baked goods and handmade blankets to them. The distance didn't matter to her, it was more about taking care of others than how it inconvenienced her.

You'd never been here before and yet, there was something that drew you forward. It was familiar.

A self indulgent fantasy of you sitting beside Din on the bench with a book open on your lap, leaning your head into his shoulder, begins to surface at the back of your mind, bringing a flush to your cheeks.

It had happened once before… you were watching Grogu, sitting at one of the study wooden chairs inside the front door of your shop, reading quietly to him at the end of the day, waiting for Din to come so he could walk you home. When he'd come through the front door, you'd stopped and begun to close the book, ready for the walk back to your apartment, but Din told you to keep reading and he'd sat next to you while you read another chapter, head tilted in your direction.

You step onto the small porch, but hesitate, feeling the prickle of anxiety ghost over your skin.

What if he tells me to go away? That I'm annoying him and that he never wants to see me again.

Your hand tightens on the basket in your right hand, and you press your lips into a tight line. You weren't sure you'd be able to recover from that. You'd already been moping around for the better part of a week after everything that happened with Ez.

Scratch that, you knew that you wouldn't recover. You were already devastated in the street.

If Din does that I'm going to move in with my brother. I wouldn't be able to take it if he said that to me, if he cut me out of his and Grogu's life. There’s no point in staying on Nevarro.

You knock lightly on the front door.

The wind picks up again while you wait, sifting through your hair, and makes the end of your dress flare out from your body.

No one answers.

He's either avoiding me or he's not here.

The thought that Din could be inside, hiding somewhere in the back because he saw you coming, makes an unpleasant feeling settle in the pit of your stomach. 

You don't give up and knock again, this time a little bit more forcefully.

There's a sound of something inside, some call from deep within the house, but you can't tell what it is. And just as you raise your hand to knock a third time, the door opens inward.

Din stands there his hand braced on the door, but he's not wearing his armor. He's wearing a loose fitting short sleeved gray t-shirt and a pair of soft black plants, with his helmet. It looks a little bit ridiculous, but you don't judge Din for wanting a few moments when he wasn't wearing the armor, especially when it is as hot as it is today.

Unfortunately, that rationalization is lost in the surprise of seeing so much skin.

You blink in surprise unsure where to look. The urge to greedily drink in the burnished gold skin of his muscular arms is strong, which are just as glorious as you imagined them to be. Taunt corded muscle, traced lightly with crisscrossing thin scars that make Din only more beautiful and rugged. You’d only felt his arms through the leather and metal wrapped around you when you hugged him, the tight embrace that you allowed yourself to have and hope one day Din wanted you the way you wanted him, but this was...

Oh hot honey biscuits.

The reveal of Din's hands the night he'd patched you had only made you want more, and almost unquenchable hunger to see the skin he hid from the rest of the world. The thoughts that slipped through the cracks at night when you remembered the way Din's rough hands felt in yours, his soft sigh, and his talk of a future wife who would be the other half of him, the person he shared himself with. And now standing in front of him, with his full arms on display you could feel your brain short-circuit, whatever you were going to say or rather try to say evaporates from the tip of your tongue.

Din leans against the doorway, almost as if it's too much effort for him to stand there completely straight, his head tilting to the side in confusion. He says your name.

"What are you doing here?" His voice comes through the modulator in a hoarse wheeze-like croak.

You hesitate again. "Um. Well I-" You clear your throat thinking that you imagined it. "I brought you this!" You hold up the large basket. "I hadn't seen you in a few days and I was worried."

The memory of what Din promised you the day he saved you from the Transdoshan comes back:

"Please do not worry about me cyar'ika. I swear to you that no matter what happens, I will always come back to you."

But he hadn't. All week Din hadn't shown up, and maybe that scared you the most because you believed with your whole heart that Din never broke his promises, especially not to you.

Then where has he been?

"I told you not to worry about me." Din clears his throat, but it still comes out in a rasp.

Your eyes focus on Din's shirt again. It's almost completely soaked with sweat, sticking to the skin beneath like a second skin. And yes, it was hot, but Din didn’t look like he'd been outside. "Din, are you okay?"

"Yeah, just tired." He says in a hoarse whisper, almost lost in the buzz of his helmet.

You don't buy it.

Before you can stop yourself, you reach out and put your hand under the edge of his helmet, where his shirt pulls away from the bottom of his neck.  His skin burns against the palm of your hand, slick with sweat.

"Din you're burning up. You have a fever!" You step closer to him eyes widening as you look up into the helm. "How long have you been like this?"

"Yesterday. I'm fine-" He coughs.

"No, you're not."

"Yes I-"

You sigh loudly and push past him into his home, not going to take no for an answer. Like hell you were going to leave him here with just a basket if he was sick. Even if he was mad at you.

Why didn't he send me a message on his holopad or have Cara or Karga come get me? Why does he always have to suffer in silence?!

The thought that he'd been out here all alone, too weak to care for himself, unable to hold himself upright while battling a fever made your heart squeeze uncomfortably in your chest. You hated that he thought this was okay, that him isolating himself and suffering in silence was the way he was going to get better.

The inside of Din's cabin is just as charming as the outside. There's a comfortable looking couch in the living room to your right that looks soft and supple placed in front of a small fireplace. And to your left is one of the most amazing kitchens you'd ever seen.

When Din told you he was building a new one and "expanding" his house, you never thought that the kitchen would look so beautiful. The cabinets are made from a light wood sanded down so much that they feel like butter against your fingertips. The island in the center of the room is bigger than the large table you have in your kitchen at the bakery, big enough to place four if not five trays of pastry on, and the perfect size to roll out dough so thin that it flaked and melted in your mouth when it was done. The oven on the back wall is the same size as one of the industrial sized ones you use at the bakery and the stove top has six different burners on it.  The stone countertops are hewn and shaped from a slate colored rock that sparkles with flecks of silver and gold when it catches in the light like the stars above.

"This is the kitchen you made?" You breathe with a small gasp, placing the basket of goods on the island, distracted from your anger at Din as you look around the room.

He literally has my dream kitchen.

Your mind slips into another self-indulgent fantasy of you here in this space. Not worried about your neighbors stomping down the stairs from the apartment above and yelling at you when you got the urge to bake in the middle of the night. Instead you see yourself mixing a large bowl with a wooden spoon before holding it out for Grogu so he can have a bite. You pulling a fresh tray of pastry from the wood burning oven so buttery that it fills the entire cabin with the smell.

"Yeah." Din coughs. He's standing by the front door still, not quite standing as tall as he usually does.

"It's amazing!" Your hand runs down the length of the cool stone island, watching the way it sparkles in the light. "I can't believe you did this."

Why did he make it? Din doesn't cook. At least… I don't think he does.

"You like it?" He asks quietly.

"I love it!" You turn to look at Din with a brilliant smile. "I'm contemplating if I should murder you so I can live here instead. You don't even cook."

"Hmm." He makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat.

It shocks you back into reality, reminding you that Din is sick and talking probably hurts. "Okay I'm gonna need you to get back in bed." You rub your hands together, still angry that he was out here all alone, but also buzzing with excitement at using this incredible kitchen.

"Huh?"

"You're sick. And I'm going to make soup."

"You don't have to do that-" He shakes his head, but when he does you see him brace a hand against the now closed front door as if it made him dizzy.

"Din." You gently place your hands on the front of his shirt, bracing them against his chest and feeling the heat of his skin through the fabric. Honestly, you hadn't meant to touch him, but you couldn't stop yourself.

Touching him like this was completely different than the few times you'd touched him through the Beskar. You could feel the steady pump of his heartbeat against the palm of your hand, feel the surge of warmth with every beat, and feel the subtle breath that Din took. "Please, let me take care of you."

You wanted to. You wanted to hold him close and hug him, make him soup, and strong arm him back into bed so he could get some rest. You wanted so badly to take care of the big scary Mandalorian that everyone else ran from because he was your friend and you cared more about him than you'd ever cared for anyone else.

Din doesn't reply for a good ten seconds, his helmet tilted down in your direction. You feel his gaze on you through the shiny silver, catching the worried look on your face in the reflection of his armor.

He takes a shaky step back, letting your hands fall from his chest. "Did your friend leave?" His voice comes out a little harsher on the word "friend" and the memory of that day in the street hits you full in the chest.

"My friend?" You blink at him confused, shaking off the rejection. "You mean Ezekiel?"

Din nods once.

"Yeah, he left a few days ago." You say slowly, confused at the change of subject.

Why is he acting like he's upset again? A few minutes ago he was tired, now he seems angry. I didn't say anything. Maybe he's still mad about the way Ez treated him?

"I mean-" You flash a wide smile hoping that maybe you're imagining Din's shifting mood. You weren't. You knew Din. "I miss him, but it's kinda good thing he's gone. He always eats all my sweets, and he was keeping me up with all the snoring. I'm pretty sure the dark circles under my eyes looked just like bruises. People kept asking me if I was 'okay.'"

The joke was an attempt at making Din laugh, but he doesn't instead he stiffens, shoulders going tense the same way they had when he walked into your shop seven days ago and found you with Ez.

It makes your smile slip into a frown.

"But I-" You clear your throat, eyes dropping to your hands. By now you were clasping them together to stop yourself from touching Din again. "It's why I wanted to come by. I want to apologize for-"

"You don’t have to apologize." He interrupts, his voice still the hoarse croak, but you can sense something else behind it. The same thing that you sensed when he walked into your shop the other day.

Please Din. Please forgive me. I don't want you to push me away. I need you.

"Yes I do." You fight the urge to reach out for him again. "My brother was rude to you. He shouldn't have-"

"Your brother?" Din interrupts.

"Yes…" You blink slowly. "My brother, Ez. Ezekiel."

"He's your brother?"

"Yes?"

"I thought he was your-" He hesitates.

"My what?"

"I mean you-" Din stands up a little straighter, shifting his feet. "You don't look anything alike."

"What does that have to do with-" You tilt your head to the side, confused, but then you realize what Din meant, and you remember the joke you made about Ezekiel's snoring.

Oh. OH. Did he think that Ez and I were together? The thought makes you confused for a minute. Is that why he was mad? Is he jealous? No it can't be. If Din was jealous he wouldn't always be calling me "friend" the time.

"And you two were so close the other day I-" Din clears his throat awkwardly.

You suddenly think about when Din walked into the bakery and remember that your hand was cupping Ez’s cheek. How you smiled up at him. How Ez leaned towards you and hovered near you protectively, the same way that Din did whenever he was with you. How intimate a gesture that looked like for someone who didn't know that Ez was your brother.

The heat from your blush blazes against your cheeks like a wildfire, embarrassment and surprise fueling the rush of warmth to the smooth skin.

"No. No." You shake you head hard from the right to the left with anxious energy. "Ezekiel is my older brother. I don't have a boyfriend or anything-" You stammer, mouth going dry.

"Oh."

If you could see under Din's helmet you would see that Din is blushing. His burnished skin turning a dusky red as he chides himself for thinking otherwise, for believing that Ezekiel was your beloved. Din's mind has begun to descend into the week he spent actively avoiding town because he didn't want to see you with Ez. How he couldn't stand the thought of running into you at the market, with you holding on to Ez the way you sometimes would hold onto him and with you staring up at Ez with the same soft smile that made Din's own heart thud an extra beat.

Din had agonized over the images, sat on his couch trying not to look into the kitchen that he'd painstakingly made for you, the same kitchen that you're standing in right now and look as if you belong there. Not only in the kitchen, but in his home. A place that became his sanctuary away from everyone else, and yet here you are looking as if you're apart of that.

At this point, your nerves and anxiety are the only things still talking, the nervous babbling trying to soothe over the situation while you try to find some sense to this. "We've always been close, he had to take care of me at a young age. And He's always so overprotective. I'm sorry if he made you mad. That's why I brought the basket, because I didn't see you at all this week and I was worried and I wanted-"

"You don't have to apologize. I should apologize."

Din knew that he should. Before he felt like an idiot for thinking that you would ever want him and now he felt like an idiot for treating you so harshly in the street. The image of your face, tears collecting in your eyes, your expression twisted into hurt had plagued Din for days. He knew that he shouldn’t have reacted that way, but he had thought that-. He clenches his jaw beneath his helmet, because it doesn’t matter what he thought. He was wrong and here you are standing in front of him, wanting to take care of him, trying to apologize for something that he did to you.

"You don't have to. My brother should have." Your hand subconsciously reaches for Din's arm, and you stop half-way remembering how he took a step back from you when you put your hands on his chest earlier. Afraid that Din will only pull away from you again.

