#same for the stealth system

[justalittlebluetiefling]

I’ve been playing Star Wars: Outlaws this weekend and I genuinely don’t understand the bad reviews I read about it. Like, it’s basically if Assassin’s Creed was a Star Wars game so it’s right up my alley so far.

[s0urw00lf]

meeting ‘bob’ for the first time

An: I’m not familiar with the terms and ranks of any government agencies sooooo don’t kill me if something’s inaccurate. NOT PROOFREAD

Haven’t added top gun to my masterlist yet but I am working on it

Masterlist - tag-list

You were happy where you were stationed and it wouldn’t be long before your rank increased so when you got word that you were being shipped back to top gun again you wouldn’t lie and say you were happy about it.

Hard deck had been one of your favorite places to be when you were at top gun, not only because of the amount of times you wouldn’t have to pay for your drinks or fake flirt with a guy to get him to buy them, but because of the memories it held.

“Well if it isn’t clover” you heard a familiar voice speak from behind you. You turned around and there was phoenix followed by two other unfamiliar pilots “I didn’t know you were coming” she says with a smile. You stand up bringing her into a hug “phoenix, I knew you were, they said the best right?” You smirked she laughed patting your arm.

You gestured to the two men behind her with your chin “who are they?” You asked she glanced over her shoulder “payback” “fanboy” they answered themselves. You raised your eyebrow “charming, I’m clover nice to meet you guys” you nodded to them.

“What do we have here?” You heard a voice from across the bar, an all too familiar grating voice. You and phoenix made eye contact “bagman” the two of you spoke in unison with an eye roll.

The four of you walked over to the pool table that hangman occupied with two others, “well if it ain’t phoenix and clover my favorite girl group” he said with that all to familiar smirk on his face “here I thought we were special coyote, turns out the invite went to anyone”

You and phoenix stopped in front of the cocky bastard “fellas this here is bagman” phoenix introduced the blonde haired man. “Hangman” he corrected.

“She could’ve said asshole, you got lucky. Were looking at the only naval aviator on active duty with a confirmed air-to-air kill” you explained, not helping the cocky smile on his face “stop” he said sarcastically.

Phoenix smirked “mind you the other guy was in a museum piece from the Korean War” she continued making his smirk fall.

“Cold War” coyote said “different wars, same century” payback informs. “Not this one” fanboy said. They went back and forth before introducing themselves “hey coyote” you greet him with a nod “hey” he replied “who’s he?” You asked with a small smile “who’s who?” Coyote asks.

“Him” you looked over to the man sitting down wiping his lap causing peanut shells to fall to the chair and onto the floor. He looked up as if he’d been caught, he was adorable, and innocent looking. “When did you get in?” You asked actually wondering because you hadn’t seen him when you approached.

He looked at you “oh I’ve- I’ve been here the whole time” he answered smiling, you glanced over to Phoenix and she gave you a knowing look. “Man’s a stealth pilot” hangman joked “literally”

“Weapons systems officer, actually” he corrected not getting the joke, “with no sense of humor” bagman not so quietly said “or maybe he just doesn’t speak asshole” you said patting his shoulder.

Hangman squinted at you shrugging off your hand and you laughed quietly as he moved away placing the cue stick in your hands. “What do they call you” Phoenix asked turning to the man. “Bob” the man answered quickly glancing down to the peanuts in his lap.

“No your call sign” payback corrected, he glanced around awkwardly before muttering “uh- bob”.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise “you’re Bob Floyd? My new back seater? From Lemoore right?” You asked with a small growing smile, he smiled back “looks like it, yeah” he nodded.

“Oh this is gonna be fun” Phoenix muttered behind you. Your smile grew, “yes it is” you replied back handing her the stick before walking over to the bar for your free drink.

“Go talk to her” Bob heard a voice say breaking his gaze from you. He looked back and saw nat standing with a smirk “what I-“ she cut him off with a laugh “it’s okay Bob, trust me. Go talk to her” she encouraged, Bob blinked rapid trying to understand why she’d encourage him to talk to you.

But Phoenix could see it, the look in your eye was different from any other she’d seen you give when your eyes set on Bob. You weren’t the type for one night stands. You preferred the other route, dates, flowers, and all of that nature. Bob was that guy that would give you that. Even if she didn’t know him well she could see from first glance that he was your type.

With another nod Phoenix managed to get him to walk over to you, wiping his palms on his pants as he approached you.

You hadn’t expected him to join you when you walked away but he did. “Want a beer, it’s on him” you asked gesturing to the man across the bar who without a doubt heard you.

Bob glanced at the man before nodding “uh sure” you smiled and called for penny, “two beers pretty please” you said with a small smile.

“Do you have any idea why we’re here?” He asked after a brief quiet between the two of you. You shook your head “nope, all I know is that we’re all the best, so whatever it is, it must be pretty big if they had to drag our asses out of our stations” you replied.

He wanted to say something, anything to fill the silence between you two that’s why his mouth moved before his brain could stop him “do you- can I” he paused letting out a nervous breath when your eyes laid on him “can I take you in a date?” He asked, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat.

Your eyebrows raised as a smile crept back onto your lips “a date, we just met ten minutes ago” you teased. He laughed breathlessly “yeah- I know, just so we can get to know each other. Or it can just be a friendly thing. Or not at all whatever… works for you” he said getting quieter as he spoke.

You smile ‘he truly is adorable’ you thought to yourself “where would said date be?” You asked leaning closer to him in wonder. “Whatever you want a beach night, coffee shop anything I don’t mind” he replied quickly.

“It can be a date, only if you buy me flowers” you joked “Beach night sounds fun. Meet you here? Friday night?”

He nodded “no problem, done” he said with reddened cheeks.

You grabbed one of the beers that you hand notice penny place in front of you “great, can’t wait”

Even though he’d be manning the back of your jet tomorrow, you couldn’t wait to see what a date with him would turn out to be.

Tag-list: @fandom-princess-forevermore

[starwovenkiss]

part two here

Because how funny would it be if Jason Todd had a nemesis who had a crush on him?

Jason, who is just trying to do his job and keep Gotham from burning for one night so he doesn’t have to hear his umpteenth lecture from Bruce about the responsibilities he holds from carrying the bat symbol, pulls up to you.

You had become a thorn in his side as of late, and he tries not to let his amusement show when he sees you waiting on a rooftop.

“What are you doing here, _____?” He knows what you’re doing. It’s the same game you’ve played for the past three nights, and when you turn and smile, glossy lips turned upwards, he can’t help it when his own lips mirror the reaction. It’s involuntary, and he knows B is getting on his case about how much time he’s wasting while not bringing you in—but how can he, when he has so much fun chasing you like this?

“You know why I’m here.” He does. According to Babs, you’ve robbed two banks along 81st Street, and although the amount is significantly less than what you were pulling before, it’s enough to warrant concern. To get his attention, like you wanted.

“You’ve got to stop doing this.” His voice sounds lilted even through his voice filter, and he watches your brow raise, pausing for a moment before stepping closer to him.

“Stop doing what?” you purr, moving in closer, looking like a feline ready to strike. It’s easy to forget about your mentor, how you two were raised on opposite sides of the coin—one trained in stealth and justice, the other in seduction and vice. And while Selina’s influence still moves through your every movement, he’s watched you grow from that first night you appeared on the rooftop of Gotham’s Metropolitan Art Museum. How you developed your own style of fighting, your own form of distraction that differs from your mentor in every way.

“Where’s the money, cat?” he sighs, looking down at you. Despite facing a former crime lord and one of the most terrifying vigilantes in Gotham, your body language is relaxed, as if this is another casual conversation to you. In fact, you merely sigh, as if he’s the one being ridiculous for asking such a question.

“What money?” you smile softly before running to jump off the side of the roof. Jason readies himself, loving nothing more than to chase you into the night before he registers his comm system crackling to life.

“Babs,” he asks, still keeping an eye on your shrinking figure as you jump from rooftop to rooftop deeper into Gotham.

“I don’t get it.” She laughs. Jason tenses, knowing that whatever is going to come next can’t be good.

“She steals almost $75K from the vault, triggers every alarm known to man, just to leave it hidden two blocks away.” Jason knows why you did it—he’s not oblivious to the way you act around him. However, admitting that means he’s signing up for no certain amount of teasing from Babs and a potentially very long talk from Bruce (as if the hypocrite should have anything to say to him).

“Maybe she’s bored.” He shrugs, keeping his tone as even as he can.

“A protégée of Selina? Doubt it.” Babs snorts. “I could think of another reason why she keeps drawing you out there.”

Jason pauses before responding. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Babs does a terrible job of hiding her laughter. “Sure you don’t, Hood. Looks like there’s another robbery downtown, and it seems legit this time. I’d head over there if I were you.”

a/n: i have written 10k words of a gaz fic that has no end in sight, and needed something to get me out of my head. so here’s a little drabble for my other favorite boy <3

[hypewinter]

The boy in the pod slept peacefully, blissfully unaware of his situation. Should he free him? The Fenton part of him screamed ABSOLUTELY! Even if Ellie wasn't here, he'd never let himself live it down if he left his fellow clone here and escaped alone. But then there was the bat part of him. The very same part of him that gave him enough awareness to wake up and enough skills to escape his own pod and sneak around the facility undetected, was now telling him to leave this clone behind. He's dead weight, a voice inside his head whispered. He won't be as skilled. He'll trip their system. He'll get you both caught.

Danny couldn't help but agree with this calculating voice. According to the files he was able to take a peek at, he was looking at the clone of Superman. A heavy hitter, not exactly built for stealth missions. While his clone was definitely leaner than he was, that didn't automatically translate into him being stealthier too.

It'd probably be best to go get help and come back later. Yes, that'd be the best plan. Definitely. That's what he should do. Yet Danny's feet didn't move. What if he didn't make it back in time? What if the scientists concluded he'd go to get help and packed up before he could come back. Or worse. What if they decided to cut their losses and try again later?

The only thing that stopped the shiver of fear that tried to overcome Danny was the fortitude of his donor that was engrained in his body. Danny took a breath then stepped forward towards the control panel. He wouldn't leave his brother behind. They were going to escape together. Even if that meant fighting their way through this entire facility.

[2stepadmiral]

After the reconstruction of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Han Solo's constant presence at the Temple begins to confuse the younger knights and apprentices.

At first, it makes some degree of sense. He usually shows up with Leia or one of his kids, and he is well-known as a friend and ally of the Order, so it makes sense for him to eat meals with Jaina, or attend meetings with the Masters, or assist Corran Horn in overseeing pilot training, or walk little Ben around the Stealth-X hangar. Plus, Lando Calrissian, Wedge Antilles, Booster Terrik, and Talon Karrde, also prominent allies and friends, are frequent visitors as well, so it makes sense.

But one day, some of the apprentices start noticing that Han is around a little bit more often than a non-member really should be. Maybe its been a while since he came for a briefing or training exercise, and maybe his reasons to visit lately have become a little too casual. Now, he's showing up alone just to try out the flight simulators new Chiss clawcraft program, or because it's nerf sausage day in the cafeteria, and more often than not, its on days where his kids are off on missions and Luke and Mara are tied up in council business.

It reaches a whole new level during a pilot exercise led by Corran, Kyp, and Jaina, when one of the apprentices ask who's the best pilot they know, and three of the Order's premiere pilots, two of whom are Rogue Squadron veterans and all three of whom spent most of the Yuuzhan Vong war in a cockpit, unanimously agree on Han Solo.

Then, two months later, when the Temple's security system is being updated and Master Kyle Katarn gives strict orders that no one is to enter or exit the temple until the update is completed, Han casually walks right up to the two senior apprentices guarding the temple entrance. When told that there's a security lockdown due to system updates, Han doesn't "want to hear about security updates, I want to know where my wife is. It's our wedding anniversary and I'm taking her someplace nice in the Falcon, now tell me where she is so we can get going." After several minutes of arguing, a visibly frustrated Han decides to just go get her himself, and when one of the apprentices tries to stop him, Han somehow disarms him of his lightsaber and throws it outside of his telekinetic range, leaving him chasing after his weapon and his partner following Han, trying to talk him into stopping. All while Jaden Korr is watching, shaking his head, and mouthing, "You'll be sorry."

Han quickly finds Jedi Knight and former New Republic Chief of Staff, and SHOCKS the two apprentices with his absolute immunity to her infamous and feared anger before sweet talking the lifelong diplomat into leaving the temple in the middle of the lockdown for an anniversary escapade. Then, he casually walks out of the Jedi Temple in the middle of a security lockdown like it's kriffing nothing with one of the most prominent Knights in the Order. And when the two apprentices finally get a hold of Master Katarn to advise that Han Solo just infiltrated the Temple and absconded with Jedi Organa-Solo, his reaction is something like "<pause> and you idiots actually tried to stop him?" "Well, yes, Master, you said no one comes in or out." "<pause> Yes, but what in the Sithspit made you think that you should try to stop Han Solo from getting to his wife on their anniversary?"

A month after that, he walks up to the High Council chambers right in the middle of a serious meeting. The apprentices standing watch outside (one of the same from the security incident) assume that he's been summoned to answer to the rumors that he started hosting a weekly Sabaac tournament in one of the temple classrooms (the rumor is completely true, just last week Kenth Hamner nearly ragequit after Han cleaned him out for the fifth consecutive week) and assure him that the Masters will call him when they're ready for him. Han ignores this and walks right in, right as the masters are in the middle of a discussion about potential Dark Jedi sightings on Corellia, to demand that Mara make good on all the lost bets she owes from the previous few Sabaac nights. After several minutes heated discussion (the Dark Jedi are almost forgotten at this point), the entire council comes out, and Master Cilghal informs the incredulous apprentices that Mara owes Han so many lunches from the Sabaac nights that it was agreed that she would just treat the entire council, as well as Han, to clear her tab. Mara is semi-sternly lecturing Han about interrupting council meetings for something so trivial, while Han is good-naturedly wondering if she's been deliberately scheduling meetings at lunchtime to avoid paying up, causing her to go curiously quiet (the apprentices are FLOORED that the infamously terrifying Mara Jade Skywalker isn't plugging him full of laser bolts for this whole interaction).

As the last one to leave, Luke stops to ask the apprentices if they're okay, having sensed their immense confusion.

"Well, Grand Master, it's just... it seems like Captain Solo gets away with whatever he wants. It's like the rules don't apply to him, and some of us have been wondering..." she gulps before continuing. "If it's maybe possible that Captain Solo is secretly not only a Jedi, but more powerful than you, and secretly the real Grand Master of the Order."

Grand Master Luke Skywalker, completely unable to resist this particular urge, rubs his chin thoughtfully, pretends to carefully consider the question for a moment, and then, with a small grin, responds: "That's a interesting question, Apprentice. Perhaps he is," before walking away, grinning like mad, while the apprentices stare incredulously at his back.

[ak-vintage]

I'd Like To...

Pairing: Modern DILF Din Djarin x Plus Size F!Reader

Summary: Din has always struggled to prioritize his own happiness, even more so now that he is a single father. When some well-meaning friends create a dating app profile for him without his knowledge, he finds himself on his first date in years with a woman who seems determined to bring some much-needed softness to his life.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Present-day AU, dating app AU, dual POV, no use of Y/N, private security Din, photographer reader, reader is a plus size woman but otherwise minimal descriptions provided, age gap (unspecified but enough to be noticed), Grogu is a human toddler, Cara is the ultimate wingman, good dad Din, touch-starved Din, fluff, SMUT – exhibitionism, semi-public acts, brief oral sex (m! receiving), protected p in v sex, dirty talk, rough but sweet, switch-y vibes for both Din and reader

Word Count: ~18.3K (I have no excuse...)

Written for @hellishjoel's Hot DILF Summer Challenge. I am unforgivably late to this event, and I’m so, so sorry. I hope the truly preposterous length makes up for it – it really got out of hand!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Cara Dune had never been good at subterfuge.

She was loud, decisive, commanding – a “do no harm but take no shit” kind of person who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty in a risky situation or to stick her neck out for what she believed. Cara didn’t have the constitution for stealth. She didn’t do subtle or – god forbid – sneaky; it simply wasn’t a part of her DNA. All of her colleagues were well aware of this, of course, so why, out of all of the consultants of Fett Security, Inc., she was the person that the group had selected for this particular mission was something she would never understand.

But, as a former soldier, if there was one thing Cara knew how to do, it was follow orders, so when the task fell to her, she took it on the chin and threw herself into it headfirst.

Which was how she found herself awkwardly hunched over at her desk, broad shoulders rounded protectively around her phone as she scrolled through various social media accounts, screenshotting as she went. A suspicious behavior for anyone, but even more so knowing that the images she was grabbing were all of the same man – her best friend and coworker, Din Djarin.

Nearly a decade ago, Din had been one of the first people Boba Fett had recruited to join his private security firm, and ever since, he had been the kind of man who ate, slept, and breathed the job. There was no doubt that Fett Security owed a great deal of its growth and success in the industry to Din’s expertise, but that hadn’t left him with a lot of opportunity for a full life outside of work. Or, perhaps more accurately, Din simply hadn’t made such a thing a priority.

When pressed about it, he would say that it hardly mattered; all of his friends eventually came to work for the firm anyway, Fett collecting them all like trading cards over the years, so he saw them plenty. What more could he need?