Din clocks the movement and he feels guilt come creeping back in. He wanted you to touch him again.

Stars, Din lived for your touch.

The subtle brush of your hand on his gauntlet, the hugs that you enveloped him in each time you said goodbye- and even moments ago when you rested your hands against his shirt. Din thought that he was hot from the fever, but as soon as the soft palms of your hands laid against the front of his shirt? Din thought that he was being actively swallowed by a star. But to see you draw back from him, broke him in the worst way. Din reaches out and takes your hand, and even though it makes him a little uncomfortable, he doesn't care.

Your heart stutters to a stop, eyes widening at where he holds it between the two of you. His skin is still warm to the touch and a little clammy, but the roughness of his palm against your smooth skin makes you want to melt into the floor.

"I should not have treated you that way Cyare." Din coughs to clear the nasally sound from his throat. "Please forgive me."

"You were having a bad day. It happens. Everyone does." You take a step closer to him, emboldened by the way he is holding your hand in his. He hadn’t done that since the night he walked you home after the Transdoshan.

How could I have forgotten that this is what it feels like?

"You never seem to." Din mutters, his helmet tilted down in your direction.

"Well, you don't see me on days that I don't get to see you." The words slip through your mouth before you realize the weight they hold, and you feel another blush flutter across your cheeks.

Din's body stiffens slightly. He wasn't expecting you to say that about as much as you were. A moment of silence passes between the two of you and you remember how Din acted when you showed up today.

If he doesn't want me here, then I might as well just go home. But I don’t want to leave him if he's really sick. He needs me.

"But-" You swallow, afraid of how Din will answer this. "If you really want me to go I will-"

"Stay."

Your eyes widen in surprise.

"I mean-" Din fumbles for his next words. "You don't have to go if you don't want to-"

"I don't." You squeeze his hand, smiling softly at him.

He nods once.

"Okay, then let's see what I'm working with."

You release his hand reluctantly and make your way over to the kitchen, opening the cabinets, drawers, and large refrigerator in the corner. Unfortunately, it reveals what you already know, that Din has absolutely no food or spices for you to cook him a descent meal.

Figures. The guy makes a beautiful kitchen but forgets to stock it. What has he been eating all week?

Something tugs at the bottom of your dress, a low cooing noise filling the brightly lit kitchen. You look down to see Grogu standing there, the soft fabric in one of his claw-like hands, dark eyes wide, staring up at you.

"Hey there little guy." You reach down and pick up the small creature, holding him close to your chest. Grogu babbles something softly and nestles his head just under your chin, cuddling into your body.

"He missed you." Din murmurs, his head tilted in your direction.

You glance up to lock eyes with him- well- eye to helmet contact and you smile. There's something inside of you that knows Din isn't just saying that Grogu missed you, you know that he's saying that he missed you too in his own way, and it makes your heart flutter.

"I missed him too." Your cheeks warm. "Both of you. I was worried when I didn't see you this week."

"You don't have to worry about me."

"I know that, but I- I do." You half-smile, rubbing circles into Grogu's back while he coos softly and nuzzles his head into you. "And unfortunately I have to go."

"What? I thought you said that you didn't want to go."

He sounds like how a kicked puppy looks.

It breaks your heart to hear him sound that way. Because you didn't want to leave him, but Din had none of the things you needed to make him soup or any of the medicine you needed to treat Din's fever.

How did he expect to get over this without taking any medicine or eating? By luck? He's such a guy.

"I don't want to go Din, I have to. Because you have absolutely nothing that I need to make you soup and you don't have any medicine. How did you expect to get better?"

"You don't have to make me soup."

"No, I don't. I want to. And now I want you to get back in bed."

"I don't need to-"

"Yes you do." You plant your freehand on your hip and stare him down. Despite Din being taller than you, you hoped that you looked a little bit intimidating. Though with Grogu in your other arm, pulling and tugging at the scarf on your head, you doubted it.  "We will be back in an hour. And you better be in that bed when I come back."

Din shakes his head. “I’m fine-“

“No. You’re not.”

He huffs out your name in protest.

“Din please.” You say his name as gently as possible, taking a small step towards him and placing your hand on his arm. “I understand that you're trying to be self-sufficient and strong, and you’re not used to someone taking care of you, but I want to. Please let me." Your cheeks heat with your confession as you stare up into his dark helm.

He hesitates for a moment helmet tilting down to where your hand rests against his skin. "Okay." Din relents.

"Good. Come on little one, let's get some things for your dad." You say to Grogu who babbles something to you while you walk past Din to the front door, but Din shifts at the last minute to block your way. "Din?" You ask confused.

What is he doing?

He stands there for a moment, looking down at you, without saying anything.

"What's wrong-" You begin to say, but before you can finish the question, Din pulls you into his chest, hugging you tight against him. You gasp in surprise.

Sure, Din and you were hugging more often. Whenever he walked you home at night and whenever he walked you to work in the morning and left to go about his day you always gave him a hug to say goodbye, but Din never, never, initiated the hug. It was always you. You that took a step forward and wrapped your arms around him. You that pulled him into you while he placed his arms tentatively around you as if he was afraid he were doing something wrong.

But this… this was…

Oh sweet jorgan-berry surprise this is something else.

Truthfully, you had wanted to hug him before you left for the market, but there was a little anxious voice inside that warned you against it, because of the way he'd pulled away earlier. You weren't sure if things between the two of you were back to normal.

"I-" He clears his throat, but the rasp clings to his voice. "I missed you cyare." He stumbles through the admission, but it makes you go like warm butter on toast. It stirred a little hope that somewhere Din was beginning to see you as more than just a friend, despite his continuous use of the word in Mando'a that he told you meant "friend."

"I missed you too." You whisper, wrapping your free hand up around his back, burying your face into the soft t-shirt he was wearing and rubbing soothing circles across his shoulder blades, feeling the strong muscles untense and relax with your touch.

It was more intimate than before when you hugged him while he was wearing the armor. Being pressed up against him like this allowed you to feel each muscle tighten around you, the warmth of his fever making his body almost uncomfortably hot, but you didn't care. It was perfect.

"I promise I'll come right back." You murmur into his chest.

"I don’t want you to go alone.”

“I’m not going alone, Grogu is going with me.”

Din grumbles under his breath. “I should-“

“Go to bed.” You finish pulling back so you can look up into his helmet. “I’ll wake you up when I get back. Okay?”

The reflection of yourself in the armor still has worry flickering behind your eyes, but the soft smile that pulls at your lips is genuine. You wanted Din to know that you wouldn't abandon him, not like this, not ever.

"Besides, I don’t think you're exactly up to fighting strength with the fever. The most you’d do is pass out on top of someone."

Din chuckles under his breath. "I could try to do something-"

"The only thing I want you to try to do is sleep." You gently push Din in the direction of the dark hallway, you're sure leads to his bedroom.

The thought of Din laying in his bed, his voice no longer modulated through the helmet, hair askew against his pillows makes your throat tighten uncomfortably. Each day you shuffled through your favorite combination of what you thought Din might look like- today for some reason you couldn't get the image of dark brown curls out of your head and a pair of eyes the color of a fresh baked pan of brownies that turned into a honeyed whiskey in the sun's rays.

A girl can dream.

You turn and reluctantly walk out the front door, adjusting the scarf in your hair and Grogu on your hip. You hated that you had to go all the way back to town, but you needed to.

Din needed you.

And with that thought, you begin the trek, oblivious to the way Din watches you go and takes a seat on his bench on the front porch to wait for your return.

Your trip to the market is strategic, you knew exactly what you needed, medicine, food, and spices all of which Din didn't have. You mentally ticked off each item as you wove through the different stalls with a swish of your dress, carrying an almost overloaded arm full of bags while Grogu cooed and babbled in your other hand. Each time you stopped at a stall Grogu would point at different things that he wanted while you shopped.

And because Din wasn't with you, you didn't stop yourself from buying things for Grogu.

But you knew that you needed to get back. You were worried about Din, more worried that he had spent the past day sick with no one to look out for him.

He should have tried to contact me. I know he tries to act all tough, but everyone needs someone in their life to take care of them. When was the last time he had someone take care of him?

The thought made your heart squeeze uncomfortably in your chest. You wanted to be that for Din and for Grogu. You wanted to be the one that took care of them, but the problem was… you also wanted more. And seeing the wonderful place where Din lived, made it even harder.

Because you saw yourself there. Saw yourself in the kitchen making dinner, saw yourself sitting on the front porch with Din watching Grogu play, saw yourself leaning into Din's shoulder in front of a roaring fireplace with his arm over your shoulders to bring you further into him…

The memory of his muscular un-armored arms tensing around you, pulling you deeper into his embrace against his muscular chest comes roaring back. It felt so safe there. Perfect. Like you belonged there with him. The image of his arms, burnished, and hewn with taunt muscle-

Calm down, he wasn't naked. You shake your head to clear it of the image. He might as well have been.

The walk back to the cottage is uneventful, but the whole time you kept thinking about Din continuously using the word "cyare" the word that he told you meant "friend." You didn't understand.

You'd seen the way he was around other people, how he spoke to them, and what he did for them, but none of it was the way that Din treated you. The way he always seemed to show up whenever you needed him, how Din allowed you to hug him and like today initiated the hug- it was different and you knew it.

But each time he called you "cyare" you felt your heart sinking deeper in your chest.

I'm not going to think about this right now. I am going to-

You look up at the cottage as it comes into view and notice that Din is sitting on the front porch, arms crossed in front of his chest, head leaning back against the solid stone wall of the house, still wearing the sweatpants and short sleeve t-shirt.

"What are you doing?" You shout, lugging the bags across the small path up to the house. "I told you to get back in bed!"

Why is he so damn stubborn?

Grogu walks behind you chewing on a bright blue treat you bought him at the market.

"I'm fine." Din sighs as he stands, wobbling slightly, before he tries to take one of the bags from you.

"No." You move them out of his reach. "You better get back in that bed Din or I'm going to tie you to it."

"You wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't I?" You arch an eyebrow, the long shadow of the formidable Mandalorian stretching out over you.

Din stands there for another few seconds, staring down at you, before he finally sighs and lets you past him into the house all the while grumbling something under his breath about him not being sick.

"Yes. You are." You put the bags on the counter, sifting through for the bottle of medicine you picked up while in town. "Here. Take these." You place two pills in his hand. "And go back to bed. I'll wake you in a little bit when the soup is ready."

What scares you is that he's unable to hold himself up completely upright. Din was one of the toughest men you knew and to see him like this made you even more worried.

"It'll help your throat." You begin to pull the ingredients out of the bags and place them on the counter. "Now go."

Din stands there on the edge of his perfect kitchen, leaning against the wall to support himself.

"Din I'm serious." You turn around. "Please." You take a step towards him and place your hand on his warm chest before you can stop yourself. It feels just as good as it did earlier. "I'm worried about you. The fever isn't going to go down without rest and medicine. And I know that you're trying to fight it with the strength of will or whatever, but that's not going to make it better."

Din exhales heavily, raising his hand to gently thread around your wrist where yours still rests against his chest. However as he inhales his next breath it shifts into a coarse sounding cough, his lungs jumping and spasming around his heart as he gasps for air. The sound makes you reach up with your other hand to gently lay against his helm right where his cheek would be if he wasn’t wearing it eyes widening in worry. You wanted to touch him so badly. To run your fingers through his hair, gently trail them across his cheeks, and hold him close.

A low rumble works it's way through Din's chest, vibrating against your hand with his next exhale as he leans forward into your touch.

"So please stop fighting me on this. I want you to rest, and take off your helmet when you do. I promise I won’t look and I don’t want you to be shut up in that oven all day. Okay?"

Din waits there another few moments, your hand still planted firmly against his cheek, while you feel his gaze through the helmet searching your face.

"Okay." He grumbles, before turning around and moving in the direction of his bedroom.

It's like trying to give a toddler cough medicine.

The soothing repetitive motion of the wooden spoon in the pot does little to ease the lightning quick thoughts fluttering across your mind.

Grogu babbles holding on to an extra spoon watching you with interest from where you placed him on the counter. He swings his little legs, and bangs the spoon every once in a while on something as if he were helping and he was. Helping distract you from the endless circle of the events of today that were going over and over in your head.

You pick up a knife to chop another few vegetables to add to the red stew bubbling on the stove. It was one of the oldest recipes you knew, the recipe your grandmother swore by whenever you or Ez were sick.

The smell brought back memories of you sitting at the small wooden kitchen table in her kitchen, sniffling in front of a hearty bowl and the feeling of her hand braced warmly against your back, rubbing soothing circles while you ate.

It was her cure all, her secret recipe.

And standing here in Din's kitchen with the sun falling softly through the open windows above the sink, it felt like home. It felt more like home than the small one room apartment you'd been renting in the city with the too-loud neighbors who often came down to yell at you for baking in the middle of the night. Though they didn’t do that too much anymore, because the last time they did, Din had been there to pick up Grogu and Din stomped up the stairs and had a "talk" with them that you couldn't hear from where you were sitting downstairs with the kid.

Din's never told me that he wants to be more than friends. Never tried anything romantic. Never asked me out. But why did he react that way with Ez? And why does he keep calling me his "friend?"

It was frustrating.

You hand Grogu a carrot to trade for the spoon in his hand before scraping the rest off the cutting board into the boiling soup. "Alright I'm showing you how to make this so you can make it for your dad, but you can never tell anyone." You smile at him, while you stir the thick liquid. "Do you promise?"

He gurgles something, chewing on the carrot, his dark eyes blinking at you.

"I'm gonna hold you to that." You lift the spoon to your mouth to taste, before holding it out for Grogu.

He takes a loud slurp.

"Good huh?" His little smile makes your tilt on the end of your mouth, and you give him an affectionate rub between his silky ears. "Should be almost ready. Do you want to go get your dad for me?"

Grogu nods and jump off the counter, his tiny body waddling down the darkened hallway. A few minutes later you hear Din groan as he enters the kitchen, holding Grogu in one arm.

"I see he found you." You smile over at Din where he sits down at the island in one of the hand-made wooden chairs. He was still wearing his helmet, but he had changed his soft gray shirt for a black one, which you figure is because the other was soaked with sweat.

You eye the helmet, chewing the inside of your cheek. It made you feel guilty, like he was shutting himself up in an oven because you were there. "How do you feel?"

"Better."

"Told you that rest would help." You shake your head at him and turn back to the pot bubbling pleasantly.

"Hmm."

"Do you have any bowls or do you two just eat like wild animals?" You open a smooth cabinet above the stove to try and find some utensils, but find that it's empty.

"To the right." Din sighs.

"Oh." You pour Din a generous helping into a bowl, before placing it down in front of where he's sitting at the counter. "Now this is an old family recipe. It's my grandmother's cure all. Don't ask me what's in it, because then I'd have to kill you."

Din lets out a cough that might be a laugh.

"But I'm gonna leave this on the stove for you and the medicine on the counter. I want you to take another dose after you eat." You tap your chin trying to remember if you missed anything. "I'm gonna go change your sheets. Because I don’t know about you, but there’s something about sleeping in a bed with fresh sheets that always makes me feel better.” But as you try to walk past him, Din reaches out to touch your arm.

"Sit." He croaks. "Please."

"But you can't eat if I-"

He couldn't. You knew that. Because to eat, Din would have to remove his helmet. Before you can stop, your mind begins to flutter back into the memory of when Din told you the only reason he could remove his helmet- that he would remove it for his wife, because she would be the other half of him.

I'm so pathetic.

"Sit."

You sit down next to him and take Grogu so he can sit in your lap with his own bowl of stew.

"I'll just close my eyes."

You shut them tightly, listening to the sound of the helmet unlocking and the thud of it as it lands on the stone countertop. The temptation to open your eyes and indulge in the one thing you'd wanted since the moment Din walked into your bakery for the first time is overwhelming, but you keep them closed.

You knew how important that creed was to Din and to violate his trust like that would hurt him and you refused to do that to your friend. So you keep them closed, busying yourself with fiddling with Grogu's sack-like clothing, adjusting it while he eats his stew.

I wonder if he has anything else to wear?

"Why do you want to take care of me?" Din's voice uninhibited by the helmet makes a shock of electricity travel the length of his spine. Even with the cold, the cadence of Din's voice sounds like liquid honey and you hope he never stops talking.

The question makes your throat very tight.

“Because you’re my friend and I care about you.” You reply to avoid confessing that you might be in love with him and you're not sure how to approach any of this. “I’m actually kind of mad you didn’t try to come get me as soon as you started feeling bad. I hate that you were out here all alone.”

“I’m fine.”

“Say that all you want, but next time if you don’t tell me when you’re sick I’m just going to move in.” You meant it as a joke, but you weren’t prepared for Din’s answer.

“I’d like that.” Din says.

“Huh?” You sputter.

What does that mean?

 “I-“ He coughs. “I don’t like that you live alone in the city.”

“It’s not that bad. Plus I don’t exactly walk back to my apartment alone. You always walk with me.” 

“It will be safer if you stay here.” He says lightly. “I have an extra room. Plus I can walk back here with you at night and I can walk with you to town in the morning.”

“I’m very confused as to where this conversation is going. Are you asking me to move in with you?”

Din is quiet for another minute, the only sound in the room from the clink of his spoon in the bowl.

Is he trying to get me to move in with him? Is he trying to say that he wants to be more than friends or is he really just so worried about me living alone because I need someone to help protect me all the time?

It was difficult to understand the conversation also because your eyes were still tightly closed.

“Would you hate living with me?” He asks in a softer tone.

“No. Actually I kinda like your house. It’s much bigger than my apartment. And your kitchen is huge. I didn’t expect it to be-“

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t cook.”

“No, but you do.”

You freeze. What does that have to do with anything? Did he- Did Din change his kitchen for me? No that’s crazy.

“I mean-“ Din clears his throat. “If you live here you’d be able to cook whatever you liked. And you wouldn’t have to worry about your neighbors.”

“But you’d have to wear your helmet all the time. Here you don’t have to do that with Grogu and I’d feel bad that you were shutting yourself away when you could be relaxing-“

It was true. Din should be able to feel comfortable in his own home, he shouldn't have to worry about me accidentally seeing him and breaking his creed.

“I am used to wearing my helmet for long periods of time.”

“This is different Din. It’s your home. You shouldn’t feel stressed about me seeing you accidentally. It should be a place you go to relax and-“

Din's hand comes down on your arm again, the feeling of his warm hand against your skin making your senses go into overdrive. You didn't know how you were ever going to go back to feeling the way Din felt while he was wearing his armor.

“I would be relaxed if you were here with me, because I would not have to worry about you.”  He states as he takes a bite of the stew.

“You don’t have to worry about me Din.” You sigh.

It was just what you'd been thinking about on your way over, that Din didn't think that you could take care of yourself, that he believed you needed a knight in shining armor to save you. It was exactly what you didn't want.

“I do. And I know you hate your neighbors.”

“Everyone hates their neighbors.” You sigh, fiddling again with Grogu's clothes.

The conversation was only making you more frustrated, because now you thought Din saw you as someone who wasn't strong enough to take care of herself. Like someone who always needed a babysitter.

“I don’t.”

“I’m very happy that you’ve gotten along with the frogs outside.” You laugh to try and dissipate some of the frustration.

Din is quiet for another moment as he continues to eat his soup, sighing softly under his breath.

"Din?"

"Hmm."

"Why do you want me to live with you so badly? Is it because you think that I can't take care of myself? That I need someone to always be there watching me?"

It hurt to ask him that, but you wanted to know.

Din says your name softly, his hand squeezing your arm. "No. I don't think that you need to be watched all the time. I-" He clears his throat. "I make a lot of enemies and many people in the city know how much time we spend together. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt because of something I did. That day with the Transdoshan I-" He hesitates.

"I'm okay." You whisper, threading your fingertips with his, giving his hand an encouraging squeeze.

"I know that. But, I would feel better knowing that you're here and safe."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, feeling the warmth of Din's hand clasped in yours, while Grogu wriggles and takes a long slurp from his stew in your lap. It felt right to be here with them both, to take care of them, but you knew that living here would change things. That maybe it would only make it harder for you, because you knew that you were quickly if not already falling in love with Din.

Maybe he wants to change things. Maybe that's why he is asking me to live with him. And maybe if I do this, maybe he'll see me differently, more than a friend.

“I don’t know how this would work. I’d have to pay you rent and I’m not sure how we’d figure that out. I guess I can pay the same thing I was paying before or-“ You continue slowly trying to make sense of everything.

“You wouldn’t have to pay.”

“Why not?”

“Because you never make me pay for things in the bakery.”  Din replies lightly.

“That’s different that’s just food, this is a room in your house!" You exclaim. You didn't want Din to think that you were mooching off of him. You were already lusting over this kitchen, and excited beyond belief to make it your own, but you still wanted to pay rent. It felt wrong not to.

"How about we call it even because you can watch the kid and cook occasionally?" He asks diplomatically.

Grogu wriggles in your lap, his tiny hands coming up to pull and tug at your hair as if anticipating the time you were going to spend together.

“I feel like it would be more than occasional given how incredible this kitchen is.”

“You really like it?” Din sounds pleased. 

“Yeah. It’s perfect. Your entire house is perfect.” You sigh chewing the inside of your cheek again in contemplation.  A part of you felt like you were taking advantage of Din staying here rent free.  You swing your legs nervously back and forth over the bottom of the chair, eyes still tightly closed. “I guess I can have everything packed in a few days. Are you sure you want me living here? I’m not exactly quiet or organized. And I don't want you to have to worry about violating your creed, because I'm staying here.”

“It won’t be a problem.  And I’m sure. You are my cyare and I want you safe. I wouldn't want you to live anywhere else."

And it was true, Din didn't. All he wanted was to see you in his kitchen, see you smile at him every morning when he woke up, hear the soft pad of your footsteps against the wooden floors of his home, listen to you read to Grogu on the couch in front of the fire, feel the soft embrace of your body against his when you hugged him, and revel in the way his entire body warmed whenever you were with him.

Din wanted you here. And deep down he rationalized that maybe somehow, the more time you spent around him that maybe you would start to think of him as someone other than a friend. It was what he had been doing each day when he walked you to the shop and walked you home, what he was doing when he courted you with the gifts- but it wasn't enough for him. Din wanted more. He wanted you here all the time. Wanted to be able to sleep at night knowing that you were safe. The problem was he just didn't know how to tell you how he felt, so he decided that he was going to do his best to show you.

A/N: Thank you so much everyone for reading! I've gotten such a huge response over this fic series and it has just been so wonderful and encouraging to see 🥰 Thank you so much for all y'alls comments, likes, and reblogs!

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! The comments really keep me going tbh. If you'd liked to be added to my taglist for fics in this universe please let me know!

Taglist:

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[siri-ike]

Sure.

A bit of confusion is to be expected after a nap like that.

It was a good nap. A really, really, good nap.

Tim wouldn't be surprised if he had been out for over 12 hours. He wasn't even sure he was still in the same dimension. That's how good it was.

Seriously.

Mind blowing.

But then he started noticing things.

It was small at first.

One fewer table settings at dinner. Maybe Alfred expected him to eat in the lab? Then there were the weird looks.

But the biggest clue was when Bruce asked for a chat in his office.

He hadn't done anything wrong. He ate, he slept, he... no, actually, those are usually the only things he gets in trouble for.

Maybe he slept through a shareholders' meeting?

"Son," Bruce addressed him.

Weird, he never calls any of them "son" or any other nickname. Tim sat down on the opposite side of the office desk. "Bruce?"

Bruce opened a drawer on his right side. "Are you planning on staying long?"

What? Does he want him to leave? He's never brought anything like this up before. Tim ignored the sound of Bruce placing papers on the desk.

His attitude has always been more a "Please don't ever leave, I need all my babies here, with me, forever." That's why Dick and Jasons rooms are still untouched (aside from when Alfred dusts in there). "I, I didn't know, there was a limit." Tim's hands trembled. This is the nightmare scenario. He knew it. He was never really part of the family. He was just there until he wasn't useful anymore. Tim could feel his eyes welling up. No, no, stop it. Don't give him more reason not to want you around. "I can fix it. Please just tell me what I did wrong." He blubbered.

"You're, not in trouble." Bruce rushed.

Tim looked up, trying to catch his breath. "But..." he looked. On the table were adoption papers. "Wha-?" Tim's eyes darted around the room. His gase landed back on Bruce and turned cold. "Another one? Don't you have enough? Wait, is that why I'm being kicked out? To make room for more? There are three empty rooms in the family wing and an entire second wing of bedrooms. You do not need to free up space." Tim scowled, practiced, exactly the way Bruce had taught him. "I have every intention on living here until the day I die."

Blanked

Some time anomalies happen and a bat member is completely erased from existence. That bag only realizes this when none of their family know who they are. I’m talking completely erased like they were never born. No media coverage, no pictures (exiting pictures altered), no birth records or anything. Not their family, not their friends, not fellow heroes, not even their parents (depending on who it was, default is Bruce and Alfred though) remember them. All except one. Phantom, who confusedly asks said bat why they are upset. Addressing them by name. (because he has a time medallion stuck in his chest that makes him immune to time anomalies.)