Of course, he came to eat his own words about a year ago when he rather unexpectedly became the foster parent – then adoptive parent – of a little boy, a tiny thing with no living relatives in a part of the city that had had a severe shortage of foster families for years. Din himself had grown up in the system, a fact he talked about rarely, but nevertheless, the experience had shaped him in a fundamental way. He had jumped at the opportunity to take in the kid, and overnight, he transformed from a man who buried himself in his work to a man who lived for the whim of a little boy with floppy, sandy-brown curls, wide, dark eyes, and comically large ears.

It was clear to anyone who knew him well – Din had been meant to be a father, and as his closest friend, Cara had found a great deal of joy in watching the new role shape and soften him into a version of himself that felt truer and more authentic to who he was at his core. But all of his friends agreed: when it came to his personal life, having a child had done nothing but exacerbate the problem. He was still working just as many hours as he had before, only now, when he did have time to himself, he rarely left the house without his son in tow. He had stopped joining the team for drinks after gigs, his appearances at company barbecues were fewer and farther between, and who knew how long it had been since the man had been on an actual date?

Din was lonely – Cara could tell. He loved his job, and he adored his son, but it wasn’t enough anymore. There was a hollowness to him, a shadow around his eyes. Something had to give, and so during their last group outing, the team had come together and formulated a plan. A plan which involved Cara harvesting a selection of photos of Din from various corners of the internet, writing up a quick bio, and creating an online dating profile for him.

Without his knowledge.

Cara hardly relished keeping this secret from her friend, but she knew that if she or anyone else had broached the subject with him beforehand, he would have dismissed it out of hand. He would have made up some excuse about doing just fine on his own, that he didn’t need anyone else when he had his son; she could almost hear his low, rasping scoff now. His refusal would be swift and final, and that would be the end of that.

But sometimes, being a good friend meant doing something in the best interest of the other person even when that person would disapprove.

And Cara had found that sometimes it was better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.

Sending a surreptitious glance around the open office space, Cara breathed a quiet sigh of relief at Din’s empty desk. The man didn’t have any of his own social media accounts, finding the whole concept frivolous and a little bizarre, so she was stuck scrolling through her own and those of their friends in an attempt to harvest a few that would be acceptable for a dating profile. It was taking longer than she had anticipated, and she still had to set up his age, gender, and location preferences and write up a brief bio for him before she was due at a job in an hour. The time crunch had her clenching her jaw as she worked.

Tonight at the bar, she planned to recruit some of their friends to help her get Din set up with a selection of matches. And all of them would owe her a beer for her trouble.

 Din, the profile read. 45, 5’11”, Private Security Consultant.

Hardworking, outdoorsy, handy. Love vintage cars and motorcycles. Former boxer, teach self-defense classes at the community center on the weekends. Single father to a little boy who is my whole universe. Looking for someone to give me an excuse to get me out of the house, curb my workaholic tendencies, and show me the softer side of life.

“‘The softer side of life?’” Bo smirked around the rim of her beer as she read, Cara’s phone in her hand sticky from being passed around all night. “Cara Dune, you’ve been holding out on us. Who knew you were such a romantic?”

The crew gathered around the end of the bar all laughed as Cara rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her own drink. “What can I say? A bitch contains multitudes,” she replied with a shrug. “But the profile’s good, right? We can start swiping?”

The redhead nodded, neat bob brushing her sharp jaw as she passed the phone back to its owner. “Yeah, I think you’ve got him down.”

“Good call including the bit about the motorcycles,” Axe quipped with a grin. He waggled his dark eyebrows significantly, adding, “Ladies love that stuff. Speaking from experience.”

From her place tucked into his side, arm wrapped around his waist beneath his leather jacket, Koska offered him a tongue-touched smile and butted her head against his chest affectionately. “You’re not wrong.”

Paz returned from the other end of the bar then, shouldering his way through the crowd with six overflowing pints balanced in his massive hands. “What did I miss?” he asked as he passed each of them out to his waiting friends.

Fennec curled her lip in mild disgust as he sloshed a portion of her beer down the side of her glass, soaking her hand. She sat the pint down on the edge of the well-worn bar and drug her fingers demurely across her black jeans as she said, “Nothing, we’re just about to start picking matches.”

“Good.” He downed half of his own pint in a single glug, thick neck working in the low light. “Let’s do this. The guy needs to get laid.”

With a mock-salute of his glass, Axe groaned his agreement. “Maybe if he loosens up a little, he’ll get off my ass about taking over the Organa account. I swear to god, if I have to spend one more fucking charity dinner trailing after those stuffed-shirts, I think my head is going to explode.”

Fennec shot him an icy, closed-lipped smile. “We both know that was my suggestion, not Djarin’s. You’re a good fit for it, Woves. The sooner you learn how to play ball with the politicians, the sooner we can start putting you on more high-profile jobs.”

“Yeah, babe.” Koska’s dark eyes flashed teasingly. “Maybe then you can come join me and Bo on the Skywalker account. Finally start playing with the big boys.”

Bo snorted into her beer, sending a fine spray of the stuff flying as the rest of the group broke into peals of laughter.

“All right, all right, settle down,” Cara urged, passing Bo a napkin. “This has nothing to do with any of us, right? This is about Din. He’s busted his ass for every one of us for years – it’s his turn to catch a break. So let’s stay on task, okay? Now…” With a few taps and a swipe, she brought up the app once more and flipped to the matches tab. “What do we think of her?”

“Dune.”

“Djarin.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

The dark-haired, hawk-eyed woman quirked an eyebrow at him, phone in hand, the thing still extended toward him, waiting for him to take it. “I could do that. But then I’d be lying, and we both know that doesn’t fly with you.”

Din Djarin gritted his jaw and turned his back to her, focusing instead on tossing his towel, lifting gloves, and empty water bottle into his gym bag and slinging it over his shoulder. It wasn’t unusual for Cara to join him for his daily pre-shift workout. She was a reliable spotter, and he liked the playlists she piped through the Bluetooth speakers in the company gym, but there had been something off about her that morning – something cagey and distracted where she was normally the picture of focus. After one too many attempts at getting her attention had resulted in a distant “huh?”, he had decided that enough was enough and demanded an explanation.

With only the faintest traces of guilt shadowing her gaze, she had made her confession. A dating app. She had signed him up for a fucking dating app, and apparently, the whole team was in on it. The bunch of traitors.

“You can go ahead and delete it,” he growled, casting a scathing glance over his shoulder as he made for the locker room. “I’m not interested.”

A strong, blunt-nailed hand wrapped around his elbow, pulling his retreat up short. “Oh, come on, lighten up a little,” Cara entreated. “When was the last time you went out with someone, huh?”

He shrugged her grip off of him. “I go out with you and the team all the time.”

Behind him, his closest friend groaned dramatically. “You know that’s not what I meant. But, while we’re at it, you haven’t exactly been doing much of that, either, big guy. In fact, maybe if you did come out with us once in a while, you could meet a nice girl at a bar or a sporting event or a festival like a fucking normal person, and I wouldn’t have to resort to mining photos of you off our friends’ socials and making you a dating profile in secret.”

“That isn’t fair,” Din snapped, whirling around to face her. “I can’t just be out until all hours of the night anymore. I have my kid to think about. I thought you understood that.”

“Of course, I understand that! No one expects you to be there every time. Not even most of the time! But Din…” Cara let out a sigh, and he watched as that contentious spark fizzled out of her dark eyes, fading into something softer and more earnest. “You are an amazing father. Anyone who has ever seen you with that little boy knows that. But that isn’t all you are. Just like work isn’t all you are. How long have we known each other?”

He ground his teeth and ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair, pushing it back from his face. “About eight years.”

“Eight years,” she echoed, nodding. “I know you, Din Djarin, and I can tell. You’re burning out.”

Something squeezed in his chest at the raw honestly of his friend’s words, and he found himself having to look away. She was right, of course, as she often was. He had always struggled with giving too much of himself – first as a boxer in the ring, then as one of the founding members of Fett Security, then as one of its most senior consultants, and now as a father. As a younger man, he had thrived on it; the busier he was, the harder he worked, the more he proved himself, the better he felt.

But now, knocking on the doors of middle age, he found that the breakneck pace of his life was starting to fray him at the edges. He felt worn through in places and dangerously thin in others, and although he would never admit to anyone, his bed had never felt colder. The small handful of meaningless, one-night flings he had permitted himself over the last few years had left him feeling ill-used and unsatisfied, and when he took his son out to a new restaurant or to the zoo or to the beach, he couldn’t help but feel the distinct absence of another person.

There ought to have been another person holding his kid’s other little hand in the park, patiently walking the unsteady toddler between them. There ought to have been another person feeding the boy ice cream afterward, singing him songs, telling him stories, settling him down for a nap.

There ought to have been another person in his bed – holding him close, playing with his hair, whispering his name in the dark as soft lips traced down his neck…

Fuck. Din Djarin was lonely.

“Listen, I’ll tell you what,” Cara said eventually, pulling him out of his musings. “We’ll get the app set up on your phone, you can log in to your profile, and you can just…take a look at the matches we already got for you. You don’t have to go through any on your own, just the ones we’ve already found. And if you hate them all, we’ll delete your profile and be done with it. But if any of them look even remotely interesting, I really think you should try to connect with them. There has to be more to your life than work and your kid. There has to be, or you’re going to run yourself into the ground. I’m not going to let that happen on my watch.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, blunt and painfully sincere, and then Din was squeezing the pressure points on the sides of his nose and releasing a reluctant sigh.

“Fine,” he groaned. “I’ll take a look at them over lunch. Happy?”

She grinned victoriously and cuffed him on the shoulder, the gesture warm and fraternal. “Ecstatic. Now hit the showers, Djarin, you stink.”

Cara was at his desk at noon on the dot, barely waiting for him to finish sending off an email to a potential client before she was closing his laptop, dragging him bodily out of his chair, and escorting him out of the building and across the street to their favorite sandwich shop. A few minutes later, equipped with a pair of overstuffed Reubens and a couple bags of chips, the two were settled into a back corner booth with Din’s phone between them.

“Okay, there you go,” she proclaimed, sliding the thing across the table to him with a triumphant grin. “App’s installed, and you’re all logged in.”

The man wiped a napkin across his face and fought the urge to sigh. “Let’s get this over with.” Thumbing through the interface, he fumbled for a bit before finally landing on the tab that contained his list of users with bright pink heart icons next to their profile pictures.

“Now these are people that already matched with me?” he asked, suddenly feeling a bit out of his depth.

“Yep! Me and the crew did some swiping for you the other night.”

Din simply blinked at her. “Swiping?”

Cara’s mouth twisted into a thin line, as though she were attempting to swallow a smirk and failing miserably, and he felt the distinct desire to melt into the plastic cushion of the booth and disappear. “It’s how you indicate whether you’re interested in matching with someone. Swipe right for yes, swipe left for no.”

“So these are the people you…swiped right on?”

“Not quite,” she clarified with a shake of her head. “These are the people we swiped right on who also swiped right on you.”

Din’s brows nearly met his hairline at that. “They wanted to match with me, too?”

“Yeah, dumbass, they did.”

“Hey. Watch it,” he growled, jabbing a finger in her direction as he felt his hackles raise. “You know I don’t know anything about this shit. Cut me a little bit of slack, okay?”

Cara sighed, and her expression shifted from needling to softly exasperated. “Yeah, no kidding, I’m aware. I didn’t call you a dumbass because you don’t know anything about online dating. I called you a dumbass because you act like you’re surprised that people want to match with you.”

Oh.

Cocking his head at her, he replied, “Why wouldn’t that surprise me?”

“Umm…” All of the softness in her face disappeared, and instead she glared at him like he had just grown a second head. “Have you seen yourself? I don’t even like men, and I recognize a DILF when I see one.”

“A DILF?”

Cara smirked lasciviously. “Yeah, a dad I’d like to – ”

“I know what a DILF is, Cara, fucking hell, can you keep your voice down?” Din instinctually ducked his head, his gaze darting around the sandwich shop as he prayed to whatever deity might be listening that no one had heard them.

The woman let out a bark of laughter, dark hair swinging and eyes crinkling with mirth. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist, old man. No one’s paying any attention to us back here.” Gesturing at the phone in his hand, she added, “Now quit stalling and start scrolling. I think we ended up with ten or so matches before we called it a night? And we were really picky about it, too. There’s gotta be at least one lucky lady in there that tickles your fancy.”

“Hmm.” He hummed dubiously to himself as he opened the first profile in the list, a blonde woman a couple of years his junior with her head tilted back, face in the sun as she posed on some tropical beach. Pretty. Nice smile. Looked friendly. “Suppose I just didn’t think so many women would be interested in dating a single father.”

“Like I said,” Cara shrugged with a wink. “Ladies love a DILF.”

Nearly an hour later, and Din couldn’t help but feel a bit…underwhelmed with the selection of matches his friends had chosen for him. Not that any of them were bad choices, per se. They were lovely women, all of them, with their sunny smiles and their glossy, perfectly-posed photographs and their quippy bios. They were from a variety of backgrounds with a variety of interests, though all struck him as approachable, intelligent, witty. He couldn’t find a red flag in the bunch, which he supposed was a credit both to them and to his friends for sifting through the masses so thoughtfully.

No, it wasn’t the women. It was him, he was sure. What else could explain the…nothingness he felt when he looked at them? The utter lack of interest? Perhaps he had missed his opportunity for such things, he thought to himself. Perhaps he had waited too long, been too content with his own company for too many years.

He could feel Cara’s eyes on him across the table as he came to the last few matches, could sense her impatience at his silence, at his steady, unenthusiastic scrolling. Their plates sat picked over and abandoned between them, chip bags empty and crumpled, sodas drained dry. They were due back in the office any minute, the lunch hour quickly expiring around them, and as reluctant as Din had been to agree to this entire endeavor, he somehow still felt a twinge of guilt at leaving Cara to report back to the rest of the group empty-handed.

But at least he had held up his end of the bargain. No one could say that he didn’t give the idea a chance. It simply wasn’t meant to be.

Of course, that was until he reached the second-to-last match on the list.

Absently, Din tapped on your picture, opening your profile, and almost immediately, he felt himself straighten in his seat.

You were…stunning.

Wide, bright eyes. A warm, mischievous smile that teased him through the camera’s lens, as though you had a secret you were taunting him with, daring him to ask, to figure it out. Your photos were unique – mostly candids, the focus soft, enhanced with a touch of grain and flawlessly lit. And you had a lot of them, more than any other profile he had viewed. As he swiped through them, he came upon one of you in an easy, flowing blouse, hair windswept around your face, a DSLR camera with a colorful, well-worn strap slung around your neck.

He quickly scanned your profile header, taking in your name, your age, your distance from his location. Photographer, the profession field indicated.

And…shit. You were young. More than a decade his junior, on the very edge of what he would consider an acceptable age difference in typical circumstances. The gap wasn’t enough for it to be an immediate disqualifier, but it certainly was enough that if the two of you were to walk down the street together hand-in-hand, others might take a second glance.

He should un-match with you. It would be the right thing, the responsible thing to do.

And yet…

Din swiped through a handful of your other photos. Fuck, but you were sweet. Full, soft curves with wide, plush hips, heavy breasts, thick thighs. Little glimpses of soft skin peeking through comfortable clothing, airy cottons and silky satins and well-loved denims that his palms itched to touch. He wanted to feel the texture of you under his hands, the lush and the give of you beneath his fingertips…

Your last photo was one taken of you at sunrise, your soft body clad in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a pair of barely-there spandex shorts. Your limbs were stretched and bent into some strange configuration he recognized as a yoga pose, your leg pressed back near your face at an angle that had blood rushing to his cock, his head immediately filled with images of your body contorted in a similar position as he pressed you into his mattress.

New to the city, looking for someone to show me all the best places to get a couple drinks and people watch. Professional photographer living my dream of documenting the most important moments of people’s lives. In my spare time, I like to get out in nature and go hiking, practice yoga, and travel. Excellent home cook, terrible at karaoke. Love dogs, love kids. Let me take your picture so I know it’s real.

Damnit.

You were perfect.

“Okay over there, Djarin?”

Din’s gaze snapped up to meet Cara’s over the table, taking in the quirk of her brow, the suspicious twist of her mouth, and he felt a flush of heat rush up the back of his neck and settle high on his cheekbones. He had been staring. Really staring, and with his mouth open, he realized, mortified. He slammed his jaw shut, his teeth clicking unpleasantly in his skull, and he shifted in his seat.

“Uh,” he muttered dumbly. This throat was so dry, his voice crackled around the syllable as though he hadn’t spoken all day. He cleared it quickly and nodded once. “Yeah. Fine. Uh – ” Flipping the phone around to face his companion, he slid it back across the laminate tabletop. “Her,” he said, tapping the screen with the tip of his finger. “I’ll go out with her.”

Had he not already been blushing, the cat-like grin of victory that Cara sent him certainly would have done it.

“Gonna have to message her first, big guy. Think you can figure out how to do that, or you want me to show you?”

Din’s flush darkened as he yanked the phone back toward himself, feeling a muscle in his jaw tick. “I can manage,” he snarked, and she scoffed a laugh.

However, as it turned out, as he opened the messages tab from your profile, he discovered that you had already taken the initiative and messaged him.

hey din – such a cool name! looks like we have a few things in common. i’d love to get to know you if you’re interested! 😊

Short. Sweet. Polite. Direct.

He swallowed thickly, feeling something suspiciously like butterflies take up residence in his gut. Scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he looked back up at Cara sheepishly.