Danny is just passing by and sees the upset bat and goes “Hey! (Insert bat), what’s going on?” The bat freezes and then practically tackles Phantom like he’s their only lifeline.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hey, hope you have a nice day.

I always see stories where the villain is the fancy one and the hero is broke. So I was wondering, what if we have a hero that was charismatic, well-spoken and absolutely majestic (they have lots of money thanks to their job) meanwhile the villain is absolutely broke, villainy doesn’t pay well enamoured with them.

Maybe there is some fluff with the hero treating the villain like a princess/prince, and the villain is absolutely flustered by that?

Hopefully the idea will be entertaining.

"Move your legs."

The hero looked up at their naked enemy and straightened their own posture. They leaned over the edge of the bathtub with their chest pressed against the porcelain. Their mouth curled into a smile.

"That doesn't sound very nice, now does it?"

If they had stretched out their arm, their fingertips could have brushed the villain's thigh. The villain stared at them with that familiar grim expression and the unsurprising blush. For a long time the hero had found it troublesome to interact with them. The villain had a very tough shell.

"Please."

"My, what a good guest you are," the hero purred. As response, they lifted one of their legs above the waterline and watched intensively as the villain tossed a towel to the side and set foot into the bathtub. They lowered themselves and the hero assumed the villain wasn't quite used to such temperatures, judging by their frown. Cute.

The hero welcomed the company. Welcomed it gravely.

As soon as they were sitting, the hero put their leg on the villain's shoulder. Despite the villain's intense blush, they didn't move the hero's leg.

"You don't have a bathtub, do you?" the hero asked. They stared at the bubbles of the bathwater absentmindedly and leaned back against the tub. They stretched out their other leg with their ankle finding a place right next to the villain's side.

"No, I don't," the villain said. Although their expression was typically grim, their face softened. The hero figured they did enjoy the hot water.

"You should use it as much as you can for as long as you are here, then," the hero said. They blinked slowly, tilted their head. For some reason, their eyes felt unbelievably heavy today. They'd fought a stomach ache all morning. "Do you like your bedroom?"

"Yeah. Do you mind me being here?" the villain asked.

"No, of course not - I invited you. Your living conditions were unbearable. As the hero of the city, I obviously had to save you." The hero looked at them. For some reason, they only realised now how broad the villain's shoulders were. So much muscle.

Their eyes met.

"You are upset, though," the villain said. The hero forced a smile.

"How could I ever be upset when you're this close to me?"

"Whenever there is something on your mind, you search for physical contact. Even if it's a fistfight," the villain said. "When you are scared, you reach for someone's arm, when you're sad, you lean against somebody."

The villain's eyes, although they were relaxed, looked utterly determined. They stared at the leg the hero had put on their shoulder and touched it, their own hot fingertips brushing against the now cooled skin.

"And you have been very touchy this week."

The hero looked away. "Sorry."

They pulled their leg back, ashamed that they hadn't quite respected the villain's boundaries yet again, but the villain grabbed the hero's leg gently.

"I'm not saying I dislike it when we touch, I am saying that I wonder why you are doing it." With their hands around the hero's calf, they guided their enemy's leg back onto their shoulder. "Me being here isn't causing you any problems, is it?"

The hero stared at them. The stomach ache was back.

"No, you're not troubling anyone here," the hero said quickly. They moved in the bathtub slightly and the villain put a hand on the hero's knee that was under the surface.

"Why are you upset, then?"

"Just a little stressed from work, I suppose," the hero said. Similar to the villain, they kept troubles to themselves. Didn't discuss it, tried to be the fun one, the show-off instead.

"Stressed, huh?" Now it was the villain's turn to stare at the bathwater. "So stressed that you walk around the house at night?"

The hero looked at them, their heart beating rather uncomfortably in their chest. Often, they were glad that the villain was observant. Other times, the hero wasn't sure if they liked to be hit where it hurt. As if the villain was touching a bruise that wanted to heal.

"Nightmares? Or are you unable to fall asleep?"

"...nightmares," the hero said. They leaned back again, staring at the ceiling above them. They couldn't look the villain in the eyes. They had brought the villain here to keep an eye on them. To offer them a better life for a little while.

They hadn't expected to be read like an open book.

"Nothing you need to worry about. Just enjoy the stay for a while."

The hero took in a deep breath, closed their eyes. They tried to calm down their racing heart.

"I can barely enjoy my stay when my dear host is drowning in sorrows."

The hero looked up. It was uncomfortable. Those conversations were unbearable and the hero wasn't made for it, they feared. They weren't made to expose themselves like that. To be raw and truthful. They weren't strong enough for such discussions.

"Did someone die?"

The hero continued to stare into the villain's eyes and in this very moment, they weren't sure if they liked or loathed the villain.

"Why?"

"Because whenever people die, you get overly enthusiastic, trying to cheer everybody up, only to be the one who spends days alone doing God knows what."

The hero stared. They feared they couldn't do much more than that. They were trapped here in this bathtub with the villain.

The hero looked away. It wasn't normal to be this bad at handling grief, was it? The hero managed to somehow bury the pain and put on fake smiles. Not ideal, they'd been told.

"Death anniversary is coming up, yeah."

"Family member?" the villain asked.

"Yeah, my first sidekick." They weren't related by blood, but the hero figured their enemy was already aware of that.

Both of them were silent, until the villain spoke again. Their voice was comforting. They looked soft.

"When are we going to the graveyard, then?" They moved their own leg so it would rest against the hero's hip.

The hero looked at them.

"We?"

"We."

The hero blinked. Once, twice.

"Is Monday alright?"

"Of course." And for some reason, after all those years, it was slowly getting a little easier.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | DIVINE WHISPERS: STUCK BETWEEN PRAYERS DIVINE WHISPERS: Stuck Between Prayers | divine whispers: stuck between prayers ⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

In the mortal world, the sun sat high over Ithaca's courtyard, casting long shadows that didn't quite match the time in Telemachus' chest.

It was too bright for how he felt.

Too warm. Too loud—with birds chattering in the olive trees and the dull clatter of dishes from the kitchens nearby. Somewhere, a servant laughed as a jug tipped and caught itself on the edge of a fountain. A broom scraped across the stone in slow, lazy arcs, like the courtyard didn't know anything was wrong. Like the world hadn't stopped spinning the second Athena disappeared from their study without taking him too.

But he walked anyway.

His jaw was tight. Shoulders stiff. His feet dragged across stones that had somehow grown unfamiliar in just a matter of hours—days? Gods, he didn't even know anymore.

He'd stopped counting time when Athena left. Now it was all just sunrises and prayers.

Since then, he hadn't really slept. Not in the way that felt real. He closed his eyes, but nothing rested. He ate only what his mother forced onto a plate. He bathed because the guards were starting to glance at him sideways. But everything else? A blur. All of it. Just noise and ritual, passing under his feet while he waited.

Waited for a sign. A scroll. A whisper from a nymph or an omen in the coals.

Waited for you.

Because you weren't dead. He clung to that. Athena said so. You were alive. She'd looked him in the eye and told him that. Over and over, like she thought he needed the repetition.

But gods—that only made it worse.

Because if you were alive... then where were you?

Why hadn't you sent word?

Why hadn't you come back?

Why couldn't he feel you?

He paused at the edge of the courtyard, staring out toward the empty path that led to the docks. His hand curled against the column beside him, fingers tight. The stone felt too smooth under his skin. Too cold.

The wind moved gently through the trees, brushing against his hair. It smelled like thyme and old sea salt. Familiar. Wrong.

He should've felt something.

He'd always known when you were near. It was like a string tugged somewhere under his ribs. A quiet shift in the air, even if you never said a word. You just were. Present. Real.

Now?

He felt nothing.

No footsteps approaching the gate. No whisper from the wind. No sign in the sky.

Just warmth. Just birds. Just the slow, unbearable press of a world that didn't know you were missing.

He hated it.

Hated how normal everything looked while his insides were unraveling thread by thread.

His mother said to be patient.

His father had warned him that interference only invited more gods.

Callias had even joked that you were probably on some cliff somewhere, yelling at a cloud for looking too much like a prophecy.

And maybe that was true. Maybe you were just—somewhere. Untouchable for now. Maybe there was a reason for the silence.

But none of that made the waiting easier.

He shoved his hands into the folds of his tunic, pacing now. Barefoot. He'd forgotten his sandals. Or maybe he never put them on this morning. He didnt care. The stone was warm under his feet. Sun-heated. It reminded him that time was still moving—even if he didn't want it to.

He glanced up at the sun. Still too high. Still too bright.

It made him angry.

Because how dare it stay there—suspended, unmoving, shining like the world was whole—when you weren't home yet?

He turned suddenly, walking toward the garden shed where you used to keep your instruments.

Something yanked in his chest.

He wasn't even thinking. Just moving. Just needing.

The door creaked as he pushed it open. Dust danced in the beam of light that slanted through the window. The scent hit him all at once—old wood, lavender oil, the faintest trace of lemon wax and sea air.

He stood there for a second, breathing it in.

The shelves were cluttered. Bowed under scrolls and cracked strings. Paint pots tipped sideways. Someone had placed a rosebud on the bench—withered now. Forgotten.

But what broke him was the lyre.

Yours.

Or what was left of it.

It sat on the top shelf—tucked higher, like someone had tried to hide it from view. The wood was split along the side. Strings slack. The curve of its frame fractured down the center like something divine had held it too tight.

He didn't move.

Just stared.

His throat burned because it was the last thing tied to you.

Telemachus stepped forward slowly. His breath was thin, quiet, as he reached for it—his hand shaking just enough for him to notice. His fingers barely grazed the warped edge of the frame. He didn't lift it—didn't dare—just touched it. Light. Careful. Like if he moved wrong, it might vanish completely. Like maybe—if he was gentle enough—it would hum. It would breathe. It would call you back.

But it didn't.

Nothing moved.

Nothing hummed.

It was silent.

His breath caught in his throat like it didn't know how to keep going. He closed his eyes—just for a second. Just long enough to remember the sound of your laugh. Just long enough to remember the way your hands used to move when you tuned it. The way you used to sit in this very room and pretend the whole world wasn't sitting on your back.

And in the quiet—small, raw, like something cracked beneath the ribs—his voice slipped out.

"...Where are you?"

No answer.

Just birds outside. Just wind.

He pressed his forehead against the edge of the shelf, exhaling through clenched teeth. Tight. Sharp. His knuckles scraped faintly against the wood, his jaw ticking as he breathed through it, forcing the storm to stay quiet.

Still nothing.

No hum. No sound. Not even a whisper from the broken lyre that once pulsed with your song.

And then—his chest squeezed tighter, because he couldn't stop thinking about the beast.

Lady.

The moment she'd returned had been strange from the start. Not loud or chaotic like the rest of the palace—but quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that meant something had been torn.

She'd appeared at the edge of the cliffs like she'd been spat from the sea. Soaked. Shaking. Your satchel clutched around her thick neck like it had been tied there in a rush. Or... in fear.

Telemachus had run to her.

He remembered that clearly now. The way her great body collapsed into him. The way she shoved her snout into his chest like she couldn't breathe right without your scent.

He hadn't thought much of it then—just grief. Just confusion. But now, standing here, staring at one of the last things you've ever owned, it churned louder in his stomach. Ugly. Loud.

You hadn't arrived with her. She'd just... shown up. Alone.

And your bag—gods, your bag—he remembered what was inside. Your spare cloak, still damp with saltwater. Your sandals. Some half-eaten rations. A polished stone you'd picked out for Kieran. A jingly bracelet for Lysandra. Scarf for Asta. Dagger for his father. Seashell necklace for his mother.

Gifts for all of them. All, each with tiny, scrawled notes in your handwriting. A name for each one.

Except his.

There was nothing for him.

Or—No. Not nothing. Just a note.

He remembered holding it in his hand. How the parchment had been slightly smudged from seawater. How your handwriting had tilted more than usual. Like you were rushing. Like your hand had been shaking.

"Yours is too important to keep in a bag."

Telemachus shut his eyes now, pressing his head harder against the shelf, the words burning behind his eyelids.

Too important.

What did that even mean? What had you meant to give him that couldn't be wrapped up like the rest?

His breath caught.

Lady would never have left you.

Not like that.

Not willingly.

And suddenly the hot knot behind his eyes burned worse.