“Actually…yeah, maybe I could use some help.”

You were sitting cross-legged in your oversized office chair, headphones on and iced coffee leaving a ring of condensation on the surface of your desk, when you saw the dating app notification pop up on your phone screen.

1 New Message, it read.

You glanced back and forth between your phone and your computer screen for a moment, debating. You had promised yourself you would be heads-down today, having started to accumulate more of an editing backlog than you typically preferred. The shoot you were working on this afternoon – an engagement session taken in the gardens outside the local art gallery – was due to the clients by the end of the week, and if you wanted to meet that deadline, you couldn’t afford to get distracted.

And yet you couldn’t help but wonder whether the message was a response – finally – from the man you had matched with a couple days ago. The one with the unusual name, the dark curls and even darker eyes, the strong nose and the sharp jaw and the soft, gentle smile. Broad shoulders, big, masculine hands, and a handful of pictures featuring a little boy, no more than two or three years old, his face either turned away from the camera or covered with a little green frog emoji for privacy.

Din the security consultant. Din the vintage car enthusiast. Din the self-defense instructor.

Din the DILF.

You had fired off a message to him as soon as you had gotten confirmation that he had liked you back, and he had been taking up space in your mind ever since. You had always preferred your men a little older, a little more experienced, and the fact that he was a dad, and a proud one at that, had gotten your motor running immediately. He looked like the kind of guy who knew the best bar in town to get an old fashioned and how to grill a good steak. He looked like the kind of guy who would open your car door for you, who would drive one-handed while the other rested calmly, possessively on your thigh. He looked like his palms were calloused and like his skin smelled good even fresh from the gym.

He looked like he had a big –

Fucking hell. It had been a long time since a man had given you this kind of brainrot without ever even meeting him. It was embarrassing and very much not consistent with your independent woman-about-town image you wore like a suit of armor. But you had never been the type of person to deny yourself. If you saw something you wanted, you went for it – full speed ahead. And Din…you definitely wanted Din.

If there was even a slight chance it was him…

Before you could overthink it any further, you saved your progress on your current edit, dropped your headphones around the back of your neck, and scooped up your phone. Tapping the notification, you brought up your messages tab and found one unread message staring back you.

It was from him.

Hi there. It’s nice to meet you. You seem like an interesting person. I would like to get to know you, too. Where is your favorite place you have traveled?

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, smothering a grin as though others might spot it and tease you despite being alone in your apartment. Something about the way he wrote – the dry punctuation, the complete, grammatically-correct sentences, the lack of emojis – all of it screamed someone who didn’t spend much time communicating electronically, let alone online dating. It was a refreshing change from the men you typically met on the apps, the whole thing endearing rather than off-putting and doing nothing to discourage your impression of his “dad” persona.

Poking out your tongue a little in concentration, you tapped out a quick response before you could lose your nerve.

ooo good question! hard to pick a favorite, but if i have to choose, i’d say thailand. i went there with some friends after we graduated college and we got to volunteer at an elephant sanctuary for a few days. coolest experience of my life hands down! what about you? are you a traveler?

His response came much faster than you expected, certainly faster than his response to your initial message.

I used to be. When I was first getting started, I used to travel a lot for work. I have been all over. I am more settled these days. It’s difficult to travel with a toddler on my own.

You nodded to yourself. That made sense. His boy looked young, and he was a self-described single father. You wondered what the story was there, but that was a level of personal that you didn’t need to dive into just yet. For now, your focus was on making sure this conversation didn’t fizzle out.

Frowning slightly, you realized he hadn’t really included anything in that message to prompt much of a response. However, before you could begin to fish around for something to send in reply, another message appeared.

Your profile says you’re a photographer. Your pictures are very unique. I don’t know much about photography, but I can tell that you have an eye for it. What made you interested in that field?

With a huff of a laugh and a mortifyingly strong flush, you closed out of Lightroom and abandoned your headphones on their stand. You weren’t getting any more work done for a while – you could already tell.

The two of you messaged back and forth several more times that day, then again in fits and spurts over the next three days.

You shared how you got your start in photography and the way your best clients were the ones who embraced your photojournalistic style. You didn’t care for shots that were staged or overly posed, you told him. You liked capturing people’s authentic feelings in the moment, and he quipped that he had never been comfortable posing for photos anyway, so you should get along just fine.

You talked about how both of you desperately wanted a dog but neither of you were in a place where getting one would be a responsible choice. You compared your favorite local hiking trails and determined that although he had lived in the area for far longer than you, you had significantly more experience trekking through the nearby national park. You learned a lot about the ’81 Honda Goldwing that he had lovingly restored, how he used to ride it to and from work every day but that now it sat under a protective tarp in the back of his garage most of the time. It wasn’t exactly a toddler-friendly form of transportation, he explained.

In a moment of vulnerability, you confessed that you had moved to the city as a result of a breakup, in an attempt to get a change of scenery far from the place where you had made a home with another man. He confessed that he had never really made time for relationships in the past, but that his son had made him realize that there was plenty of room in his life for love. He finally felt ready to try, and you finally felt ready to try again.

You told him you thought he was stupidly handsome, that you had no idea how he was single if he didn’t want to be. He told you that he had thought the same about you.

Except I would call you beautiful. Not handsome. I guess unless that’s what you prefer?

no lmao, you wrote back. beautiful is fine. beautiful is perfect.

On day four of…whatever this newfound acquaintance was, you spent the full day shooting a wedding – from getting ready to first looks to family photos to the ceremony to the reception. You swore you could feel your phone burning a hole in your pocket the entire time, but you managed to stay professional and present throughout the length of your contracted hours. By the time you stumbled into your apartment, you were so exhausted, you couldn’t have been more eager to pour yourself some wine and melt into the couch with some trashy reality television. You were changed into your pajamas and a glass and a half deep by the time you allowed yourself to check your phone.

Buried beneath all of the other notifications you had gotten throughout the day, there was a single pop-up from your dating app.

1 New Message, it read. Received four hours ago.

Skipping past all of the other demands on your attention, you opened that notification first.

Hi sweetheart. I know you were photographing that wedding today, so don’t let me interrupt you. We can talk tomorrow, but if you could please message me when you’re done for the night? It would make me feel better to know that you made it home safe.  

Hi sweetheart, he had said.

Sweetheart.

A rush of heat passed over you at his words, and you swallowed thickly, wine burning its way down your throat at the thought of Din at home thinking about you, worrying about you. Had this been any other man, you might have found the message a bit overbearing, especially this early on, but rather than feeling controlled or stifled, instead you felt only warmth and safety. You felt…cared for. Protected. Important.

The sensation had you shifting in your seat, gulping down the remainder of your glass in a single go as you felt the apex of your thighs pulse with interest.

Din was so fucking hot, and he had no idea.

Setting your now-empty wine glass on the coffee table, you typed out a rapid reply and hit send.

heyy! made it home okay, thanks for checking in!

Fatigue pulling at your eyelids, arousal burning low in your belly, quickly-consumed wine flushing your limbs with a soft weightlessness, your thumbs seemed to move of their own accord as they tapped out a second message.

din idk how much longer i can keep this up without meeting you. i wanna see your handsome face in person. can i take u out sometime soon? please say yes.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, then immediately tossed your phone to the other end of the couch as though it had burned you. It disappeared into the stack of throw pillows there, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You couldn’t look at it, couldn’t stand to wait for his reply knowing that it was after midnight, knowing that he likely had been asleep for hours and wouldn’t see your messages until morning. Taking a deep, calming breath to steady your nerves, you forced yourself to refocus on the television. One episode, you promised yourself, and then you would get some sleep.

Less than 10 minutes later, you felt the faint vibration of your phone travel through the couch cushions to where you sat, and your show was abandoned without question.

You tossed several of your unnecessarily large throw pillow collection onto the floor in your hasty search, and though you knew you would be annoyed at having to tidy them in the morning, in that moment, you could hardly bring yourself to care.

1 New Message, your phone screen read as you recovered it from the pile. With something akin to nausea roiling in your stomach, you opened the notification and resisted the urge to physically cross your fingers.

Glad to hear you made it home safely.

…

That was all. “Glad to hear you made it home safely.”

Your stomach sank like lead in your abdomen, all of the soft, fuzzy warmth of the wine and your arousal evaporating from your body like sweat on a hot day. Only exhaustion was left in its place – exhaustion and the surprisingly poignant hurt of rejection sitting heavy on your limbs. You had come on too strong, it seemed, stated your desires and intentions too boldly and directly. You ought to have held back more, ought to have waited longer before asking or maybe couched the question in a joke or a suggestion of something more casual first. Or maybe you shouldn’t have asked at all and instead waited for him to ask you out. You supposed men probably preferred that – to be the one to initiate, the one to take charge. Fuck, you were always so impatient, so goddamn eager –

In your sweating palm, your phone buzzed once more, interrupting your string of self-curses.

Nerves roiling beneath your skin, you risked a glance down at it.

1 New Message

You had no control over your body as you opened it, watching the action from inside your own mind as though walking through a dream.

As for your other message, of course my answer is yes. I want to meet you, too, sweetheart. But be warned. Even though you did the asking, I WILL argue with you if you attempt to pay for the whole date yourself. It’s against my personal creed to let a lady pay my way without contributing.

All of the breath left your lungs as you took in his words, reading them over and over again until you could recite them from memory.

He wanted to meet you. He wanted to go out with you.

A high, breathy laugh bubbled over from your chest, spilling through your lips into your quiet apartment like the glistening champagne tower at the wedding this evening. You laughed as you typed, as you hit send. You laughed as you turned off your TV and as you completed your evening skincare routine. You laughed as you crawled into bed, as you burrowed under the covers, delirious and giddy.

i think i can allow it just this once. wouldn’t wanna violate your creed.

It took a handful of messages to determine the best place to meet. Din had offered to pick you up, wanting to treat you right, to be a gentleman, but he did not hold it against you when you turned him down. He understood that meeting a stranger from the internet, particularly as a woman, came with a particular set of risks, and he had no desire to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. He was happy to simply meet you there instead if that would make you feel safer.

Eventually, you settled on a moderately popular restaurant not far from your neighborhood. Din had never been there before, but over the last several days, he had discovered that the two of you shared a love of spicy food, and you had promised that the “modern Mexican fusion�� menu did not disappoint.

they also have the cutest patio so we can sit outside if the weather’s nice 😊 , you had said, and he had been sold.

Under the assumption that Din would have a difficult time finding a sitter on a weekday evening, you agreed to wait until Friday to meet. However, the moment he had attempted to discretely broach the subject with Cara while on a jobsite, he immediately had three additional volunteers in Bo, Koska, and Axe, all of whom assured him that they hadn’t been eavesdropping and insisted that he had just been “really fucking loud” with his question.

So perhaps finding a sitter would not have been as challenging as he presumed.

Regardless, the two of you continued to chat throughout the week leading up to your date, first using the dating app’s messaging platform and then, eventually, via text. Din had grown weary of the limitations of the messaging interface days before, but he had been concerned about coming across as too forward if he were to ask for your number. But he needn’t have worried. You offered it freely late one night when the two of you were deep into a discussion about your favorite music artists, and something about getting to put your name and phone number into his contacts made the whole situation feel startlingly real. It had felt…personal, almost intimate. And it was nice.

If he was being honest with himself, it made him nervous – how much he liked you, how quickly he had begun to think of you as part of his daily routine. A text good morning after his pre-shift workout, when he knew you were just rolling out of bed. Checking his phone over lunch to find a whole stack of little videos you had found on the internet during your morning scroll, watching every single one of them as his coworkers rolled their eyes and laughed at how quickly he had fallen into line for you. Countless late-night conversations after he had tucked his son into bed, his tired body sprawled out on the couch or propped up against his headboard and wishing you were there with him.

He wanted to experience the laugh that went with that stunning smile from your photos. He wanted to hear you talk for hours on end about whatever crossed your mind while he just…listened. And fuck, did he want to touch you. It had been almost two weeks since he had first matched with you, and that need he had felt deep in his gut that first day he had seen your pictures had only gotten more acute over time. He had to know – for certain – whether the skin at the small of your back was as soft and warm as it looked. He had to know whether your plush thighs and generous hips would give beneath his hands.

He wanted you in his arms, in his lap, in his bed. He wanted you in his life, and he had never even met you.

He needed to rein it in, he knew. He didn’t want to come on too strong, and he didn’t want to dive headfirst into something without the proper consideration. It had been over a decade since he had last been in a relationship, and he was a completely different person now than he had been then. Not to mention his son. His boy was his top priority – the most important thing in his world. He would need to be cautious about dating anyone seriously with him in the picture.

But something told him that he had nothing to worry about with you, that you wouldn’t resent his priorities or demand things of him that he couldn’t give. And if things went well, and he liked you as much in person as he did online… If after a while, you earned his trust, his commitment…

You and the kid would get on like a house on fire. He could sense it.

But.

Before you could meet his son, before Din could welcome you fully into is life, he had to meet you.

Din beat you to the restaurant that Friday.

You wouldn’t describe yourself as the type of person who was chronically late (though some of your friends might have had a different opinion on the matter), but in your defense, you had had a new client intake call right at the end of the day that had gone on for longer than you anticipated. Thankfully, you had gotten yourself ready before the call so that by the time the talkative new parents were done describing in great detail their precise vision for their new baby photoshoot, all that was left for you to do was slip on your shoes, grab your purse, and run out the door.

The walk to the restaurant was brief but pleasant, the weather having worked out perfectly for an outdoor meal, and as you approached, you spotted him immediately. Tall and absurdly broad, posted up outside the restaurant’s main entrance with his hands on his hips and one leg popped in a stance that absolutely screamed “dad,” even from a distance. He wore a long-sleeved, charcoal gray henley with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows and a couple buttons undone at the collar, well-fitting, dark-washed jeans, and a pair of black boots with thick soles that you had a feeling he favored when riding his motorcycle. A classic pair of dark sunglasses perched on his prominent nose, and in spite of the warm weather, he had a black leather jacket grasped in one fist, hanging down by his side by its collar.

In the golden hour sun against the worn brick of the restaurant’s exterior, he looked like something out of a movie. Or maybe a men’s cologne ad – something clean but rugged, so masculine you could die. Taking a deep breath against a sudden wave of nerves, you made a mental note to bring your camera the next time the two of you went out. If he was going to look this fucking delicious every time you saw one another, it would be a crime not to document it.

You were in the middle of crossing the street when he spotted you, and you watched with heat rising in your cheeks as he visibly paused and swept you from head to toe with his gaze. His adam’s apple bobbed, and then he was straightening himself and eating up the sidewalk in a handful of long strides to meet you when you arrived.

“Din?” you found yourself asking as you came to stand before him, as if you didn’t know, as if you wouldn’t recognize that striking face, those powerful shoulders anywhere in the world.

He offered you a gentle half-smile, ducking his chin in a single nod, and you took notice of his free hand balling up into a fist at his side, like he was physically holding himself back from reaching for you. After a beat, he replied, “It’s…good to see you, sweetheart. Happy you got here safe.”

His voice. Low and rasping, worn and manly, strangely reminding you of metal scraping against leather. It was painfully attractive, and you felt your cheeks darken further even as a grin spread across your lips.

You had been right. The man was a certified DILF, and he couldn’t have been any more your type if you had designed him in a lab yourself.

“Same to you,” you said, your voice sounding a bit breathless even to your own ears. “Should we go get a table?”

Din made an affirmative noise and gestured for you to precede him down the sidewalk. “I put our names in when I got here. The table should be ready any minute.”

A small thrill went through you at the realization that he must have gotten here at least 45 minutes ago if your table was nearly ready. This place notoriously didn’t take reservations, and there was always a wait, especially for the patio. Which reminded you…

Before you could think better of it, you asked, “Oh, did you request the patio by chance? Sitting out under the lights is the – ”

“ – best part, I remember,” he interjected, his tiny smile quirking up in one corner. “Yes, I requested the patio. They should text me when the table’s ready.” No sooner had the words left his mouth and he startled unexpectedly, glancing over his shoulder as though to look at his own back pocket. He reached behind himself and pulled out his phone, the sleek, black thing dwarfed in his broad palm, and you caught a glimpse of his background picture as he unlocked it.

A little boy with floppy, too-long, sandy-brown hair, huge dark eyes, and big ears, grinning up at the camera with a toothy smile. He was adorable.

“Ah. Speaking of. It’s ready,” he said, showing you the automated text. “After you.”

He gestured again for you to walk ahead of him, and you drew your lower lip between your teeth as you acquiesced. Not a moment later and you felt the soft, warm press of his palm against the small of your back, the steady, unobtrusive pressure gently guiding you toward the entrance to the restaurant. The sensation had something low and hot simmering in your abdomen, the way the heat of it sank through the fabric of your dress into your skin, the way your body listened to his touch instinctually. It was protective in a way that felt comforting rather than overbearing, and it occurred to you that such a thing would be easy to grow accustomed to.

You had always needed to be the one to look out for yourself. How freeing would it be to be able to trust another person to carry that for you, even if it was only every once in a while?