"She never leaves your side," he muttered, voice rough in his throat. "Not unless..." He trailed off.

Not unless what?

Not unless she was forced to. Or ordered to. Or told to run.

His heart thudded.

He straightened slowly, hand still braced on the shelf, his breath coming shallower now. His eyes darted to the lyre again—cracked, useless. A relic that had once sung and sparked beneath your hands. But the most damning thing—the thing that made his stomach drop all over again—was what wasn't in your bag.

The divine lyre.

The one Apollo had given you. The one that shimmered faintly even when tucked out of sight. The one you never let out of your reach.

It was missing.

Gone.

Mother said you'd taken it with you on the trip. Everything in him knew you wouldn't have left it behind. Not unless—

Not unless you'd never meant to leave at all.

Telemachus' throat closed, his whole chest pulling tight like a rope had cinched around his ribs and yanked hard. "Gods," he breathed—then let out a sharp, frustrated groan and yanking both hands through his hair. His fingers twisted into the strands and tugged, too hard, until his scalp stung.

"Idiot," he muttered, half to himself, half to the room. "Stupid, stupid—"

He backed away from the shelf like it had burned him, stumbling a step before catching himself. His feet dragged heavy over the stone, pacing once, twice—then stopping.

Athena had said you were safe.

She looked him in the eye and said it.

And he'd believed her.

He'd held onto that one thread since it was casted, like it meant something. Like her word—her calm, clean certainty—could fill the hole you left behind. But the longer he sat with it, the longer he breathed in this too-silent room—

The less he believed it.

Because safe didn't look like this. Safe didn't feel like grief woven into the curtains and silence so loud it made his ears ring. Safe didn't come without letters. Without whispers. Without even a trace of your voice left behind.

He exhaled, jaw clenched tight, then forced his legs to move. Just enough.

He dragged himself toward the workbench—your bench—the one you'd always used when you wanted quiet. When you needed space. He could still remember watching you sit there once, hunched over some tangled knot of string or paper or ink-stained map, your brows furrowed and one foot twitching as you focused too hard to notice him standing in the doorway.

He sat down on the edge now, slouched forward like the weight in his chest had finally forced him to bend. His elbows braced against his knees. His gaze dropped to the floor—fixed somewhere near his sandals, but not really seeing them.

Before he could stop it, a memory came.

No—rushed him. Overtook him like a tide he'd forgotten how to swim against.

It was the last time he saw you before he left for the smaller villages along the coast. He had duties to fulfill. Trade routes to assess. Small border disputes to mediate. His father had insisted it would be good for him—"to gain experience, to learn the pulse of the people." But all Telemachus remembered was the guilt of walking away. The weight of your eyes on his back. The question he hadn't answered.

The memory bloomed: soft and golden.

You were in your room. Late afternoon. The sun was sinking behind Ithaca's hills, casting amber light through the windows. The curtains glowed, sheer and golden, filtering the world in shades of honey and fire. The shadows were long, but warm. Safe.

You were sitting upright on your bed, legs curled to the side, a wall of pillows stuffed behind your back like a little fortress. Your divine lyre was in your lap, fingers plucking it in thought—not quite playing, not quite composing. Just drifting. Searching for something in the strings that hadn't taken shape yet.

He'd laid on his side beside you, one arm tucked under his head, watching.

That was all he did—just watched.

Your hair had caught the light like thread spun from flame. Your face, backlit in gold, looked like a painting—one of those sacred ones that hung in the halls of temples. Timeless. Distant. Something to be admired, not touched.

And yet you sat there, humming under your breath, not aware of the way you stole his breath every time you shifted in the light. Not aware of how long he'd been looking.

You'd smiled at him once—barely—and that had been enough to undo him.

He remembered thinking, I could stay like this forever.

But he hadn't said it.

Not then. Not when it would've mattered.

And now—gods, now the memory was louder than the silence he'd left you with.

A few more minutes passed.

Then, before he could stop it, the words spilled out like breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Are you happy here? In Ithaca, I mean."

Your fingers paused on the lyre. A soft, slow blink. You tilted your head, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

His eyes widened a fraction, and he sat up too fast, throat already closing around an excuse he hadn't built yet. "I—I didn't mean—" he began, but then stopped.

Before he could backtrack—before the lie could take shape—a pillow hit him square in the face. Soft. Playful.

You snorted, that breathy kind of laugh that curled his spine. "Why would you even ask that?"

Telemachus let the pillow drop slowly into his lap, eyes still a bit wide.

At the tip of his tongue was, "I don't know, just... wondering." Easy enough to say. Easy enough to let slide off into nothing.

But something inside him pushed. A flicker of honesty that didn't let go. And before he could smother it, he was rambling—words spilling out faster than his pride could stop them.

"It's just—so much's happened. Since Father came back. Since you found out you were blessed by Apollo..." He swallowed. "Since Lady showed up. Since Andreia, and you—"

He faltered. Looked down.

"You died."

The words left his mouth like a dropped stone. Heavy. Unavoidable.

He rubbed the back of his neck, face pinkening with quiet shame. "It's like—every time I think I've found steady ground, it cracks under me. Like the gods are playing a game I was never invited to, and I'm just... supposed to keep walking like nothing's shifting beneath my feet." His voice dropped, thickening. "And you..."

He looked at you then, really looked—like the words might break him.

"You keep getting dragged into it. Hurt by it. And I—I can't stop it. I want to. I swear I want to. But nothing I do feels like enough. I'm always a step behind. A moment too late. I just..." He dragged a hand through his hair, eyes flicking away. "I guess I needed to know if you're happy. Or if you're just surviving. Or that I need to—"

You let out a soft laugh—gentler than before, but real. You reached out, hand sliding into his. Warm. Steady. Your fingers squeezed, grounding.

"Telemachus," you said, smiling, "breathe."

He did.

Slowly. Deeply.

Once. Twice.

Then again, a little shakier this time, like he could force the nerves out of his chest if he just breathed hard enough. And then he looked away. Face red. Ears pink. "...Sorry," he mumbled. He sounded like he wanted to disappear into the sheets.

But you didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. Just scooted a little closer, the movement slow and easy like the sun shifting across the floor. Your lyre was set aside, its strings still humming faintly from your earlier touch.

"You worry too much," you said, nudging your knee against his. Then—without warning—you reached up and gave his head a light, playful shove. "One of these days you're gonna hurt that pretty head of yours, thinking so hard."

Telemachus scoffed under his breath, the sound half a laugh. "You think I'm pretty?" he quipped, turning toward you. His smile twitched wider when you rolled your eyes—but before you could shove him again, he caught your hand in his.

Warm. Easy.

He laced your fingers together, slow and sure, like he'd done it in a hundred dreams but never dared in daylight. Your hands fit. Stupidly well. Like they'd grown up waiting for each other.

He stared down at them for a moment—your thumb resting gently over his. His calluses brushing the back of your knuckles. And then...

"____."

He said your name.

Soft.

Like it was something fragile. Something he didn't want to break by accident.

Your eyes met his.

And gods, he forgot how to breathe again.

Because the light from the window was falling across your face just right—gold along your cheekbones, softening at your lashes—and for a second, you didn't look real.

His throat tightened.

"I just..." he started, the words catching before they landed. He looked down again, thumb brushing yours. "I don't know how to explain it. It's not just about safety. Or duty. Or the palace."

He looked up, met your gaze again, steadier now.

"I just want you to be happy."

Your expression softened.

"I want to be the reason you smile without thinking," he added, voice lower. "Even if it's just for a second. Even if I never say it right."

He swallowed, thumb still tracing that same little circle over your skin.

"I know I can't stop the storms. Or the gods. Or whatever it is that keeps pulling you out of reach...  but if there's even one part of this world I get to protect—if there's anything I'm allowed to hold onto—it's this."

A beat passed.

His voice fell quieter.

"You."

And he said it like a promise.

Like he meant to spend the rest of his life trying to keep it.

Your breath hitched. Barely—but he felt it. Heard it. And when you said his name, soft and uncertain, it landed somewhere beneath his ribs. "Telemachus..."

Then came the smile.

Gods, that smile.

It bloomed slow, like sunlight warming over frost. But it grew. Glowed. Broke open across your face like a secret only he'd been trusted to witness. Your eyes shimmered—not with tears, not really, just... something misty. Something full.

And in that moment, Telemachus swore—swore by every god above and every stone beneath his feet—that he would make it true. That he'd keep you smiling like that, even if it meant burning his knees on every temple floor in Greece. Even if it meant clawing against fate itself.

But now?

Now he sat alone.

Back in that same room—your room—the light all wrong and the air too still. And gods, it clung. You clung. To the edges of the bench, to the shelf where your old lyre currently sit. To the pillow that still had a tiny indent where your elbow used to rest while you played.

And all he could think was—

You looked like a vision that day.

Like something he should've reached for. Should've held tighter. Should've said more to. Something he'd already begun losing, even as you smiled.

Everyone kept saying you'd be back. That you just needed time. That he was making something out of nothing.

But they don't feel the space you left behind. The ache of something missing that didn't have a name.

His throat tightened as his foot tapped once and then stilled. His hands sat heavy in his lap, fingers twitching like they were used to holding something—your hand, maybe. The frayed edge of your sleeve.

"I..." he tried to say—but the word caught in his throat, dying in the space between his teeth. Groaning softly, he dragged a hand down his face. "Gods..."

He missed it.

Gods, he missed you.

But missing wasn't a big enough word anymore. This—this was something else entirely. Not longing, not heartbreak. Something slower. Meaner.

Like a pressure behind his ribs that wouldn't ease. Like sitting in a room someone had just left, still warm with their breath.

And for the first time, he wondered—

Is this what she felt?

His mother. All those years spent waiting, weaving, pretending the ache was survivable. Was this what kept her up at night, this phantom-limb feeling of a person who should be there and wasn't?

He'd never understood it. Not really.

But now?

Now he did. Gods, he did.

The quiet. The wondering. The whiplash of carrying love when there's no one left to give it to.

Maybe this was what love became when you hoarded it too long—quiet, unused, and too late.

He had chances, and yet, he continued to spend them like they were infinite.

Time to tell you. Time to hold you. Time to press his forehead to yours and whisper something stupid, something small, like: "Stay."

But now? Now all he could do was wonder.

Were you happy, wherever you were?

Were you afraid?

Did you miss him the way he missed you, or had the gods already swallowed that part of you whole?

He closed his eyes, his hands curled into fists. He imagined you out there—walking along some path, under a sun that shone just for you, among gods who saw you as prophecy, as prize, as poetry.

But not as you.

Not the you who scrunched your nose at his old boots. Not the you who laughed so hard at his training stories that you nearly fell off the bench. Not the you who once fell asleep mid-conversation, your head tipping onto his shoulder like it belonged there.

He would give anything—anything—just to hold you again. Just to feel your hand slip into his and know you'd done it because you wanted to. Because you were still his. Not in title, not in fate. Just...

His.

And gods.

He hoped you still felt that too.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: here's a bit of extra scenes/plot to ch.60 ┃ 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧; lolol so happy you all enjoyed the last chappie, especially zeus, cuz he will be popping up in the isekai---as well as other works i have planned!! also, decided that i'll continue leaving notes under the fanart i recieve---they're just too amazing to not at least say something; someone helped/suggsted that i post them with the credits and whenever i get the chance to come back and edit the little notes when i have time, so i'll do that!! i already made a few comments on a few pics and will be sure to do the rest before re-uploading them onto the other platforms i post on ❤️❤️ also! i see you guys have lots of questions, so if you want, i can host a mini-q&a, but the twist it'll be interactive!! so that means i'll reply to whatever questions in character under the comments, which means more info/clarification for anything you'd wanted to know (i saw this done a few years ago from an book i read and had hella fun doing it/asking questions!) lemme know if you guys wanna try it!

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

[paramythas]

𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐓 ��𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐒, as if it's something she's not used to- and she's not. Yet he does it with such casual ease that she doesn't think any more than necessary about it. If that's what he wants to do, then that's what he wants to do. Maybe she'll figure it out later, because it feels like it's important somehow, and generally speaking, she doesn't always wear shoes that are easy to slip off or out of. It'll be a problem if it's an expectation.

That said, she continues observing him the way she was taught; expression (controlled, restrained, surprisingly so for someone she doesn't think is that way by nature), body language (hesitant, apologetic, but not cowed; prideful to a fault), eyes (avoidant still, but not hiding) and finds herself curious. When it comes, the apology leaves her blindsided. Because yes, while he'd apologized before it was, she thinks, something of a panic reaction.

(Don't lose the asset, priority one.)

Now there's careful thought behind his words, and a surprising amount of honesty. Enough so that she thinks this might be the most honest apology she's ever gotten. Well, no- that isn't quite right.

It's basically the only apology she's ever gotten.

When it had happened, the death of her parents hadn't warranted one. Even though Roman had jokingly apologized for talking about her money, that had been more of something that hadn't really warranted it. Just a course-correction about something he knew bothered her, same as he always did. Roman, after all, had known better than to do things he might need to apologize for to begin with. After him though... no one had cared enough to be bothered. Cinder's 'apology' to get the lamp, looking back on it, had simply been her playing the long game.

So, this is the first genuine apology she's ever been given, and she doesn't know what to do with it.

Staying angry now feels... almost pointlessly embarrassing and, if she's honest, she was less angry at him and more angry about the sore spots he'd unknowingly stabbed at. Thus, Neo takes the apology with a muted nod of her head, looking only passingly contrite.

Then she flashes him a look that's equal parts amused and incredulous, tilting her head at him. One hand lifts slowly, and with both brows arching high, she points the single finger at her mouth, giving her eyebrows a twitch.

I can't really tell you shit, the motion conveys, and she reaches for her sandwich immediately after, taking a delicate, carefully-measured bite.

Honestly, she almost wishes she could. Then maybe he'd be able to understand the extent to which she's not joking about what she tried to explain. Maybe he'd realize that there's no way a man would make up that much, put that much effort into a whole world, just to yank out one person. Especially when that person has a reason to so fervently hate being manipulated. Neo can't tell him any stories, not without writing them all out. And no one wants to sit and read about her whole life.

Besides, it wouldn't be the same if he couldn't understand her feelings.

Swallowing her bite, she finally decides to move upright, pulling her glass off her knee as she takes hold of her plate with her other hand. Swaying upright in the center of the sill, her legs swing idly as she points at the sandwich with one finger from her milkshake glass.

Hungry?

Then a pause, and she remembers-

-and shakes her head in a clear 'never mind'. He won't eat anything she makes, she's pretty sure.

One of her illusions opening the door is about what he expects by now. Not that he wouldn't probably do the same, if he had that sort of power. Workaholic that he was, it wasn't hard to understand the appeal of having extra hands to mitigate having to stop whatever she had already been doing before he arrived.

His brow quirks a little bit at her odd, precarious position. He doubts she intends harm, either to him or to herself, considering she's lounging with food and a drink. If she had been though, he has one advantage most don't. He's faster than most people alive have any right to be, or are physically built for for that matter, so even if this were a worst case scenario--...

Well, he doesn't think it is, but who could really say after the discussion they had had previously? The existential suggestion that she might not even be a "real" person in the standard sense.

For some people, that's enough to push them over the edge.

"Hey." It's light and casual, slipping his shoes off at the door. It was... sort of business, but he's not here on a job, and Neo's more settled in to her living space, so it's only more respectful to do so.

His eyes briefly drift over her latest project as he strolls in, and he figures that must be what she'd kept herself occupied with since they last parted. From what parts of it he could see, she'd spent a lot of time on it.

Eventually, he stops a few feet back, taking note of her tension. She definitely hadn't forgotten their talk before, but it didn't really change what he had to say either way, keeping his own posture deliberately relaxed and unthreatening.

"Look, I'm... sorry, for the things I said before. I probably came off a lot worse than I intended to. It's not that I was trying to be dismissive or anything like that. If I'm being honest, I'd much rather believe what you told me is true more than any of the alternate possibilities it could have been." He gives a small, mildly humored scoff trailing at the end of low-spoken words that sound genuinely remorseful. "It'd be a whole lot simpler and safer if it really is how you say."

There's an unspoken but at the end of his words, but he thinks Neo is sharp enough to catch it without needing it explained -- again -- and probably still touchy enough to be grateful he doesn't tread back into it after he promised to drop it entirely.

"Maybe we can try to start over? I don't exactly expect you to just spill your whole life story to me, or want to talk about it straight away, but with all you can do and what you've shown me, I'm sure you must have some pretty interesting stories. Maybe you could tell me a few of them some time? I wouldn't be against hearing more about it, when you're ready to tell me."

It's an attempt, at least, of extending an olive branch of some humility where there was clearly still a rift.

[writingdevil]

I’ve finally read through ALL your stuff and I adore it! I love your characterisations of the voices so so much. Would it be possible to ask for more cheated/opportunist? I love the way you made cheated cling to anything that flusters oppy, I feel like he’d never stop looking for ways lmao

(YESSS I LOVE CHEATUNIST!!! You have no idea how obsessed I've become with this ship and their dynamic! I love it and I will always want more of it, because I love how heated they can both get from riling each other up. Anway, enjoy!)

"Where the fuck is he?"

Cheated couldn't believe he was saying this, but he was actually looking for Opportunist.

Cheated was honestly surprised the world wasn't imploding from this revelation.

But it was true. Cheated, over the past few weeks, had found himself spending more and more time with Opportunist, but now, all of a sudden, the slimy bird was nowhere to be seen.

Cheated had gotten so used to having him yap in his ear, finding the bird constantly throwing an arm over his shoulder and gloating over every game that he won, that his absence suddenly felt- wrong.

Cheated hadn't seen him at breakfast, no matter how long he lingered in the kitchen. He couldn't find him outside of the house at all, and when he asked, everyone said that they hadn't seen Opportunist anywhere either.

Cheated could've checked his bedroom, but he knew that that was Opportunist's one safe space, and Cheated didn't feel comfortable breaching that privacy with Opportunist.

Besides, surely Opportunist wasn't just holing up in his room. Surely he was just sneaking around, eating and wandering about when no one could see him, and not just rotting away in his room. Opportunist wouldn't do something that drastic for whatever reason, right?

...Oh, that fucking idiot.

Cheated sighed, trying to ignore the dread and worry pooling in his stomach as he ran to Opportunist's bedroom, skidding right in front of the locked door.

Cheated panted, just staring up at the door and trying to hear for any signs of life on the other side. Cheated really didn't want to cross any lines here, but he was too worried to not try.

"Oppy?" Cheated called out, and then after a few seconds of silence, he knocked on the door. "Oppy? Are you in there?"

Cheated waited with bated breath, hoping to hear anything- but when nothing was heard, Cheated sighed sharply and said, "Oppy, please let me know if you're in here. I'm starting to get really worried about you."

Cheated waited, his fear growing more and more until-

-a whine. A whine of distress.

"Oppy!" Cheated exclaimed, pressing his palms flat against the door. "Oppy, I heard that! Answer me!"

Opportunist didn't answer in that moment, but Cheated knew what he heard. Opportunist was in there.

Cheated glared at the door, then began excessively banging on it, letting the sound echo throughout the hallway until Opportunist's voice came through, "Okay, okay! Stop banging, I'm here!"

Cheated lowered his hand, frustration making it curl into a fist. "What's going on with you? Nobody's seen you all day."

There was an awkward pause, and then Opportunist sheepishly said, "I'm having a me day."

Cheated's brain froze- and then it was quickly engulfed with rage. "A fucking what?"

"A me day," Opportunist reiterated, voice growing in confidence as he said, "I have to, to be able to deal with all of your outbursts throughout the day. You know, you should try it some time- maybe some introspection might be good for you."

Cheated rolled his eyes and scoffed, "You're lying."

"I most certainly am not," Opportunist protested, voice taking on an annoyed tone now. "I value time to myself as well, you know."

"No you don't," Cheated shook his head with a smug smile, even if Opportunist couldn't see. "You hate being alone. You always need someone around to listen to your dumb yapping."

Opportunist spluttered on the other side of the door, before he said, "I don't hate-"

"Also," Cheated interrupted, ignoring Opportunist's offended noises at being cut off, "nobody's seen you all day. Have you eaten anything? Have you gotten fresh air at all?"

The silence was all the answer he needed. "You can't call that a me day," he declared, "so what's really going on here?"

Opportunist didn't say anything to that, but Cheated could hear him pacing up and down in his room. Cheated let him do that for a few seconds, and then he thumped his fist against the door. "Oppy!"

Opportunist yelped, and then there was the sound of him marching up to the door, and Cheated could hear the irritation in his voice as he hissed, "You're really annoying, you know that?"

Cheated barked out a laugh. "That's rich coming from you."

"No," Opportunist said, and Cheated never heard him speak with so much honest ire before. Usually he coated everything in either a placating tone or he complimented someone until they forgot what they were talking about. But here, Opportunist was being brutally honest.

"No, you get on my nerves so much."

Anger exploded out of Cheated's chest. "You think you don't piss me off every day?!"

"No, you don't get it," Opportunist protested. "You annoy me because you never fall for my tricks. You insist that I have a plot up my sleeve, or that everything I say is a lie. You never even give me the chance to trick you."

"Are you actually upset about me not falling for your little schemes?"

Opportunist went on as if he hadn't heard Cheated, "Instead, all we do is play games that mean nothing, but I still play them with you, just because I think you're funny when you're angry. We play and we talk and I know I can't fool you, but I still hang around you. Why? I wish I knew!"

Opportunist panted, and then Cheated flinched as Opportunist slammed his fist against the door. "Then-and then- you have the audacity to make me feel-" Opportunist cut himself off to make a disgruntled noise of frustration, "-feel flustered and nervous, because you keep poking at me and making me trip up!"

Cheated furrowed his brows in confusion. Is that what this was about? Cheated made Opportunist embarrassed?

"Oppy, what are you talking about? I don't do anything to make you act like that! If anything, you're the one who keeps messing with me!"

"Yeah, and then you turn it around, and then suddenly I can't lie or tease you, or do anything to try and get an advantage, because you can't give me anything and I can't perform around you- but I- I-"

"You what?" Cheated asked, his face warming up for some reason.

"But I can't stop thinking about you!"

Cheated's heart skipped a beat.

He heard Opportunist pant on the other side, and Cheated wanted to see the look on his face. He wanted to see how Opportunist looked right now, after spilling his guts to Cheated.

Cheated took another step towards the door, almost brushing against the wood. He heard the way Opportunist calmed down, then the way his breath hitched, as if only realising what he had just revealed.

"Oppy?" Cheated whispered- and then there was the sudden sound of Opportunist stumbling back in a panic, his feet taking him further away from Cheated, and Cheated pressed his forehead against the door, as if that would bring them closer.

"Oppy?" Cheated repeated. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" Opportunist squeaked, but Cheated could hear the fear in his voice. "I am perfectly fine, as long as I stay in my room, and away from you!"

"Is that why you're not leaving your room? You're avoiding me?" Cheated tried not to let the hurt show in his voice, but he couldn't stop the pang of pain in his chest.

Opportunist was silent for a few seconds, and then he quietly said, "I can't trust myself around you."

Cheated's hand found the doorknob.

Cheated couldn't stand this- couldn't stand hearing Opportunist's voice be so small and weak, not when he was used hearing him be so loud and confident and practically brightening up a room with his nonsense.

Dammit, Cheated missed Opportunist! He missed the way Opportunist would talk to him for hours and never back down, no matter how grouchy or enraged Cheated got.

He missed the way Opportunist would look at him with a knowing twinkle in his eyes, eyes that would have Cheated's heart fluttering and mouth going dry, looking at him as if he couldn't wait to see Cheated's reaction to something.

He missed the way Opportunist would laugh- not the loud, boisterous one that was clearly fake- but the tiny giggles he would let out when Cheated said something funny, or the snort he would always try to hide, but Cheated found absolutely adorable.

In that moment he knew- Cheated was in love with Opportunist.

"Oppy, open the door," Cheated pleaded, trying to keep his voice level, but Cheated was never the calm and collected type.

"No." Oppy sounded as far away from the door as possible. "No, I don't want to see you right now."

"Say it to my fucking face then!" Cheated snarled, grip tightening on the doorknob. He was prepared to bash this shitty door down if it meant he could see Opportunist again.

"You can't come in!" Opportunist yelled. "We need to talk about this!" Cheated protested, but Opportunist just retorted with, "No, we don't! We just need to stay out of each other's way and-"

"-and what? Avoid what's going on between us forever? Is that how you wanna live?"

Opportunist was quiet for what felt like an eternity. Then, a small, weak, "Yes."

Cheated glared daggers through the door, baring his teeth at the barrier between him and Opportunist.

"I don't fucking believe you! Now open this stupid door-"

In a fit of rage, Cheated yanked on the seemingly locked door, expecting it to hold firm against him- but then it just swung open.

Cheated just about managed to stop himself from falling forward on his face, stumbling to a halt as he clutched the doorknob for dear life. He let a gasp of shock out, staring down at the ground in disbelief, before slowly lifting his head.