Your restaurant recommendation proved to be a good one; the food was rich and delicious, the atmosphere was lively, and Din indulged in a couple of their house cervezas throughout the evening, which he found pleasantly light and refreshing. As the sun set behind the city skyline, casting long shadows across the flagstone patio, colorful strings of lights crisscrossing the seating area flared to life. The effect was charming, particularly the way the lights cast a warm glow over your face, arcs of gold and red and green streaking across your hair and illuminating your eyes. You were so pretty – even more than he had expected, even more than in your photos. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt “enchanted” by a person before, but he would say that was close to describing how he felt sitting across the table from you.

To his great relief, Din found that the time passed just as quickly while talking to you in person as it did over the phone. You were sweet, funny, and quite talkative, so even when he found himself dipping into introverted lulls or long silences, you were there to pull him back out of himself. You seemed to have an endless fount of things to chat about, which was perfectly fine with him, as it meant he didn’t have to wrack his brain for things to say, and he got to listen to your voice.

You also seemed to find him funny, snorting cutely into your glass every time he said something even faintly amusing, and he would be lying if he said that didn’t have his ego swelling a bit. He liked the idea of being able to make you laugh. And when your eyes flashed at him over the rim of your margarita, when you drug the tip of your slick, pink tongue across the line of salt there, when you offered him a slow, knowing smile with just the barest flash of sharp little teeth…it wasn’t only his ego that threatened to swell.

That was one thing he had not accounted for, he found, one facet of your personality that he had only barely glimpsed over text that was now staring him in the face as the two of you wrapped up your meal. You were powerfully, blatantly flirtatious in a way that felt completely foreign to Din after more than a decade of singlehood. Your lowered lashes, your intentional eye contact, your sweet compliments. Your little touches across the table, burning the backs of his hands and the insides of his forearms with the warmth of your skin. And that wasn’t even mentioning the surreptitious peeks at your ample cleavage your dress kept allowing as you leaned and shifted in your chair. That one, perhaps, wasn’t intentional, but it was still making it difficult for him to avoid embarrassing himself in the middle of this restaurant.

When it became clear that the two of you could no longer draw out your meal, the debate over the check began. Thankfully, you did not propose to pay for both your meal and his, seemingly taking his warning to heart. However, you did suggest that you pay for your own meal and drinks, and something about that still rankled. Eventually, after much back and forth, you compromised and agreed that Din would pay for the meals while you would cover the drinks. The waitress had looked at you a bit oddly when you made the request, but she hadn’t protested, and a handful of minutes later, the two of you had paid and were making your way back out onto the sidewalk outside.

Din wasn’t ready for the night to end. Spending time with you was the most fun he had had with anyone that wasn’t a coworker in…well. Too long. You were sweet and funny and full of life, and every moment he spent in your presence, he could feel warmth and vitality being breathed back into his lungs. He wasn’t ready to let that go just yet.

Thankfully, neither, it seemed, were you. Slipping one of your manicured hands into his, you said, “You know, there’s a park a couple blocks from here with a really nice walking path. You want to go check it out?”

He glanced down at your joined hands, dragging the pad of his thumb across the ridge of your knuckles almost absently as he reveled in the feeling. You were so fucking soft, just like he knew you would be, and the sensation of your skin under his almost distracted him from his response. After a beat, he nodded, and you hit him with a thousand-watt smile that Din couldn’t help but return.

You kept up a steady stream of conversation as you made your way to the park hand-in-hand. Din had proven just as easy to talk to in person as he had online, and although the evening had confirmed your suspicions that he was much more introverted than you, he was by no means reticent. He had matched you beat for beat all night, and even in the moments where he seemed to need a bit of prompting, you chalked it up to him simply being out of the game for a while and didn’t hold it against him.

More than anything, though, your impression of him as you made your way down the block was one of an old-fashioned gentleman. There was an earnestness, a seriousness about him that you had never really seen in a guy your age, and it made you feel like you were the only person in the world to him. It was a heady feeling, to be the center of such focused attention. You wondered if he knew that if he wasn’t careful, that attention was going to give you ideas. Ideas you weren’t certain someone with his sensibilities would be interested in on a first date.

Just when you thought you might need to pull him to the side of the walkway and give him a little taste of what you had in mind, his phone rang, and he dropped your hand to fish it from his back pocket.

You couldn’t stop yourself from taking a glance at the screen as he examined it. CARA DUNE, the caller ID read, and the photo that lit up the background was of a striking woman with raven black hair, sharp eyes, and smug smile.

Oh. You felt something in your chest deflate a little. Another woman.

Din pulled up short, looking at you with dark, apologetic eyes shadowed by the streetlamps. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he said, and you found yourself nodding your agreement even as your stomach sank further. And to think, you had been convinced that this man was nothing but a bundle of green flags held together by a gap-necked henley and a pair of slutty black combat boots…

Turning away from you slightly, putting one of his broad shoulders between you and the view of his phone, he swiped up to answer the call.

“Dune? Everything okay?” he asked, a flavor of urgency to his tone that had you frowning.

Wait – Dune? He was calling her by her last name?

You couldn’t hear what the voice on the other side of the line said in reply, but you watched as Din’s shoulders dropped from up around his ears, and he brought his free hand up to squeeze the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, put him on.” A pause then, and he sighed deeply. “No, I don’t mind, really, you just scared the shit out of me. A call from you at this time of night? I thought something was wrong.” Another pause, and you could hear what you would swear were several voices talking over each other ringing from the phone’s speakers even as they were pressed against his ear. “Okay, yeah, that’s fine. Put him on.”

Din pulled the phone away from his face then and tapped the “video call” button on the glowing gray call interface. Half a breath later, the screen flared to life, blinding you a bit in the darkness, and the image of a little boy with unruly hair and dark, sleepy eyes blinked at him from the phone.

“Daddy!” the boy cried, a toothy grin splitting his chubby little cheeks as he seized the phone from whoever was holding it on his end. He was too close to the camera, the angle giving Din a spectacular view directly up the toddler’s nose, and you smothered a giggle as you watched the boy make faces at himself in the viewfinder.

“Hey, kiddo,” Din said softly, and oh, but you could hear the smile in his voice, could feel the fondness radiating off of him in waves even though you couldn’t see his face. Every sinking feeling that had taken over your body disappeared at the sound as you realized what exactly you were witnessing. The other woman was his babysitter.

“Are you being good for Aunt Cara? Hm?” he asked, and you could just melt at the gentleness in his low, rasping voice.

“Good!” the little boy replied, nodding vigorously in a way that bounced his floppy curls across his forehead.

Another face appeared on the screen, the same woman from the caller ID photo, and you watched as she scooped the squirmy kid up into her arms with an exaggerated, theatrical groan. “Tell him,” she prompted playfully. “Say we played with your airplanes and your cars.”

The little boy grinned toothily. “Yeah, cars!”

“And we wrestled with Uncle Axe and Aunt Koska,” Cara prompted, to which the kid giggled.

“I winned!”

Cara nodded with a fond smile. “That’s right, you won.”

From somewhere off-camera, another voice – this one male – called out in protest. “Debatable! I still say the ref was biased!”

The boy laughed again, the sound high-pitched and full of joy, and even the woman holding him seemed to be fighting back a chuckle as she plowed on. “And then Aunt Bo made dinner, and this little dude ate alllll his vegetables!”

“You did?” Din replied, genuine surprise coloring his words. “That’s great! I’m so proud of you!”

“Daddy! When you come home?”

From your angle slightly behind him, you could see your date’s shoulders fall slightly at the question, so sweetly and innocently asked in that little baby voice. On the other end of the line, Cara offered him what you would call an apologetic smile and shook her head. “Someone doesn’t want to go to bed without Dad.”

“Kiddo, Dad’s not going to be home until after your bedtime,” Din sighed. His words were slow and patient on the surface, but you swore you could hear a note of guilt underlying them, and it made your heart ache in your chest. “Remember, we talked about that before I left tonight? Aunt Cara is going to do bedtime tonight, and then when I get home, I promise I will come give you kiss, okay?”

The boy was clearly disappointed by this response, his eyebrows pulling up in the center and his wide, dark eyes shining pitifully through the screen, and he let out a wordless little whine that you were sure would have had you caving in an instant had it been directed at you. However, Din held strong. Voice low and gentle, he offered, “How about this – let’s say goodnight to each other right now instead. Is that okay? Just for tonight?”

He seemed to weigh that response for a moment, uncertain, but after a beat of silence, the kid tucked himself snugly under Cara’s chin and sighed. “Okaaaay.”

“Okay. I love you so much, kiddo. Get good sleep, have good dreams, and I’ll be there in the morning when you wake up.” Din’s words, so soft and intimate, sounded almost rehearsed to your ears, and you realized that this man was completing a long-standing bedtime ritual with his son via video chat in the middle of a darkened sidewalk on a Friday night. The thought had your heart swelling behind your ribs, the core of you warming and softening with a rush of fondness that you were helpless against.

Fuck. Din wasn’t just a DILF. He was also just a really good dad.

On the other side of the connection, Din’s little boy yawned widely and snuggled his curly head deeper into his babysitter’s chest. “Love you, Daddy,” he murmured sweetly, and you knew that if it were possible to die of cuteness, you would have done so that those words.

“I love you, too,” Din replied softly. “Good night, buddy.”

“Night night.”

Cara shifted the phone away from the kid’s sleepy face then, refocusing herself in the frame. “Okay, that should do it. I’m gonna go tuck this guy in while he’s still feeling cooperative.”

He was quick to nod his agreement, clearly not wishing to make this task any more difficult on his friend than he needed to. “Yeah, go. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

“Hey.” She sounded rather serious then, making intense eye contact with Din through the phone screen. “Take your time, ‘kay? I got this.”

“Have fun, Djarin!” another woman’s voice chimed from a distance, off-camera and seemingly getting further and further away as Cara carried Din’s son to bed.

There was a chorus of good-natured laughter, then the man’s voice from earlier returned. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do, eh?”

This, of course, was met with an uproar on the other side of the connection, none of which could be seen. All you could really make out was a stern woman’s voice, one you hadn’t heard before, groan, “Axe, I swear to god – ”

You laughed softly at that, hiding your smiling lips behind one of your hands and Din quickly started to fumble with his phone. “Oookay, that’s enough of that,” he muttered, and with a swipe of his thick thumb, he ended the call.

Slipping his phone into his back pocket once again, he finally turned back around to face you, guilt and embarrassment tightening the corners of his eyes. Even in the dark, you swore you could make out a flush high on his golden tanned cheekbones as he said, “I’m…sorry about that. My kid, he’s got some separation anxiety issues. He’s not used to me being out of the house at bedtime. Tried to talk to him about it before, but he’s not even three yet, and – ”

“Din,” you interjected, closing the narrow distance between the two of you and resting your palm on his arm. “You don’t have to explain. Or apologize. You’re a dad. Your kid comes first.” With a slow, sly smile, you slipped your hand into the crook of his arm, holding tight to it as you proceeded down the sidewalk once more. “Besides, that was an interesting look at your family dynamic. Or were those your friends? The one called Axe sounds like a character.”

He huffed a laugh at that. “Friends. Well, also my coworkers, but they were friends first. I’m an only child, so they’re the only aunts and uncles my kid has ever known.”

“How many of them are watching him tonight?”

“Four,” he replied with a grimace. “I had originally only asked Cara, but the others overhead and…wanted to support me, I guess. I think I mentioned, I don’t exactly do this often. I haven’t been on a date in…well. Let’s just say it’s been a long time.”

You smiled to yourself, feeling your cheeks heat at the idea that this man who didn’t date had decided that he wanted his first date in however long to be with you. You would be lying if you said that wasn’t going to go to your head a little. Leaning your forehead against his bicep so he couldn’t meet your eyes, you asked, “And how are you finding it?”

With a low, rasping chuckle, Din brought his free hand up to cover yours, wrapping his long fingers around the back of your hand where it cupped his elbow. “I’m thinking…if it means I get to spend time with you, I should do it more often.”

Not even an hour later, Din found himself in the back of a cab, arm around your shoulders, fingers linked together, your beautiful face flushed and grinning wildly as you traced the very tip of your nose along his jugular. Your voice breathless and on the verge of laughter, you gave the driver what must have been the address of your apartment, but he couldn’t have repeated the words you said if you had paid him. He was far too distracted, too overwhelmed with where the night was heading to pay attention to such details. You were so soft against him, plastered up against his side. Your mussed hair on his cheek, your breasts against his chest, your round hip snug against his, and fuck, your lips – plump and swollen and glistening with his kisses, the ones he had stolen under the lamp light during your stroll through the park. He couldn’t believe he had done that. He couldn’t believe you had asked him to.

When the two of you had planned this evening, he had had a firm talk with himself – he would keep the physical contact to a minimum, he would not allow his eyes to wander inappropriately, he would be a perfect gentleman, he would treat you like a lady. First of all, because it was the bare minimum of what you deserved, and second of all, because tonight would be your first ever in-person meeting, and he wanted to be very clear that this meant more to him than just some casual hookup. Din had had plenty of those over the years to know that what he felt for you ran so much deeper than that, and he was loathe to give you the wrong idea about his intentions with you.

The moment he saw you walking across the street toward him – backlit by the golden hour sun, hair dancing in the breeze, all your perfect, curvaceous softness swaying with your perky stride – all of that chivalry had nearly been abandoned by the side of the road. And he had been fighting tooth and nail all evening to keep hold of the reins of his desire for you.

But the two of you had meandered through that park for a while. You had stopped along the shore of a little pond to admire the water, and you had looked up at him with these wide, soft eyes, your long lashes casting intricate shadows across your cheeks, and god, it had nearly killed him to keep his hands balled up in the pockets of his jacket.

And then you had taken the smallest step forward, eating up what little distance still remained between you.

And then you had whispered, in a voice so low he could barely hear you, “Will you kiss me, Din? Please?”

How could he have refused you?

Now your breath was on his neck, your lips softly brushing his skin, and he was slithering his arm down from around your shoulders and instead pressing his palm to your thigh. His fingers dug into the softness there of their own accord, tucking the tips inward and brushing his thumb across the cap of your knee firmly, possessively. He felt you exhale against his collarbone at the sensation, the softest, faintest sound of need reaching his ears, and then he was ducking his chin, finding your mouth again, pressing his lips to yours with an urgency that ought to have felt out of place with the poor cab driver sitting right there but somehow didn’t.

Your kiss tasted like lime from your margarita, like salt from the rim. Your fingers threading through his hair felt like heaven. Your body under his hands melted like putty, warm and pliant and so fucking soft that it had blood rushing to his cock, the swell of it pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans.

And it wasn’t enough. You needed more. He needed more.

Breaking the kiss with a soft gasp, Din pressed his forehead against yours, brushed the tip of his nose against yours. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and gravely in the hot, moist air between you. “We’ve got to slow down, or I’m going to embarrass myself.”

You shifted beneath his grip on your thigh, hips squirming in your seat, thighs pressing together, and when he met your heavy-lidded gaze, he was struck with how dark your eyes looked just now, how wide your pupils had blown. Shaking your head, you whispered, “Don’t care.”

He bit back a curse at the way his cock throbbed at your words, at the soft, panting tone of your voice. “Not going to fuck you in the back of a cab, baby.”

Giggling breathlessly, you tucked your face into the side of his neck to hide your blush. “You can’t talk to me like that and not expect me to be all over you, Din Djarin,” you huffed, the tip of your tongue darting out to taste the little patch of skin just beneath his earlobe. “S’not fair.”

“Not fair?” With gritted teeth, pure electricity running through his veins, he returned the favor and buried his nose in the soft, fragrant skin of neck. The scent of you there was intoxicating – warmth and musk with a touch of floral, a touch of sweetness. He wanted to sink his teeth into you, might have had you been alone. “Fine. You want not fair? I’ll give you not fair.”

Shooting a furtive glance at the driver, who mercifully seemed committed to keeping his eyes on the road, Din delicately slipped his leather jacket from where it had been tucked around your shoulders and instead draped it over your lap.

You pulled away from him slightly at that, meeting his gaze with bright, burning interest in your eyes as you realized what he was about to do.

“If we’re doing this,” he whispered, “you have to keep your eyes forward and your mouth shut. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Din watched as you swallowed hard, your swollen lips parting with lust. You nodded wordlessly, and your thigh muscles tightened under his hand, now hidden by the drape of his jacket.

“Okay then. Not a sound.” He cocked his head toward the front of the cab. “Now face forward, behave yourself, and I’ll take care of you.”

He felt the sharp exhale of your breath against his face, and then you were obeying – shifting your hips square to the front of the car, turning to face the windshield, and balling your fists up at your sides. Din shifted, too, turning to face forward and tapping into every ounce of discipline his profession had ever instilled in him to school his expression into something carefully blank and neutral. Beneath his jacket, however, was a different story.

He started with a soothing caress of his palm from the cap of your knee to the top of your thigh, using the heat and the weight of his hand to ease your tense muscles. After a couple of passes, he could feel that softness return, and unprompted, your knees eased apart – not quite spread, not yet, just parted slightly as you relaxed into his touch. The realization sent a surge of satisfaction through him, and he could not stop himself from slipping his fingers down, down, down to the very edge of your knee and slowly starting to gather the fabric of your dress in his grip.

Din heard your breath catch for a moment as you realized what he was doing, and then it sped up, and your knees dropped even further apart. Before he could wrap his head around what he was about to do in the back of a cab car, he had hiked the skirt of your dress up far enough to slip his hand underneath.

Now it was his turn to not be able to breathe. Fuck, your thighs were soft – smooth like silk, supple and pillowy and forgiving as his calloused fingers traced slowly across your skin, seeking your warmth. He could feel a muscle in his jaw jump as his fingers drew higher, as you subtly adjusted yourself in your seat so you could open your legs even wider, permit him even closer to where you both knew you needed him. Every instinct in him begged him to go faster, to give you more, to whip the stifling cover of his jacket off your lap so he could take in the sight of his fingers reaching the smooth, cotton gusset of your panties with his own eyes. Instead, he pulled his face into a scowl of concentration and kept his pace measured.

By the time the side of his pinky bumped into the apex of your thighs, Din felt ready to combust with urgency. He could feel the heat of you there through the fabric, could feel the slickness seeping through it to dampen his skin, could feel the tension in your hips as you tried desperately not to arch into his touch. You were being so good for him, staying silent, never looking his way, just sitting there, the picture of innocence as you let him touch you. It had something hot and nearly feral rising in his chest, the fact that he could give you such impossible instructions in such an impossible scenario and you would drive yourself mad in an attempt to obey them.

It made him wonder what else you would do, if he asked, and just the question had his cock pulsing in his jeans. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Din tucked his fingers under the seam of your panties and slipped them softly, gently through your folds.

A groan bubbled up in his chest, and he allowed his eyes to fall shut for a moment as he collected himself. You were absolutely dripping for him – hot and wet and slippery, trim little curls sticky with it, underwear soaked against the back of his hand. It coated his fingers, and it took every ounce of restraint in his arsenal to stop himself from pulling his hand from under the jacket and popping his fingers directly into his mouth. But no, he told himself. There would be time for that later. Now, you were practically vibrating in your seat trying to keep yourself together, and he needed to watch you fall apart before the cab arrived at your apartment.

Din allowed himself to gently pet you for another moment, reveling in the feel of your soft wetness, and then he was seeking your clit, finding it swollen and puffy and begging for attention near the top of your folds. With the first delicate caress, you lost the battle with your own vocal chords and let out a quiet, breathless whimper, and a rush of pride raced through him at the thought that he had finally overwhelmed you to the point where you couldn’t keep silent anymore. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning over into your space and murmuring into your ear, “I said keep quiet, sweetheart. Or I stop right now. Understood?”

You let out a shaky exhale, and Din felt more than saw you nod your agreement.

“Good girl,” he growled, and he swore he felt your clit pulse under his fingertips at his words. Interesting. That was something he was going to need to explore more later.

For now, he offered you a few more gentle caresses, a few soft, tight circles around your clit as acknowledgment of your suffering, and then he dipped down to your entrance and slowly, sweetly slipped his middle finger into your throbbing pussy.

God, you felt incredible – hot and wet and so fucking tight that he could feel his cock leaking in his jeans at the idea that he might have the opportunity to be inside you with more than just his fingers. Your velvet walls fluttered around him in desperate little waves as he gently thrust inside you, in and out, in and out, pressing deeper on each pass, seeking that elusive spot inside that he knew would make you see stars. After a handful of strokes, he added a second finger, and your hips stuttered at the stretch, hitching against his touch in a way that felt both needy and overwhelmed. You were so tight, and his fingers were so thick; it was no wonder it was a shock.

Din turned and dropped a tender, comforting kiss to the crown of your head. Fuck, you were so good, just sitting there in the back of the cab, letting him touch you, letting him finger you, letting him make you feel good. The ease with which you gave it all up to him was driving him insane. How long had it been since he had been with someone like you, someone who seemed to know innately what he needed, who fit with him so perfectly it was as though some divine being had had a hand in your introduction? Had it ever been this good? Had he ever needed someone as badly as he needed you?

Grinding the heel of his hand into your clit, Din sped up his thrusts. In and out, in and out, pressing, stretching, seeking. Your knees fell farther apart seemingly of their own accord, as your eyes had taken on a faraway look to them, staring unseeingly out the front windshield as you took what he gave you. In your lap, his leather jacket began to slip, and one end of it fell suspiciously down between your spread legs. Although his hand and the apex of your thighs were still hidden, if the driver were to take a look in his rearview mirror, he would clearly be able to tell what was happening in his back seat.

The same idea seemed to occur to you then, because in that moment, you broke his second rule – you glanced over at him with a fucked-out look of urgency on your face, and Din could swear he felt you starting to tighten. Fuck, this was turning you on. The near-exposure, the precarious position the two of you were in, it was making you drip around his fingers, making you clench around his thrusts.

You were a wild thing; Din had known it from the moment he laid eyes on you. Now here was the proof. You were going to come on his fingers in the back of a cab car, and then you were going to invite him up to your apartment and let him fuck you senseless –

“Here we are,” the driver said, his voice slow and unaffected, almost bored as he pulled the cab off to the side of the street and turned on his blinkers.

No matter how nonchalant his words, the sound of them sent a bolt of terror through the both of you, and in a flurry of limbs and fabric, each of you scrambled to put yourselves back together as the car came to a stop. Din yanked his fingers from your body, the quick withdrawal pulling a little hiccupping whine from your throat, but he paid it no heed as he tugged your skirt back down where it belonged around your knees. You gathered up his jacket and draped it over your arm, running your fingers through your mussed hair. By the time the car rolled to a complete stop, each of you were looking mostly put together, save Din’s raging hard-on tenting his jeans and your flush-cheeked, glassy-eyed stare.

Although he had already paid for the fare, as the two of you slid out of the back of the car, Din pulled a wad of cash from his wallet and discretely slipped it into the driver’s hand.

“Thanks for the ride,” he murmured hoarsely, and before the man could reply, he threaded his fingers through yours and followed your lead to the door of your apartment building.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been hoping that this would be where the night would end – Din’s broad, calloused hand in yours, your dress askew and your thighs damp, the two of you moving with urgency down the hall outside your apartment, breathless laughter on your tongue. You had never been strictly opposed to sex on the first date, if the chemistry was there and you felt comfortable and safe with the person, and he had checked all of your boxes and then some from the moment you spotted him outside the restaurant that night. You had decided then and there; if the date went well, and he seemed to be on the same page, you would be taking him home with you that night.

You had worried that your advances might be a bit much for Din, but clearly, those fears had been unfounded. He seemed a bit overwhelmed, a bit in disbelief, but that hadn’t stopped him from jumping at every chance you had given him – holding your hand as you walked, kissing you down by the pond…

Giving you one of the hottest experiences of your life by stealthily fucking you with his fingers in the back of the cab while you struggled to stay perfectly silent and still…

Your pussy clenched at the memory of his thick fingers inside you, the perfect stretch of them, the way they had both soothed your ache for him while also somehow making it worse, knowing how much better it would be if it were his cock filling you up like that. Fuck. You needed this man, and you needed him now.

Thankfully, Din seemed to have no interest in stopping. When you finally reached your door, he wasted no time in crowding up behind you as you fumbled for your keys, hands slipping around your waist as he dropped hot, open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck. Your eyelids drooped at the sensation, your hands halting in mid-air, keys dangling from your grip, and you felt more than heard him chuckle against your skin.

“Don’t get distracted, sweetheart. Open the door,” he murmured, breath hot on the shell of your ear, making you shiver. What a little shit.

After another second of fiddling with your keys, you finally were able to work open your door, and the two of you nearly fell inside. He slammed it shut behind you as you tossed your keys onto the nearby countertop, and then he was on you – one hand gripping the swell of your hip, one hand slipping along the side of your face to cup your jaw, fingers tangling in your hair at the base of your skull as he cradled you. You could smell yourself on him, the scent of your arousal clinging to the hand that now held your face, and god, you could swear your insides turned molten at the idea. His mouth was covering yours before you could comment on it, and then every lucid thought evaporated from your mind.

For a man who claimed to have been out of the dating pool for a while, Din certainly knew how to kiss – he was passionate, meticulous, and completely relentless in the way he took you apart. His lips were soft, his tongue precise, and the single-minded focus with which he stroked your jaw, coaxed you open, and devoured you was enough to make you blush.

Almost absently, you realized his other hand had swept around the crest of your hip and taken a palmful of your ass, and you whimpered into the kiss, your hips hitching toward him of their own accord. His hands were fucking huge, warm through the fabric of your dress, callouses on his palms catching on the fabric. You needed them all over you – on your skin, in your hair, between your legs –

Pulling his lips away from yours with a gasp, he groaned, “If this is too much – if this isn’t what you want – ”

You shook your head, digging your fingers into his dark brown curls, pulling his neck down to your mouth so you could suck on the skin there. “I want it, Din. I want it,” you reassured him.

You felt a shudder pass through him, and then both of his hands were on your ass, dragging you closer, pressing the full length of your torso along his. “Know it’s early, know we just met, don’t have to do anything you don’t want – ”

“Din!” Yanking his hair sharply until he hissed, you watched as he finally seemed to focus on you, eyes darkening as he took in your flushed face, your swollen lips, your glossy, heavy-lidded eyes. “I want to fuck you,” you proclaimed bluntly. His mouth dropped open, just slightly, pouty lower lip trembling as he stared at you. “Do you want to fuck me?”

The man blinked a few times, seemingly taken aback, but he didn’t allow the question to hang in the air for too long. With a heavy, audible swallow, Din replied, “Yeah, baby, I want to fuck you.”

A bright, electric thrill of victory surged through you, and you couldn’t have smothered the grin that split your face if you tried.

“Okay, then fuck me. And don’t hold back.”

You winked at him playfully, and a dangerous smirk that had your pussy fluttering pulled at the corner of his lips. No sooner had you registered the expression and he was toeing off his boots, leaving them abandoned in front of your door, and driving you backward into the apartment. A breathless yelp followed by a laugh escaped you as you allowed him to push you into your living room, shedding your own shoes as you went, and then you were kissing again, and just like before, all of your surroundings melted away.

A rush of cool air met your thighs as balled fists pulled up the hem of your dress, gathering the fabric in worn palms as more and more of your body was revealed, and you let it go gladly. Lifting your arms above your head, you allowed him to pull the whole thing off over your head, and through the wild, fluffed-up strands of hair dangling in your eyes, you watched as he took you in – your blushing cheeks, your heavy, heaving breasts cupped in a black cotton bra, your soft, rounded belly, your thick thighs and wide hips, the narrow strip your black cotton thong completely soaked through and clinging to your pussy lips. You had no name for the expression on his face, but if you had to relate it to something, you would say it was close to awe.

Din was in awe of you, completely and utterly gone for you, and the surge of power that sent through your veins was like a drug.

“Take off your shirt,” you murmured, lip between your teeth, and as he rushed to obey, you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you don’t – ” he groaned, but your hands were already working his belt buckle open, already thumbing at the button of his jeans.

“But I want to.” Looking up at him through your lashes with wide, soft eyes, you held his gaze as you slipped his zipper down, as you felt the hardness poorly concealed behind it swell and surge against your palm. “So let me.”

He gave no further protests, simply watched as you tucked your thumbs into the waistband of both his jeans and his charcoal gray boxer briefs and shoved, pulling them both down around his knees in one, smooth tug. One more push and they were pooled around his ankles, and then Din was stumbling out of them, holding onto the back of a nearby armchair for support as he kicked them aside.

He was naked now, staring down at you with dark, heated eyes, broad, muscled chest rising and falling with every labored breath, and fuck, if he wasn’t the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Thick and strong with long, powerful limbs and a soft stomach, a fine dusting of dark brown hair from his bellybutton down, and miles and miles of golden tanned skin decorated with a heavily curated collection of black and gray tattoos that you hadn’t been able to see earlier. They looked like beautiful work, and you were eager to examine them later, but for now, something else was begging for your attention, and you couldn’t ignore it any longer even if you wanted to.

Inches from your face, long and thick and curved, flushed and leaking precum, his cock was just as beautiful as the rest of him, and you needed it in your mouth. Now.

Holding yourself steady with one hand on his narrow hip, one hand around the base of him, you leaned forward and dragged your tongue along the underside before taking the tip of him in your mouth and suckling gently. Slick musk coated your tongue, and you moaned at the taste, immediately surging forward and taking more. Above you, Din let out a colorful string of curses and dropped a hand to the back of your head, cupping the bowl of your skull in his palm as you worked yourself over him. He never put any pressure there, never thrust himself deeper than you were choosing to take him, but you could feel his restraint in the tension in his hips, in the grip of his fingers in your hair.

He was trying so hard to be a gentleman for you. You kind of wished he would give it up already.

Pulling back, letting his cock fall from your mouth, you took up your strokes with your hand and said, “S’okay, baby. You can take what you need from me. M’not gonna break.”

Din groaned, low and gravelly in his chest, and then he was using his grip on your head to coax you up and back onto your feet. “Need to fuck you, sweetheart – I can’t wait any more.”

Your cunt bottomed out at that, the swooping sensation deep inside you almost leaving you dizzy, and although you had been looking forward to sucking him off, you found yourself nodding your agreement anyway. “Where do you want me?” you asked, and the question had him tugging you forward into a hard kiss.

“On the couch,” he growled. “Just need to feel you around me.”

Pulling him deeper into the living room, you shed your bra as you went, tossing it who-knows-where in your eagerness. You could feel his eyes on you – on them – as your breasts swayed with your movement, and perhaps such direct attention ought to have made you self-conscious, but instead in made you bold. The moment the backs of your knees collided with the couch, you stripped your thong from your body while holding his gaze, and the pure, molten want in his stare had you feeling like the sexiest woman he had ever seen.

“Lie back,” he rasped, and you were quick to obey, laying down with your head at one end and your legs stretched out along the length of the couch. Snagging one of your many throw pillows, Din tapped the side of your hip twice, adding, “Lift your hips for me, pretty girl.”

You did, and he slid that pillow underneath your ass. Then he was clambering up onto the couch with you, all long limbs and big hands and sweat-damp curls, kneeling between your legs, urging one of them up to drape over the back of the couch, nudging the other down to drip limply onto the floor. You went where he guided you, happy to arrange yourself however he pleased as long as it meant you got to feel that gorgeous cock inside you.

But he started with his fingers first, coaxing and petting and caressing your dripping folds in much the same way that he had in the back of the cab, only this time, you were free to arch your hips into his touch and let out soft, breathy moans with every delicate stroke.

Din seemed to realize this at the same time you did, as he began to nod slowly, encouragingly as he slipped two fingers into your quivering, grasping pussy. “That’s it, let me hear you now. You don’t have to be quiet anymore, sweetheart. Let me hear you feel good.”

And fuck, but it did feel good – his fingers stretching you, filling you, pressing steadily against that soft, elusive spot inside you with every thrust, making you want to thrust against him, to drive him deeper, to take even more of him.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking wet. Is that good? Is that what you need?” he groaned, and you nodded furiously, too overcome to speak, just knowing you needed him to keep going…needed him to give you more.

Again, it was like Din realized what you wanted at the same time you did. Gently slipping his fingers from you, he used the thick coating of your wetness on them to stroke his cock as he shuffled forward on his knees. Pressing down on the blunt, swollen tip with his thumb, he dragged his length through your folds collecting your slick, starting at your entrance and sliding smoothly up to your clit. You let out a low, startled moan at the feeling, and you couldn’t help but grind against him, letting the tip of his cock press and circle against your puffy, throbbing clit. Shit, when was the last time you had hooked up with someone and been this outrageously turned on? You felt like you were on the ragged edge of your orgasm already, and he had barely touched you.

However, just as Din began to trail the head of his cock back down to your entrance, a shock of reality broke through your dazed, lust-fogged mind, and you found yourself pressing your hand against his stomach, stopping him from thrusting in.

“Condom,” you panted, sex-addled and breathless. “We need a condom.”

His dark brown eyes widened with a sudden wave of awareness, and you felt him pull back immediately. “Shit. You’re right, I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I wasn’t thinking.”

You let out a winded laugh and shook your head. “Me, neither. Did you bring one? I have some if you need.”

Din nodded, hopping up from the couch and crossing back over to where the two of you had abandoned his jeans. Digging his wallet out of the pocket, he slid a conspicuous foil packet from inside then dropped the wallet back onto the pile of denim. A moment later, he was settled back between your legs, perched up on his knees with his hands on your thighs and the condom tucked securely between two of his fingers.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asked, and you nodded urgently.

“So ready. Beyond ready.”

Your eagerness seemed to be all he needed to get back into the moment. With a few quick strokes of his cock, he ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth and slid it on. You watched with hooded eyes, lower lip trapped between your teeth, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to stroke him yourself as the latex stretched over his skin. Din groaned at your touch, and then he shooed your hands away and lined himself up with your entrance.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl. Want to see your face while you take me,” he groaned, and with one long, smooth thrust, he filled your cunt with his throbbing length.

“Ah! Fuck, Din!”

It took everything in you not to let your eyes fall shut as he thrust inside you. The stretch was incredible – just the slightest burn, but even with his size, it wasn’t too much after how he well had prepared you, how long he had teased you in the cab, how turned on you were. It was enough to feel truly full – stuffed to the brim, the weight of him absolutely gorgeous as he bore down on all your most sensitive spots. Above you, your date was gritting his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his nostrils flared, as he dug his fingers into your thighs with a grip so hard it would likely bruise. He seemed to be fighting very hard to keep himself together, and you immediately felt the sinister urge to clench around him just to watch him struggle. Instead, you chose to take mercy on him and simply roll your hips against his, driving him deeper.