Opportunist was pressed against the back wall, trembling all over with wide eyes, full of confusion, shock, and fear.

Did Cheated ever actually check to see if the door was locked?

No. No, he hadn't, because he just assumed Opportunist locked it, and Cheated wanted to respect his privacy.

Their eyes locked, and Cheated could see the exact moment that Opportunist realised what he had failed to do- lock a door.

But then again, now Cheated was here with Opportunist.

Opportunist eventually got over his shock and embarrassment, even if his raised feathers said otherwise. He glared at Cheated, but it was barely a sting compared to how sad he looked to Cheated.

"Get. Out," Opportunist demanded in a dark tone, but all Cheated could focus on was the tremble and nervousness in his voice.

"I need to do something first," Cheated whispered, staring at Opportunist, at this dumb and infuriating bird that Cheated couldn't get enough of. He marched over to Opportunist.

"No!" Opportunist protested. "You need to leave-"

"Shut the fuck up, Oppy," Cheated mumbled, walking over and grabbing Oppy's face, slamming their lips together into an intense kiss that made Cheated's knees buckle.

They both let a whine of heartache out at the kiss, as if they had been missing this their entire lives. Opportunist struggled to get out of the kiss, but Cheated just shoved him against the wall, determined to do this right.

It was messy and unfocused, but Cheated couldn't deny how soft Opportunist's lips felt against his, making him slowly grow addicted for more.

He broke away first still, panting as he felt Opportunist clutch at his arms that were holding him. Opportunist's eyes were wide and dazed, struggling to come to terms with what had just happened, so unlike his usual sharp and calculated looks. Cheated liked being the one to get this reaction from him.

Cheated looked him in the eye as he spat out, "You piss me off so much." Opportunist tried and failed to give him a look of rage, still squirming against Cheated's hold. "You're always the one to poke fun at me, and you somehow know exactly what to say to make me see fucking red. You lie, you cheat, and you're completely shameless about it."

Opportunist opened his mouth to protest, but Cheated closed his eyes and brought him into another passionate kiss, sighing at how good it felt.

He could also feel Opportunist's grip become softer, and his body stopped trying to escape his embrace, instead now softly kissing back, and Cheated could swear that he heard Opportunist whine when they separated again.

Cheated panted as he looked at Opportunist's half lidded eyes, at the pure want that was growing in them.

The idiot wouldn't have lasted a full day away from Cheated.

"But despite all that," Cheated continued, his voice coming out more rough and heavy as time went on, "you refuse to leave my mind. You drive me fucking mad, because I can't stop thinking about your dumb, pretty smile, or how your voice sounds so annoying and sweet at the same time and-and-you keep coming back to me."

Opportunist looked shocked, and Cheated's face was completely on fire at this point, so he ended up glaring at Opportunist's chest, with all his incredibly soft and perfect looking feathers.

"You keep coming back to talk to me even though all I did was yell at you and call you a con artist. You just- didn't leave. You keep playing games with me and hanging around me, no matter how pissed off I got at you- and then I started to see you for who you actually were, and I suddenly never wanted you to leave."

Finally, he looked up into Opportunist's eyes, and saw nothing but pure, scared, love in them.

"So yeah, I can't stop thinking about you either, asshole," Cheated finished with a huff- and then they were kissing again.

This time, Cheated wasn't sure who pulled the other in first, or who slipped their tongue past the other's lips, but all Cheated knew was that nothing could replace this moment.

The two of them melted against each other, all tension and nerves replaced with love and passion, and Cheated's sighed as he felt Opportunist desperately clutch at his shoulders, and he just pressed Opportunist further against the wall, bringing out all sorts of cute whines and moans from him.

Cheated could get addicted to this. He wanted to get addicted to Opportunist.

Unfortunately, a lack of oxygen made them pull apart, and Cheated's not sure he's ever seen Opportunist look so frazzled and fallen apart.

He loved it. He loved Opportunist.

Cheated rested his forehead against Opportunist's, who sighed and closed his eyes for a moment of peace, letting everything that had just occurred settle within them.

Then, Cheated smirked and whispered, "Checkmate."

Opportunist gave a soft snort of fond amusement, and then pulled Cheated into another amazing kiss.

[kiruamon]

A Villain's Light AU - What if...

... Eclipse had found his little boy, when Snowcone had been even younger? Like just a tiny baby:

His first reaction would be something between confusion and panic. His processors running so wild that his internal fans could be heard loud and clearly. How can something be that tiny? So vulnerable? There wouldn't have been even a split second to be in denial that he might care for the life of an organic being in this very moment. But dang would his hands have trembled when he picked up the little fox cub, somewhat scared of being too rough with this tiny squeaking thing in his hands. Feeling scared - for the first time in a very long while - ... that it might die on him if he didn't do something. He would have been way more faster in a protective and caring mode and trying to nuture the little fox while putting his projects aside for a good while.

The Bite of You're-My-Papa-Now:

Happy proud dad mode would have been unlocked for sure:

Yeah, just a fun What-if-scenario. Back to reality though: Things in the original timeline where a tad more sober and slow paced when Eclipse found Snowcone as a pub. He isn't too proud of his initial thoughts back then (not at all). To have felt indifferent at the sight of Snowcone's mother. Just a dead fox killed by another animal, nothing more to it then that, right? (He still feels guilty about that one.) And the little cub bound to die as well when being left alone. It's just the way nature is. An end that every organic being faces at some point. Why bother if it happens sooner rather than later? "If it has to die anyway, then why not take it with me? It can be a test subject. At least there would be an use to it's life then." Like this Eclipse had thought about the situation, even if at the same time the words had felt a bit hollow. But that was still at a time were Eclipse had a more distorted view of himself, of who he had been shaped into and who he thought to be in his self-created role as a villain. A lot of pieces to himself still missing. Even to believe that there had been any kinds of positive emotions left in him seemed unthinkable to him. To this day, it makes him feel an odd mix of shame and disgust towards himself for the way he had treated his little boy during their first time together. Not that Eclipse really had done anything bad to him. He had made sure to make him a box with some blankets as a 'bed'. He got him some bowls with food and water - that one makes him still cringe in hindsight. And he even looked up what to feed a fox cub. His attachment hadn't started very big, but when Eclipse does something he usually sticks with doing his research thoroughly to make sure he is doing things right. And despite his original excuse, he never had shown a real interest in using Snowcone as a test subject. Honestly, after taking Snowcone in, Eclipse mused more over reasons why he couldn't use the fox cub as a test subject instead of looking for ways how to use him. He would tell himself things like:

"In his current state he is too fragile, I have to do some health checks first." "Results would be more beneficial when he's fully grown up. Right now, he is just too young for any serious testings." "I have more important projects to work on right now. There is no time to bother to come up with a test series. Maybe later, when there is nothing better to do." "Still no time, I'll think about something another day."

In aftersight, his words since the begin might have just been an excuse. An half-hearted way to reason why to take the cub with him instead of leaving it as he never had any real need for a test subject in the first place. His henchmen had probably a better understanding for Eclipse's actions than he himself. They knew since a long time, that their boss had a tendency to take abandoned and lost things with him. To give them a place to stay or to make them whole until they were ready to leave on their own. After all, it was how most of them had found their way under his protective wings.

[dragonmasterhiccup]

That would be a challenge. His hand to his chin, he was deep in thought. "Maybe you don't have to. All we really need is some thick cloth, with a, like a trench cut in to accommodate the fin?"

She said his name, and he knew he'd spoken too soon. ,"No, just, uh, just forget I said anything--"

He froze, looking back at her in shock. "Wait, you...you what?" She liked him back? His eyes had a glint of hope. "You, you do?"

Giving a weak smile, he nodded. "Yeah, I, I know the feeling..." Strong and fast was a good way to put it.

Even in the dark, he could see that her eyes were tearing up. Resting a hand over hers, he listened until she finished, in utter disbelief that she was willing to let herself like him for the short time they could be together.

"...There is a way..." He said softly. "First...when the moon is full, I can choose to have legs for a day. Be human, temporarily." He hadn't done it yet, so it would be a first. "But...long term...there is someone who has the power to help us."

Hiccup paused. "The biggest obstacle would be getting him to agree. He...he hates humans. Humans and dragons, really. But that's not the point," He was getting off subject. "Let's just...see how these next few days go. Get to know each other better, see where this leads. Then...I'll talk to my dad, see if he'll let me come and live on land, be with you."

She could also come below the surface, but he wasn't sure if that was something she'd want.

The merman blushed again at her question, avoiding her gaze. "I had seen you, more than a few times from the water. I...you just caught my eye, and I found myself wanting to see you more. Get to know you."

"I had no idea you'd come to the beach yesterday, when we met. But I was really glad you did. I'm...I'm still really glad."

Looking back into her blue eyes, he was quiet for a moment before speaking again. In their chat, he hadn't realized, but their faces had drawn close.

He didn't take the opportunity before. But now, he saw no reason to duck, no reason to look away. The merman leaned in, kissing her softly.

Pulling away, he felt almost giddy, a bright smile on his face as he lowered his gaze to his hands in his lap. "You know, it's a good thing I won't have to pretend around the others tomorrow. Because you should know, I'm a terrible liar."

After a long training session, all Astrid wanted to do was cool off on the beach. Maybe a tiny swim, even though the ocean was so cold at this time of year. She pushed through the brush and staggered down to the shore.

Only to find a boy lounging in the shallows.

“Oh!” She dropped her axe in the sand. From his bare torso, she assumed he was naked. “Sorry! I didn’t know someone else would be…here…” as the apologies flowed, she realized from the waist down, he had green scales and a pair of fins.

No wonder she hadn’t recognized him.

“No way…” she inched closer. “A real mermaid! In the flesh! Are the stories true?” She stamped down her overwhelming curiosity for a moment to give him a stern point. “Don’t try anything fishy, mermaid. I’m very capable of protecting myself, got it?”

((I saw the prompt and went feral, hope you don’t mind))

[X]

Hiccup started, the water around him splashing as he sat up straight in surprise, before he moved a little further back, his cheeks flushed.

"No, sorry, I, I shouldn't--" Ducking his head, the merman awkwardly held up a hand, "Usually no one comes here..."

But his movements only caused his tail to briefly break the surface, emerald scales glittering in the sun for a moment before dipping below the water again.

Firmly, he responded, "Merman. I am a merman. And no, don't worry, I, I wasn't going to try anything...I know you'd probably kill me if I did..."

Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his hair, which had partially dried in his time sitting in the shallow water. "What, what stories are you referring to?"

He knew, or at least had a gut feeling about what she was asking, but he wanted to hear it from her. She appeared wary, but not fearful. Maybe these humans didn't have the same fears of his kind like the others?

[bloomsberries]

So many reasons to love this beyond the obvious. First of all, ONE WEEK LATER is sending me. This is the episode after their first time, and the novelita wants us to know that they have been in that hotel nonstop for one whole week. (Nonstop as in every night; I know they have to go to work, but were it up to them...)

Second: reckless Marta reserving ANOTHER week and then saying to Fina's bringing up that the cost alone would pay for a flat in Madrid, "That's not a bad idea!" She's so gone, it's not even funny. What's funny is Fina being the sensible one and reminding her of the real world consequences.

Third: Their clothes being strewn across the floor but their robes laid out nicely on the bed. WHO HAD TIME FOR THAT. I'm sorry, I just find that detail so funny.

Fourth: Once they're back at work, the way they can't stop. I'm pretty sure Marta was one moment away from kissing Fina, if Carmen hadn't shown up. Fina literally follows Marta with her gaze right up until she leaves the shop. The way they want each other!

[cautious-soup]

Yakuza!(Why bother?)Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Part 4

Part 3

Summary: Unwilling to fit into a new and grim routine, you challenge Sukuna. He's very amused by this.

CW// Sukuna is still mean (bodyshaming, fat shaming), physical abuse, cutting, bloodplay ig but it's mild(?), struggling reader, death metal

A/N: Seriously, Sukuna laughs his ass off this chapter.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°○°•°•°•

Growing up, princess stories were your favorite. Not just Disney, but any story you could get your hands on with chivalric tales of knights saving princesses from ivory towers made its way into your hands.

You never got tired of the tropes and, when life got a little too hectic, found comfort in reliving your favorite stories.

Now…you were actually living through one of your stories—a twisted version of it anyway.

You flinch at the sound of glass being shattered, and gnaw on your lip. It was never a habit before—but you started doing it in the warehouse. Now, you couldn't stop.