“No – shit, baby, you can’t – ” he stammered, hands tightening on your legs even harder, hips surging forward in the smallest of thrusts completely out of his control. “I am…hanging on by a thread here, and if you – ”

“If I what?” you taunted, the power you had over him flowing through you like an aphrodisiac, making you bold, making you reckless. “If I do this?” You rolled your hips against his again, smooth and lazy, and you could actually feel his cock throb and twitch inside you.

Deep in his chest, Din released what could only be described as an animalistic growl, and in an instant, he had one hand tucked behind the back of your knee – the one up on the back of the couch – and the other gripping the couch cushion beside your head. Arching his broad, muscular body over yours, bringing his face down to your level, he pressed your knee back toward your head and thrust so deep into you, you couldn’t help but whine at the feeling.

“Naughty girl,” he rasped.

You nodded with a smile. “You like that about me.”

He huffed a laugh into the hot, humid space between you, shaking his head at you exasperatedly. “You’re right, I do. But right now – ” He pulled back his hips until just the very tip of his cock remained inside you, brows drawn low in concentration. “ – right now, I really just need to fuck you. Can I, sweetheart? Can I just fuck you?” He thrust back in, all the way to the hilt, and you could swear your cunt was literally dripping at the intoxicating feeling. Your body was writhing beneath him, completely out of your control, and you swore that if he didn’t just fucking rail you in the next three seconds, your head might explode.  

“I swear to god, Din, if you ask me one more time – ”

His mouth sealed over yours before you could finish your sentence, and then he was finally – finally – fucking you.

With swift, firm thrusts, he drilled you into the couch cushions, all hesitance and restraint fully evaporated. The angle was perfect, the extra height and the little tilt added by the throw pillow exactly what you needed to have his cock dragging against your G-spot on every thrust, and that combined with the way his pubic bone ground against your clit had you moaning and whimpering and digging your manicured nails into his shoulders in your ecstasy. Din was like a force of nature, the way he fucked – gripping your thigh, driving your leg back toward your head, holding your eye contact, watching with deep, unflappable intensity as you trembled and shook beneath him. Every once in a while, he would drop his gaze to trace over your soft, folded stomach or to watch the hypnotic bounce of your tits, but mostly, he kept his eyes on yours, and rather than making you self-conscious, it simply drove the heat between you higher, made it more powerful.

“Thought about this,” he confessed, a whine creeping into the edge of his low voice as his thrusts sped up. “All those fucking pictures of you – doing yoga – all bent and twisted and – flexible.”

A smirk made its way onto your face, and you ran your fingers through his hair, brushing his limp curls out of his eyes. “Yeah? You like a bendy girl, Din Djarin? How’s it live up to the fantasy?”

He groaned, leaning even further forward to press his sweaty forehead into yours, driving your leg even further back toward your face. Tucking your knee up onto his shoulder, the angle of his cock inside you deepened. “Even better,” he admitted. “You’re perfect – so perfect.”

“P-Perfect?” God, that soft, spongy tip was hammering your G-spot now; you could barely comprehend any of the words he said to you, let alone string together any of your own.

“Perfect body,” he elaborated, gritting his teeth, groaning loudly. “Sweet, soft, perfect p-pussy. Perfect – hnng fuck – perfect girl.”

“Din!” you gasped. That low pool of heat in your abdomen was starting to tighten, starting to pulse. You could feel it rising inside you, threatening to take you over. It felt…massive, life-altering in a way you hadn’t known orgasms could be, but fuck, if this one wasn’t promising to do it.

“Shit, baby, can feel you,” Din groaned. “You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my cock? Hm?”

“Y-Yes, I’m gonna – you’re gonna make me – ” You hiccupped a sob, raking your fingernails down his arms in a move that had him hissing and his hips stuttering as he thrust. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

“What do you need? What’s gonna get you there?”

“My clit – can I – ?”

He cursed, dropping a wet, sucking, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Yeah, baby, touch yourself. Make yourself come. Need to feel it.”

Wiggling one of your hands into the tight space between your bodies, the tip of your middle finger found your throbbing clit and immediately began to play. You wouldn’t need much more – just something a little more direct, a little more concentrated, a little more –

“Yes! Fuck, Din, right there!”

And then you were gone – that tight, wet heat inside you bursting, dripping down his cock and flinging you into the stars on the edge of the event horizon. The walls of your cunt pulsed around him as you rode out your high, and Din was quick to follow you into his own abyss, unable to hold back anymore the moment he had felt you start to fall apart. With one final, deep surge of his hips, you felt his cock pulse and twitch inside you, and for a brief, wild moment, you regretted the use of the condom. You would have liked to have felt the warmth of him spilling inside you.

In the aftermath, Din was tender, as you had had no doubt he would be. After the two of you had taken a moment to catch your breath, he reached a hand down to hold onto the base of the condom as he pulled out. A low, husky groan escaped him as he withdrew, and you felt a sympathetic throb deep inside you at the sound. Even now, everything he did was unthinkably hot.

A moment later, he had removed and tied off the condom and retreated to your kitchen to toss it, returning with a warm rag he had clearly dampened in your sink. He was gentle and methodical as he cleaned you, wiping between and around your swollen pussy lips with steady hands before he moved on to cleaning himself.

He would need to go now, you realized. He had likely already stayed out later than he had planned, already imposed upon the generosity of his friends long enough. His little boy was waiting for him, and as much as you wished he could stay, you knew it would be unreasonable to ask him to.

So without prompting, you pulled yourself up to sitting, and when he came back from tossing the rag back into the kitchen, you rose to your feet.

You had to admit, you felt a bit exposed, a bit awkward, but even now, as Din looked at you, you could see all of the same warmth and affection you had seen in his eyes before the sex, and that eased your nerves a bit. The first real nerves you had felt since the start of the night, you realized.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, but I have to – ”

“I know,” you interrupted, giving him a smile you weren’t certain would reach your eyes. “I understand. It’s late. You have to be getting back.”

“I do,” he agreed. Crossing to stand just in front of you, he reached out a hand and traced the backs of his fingers down your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “Thank you for tonight. I had a great time with you. And not just…this.” He gestured awkwardly at the surrounding room, at his own nakedness that matched yours, at the trail of clothes between the couch and the apartment door. You giggled in spite of yourself, and he joined in, the whole mood lightening considerably as the two of you found your way back to laughing with one another.

“I had a great time with you, too,” you said, draping your arms around his neck. “I’d like to do it again sometime, if you’re interested.”

Din smiled, soft and genuine, and pressed a kiss to your hairline. “I’m definitely interested. And, ah, maybe next time I’ll call in a few favors. See if I can arrange an overnight sitter.”

You snorted, tucking your face into his neck as joy began to bubble beneath the surface of your skin, making you feel light and filling you with an impish energy in spite of the hour. “Hey, if you can swing it, I’m definitely not going to say no. I’d like to actually, I don’t know, make it to the bed next time? Maybe?”

He playfully squeezed your sides in response, and you let out a squeal. “Can you blame me?” he quipped. “Driving me insane all night.”

Offering him a tongue-touched smile, you pulled away and started collecting his clothing from around the room. “Again. You like that about me, baby,” you teased. With a wink, you dropped the bundle of clothes into his waiting arms. “Now get your cute ass back in these jeans. And go kiss your son good-night.”

A handful of minutes later, Din was fully dressed and hovering by the door to your apartment, the scent of you still lingering on his skin, his heart lighter and freer than he had felt in years. You had gone and gotten yourself a robe to cover up with while he dressed, and now you stood, hip leaning against your kitchen cabinets, arms crossed over your ample chest, watching him attempt to delay the inevitable of having to say good-bye.

He didn’t want to leave you – he hoped you knew.

He didn’t want to sleep away from his son, but he also didn’t want to leave you. An impossible conundrum, and one that didn’t bear examination seeing as this was only your first time meeting in person. It was far too early for the direction his mind was heading; he headed it off before it could travel any further down the road.

Instead, he gathered you into his arms one final time for the night, cradled your face in his hands, and planted a soft, gentle kiss on your swollen lips. “Good night, sweetheart. Can I text you in the morning?”

“You can text me anytime,” you replied with a smile. “You could even, um…call me. If you wanted. When you have some free time.”

Din drew back for a moment, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, if that’s okay with you. I’d like to call you.”

Your smile widened, and he could swear he felt a piece of his heart leave his body and lodge itself in you at the sight. “Great. Then I’ll look forward to hearing your voice again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, and with one final kiss, Din slipped out the door.

[slumbrr-r]

Art dump ‼️

Don’t ask me why team Charlie-1 is a bunch of emos. (They’re self sacrificing idiots.)

Cosmo C3 was supposed to be based of red velvet cake and he turned emo…

Each team has something they specialize in, team Bravo-1 is movement speed (stats here do not reflect the actual game). And Charlie-1 is stealth as they are the main recon for unexplored floors.

And a small comic request by my friend ft. Shelly B2, Tisha B3, and Boxton F1.

More art dump below

For those interested in lore, look below;

The naming system of the toons allows you to see the mortality rate of the team. For example team A1 has all “1” in their names, meaning none have died and been replaced:

The replacement number goes by position, and very rarely does the same exact toon gets recruited in the team. (Ex. A poppy C1 dies and any other toon besides a poppy is chosen, teams can’t handle the grief.)

If you count Bravo-1’s numbers , both Shelly and Brightney replaced a teammate- that’s 2 deaths. Tisha is B3, so 2 members in her position died.

Hope this makes sense! ^ ^

[thydungeongal]

Neoclassical Geek Revival is a really weird game. While the name would make one think it's some crusty OSR game that is mostly just remixing old ideas that could not be further from the truth. It's a strange game that is in many ways very old school but is more than a simple heartbreaker (mostly because in contrast to the archetypal heartbreakers this game is clearly written with an awareness of movements and games within the hobby besides just D&D).

First of all, it's a game that is particularly interested in its own weird dice and number tricks. Dice can explode. Sometimes you're specifically looking for the maximum of a given die (for an example: if a character is out of combat for maximum of d6 rounds, marked as ?d6, it means it's checked every round by rolling a d6 and on a 6 they are no longer out). There is a dice chain where dice can "increase" or "decrease" in strength, like a d10 becoming a d12 or a d8 becoming a d6. You can INVERT dice, so a d4 becomes a d12 or a d10 becomes a d6. Besides a normal linear progression, some rules utilize a cumulative progression of 1, 3, 6, 10, 15, etc.

Then you start getting into the specifics and things are once again weird: there are classes but instead of picking one class and sticking to it you basically build your character by allocating pieces into the different classes. Level 1 characters start with three pieces of pie. You COULD allocate all three into Warrior, to make a pretty straightforward fighty type, or you might want to mix it up by adding a single piece of Bard into two pieces of Warrior for something not unlike a warlord, kinda. The number of pieces you allocate to a class also ends up affecting a specific modifier, used in a wide variety of conflicts. Warrior adds to Combat, Rogue affects Stealth, Mystic affects Occult, Bard affects Presence, and any pieces allocated to Fool (basically the class that represents someone who survives adventures based on pure luck instead of skill) affect Faith.

This is where you get one of the things that sets the game apart from most OSR games: many old school games are often based around the idea of singleton mechanics and procedures to cover specific situations. NGR rejects this in favor of a single conflict system that then gets applied to situations besides combat! It is literally what some people think of when they hear mechanics for social interaction, i.e. dealing 1d6 rhetorical damage to an opponent's argument to get them to relent, but applied to multiple different situations.

Interestingly, the game does not have hit points: all damage accrues against stats. In an argument "social damage" (called Influence) accrues against a character's Will, and once it exceeds it the character has lost the argument. But characters have a pool called Luck (which you can increase by allocating pieces to Fool) which can be used 1:1 to mitigate damage of all kinds. The game even has tricks for FORCING opponents to spend Luck, as a means to chip at their defences before targeting them with something that REALLY hurts (like insulting an opponent in a physical conflict).

The game also has no list of spells, instead just giving players the systems for making their own spells. Same with monsters in fact.

And sometimes you just get hit with a rule that makes you think "why has no other game ever done this." Like the rule for giving experience in dungeon crawl focused campaigns where each new room explored after the first is worth 10 cumulative XP. So if characters end up exploring five new rooms they get 100 XP (after the first one, 1+2+3+4 times 10).

Anyway it's a neat game, worth looking at and mining ideas from imo.

[thesevro]

[sylus] rude boys

[18+ LOVE & DEEPSPACE] SYLUS/MALE READER CW: Highly suggestive content. 'La lang naisip ko lang top dapat natin siya. Siguro sa susunod kong gagawin mga pre. Let me sing a diff tune and say that any one can read this lol

[Takes place during the Bond 'Midnight Stealth.'] Unfortunately for Sylus, you can match his strength, if not the volatile mastery he has over his Evol. He ends up under you in less than a minute. The brooch couldn't have been easier to retrieve.

+

The tussle lasts barely ten seconds. You roll off the bed, landing on the hard floor first, but it takes you only moments to recover before he can pin you down again. You drive your lower body upward into his and take advantage of his imbalance as his weight shifts from his knees to his hands too quickly for him to keep up. Unfortunate, for him, that you’re fast.

You flip him onto his back. One hand on his wrists, the other already searching for the brooch, your fingers methodical in their search under his red bathrobe. He pants lightly, as out of breath as you are in his attempts to match your strength. 

“Maybe I failed to correctly estimate your strength,” he admits, and your gaze flits up to meet his for a brief second. You smirk up at him, still searching. “Ha. Don’t be fooled. I was going to follow up with the fact that I’m certain I estimated your uninspiring intelligence appropriately, if nothing else.” 

“I’m not the one on his back for a so-called idiot,” you reply. “Now be quiet for me for a moment.” 

“Make me,” he challenges.

Sylus rises again, abs rippling with the motion, muscles flexing under the robe as he fights your grip on his wrists. He bucks beneath you like a wild dragon.

“Stay” —You press him back into the ground, your hands still pinned to both his wrists, the strength there locking him to the floor— “Down.” 

The breath goes out of him as you force him back down.

He offers no retort. Allows with a quiet yet smirking watchfulness for your hands to roam his body. You sink to your knees, pressing closer to him as you slide your hands under the lower corner of his robe to check the inner pockets. He lies below you, unusually quiet, pliable under your obvious domination of the circumstances. Still his gaze has the hairs on your arms prickling. 

You grunt in frustration. “Where the hell did you put it you six-foot crow—” 

You stop. Mouth going slack as you lower yourself to sit on him and inspect him further only to find an unusual sensation meet what was supposed to be the even, maybe softer seat of his lap. 

Your focus breaks. Your eyes meet his. Then you blink, and he’s on top of you. He grips your wrists the same way you did his.

Your breathing has shifted to a skewed rhythm. He’s shocked your nervous system. What you sat on practically slapped you in the face, left you more dumbstruck than him uppercutting you in the jaw when he sparred with you the other night.

He looks down at you, nonchalant. You don’t share his imperturbability. He’s the still pond, and you’re the frog hopping around. 

“Are you serious—” 

“It’s a natural physical reaction,” he interrupts. There’s a slight stutter to his conjecture, to the way he said ‘natural.’ You have never heard him stutter.

This man is lying to your face.

And he continues to. If not lie, then overcompensate for the fact that when you pressed yourself upon him there were seven inches of hardness you could feel rising from his bathrobe. “I’m sure you’ve experienced it yourself. Don’t you exercise?” he gives a chuckle. It sounds weaker than the rest. “We’re both men here. You know the way things go. No need to be such a child about it.” 

You shake your head at him in disbelief. “No. No, Sylus, that was a lot har—” 

“If you speak another word about this my face will be the last thing you see.” 

Ah, there’s the threat you were waiting for. Why’d he decide to play around with you first?

“Well.” You swallow, still slow to recover from your revelation about what kinds of things this mafia boss likes. “Let me have a word with you about something else, then.” 

From beneath his grip on your hands, your fingers open around the black brooch. His eyes glimmer. 

He gives a short, hard laugh. Sylus’s hand traces upwards on your wrist to steal the brooch from your fingers. His palm is rough on your skin, and his proximity has you reeling back into the floor as he leans forward, almost face-to-face with you as he takes the brooch.

“A deal is a deal. No?” you probe.

“Hmm,” he hums, glancing only briefly at the brooch before locking eyes with you once more. There’s a moment of dizziness, a haze clouding your vision and synapses. Words echo in your head. Promises, desires. You writhe beneath him in discomfort as he takes in the dark specters of your wants with his power. His face hovers above yours. The smell of his shampoo floods your senses. His figure engulfs your vision until he is all you can see. Your body unwinds beneath him, just for him, as he unseals your desires. 

“So that still truly is what you want,” he finally says.

He stands from the floor and lifts you up onto your feet, his hands on your waist. You’re unsteady on your feet from the borderline invasion into your mind. His hands linger until you no longer sway from side to side.

“Tell me. Is it?” he asks. “It’s still a deal you want?” 

“Y-you've read my mind already,” you retort. It’s hard to think straight. “Fuck, why did you do that…”

“I'm not about to be bluffed by someone who would be an ineliminable threat to Onychinus,” he says simply. “Your use would outweigh the threat you'd pose if you became an Onychinus turncoat, so it would truly break my heart to kill you.” You bare your teeth at him as he mocks you. “Now. Your answer.”

“Yes,” you snap. “You think I would have pointed a gun at you twice if I wasn’t serious?” 

The world fades into a buzzing, darker haze the moment the words leave your mouth. You immediately regret all the exertion, the tumble with this mafia boss, and despise the fact that he used his Aether core on you. Your legs fail you, and you tip forward.

He catches you easily. Your face twists as you feel his arms around you and you try to push him away, try to stand on your own two feet again only to have your arms give out on you. He bears your full weight with ease. 

You hide your face in his chest. It's so easy, too easy to sag into him with the strength utterly sapped from your legs. But he has yet to answer you. And you still want nothing more than to knock some of his teeth out and ruin his pretty face. “Please?” Is all you can think or muster to say. The begging makes you weak. But you know this deal is one he cannot reject.

With your weakened body cradled in his arms, he agrees to your deal and admits to your victory with the brooch. 

“About time you finally showed some effort, kitten," he says.

He stands there with you in his bedroom for a precious few moments, giving you time to recover. That night, he walks you to your bedroom. There's no goodnight. But there's a good deal, and at least he held you while making it.

[mariacallous]

In the span of just weeks, the U.S. government has experienced what may be the most consequential security breach in its history—not through a sophisticated cyberattack or an act of foreign espionage, but through official orders by a billionaire with a poorly defined government role. And the implications for national security are profound.

First, it was reported that people associated with the newly created Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) had accessed the U.S. Treasury computer system, giving them the ability to collect data on and potentially control the department’s roughly $5.45 trillion in annual federal payments.

Then, we learned that uncleared DOGE personnel had gained access to classified data from the U.S. Agency for International Development, possibly copying it onto their own systems. Next, the Office of Personnel Management—which holds detailed personal data on millions of federal employees, including those with security clearances—was compromised. After that, Medicaid and Medicare records were compromised.

Meanwhile, only partially redacted names of CIA employees were sent over an unclassified email account. DOGE personnel are also reported to be feeding Education Department data into artificial intelligence software, and they have also started working at the Department of Energy.

This story is moving very fast. On Feb. 8, a federal judge blocked the DOGE team from accessing the Treasury Department systems any further. But given that DOGE workers have already copied data and possibly installed and modified software, it’s unclear how this fixes anything.

In any case, breaches of other critical government systems are likely to follow unless federal employees stand firm on the protocols protecting national security.

The systems that DOGE is accessing are not esoteric pieces of our nation’s infrastructure—they are the sinews of government.

For example, the Treasury Department systems contain the technical blueprints for how the federal government moves money, while the Office of Personnel Management (OPM) network contains information on who and what organizations the government employs and contracts with.

What makes this situation unprecedented isn’t just the scope, but also the method of attack. Foreign adversaries typically spend years attempting to penetrate government systems such as these, using stealth to avoid being seen and carefully hiding any tells or tracks. The Chinese government’s 2015 breach of OPM was a significant U.S. security failure, and it illustrated how personnel data could be used to identify intelligence officers and compromise national security.

In this case, external operators with limited experience and minimal oversight are doing their work in plain sight and under massive public scrutiny: gaining the highest levels of administrative access and making changes to the United States’ most sensitive networks, potentially introducing new security vulnerabilities in the process.

But the most alarming aspect isn’t just the access being granted. It’s the systematic dismantling of security measures that would detect and prevent misuse—including standard incident response protocols, auditing, and change-tracking mechanisms—by removing the career officials in charge of those security measures and replacing them with inexperienced operators.

The Treasury’s computer systems have such an impact on national security that they were designed with the same principle that guides nuclear launch protocols: No single person should have unlimited power. Just as launching a nuclear missile requires two separate officers turning their keys simultaneously, making changes to critical financial systems traditionally requires multiple authorized personnel working in concert.

This approach, known as “separation of duties,” isn’t just bureaucratic red tape; it’s a fundamental security principle as old as banking itself. When your local bank processes a large transfer, it requires two different employees to verify the transaction. When a company issues a major financial report, separate teams must review and approve it. These aren’t just formalities—they’re essential safeguards against corruption and error.

These measures have been bypassed or ignored. It’s as if someone found a way to rob Fort Knox by simply declaring that the new official policy is to fire all the guards and allow unescorted visits to the vault.

The implications for national security are staggering. Sen. Ron Wyden said his office had learned that the attackers gained privileges that allow them to modify core programs in Treasury Department computers that verify federal payments, access encrypted keys that secure financial transactions, and alter audit logs that record system changes. Over at OPM, reports indicate that individuals associated with DOGE connected an unauthorized server into the network. They are also reportedly training AI software on all of this sensitive data.

This is much more critical than the initial unauthorized access. These new servers have unknown capabilities and configurations, and there’s no evidence that this new code has gone through any rigorous security testing protocols. The AIs being trained are certainly not secure enough for this kind of data. All are ideal targets for any adversary, foreign or domestic, also seeking access to federal data.

There’s a reason why every modification—hardware or software—to these systems goes through a complex planning process and includes sophisticated access-control mechanisms. The national security crisis is that these systems are now much more vulnerable to dangerous attacks at the same time that the legitimate system administrators trained to protect them have been locked out.

By modifying core systems, the attackers have not only compromised current operations, but have also left behind vulnerabilities that could be exploited in future attacks—giving adversaries such as Russia and China an unprecedented opportunity. These countries have long targeted these systems. And they don’t just want to gather intelligence—they also want to understand how to disrupt these systems in a crisis.

Now, the technical details of how these systems operate, their security protocols, and their vulnerabilities are now potentially exposed to unknown parties without any of the usual safeguards. Instead of having to breach heavily fortified digital walls, these parties  can simply walk through doors that are being propped open—and then erase evidence of their actions.

The security implications span three critical areas.

First, system manipulation: External operators can now modify operations while also altering audit trails that would track their changes. Second, data exposure: Beyond accessing personal information and transaction records, these operators can copy entire system architectures and security configurations—in one case, the technical blueprint of the country’s federal payment infrastructure. Third, and most critically, is the issue of system control: These operators can alter core systems and authentication mechanisms while disabling the very tools designed to detect such changes. This is more than modifying operations; it is modifying the infrastructure that those operations use.

To address these vulnerabilities, three immediate steps are essential. First, unauthorized access must be revoked and proper authentication protocols restored. Next, comprehensive system monitoring and change management must be reinstated—which, given the difficulty of cleaning a compromised system, will likely require a complete system reset. Finally, thorough audits must be conducted of all system changes made during this period.

This is beyond politics—this is a matter of national security. Foreign national intelligence organizations will be quick to take advantage of both the chaos and the new insecurities to steal U.S. data and install backdoors to allow for future access.

Each day of continued unrestricted access makes the eventual recovery more difficult and increases the risk of irreversible damage to these critical systems. While the full impact may take time to assess, these steps represent the minimum necessary actions to begin restoring system integrity and security protocols.

Assuming that anyone in the government still cares.

[maudnewton]

Friends, it's been a while. How've you been, apart from... everything? Catch me up if you'd like.

If you don't remember why you're following me: I'm a writer. You might like my book, Ancestor Trouble, if you're interested in family history, genealogy, mental health, generational trauma, systemic harms, and spiritual practices around ancestors and our alienation from those practices in Western modernity. I was finishing it up at the end of the first Trump administration, and to be perfectly honest I viewed it in part at that time it as a kind of stealth self-help book for people who might be groping toward the same kinds of questions in a period where the world seemed to be moving backward.

Ancestor Trouble was called a book of the year by the New Yorker, NPR, the Washington Post, Time, the Boston Globe, Esquire, Garden & Gun, and more. It was a pick for Roxane Gay's Audacious Book Club and a New York Times Editors' Choice selection, and a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle's John Leonard Prize for a first book in any genre.

In a sense it's a memoir, and it's also broader than a pure memoir. On Bluesky, the religion professor Seth Shafer recently described it as "the most unexpected textbook I use [in my Death and the Afterlife class] because it shows very personally how the dead always have a relationship with us whether we know it or not. It's also got the best treatment of ancestor religion I've ever read." A review in the latest National Genealogical Society Quarterly characterizes Ancestor Trouble as fascinating, fun, engaging, and relatably meandering.

Here are some excerpts and related essays:

My Ancestors Enslaved Black People; Acknowledging that Matters, for Guardian US

A Doorway, an Ancestor Trouble excerpt, at Medium

Learning About Ourselves From Genealogy, an Ancestor Trouble excerpt, at Wall Street Journal

On My Father, an Ancestor Trouble excerpt, at Esquire

On Uncovering Family Histories America Is Still Wresting With, an Ancestor Trouble excerpt, at Time

My Accused Witch Ancestor Was Also an Enslaver, at Medium

The seeds of the book were family history posts on my blog in the aughts, and a Harper's cover story, America's Ancestry Craze, in 2014.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Alternative Uses for the Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Rulebook

To answer the question immediately: Yes!

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is obviously purpose-built for investigation, often but not always involving some degree of urban or modern fantasy, but there’s a few other things that, incidentally, it does really well.

The Intended Use

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is purpose-built for investigation. Not police investigation, more like “investigative reporter” investigation. No fancy (and overrated) forensics here, just going around town, talking to people, examining evidence with the naked eye, maybe taking photographs, etc., hopefully culminating in successfully blowing the whistle, rescuing the victims, preventing further harm, or some other positive outcome. Of course, the danger, and the emotional strain of brushing with danger, may say otherwise. There are official Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy adventure modules for this, and it also plays well with Call of Cthulhu and Delta Green adventure modules.

Also there might be a vampire on either side of this equation.

The other thing it’s purpose-built for is survival-horror, in the same vein as early Resident Evil. The PCs are trapped in some location with a scary monster, and they must evade this monster long enough to figure out how to escape or defeat it. This of course actually involves a lot of investigation, such as examining clues to figure out what the nature of the monster even is, and how to escape.

The rest of this post is stuff that Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy wasn’t purpose-built for but incidentally runs very well.

Heists

Heists involve scoping out a location, breaking in, and stealing something from inside without getting caught. This necessarily involves a lot of investigation, which is what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy does best.

Scoping out the building, finding the flaws in its security systems, learning all there is to know about it to anticipate anything that could happen during the heist, that is all investigation.

Actually breaking into the building and getting out without getting caught utilizes the dame careful evasion mechanics as already mentioned in above. Hell, even in the course of normal investigative gameplay, PCs often break into places to snoop for evidence. Stealing a file from a police station is not that different from stealing the diamond from the museum.

(Did I mention that Eureka also has mechanics for tracking how much attention the PCs have attracted from the police and how close the police are to coming to arrest them? And also car and foot chase mechanics?)

Spies

For some reason this doesn’t immediately occur to people, but spies are investigators. Their job is information gathering, and so Eureka emulates spy fiction really well too, especially since it has good stealth mechanics and pretty robust interpersonal conversation mechanics to boot.

Regular default gameplay in Eureka already assumes that information gathering is what the PCs are going to be doing, often while trying to keep a low profile and not draw attention to the fact that they’re investigating. Give them a false identity and drop them in a hostile environment and bam, they’re spies. (This is something our own personal group has actually done before and it went great.)

Assassins

Sometimes spies kill people too after investigating things like their regular movements, security detail, etc.

(Did I mention that Eureka also has robust and realistic gun fighting mechanics as well?)

S.T.A.L.K.E.R.

This one is a bit out of left field, but it makes sense if you think about it. Fragile PCs, robust gun fighting mechanics that simulate realistic shootouts across long distances, robust mechanics for social interaction and handling how the PCs will react to seeing weird and dangerous shit, and investigation mechanics that encourage keeping a careful eye of for the smallest details. Eureka can do S.T.A.L.K.E.R. surprisingly well. Drop the PCs in an irradiated, lawless exclusion zone where they don’t know who they can trust, and task them with following up leads on a mysterious artefact, and paying careful attention once they find it so they can figure out how to take it without being killed by invisible anomalies.

[alexanderwales]

Pitchposting: New Class on Death

Pitchposting is when you put up a partially fleshed out idea, free to a good home. I can't guarantee that I won't ever want to write this one, but you can't copyright an idea, so I think we're good, and if you wrote it, you'd do different things than I would do.

There was a web serial called Reroll that I never read, whose premise was that it was a time loop with superheroes where the protagonist got a different power each time they looped. This is a great idea, though I think I heard that there were some issues with the execution (and cannot speak to that).

The main thing that this gets you, the broad concept of "time loop with variation" is that there's always some opportunity for variation, which keeps the loops from getting too stale. At the same time, it opens up temporary paths that then close when the loop ends, raising the stakes for any given loop, which helps shore up the tension problem that time loops have. And because the powers will be different every loop, there's a real option for having "reveals" that are much more natural.

So the idea here is to take it and tweak it. Rather than superpowers, which I'm never a huge fan of, we do some kind of fantasy thing, and we do some kind of litrpg system with the main thing that's changing every time the protagonist's class.

You know that thing in Skyrim where you do a playthrough as a stealth archer, then another playthrough as an archwizard, then another playthrough as a warrior? This is something that I have never seen nor heard about in the litrpg space, and it seems ripe for someone to do it.

Our protagonist starts every loop by making a choice: what class are they going to take? And though the people and scenarios in each loop are always the same, this fundamental choice alters everything.

So you start with the protagonist in some kind of contained environment, since I'm strongly of the belief that a time loop story is better if it has some kind of cause to unfold slowly. Maybe it's a castle under siege, maybe it's a prison, maybe it's a ship about to make landfall, whatever. They're in dire straits and need to get out, and that first "discovery" loop happens either without any kind of power, or with a generic fighter class. They learn about getting experience points and levels and improving in skills.

And when they inevitably die, they get a choice of another class, or their class is randomized, or there's some kind of incentive to try something different, and they wake up in the same place they were, having forgotten all their old skills but keeping their memories, and importantly, with new skills.

The first time they get out of their contained environment, they fight their way out, but there are other ways: slipping past the guards using stealth, scaling the walls, or smooth-talking the guy at the gatehouse. There are maybe three different magic systems, and only one of them is usable in a single run, each locked to a specific class, each with their own peculiarities.

So in a given "run" we're getting:

More information on what a specific class does

More information on the world as seen through the lens of that class

More "progression" information that leads us toward completing goals and "permanent" widening of the world

Our protagonist slips into the warden's office as a thief and read the documents that implicate him in a scheme against the queen. He talks to the warden as a silver-tongued bard and get him to admit to an affair he's having with the prince consort. And after that, though the silver tongue is gone, the information remains, and getting out of prison is a matter of just saying the right words in a clumsy way to the right people, which works no matter which class the main character is wearing.

I think for me, a nascent novel exists as a constellation of scenes, the things that stand out to me as something cool and worth doing. Here, it's the context switching, meeting the same characters under different circumstances. The sly street rat is mistrustful of a mage, since there's an enormous class difference, but if you meet them on their terms they're warm and kind. The princess is actually kind of a terrible person, if you're not presenting as an aristocrat. You get a chance to look into the mind of the vizier and recoil in horror at what you find there.

I think it's important for the concept that the protagonist keeps rotating through the classes. If they lock in as "thief best class" then you're not leveraging the possibilities of the idea. And for this, you either need mechanical limitations (inability to select the same class twice, vital xp bonuses for switching it up), or you need carefully arranged possibility spaces that routinely encourage variation simply because that's how goals are accomplished.

One of the other things that I like about this idea is that whenever you write a litrpg, you have to ask "okay, but why is it a litrpg", and here, you get a lot of stuff that just doesn't really make much sense without it, and explores a videogame space that's underexplored right now. This is something that people who play videogames already do, switching things up to experience the story from a different perspective, getting all the routes. It's just a lit version of that.

[spacedace]

Dick dropped down from the skylight into the kitchen soundlessly, one hand already gripping one of his escrima rods in preparation for a fight as he worked on getting his barrings.

Babs had said that none of the apartment’s security measures had been tripped and that her system hadn’t detected anyone entering the apartment building that shouldn’t be there, but it was better safe than sorry. The kind of mercenaries that had been hired and the kind of tracking they had already done on Elle meant that they very well could have found a way around the security measures. Hell, if Jason was right about this Marcus Hunter guy - and he most definitely was - then even the additional security Damian had added over the years might not have been enough.

Behind him there was the soft click of a switch and suddenly the kitchen was flooded with light.

Shit, that was bad. He hadn’t heard anyone behind him, hadn’t even registered another person in the immediate area despite the readings in his mask and his finely honed senses. Either he was getting rusty or whoever had flipped on the lights in an attempt to blind him was, if not as good, than at least in the same league as Cass when it came to stealth.

The fact that they were confident enough about not having to worry about Elle that they would try to blind him by turning on the lights rather than for a quieter take-down in the dark also was a bad sign. Either the intruder was confident enough about their plan that Elle calling the cops or trying to run away wouldn’t interfere, or they knew for a fact that she couldn’t. That they had ensured that she was not able to do anything as a dangerous stranger wandered her house and tried to jump the vigilante that had just entered her home.

Thankfully his domino was in top form and ready for things like this, specially designed by Lucius with software finely honed by Babs. As quickly as the switch was flipped, his mask adjusted to account for the sudden change in light levels, keeping him fully aware of the world around him. A chance at surprising the person trying to get the drop on him in return, if he was fast enough to pull it off.

And if it meant saving the young woman his little brother was in love with, that had become another member of the family over the past couple of years?

Dick would be more than fast enough.

He dropped low and spun, flicking the taser function of his escrima on as he did. He still hadn’t heard anyone move, but he knew odds were good that the person behind him would likely be aiming for center mass while he was standing if they had a fire arm and lunging at him before he could realize what happened if they weren’t.