It's been 4 days since you left the warehouse. Things were objectively better, yes, but you were still a hostage, and Sukuna went out of his way to make that clear.

He never left you home alone, either leaving Jogo to watch you or forcing you to come with him on his…errands. The car slid into dark alleys, under bridges, behind buildings—and you'd wait in there for over an hour, sometimes multiple, while Sukuna dealt with whatever his shady business was. 

No matter how hard you strained, or how close you pressed your ear to the glass of the car window, you couldn't hear what went on. No gunshots, no screaming, no yelling. Drug trafficking was nothing like how the movies made it out to be. 

As far as you were concerned, it was boring. You were only allowed to use a phone or laptop for a few hours each day to manage your socials, but it wasn't enough. Sukuna didn't seem to understand that it was your job and wouldn't even let you use the kitchen.

Now, you'd do anything to be out of this tower— instead of being stuck sitting on a bed that isn’t yours, and listening to the sound of shattering vases and blaring death metal from down the hall.

"It's a hobby," Sukuna had said in the car earlier that night, cradling the expensive vase in his arms, "People value these things so much—curators dedicate their lives to tracking down shit like this," he turned it in his hands, some Phonecian relic. It was colorful and wavy, beautiful.

He'd turned to you, grinning, "All the more reason to destroy it,"

Another crash, along with indistinct screaming from whatever song was playing; you put your head in your hands. Your room was as bare as the warehouse you were cooped up in. No TV, no books, no phone, plain white sheets, and a large window to the left of the bed.

It was spacious, but the tension in the whole penthouse made everything feel claustrophobic. 

Well that, and you were locked inside the room anyway.

Sukuna still hadn't acknowledged what he'd done to you, it was to the point where you assumed he'd just forgotten—so used to doing horrific acts that rape was at the bottom of a heap of iniquity. 

The sounds of breaking glass finally stopped, and you sighed, turning off the bedside lamp (a plain metal lamp with an LED bulb—no chance to be used as a weapon), and laid with your eyes trained on the door till you fell asleep.

Sukuna stared down at the blue shards, panting. He dropped the bat and scrubbed his hands through his hair, letting dust and finer shards fall to the ground. He glanced down the hall. Even when you weren't around, he could feel your damn eyes on him. It was infuriating how you looked at him, expecting something, wide eyed like some unfortunate wounded animal. His work aged him, mentally anyway, but that moment with you in the warehouse made him feel his age. Young, hungry, empowered even.

He swallowed, closing his eyes and willing the thought of your mouth away. He saw it every day now. And now it was just a few dozen feet away, locked away. Your door might as well have been made of glass, and before Sukuna knew it, he was in front of it, key in hand.

Just as you're drifting off to sleep, you see his shadow block the light coming from under the door. You can't breathe, and clutch your sheets, staying as still as possible. After a moment, the shadow leaves, and you hear footsteps fade down the hall.

And you don't sleep that night, not a wink.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°○°•°•°•

You don't know who cooks the meals in this place. Food is outside of your door at the same three times every day though, and it's always good. Too good, though. It only reminds you of how idle your hands have been.

"Looks like being a hostage doesn't stop you from cleaning your plate," Sukuna snorts as you set your dishes in the sink. 

They'll be clean and put away when you get back, like always. You've never seen any of the housekeepers, but they must exist. The floor was clear of any ceramic shards, everything was always dusted and spotless. By contrast, Sukuna treated everything he owned so recklessly you almost thought he reveled in it. There had been a glass coffee table in the living room when you'd first arrived, but it was gone the next morning. You'd pieced it together along the shattering you’d heard the first night here. It was no wonder everything looked brand new.

It was like he couldn't help himself.

"Being scared all the time makes you more hungry if you can believe it," You say, rubbing your arm. You can't bring yourself to look at him.

"How can you possibly be more hungry," Sukuna laughed, "Honestly, some fear induced starvation would benefit you,"

You scoff under your breath, feeling your mouth twist. You look around the kitchen, and your fingers twitch.

"I wanna bake something,"

"Pfft, no way," Sukuna said.

"My content revolves around food—"

"Along with the rest of your life," Sukuna snorted, but you continued, "Which means I need to continue with my output, keep up this stupid fucking facade."

Sukuna glanced at you, considering. "They'll notice you aren't in your prissy little studio,"

"I'll sort that—" You pause, and look at him, "How do you know I have a studio?"

Sukuna went quiet, just for a moment, so you asked, "Have you watched my videos?" The thought made you queasy. 

"Had to, just to parse out whether or not you'd put up a fight," he looked at you, "To your credit, you did, though it must've felt like wrestling a bag of cotton balls."

You feel your face heat, remembering how futile your struggle had been, and continue to insist, "I need to bake something—anything," you said, but regretted the desperate edge to your voice. But really, you'd never gone more than a few days without making something.

"Even cake mix would be enough, please," You say.

Sukuna's eyes remain unchanged, and he says, "No."

At that, you feel anger rise from where it’s been stewing for days. You glance at the dishes in the sink and, half thinking, take out a plate and throw it at him. It misses miserably, and crashes against the front door.

At the sound of his laughing, you want to crumple up and disappear.

"Haah, man, you really are a dainty thing aren't ya piggie, never had to fight for a thing in your life huh?" He said, eyes still shining with vile mirth.

You take another glass and smash it against the counter. It shatters, and you hold out a shard, "I've seen a lot of movies," you say, and it's really all the training you have.

Sukuna looks unimpressed, but puts his hands in his pockets, "You manage to cut me and I might think about getting you an Easy Bake or something," He says, but the words are barely out of his mouth before you're running at him.

He dodges of course, and you don't have any idea what you're doing, and the glass is definitely slicing into your hand, but you keep blindly swinging. Sukuna laughs again, watching with unfiltered amusement at your useless attempts.

You slow in defeat, letting your hand drop.

"Aw, come on piggie—come on, show me what you got huh?" Sukuna says through his mocking laughter, walking over to you. He looks down at you, but before another word can come out of his mouth, you reach up and swipe at his face.

It misses again, and you cuss, throwing it at him. It flutters through the air, catching the light from the window, before landing with an unimpressive clatter beside the fridge.

"Wow," Sukuna breathes, "That has to have been the most pathetic thing I've ever seen. By that metric I have to say I'm impressed,"

You're looking down at the ground, but he's grabbing your face and looking at you. He doesn't say anything, and his grip starts to hurt. Without thinking, you reach up and claw at his arm—your acrylics were still on, if not a bit worn.

"Kch—you," He shoves you back, looking down at the shallow marks on his arm. You’d dug in as hard as you could. At the sight of small red beads forming on his arm, you feel your mouth quirk up. 

"…that's several cuts, so," You say, panting.

"…"

Sukuna drops his arm and turns for the shard by the fridge. Your breath catches, and you step back, but he crosses the space in an instant—grabbing your hand. He smirks at the cut that's already there and, taking the shard, digs in to cut even deeper. You scream, and he grins.

"That's it," He says, finishing the cut with a swipe, "Squeal for me piggie,"

He drops your hand, but you reach forward—tears streaming down your face, swiping blood over his shirt; you knew it was expensive. You were surprised you'd been able to reach him, but realize you only managed because he let you.

Sukuna grabs your hand again, grinning and bringing it to his mouth. You whimper helplessly as his tongue slides across the cut, the tip worming between the rended flesh of your palm.

He drops your hand roughly, licking his lips. You're biting your lip to keep from sobbing, looking at him in disbelief.

"Great," He sighs, "Now I gotta get you patched up," he snatches your wrist and drags you toward the front door, "But you were right, these count," he says, nodding down to his arm.

"…what?" You say, still dazed.

"Tch…means you can do your little baking show or whatever," he says.

You nod dully, feeling the pain of his grip turn to numbness.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°○°•°•°•

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long! It took like 5 scrapped drafts before I had anything even remotely coherent :,) but anyway, thank you for reading!

[sukibenders]

Me, watching some YJS fans justify what Shauna did to Mari by using clips of Mari and Jackie giggling in s1 (normal teenage girl things), or Mari speaking the truth and trying to take Jackie's jacket (even though it was the middle of winter and the group were already sharing clothes), with said fans saying that they've would've done worse to Mari in response, acting like that makes them any better:

[anti-marauders]

Its funny remembering that in a way Mulciber and Avery are more respectful than The Marauders.

Cause The Marauders bully Lily's ex best friend Severus, despite James being in love with Lily and them claiming to be the good guys. Like bro if you want the girl befriend her best friend, damn.

And Mulciber and Avery, who are friends or acquaintances with Severus which is said by Lily, apparently don't do shit to Lily cause when she tries to get Severus to see how bad they are she only brings up the shit Mulciber did to Mary, someone Severus doesn't even know. Avery & Mulciber are clearly blood purists so they would obviously talk shit and I really think they'd talk shit about Lily wether they were friends with Severus or not cause she's a muggleborn and a gryffindor.

Yet Severus still hangs out with them and has no other issues with them especially cause he'd throw a fit if they talked shit about Lily. And if he did they'd clearly hex him cause they won't take shit from a half blood. Like wether they left Lily alone in an effort to keep Severus on their side to recruit him or not, they seemed smarter then the marauders. Cause while they didn't try to befriend her obviously, they knew if they wanted Severus on their side they didn't target the one person he truly cares about.

Now wether Mulciber and Avery were really close to Severus or not they still didn't target Lily or say shit cause I feel like they would considering how much James goes after her so they'd hear a lot about her. I feel like they'd attack her out of annoyance or berate her incase they thought she believed she was all that but apparently not cause Lily doesn't bring anything up and I know damn well she would have. Severus probably would have left them if they did.

[thelostgirl21]

One thing I really want to see happen in Season 4...

Valdo Marx: Nice to see you again, Joseph!

Jaskier: *Heavy sigh* That's -

Yarpen: *Stepping in front of him protectively.* Julian Alfred Pankratz to you, you dying sounding beached whale! Only his friends call him Joseph!

Jaskier: Ah, actually, that's Jaskier.

Yarpen: *Dismissively.* Yeah, I KNOW.

Jaskier: *Getting all teary eyed.* I know you do.

[amomentxofhappiness]

"I don't think I've ever been called that," Anakin admitted with a grin. She was fun to spar with, too bad they hadn't crossed paths before, training would've been more amusing than with his master.

They went at it again. Blocking, swinging, one step forward, two steps back, one random thing throw behind her, too see if her focus was there or in her surroundings. "The trick is to always be ready," he commented with a tone awfully similar to Obi Wan's. "Though my master always says that the best confrontation are the ones that don't even start. Even though he's the greatest at duels," he added as an afterthought. He loved Obi Wan--as much as they were allowed, maybe a little more than what it was allowed. The older man had taken him under his wing when he was barely a child himself. He was only a few years older than what Anakin was now and, even though he'd like to be a master, to have a padawan of his own, well, it was such a big responsibility. He sometimes could not deal with his own emotions, how could he cope and teach someone else how to control their own?

"You almost had me there for a minute," Anakin teased at one particularly good attack from her. "You're leaving your other flank exposed now and not using the force much. It's not only to read your enemy. You should use it to your advantage. We're on the righteous side of things," he said playfully, tempted to pin or push her against something for some reason. And for some reason that impulse paid off, locking her saber with his, dissarming her and pinning her to the floor, his free hand next to her face to keep himself from crushing her.

He kept smiling down at her, a little lost in her eyes and how easy this felt, playful, funny, quiet and exciting all at once.

“ True. ” Listening, still crouched, and agreeing. They? The Sith, the Federation, Dooku, the Seperatists? She didn't entirely know who he was discussing, but his observation applied to all of them. “ Which is why we must always be on guard. ” Reciting a teaching that she had been reprimanded for multiple times by her own master until it was a learned lesson. One of many.

There was intimidation, near the edge of her senses that beginning to creep in. This was a Jedi Knight, a level almost near Master at Skywalker's level of ability. She was about to receive her Knighthood, sure, but she could not claim to be on the same level as he. Yet. One day, if her persistence and incapability to give up stayed true then she might be able to rival him. A girl could dream.

He swung, and she also to match him. Block, parry, swing-- repeat. One footstep after the other, forwards then backwards and sometimes sideways till finally-- a solid blow. She had him. The look in her eyes was full of confidence, her arm drawing back to win the round when she was surprised by a mannequin flying ( seemingly out of nowhere ) and knocking her down. Cecile eyed him, suspicious, but a smile teasing nonetheless. “ Cheeky! You are a trickster, ” she played, moving to stand up again. “ Try again. It's not over that easily. ” This time instigating the next round herself, lunging forward with her blade and a fire to match.