Body flowing like water, Dick turned and moved to slam the sparking business end of his weapon into his opponent coming face to face with -

A bleary and half asleep Elle.

Dick stumbled as he rapidly fought his own momentum, nearly crashing to the floor in his attempt to not hurt the very woman he had shown up to save. He still ended up knocking a familiar battered bag from off the table in his - totally not wild and undignified at all thank you - pinwheeling.

At least he managed to not bump the pretty, hand-painted vase sitting next to Elle’s normal traveling pack. It had been a gift from Ma Kent when Damian, Jon and Elle had all three moved in together and Dick did not want to face the wrath of three if anything happened to it.

Or the wrath of Ma Kent, for that matter.

Elle, for her part, just watched him from where she was swaying blearily in the kitchen doorway, eyes squinting into the bright light that she had flipped on. She seemed unbothered by the vigilante that had appeared in her home and nearly tazedd the shit out of her the second she’d made her presence known.

“Mmp?” She…said? Mumbled, really, sleep blurred and muzzy. “Nigh’wing?” She slurred, lifting a hand to rub tiredly at an aching eye. “Why’re you in my kitchen?”

“Uh…” Dick stared at her, still mentally scrambling to get his feet under him as he tried to wrangle the sudden flip between fighting a dangerous foe to talking with his brother’s exhausted, jet-lagged and very much out of the loop civilian girlfriend in his vigilante persona.

Elle gave a yawn so massive and wide Dick was fairly certain he would need to take her to the ER to get her jaw re-attached afterwards. Instead of screaming in pain at suddenly dislocating a bone, she just leaned against the door jam tiredly as she looked him up and down. “Are you bleedin’ out?”

Dick blinked.

“Um, no.”

“Any broken bones, internal injuries or concussions?”

“No.”

“Villain chasing you about to bust in and destroy half the apartment building?”

“God I hope not.”

“Mmm-kay.”

Elle gave a slow nod, shifting so she was standing fully again - if slightly at a sleepy, drooping angle - as she lazily waved a hand in the general direction of one cabinet.

“Everything but what’s in there and on the bottom shelf of the fridge is free game - that stuff is gonna be gifts for Damian and Jon’s families, so don’t eat ‘em.” Her hand shifted, vaguely motioning down the hall in the direction opposite of where her and the boys’ bedroom was. “Guest room is second on the left, bathroom across from that. If you need anything else…”

She trailed off, head lolling and unruly mess of black curls falling in an even wilder frenzy around her, “Honestly, like, call someone else about it. I just spent the last 84 hours digging people out of a mudslide on the other side of the globe explicitly against my doctor’s orders. I’m going to go have a coma for awhile about it to recover. As a treat.”

As had often been the case over the years, Elle had zagged when he had expected her to zig. It was a hallmark of her as a person, he’d learned from Dami’s stories and his own experience with her. Instead of being freaked by one of Gotham’s vigilantes breaking into her home and nearly taking her head off, she just… rolled with it. Made sure he wasn’t dying and decided at that point that whatever he was doing there was just not her problem to deal with.

Nightwing wasn’t even one of the heroes she’d worked with before as part of her search and rescue work. Elle had never officially met him as his vigilante persona, she’d barely met Damian and Jon as Phoenix and Flamebird. And yet she just didn’t give a single fuck about anything happening currently. Too exhausted to care beyond ensuring no one was about to die, most likely, after just getting back from an SAR mission.

Which made sense. The physical and emotional toll of rescue work was worse than any fight Dick had ever been in, and wore on those who made it their life’s work to that particular kind of emergency service hard. Especially one like Elle who had a widely known reputation for her dogged determination to keep going well past the point other rescuers would hit their limit and have to stop for the sake of their health.

Actually wait, speaking of health, did she just say -

“Doctor’s orders?” He asked, shoving his escrima back in place on his back as he straightened out and stepped forward, hands worriedly reaching for her. “Are you okay?”

He knew that Elle had ended up in the hospital for a bit about six or seven months ago when she’d been visiting family. He wasn’t totally sure of all the details, but he knew there’d been some kind of freak accident that had resulted in Elle needing emergency surgery. Whatever had happened - which, considering she’d been in Amity Park could have been literally anything - she’d ended up with a pretty intense looking scar on her chest above her heart and some intensely worried boyfriends once Damian and Jon had found out what had happened.

Thankfully, with Amity Park’s deep connection with the Infinite Realms and as the seat of King Phantom’s rule, Elle had been in the care of the best healers in the multiverse. She’d been irritable about the whole recovery process he remembered, grumpy at having to be stuck in one place for so long. But considering she’d had to have surgery to remove something pretty sizable from her heart Dick felt four weeks in the hospital and a further six of bed rest and home care was a pretty short recovery time.

Though… maybe she wasn’t as recovered as she’d made everyone think.

Sure, the Yetis could be a bit much in how they fussed over living humans in their care, but there was every chance that Elle really wasn’t as back in action as she’d led people to believe. She was a little too like Dami and Jon that way - like just about everyone Dick knew that way. It wouldn’t matter if she was wheezing through a flail chest or missing a damn limb, if it involved something or someone important to her, she wasn’t going to be stopped. And with Elle, the only thing as important to her as Dami and Jon, was traveling the world to feed her eternal wanderlust and saving people through her search and rescue work. Neither of which was possible if the people that cared about her knew she was still dealing with the effects of her brush with death earlier in the year.

Then again, there was every chance that something else had happened. Between her travels and her SAR work, Elle got into a lot of dicey situations. Not even getting into the fact that she’d put down roots in Gotham and Metropolis - two places known for their high danger rate thanks to regular villain attacks and other crazy bullshit. Had something happened that he hadn’t heard about?

Elle gave another terrifyingly wide yawn.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” She waved his concern off blandly, “It’s all gravy my dude. Just had a bit of a thing not too long ago and my doc is a bit on the over-cautious side. If it was up to him I’d be on bed rest ‘til I’m ninety.”

Dick frowned, not totally convinced. Elle either was ignoring him or was just too tired to notice he was still worried. Instead of acknowledging it she just began swaying back in the direction of her bedroom. “Right, now that’s settled, I’m gonna go crash. Mind the cat when you go to leave, he’s gotten obsessed with the pigeons recently and keeps trying to escape to go after them.”

“Wait, no, I need to talk to you.” He said, moving to follow her as she turned away from him and began shuffling down the hall.

She made a vague, incomprehensible noise, not bothering to turn back to face him. “Mmm, later.”

“No, this really can’t wait.” He insisted, reaching out and catching her arm before she shuffled any further away. “You’re in danger.”

He expected that to be the moment that Elle locked in and started seriously listening to him. That she’d shake off the heavy drowsiness she was caught in and snap to attention and focus on what he was saying and why he was there.

As usual though, Elle zigged when he thought she’d zag.

Instead of doing any of the normal things people do when told by a vigilante that their lives were in danger, she just gave a ridiculous, tired whine and shook his hand off. “Yeah, in danger of not getting any more sleep.” She said, petulant and pouting. “I’m fine, let me go back to bed.”

Over his comms he heard Steph huff a soft laugh, “Damn, Little D wasn’t kidding when he said she was a mess after missions. Might have to bring out the big guns and tell her what we found.”

She had a point. Both in that Dami had talked about Elle being practically a mindless zombie after prolonged SAR stints and in needing to up the ante in explaining the situation. He’d hoped to get her to a safe house first so that he knew she was secure before breaking the news that someone wanted her dead, but if she was going to just ignore everything he said in her dogged attempt to crawl back into bed he might just have to lay it out to her now.

“No, I need you to listen to me.” He said firmly, grabbing onto her arm again and tugging her to face him. “A group of elite mercenaries has been hired to kill you. They’ve been tracking your movements for awhile now, they know where you live, they know your schedule, the places you go.” He gave her arm a small squeeze, heart aching a little as he looked down at the worn, exhausted face of the woman that very likely would be his sister-in-law before too much longer. “The others and I can help protect you, but you need to come with me now.”

For a long, quiet moment Elle just stood there and stared at him. Uncanny white-blue eyes taking him in, the seriousness of his expression beneath his domino, the tense line of his shoulders, his firm grip on her arm. Her usually bright and exuberant expression unreadable and still in the dim light of the hallway. Some of the anxiety in his chest unwound a little as the seriousness of the situation seemed to finally settle in to her sleep deprived mind.

And then Elle zagged.

“...Okay… and?”

---

Elle groaned as Duke dropped down from the skylight.

“Seriously? You’re pulling Signal in to this? In the middle of the night?” She gave Dick a look that edged on scathing, scrubbing her face tiredly before turning her attention on Duke. “Dude, what are you doing here? You have the day shift, shouldn’t you be sleeping right now?”

She shook her head before either of them could try and get a word in, waving her hands at them irritably. “Wait, scratch that, I should be sleeping right now and you,” She pointed at Signal with an annoyed frown, “Should know how fucking tired I am. You had to drag my ass all the way to the Opps tent enough times after finishing up an SAR mission to know how hard I crash.”

Duke held up his hands in a motion that felt less like a I come in peace and more of a I surrender to Dick’s mind, though he was still smiling a little. “And hello and good morning to you too Ms. Nightingale. Yes it has been a minute since we last saw each other, and it is nice to get to chat when we’re not running around trying to pull people out of rubble or half dead in the crash tent.”

Elle flipped him off, which just made Duke laugh in turn.

Dick might have felt the need to intervene and try and smooth things over, but he could see that - clearly despite herself - Elle was happy to see him. Some of the tension in her frame had eased up, the lines of irritation on her tired face easing up into a fond kind of annoyance.

Yeah, alright, Duke was right that they should have just let him handle the whole thing from the jump - even with having to wait a few minutes. Dick and Elle got along like a house on fire when he was in his civilian ID, but his interactions with Elle as Nightwing - though positive - were limited. Signal on the other hand, she’d worked with fairly regularly and she and Duke had developed a solid, friendly working relationship over the past couple of years.

“Alright, alright. Yes, it’s nice to see you Lighthouse.” Elle rolled her eyes, amused fondness in the motion, “Seriously though dude, I just got back home like, two hours ago. Can’t this wait?”

The dark visor of Duke’s helmet hid it, but the look he was giving Elle was clear enough anyway. “Sorry, think I might have missed that,” he said, not at all sounding apologetic, “Did you just ask if us trying to save you from the crew of incredibly dangerous mercenaries hired to kill you could wait? Was I hearing that right?”

Elle groaned, “Ugh, look I already told him,” she waved a hand vaguely at Dick, not bothering to glance in his direction, “That while I appreciate the concern, that it’s all good. Seriously,” she said, sounding every inch the as exhausted as she looked, “This shit happens, like, all the time, it’s fine. Can I please go back to sleep now? We can catch up later. I got that awesome coffee Julietta makes the last time I visited and Sal gave me some of his husband’s fresh made donuts when I swung by the bodega on my way home. We can have a nice breakfast chat later.”

Dick tensed, rocking forward as he said “This has happened before?” at the same time Duke asked, “You have some more of that coffee?”

“Signal, focus.” Oracle snapped over comm line, and even without seeing her Dick knew she was pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

Pulling in Duke to help him get Elle out of there had been a good call, but they’d forgotten that it came at the cost of the two being entirely unserious about dangers to their persons. Dick didn’t know all the details, but he knew enough to say that there was a reason the two teamed up on SAR missions so often - and it wasn’t just how skilled they both were when it came to rescuing people.

“Right, coffee can wait…” Duke said, offering Dick a bare impression of a sheepish grin. As much as he thought he needed to placate Dick’s unimpressed stare. He was annoyed with himself that even knowing how low effort it was, the grin was still working.

“Mmm.” Elle said, muzzy and unamused by the both of them. “You’re right. It can wait, for the morning, after I’ve gotten some sleep.” She made a shooing motion at them with her hands, “Go on then, get. Let me get my beauty rest.”

“I don’t know if we have time for you to sleep that long.” Duke mused, laughing as Elle flipped him off again. “Seriously Whammy, you can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

“You’re face isn’t safe.”

“You’re face isn’t safe if you don't move your ass.”

Maybe involving Duke was a bad idea after all, Dick thought, giving into the urge to scrub at his face. While he was his civilian identity, Duke and Elle were friendly enough. She got along with him as well as she got along with everyone else in the family. But the two had clearly developed a strong, almost sibling-like relationship out in the field when Duke was on duty as Signal. Useful in imparting the dangers, useless in getting the two to not bicker like overtired siblings while they were in the middle of something.

Dick sighed, “Can we do this later, please?” He met Elle’s eye from behind his mask, “Look, we wouldn’t be here unless we had serious concerns about your safety. I know you’re tired and think it’s not a big deal but it is. Can you please go pack a bag and come with us so we can get you setup somewhere more secure?”

There was a long beat of silence as Elle looked at him. Her exhausted face becoming contemplative as she met his eye and took in his serious expression. He felt hope swell in him that she was finally taking all of this seriously when -

“Nah. Not happening.” She waved him off, unbothered, and turned to start heading down the hall again towards her room. “I’m going back to sleep. Feel free to hang out here if you want to. I already told Sparky here which snacks were off limits, just keep the volume on the TV down if you decide to watch anything.”

Okay. They might just have to kidnap her. Unfortunate, but Dick wasn’t seeing a lot of options left to them.

Duke, thankfully, seemed to have one more trick up his sleeve.

Crossing his arms and leaning a little too casually against the kitchen counter he made a show of looking at his nails - well hidden beneath his gloves - as he called out, “Alright, I guess we’ll tell Supernova you weren’t interested in meeting him after all.”

Elle froze. Truly froze. Foot still hovering in the air mid-step, entire body trapped in comical stillness. Slowly, painfully slowly, her head turned towards where Duke was. Eyes so intensely wide that they hurt Dick to look at a little, her already slightly off-putting white-blue irises almost swallowing the tiny black pinpricks of her pupils.

“Supernova?” She spun, body almost shaking as she scuttled over to where Duke was like a deranged little crab, “He’s in Gotham?”

Duke made a show of shrugging, “Eh, I mean, he was going to be in Gotham. Help make sure the safehouse we were going to have you stay in is secure and all that.” No amount of cover from Duke’s visor could hide the gleam in his eye, the shit eating grin he flashed Elle said it all. “But if you want to stay here, I guess we’ll have to tell him to not bother coming.”

Dick blinked as Elle seemed to start vibrating in place. He wasn’t entirely certain she wouldn’t take off like a god damn rocket with the way her clear excitement at the idea was rattling around inside her, body likely to combust from the energy of it all.

“I guess I’m calling Kon.” Tim mused from over the comms. “Who knew she was such a big Supernova fan?”

“Holy shit, do you think she has a crush on him?” Steph asked, clear delight at the absolute horror and chaos that would rock Jon if that was the case.

----

^ random incomplete dpxdc snippet thing from a fic I'm working on where the Batfam & Superfam have to try and keep Damian & Jon's supposed-civilian girlfriend Elle safe while the boys are off planet.

Just a lot of fun pre-identity reveal shinanigans, Elle having absolutely zero self-preservation instincts (even by Fenton standards) and the Bats & Supers trying to deal with the chaos inherint in dealing with ghost shit while not revealing anything before Damian & Jon get the chance to. Also some fun painful angst as things start going off the rails and Infinite Realm conspiracies start popping off involving Ancient of the Speedforce Pariah Dark and Elle's ongoing struggle to controll her Obsession. Most importantly, it involves Duke & Elle getting to be chaotic besties because they deserve to be unhinged gremlins that worry those around them with their shinanigans on the regular haha

Sidenote that is entirely unncessary but I put in the research so I'm going to make it everyone else's problem: When Duke calls Elle "Whammy" above, he's actually calling her "W.A.M.I" which stands for Wide Area Motion Imagery, which is a newer type of technology search and rescue teams use.

[crapeaucrapeau]

Mass Effect 2

I'm trying to keep track of what every major or semi-major political player is trying to do about the Reapers in 2185 before, during or after Shepard waltzes in, pirouettes into them then fucks off, and it's kinda mind-boggling.

Major players with their own agendas include but are not limited to :

the Reapers, who may or may not have been already traveling to the galaxy at this point, and are using their pawns - the Collectors - to siphon many humans to their base to get going on the baby-making. Beside assassinating Shepard in 2183 to one-shot an anti-Reaper coalition in its infancy, the Collectors are presumably prepping Omega for collecting (see also : Mordin's recruitment mission) and have contacts with at least one non-Reaper operative (the Shadow Broker) to facilitate their plans.

Cerberus, which has set up one operator cell to deal with the Collectors, and is completely reshuffling its structure to gear up for the incoming Reaperocalypse.

the Shadow Broker is aware of the incoming Reaperocalypse and is actively collaborating with the Collectors, though to what extent is unknown ; one thing we do know is that he uses an agent embedded in Cerberus (Wilson) to try to kill Shepard before they can be up and about. We also do not know how his manipulating of events behind the scenes is meant to benefit the Collectors/Reapers. Then the Shadow Broker gets replaced by Liara who leverages the exact same network and resources to do the exact opposite, preppin' the galaxy against the Reapers. EDIT : I should note that the yahg Shadow Broker planned to attack Cerberus in retaliation one year after Shepard's resurrection, and those plans included the assassination of the Illusive Man, the destruction of Cerberus as a whole, and, if possible, the recruitment of Miranda.

the Alliance itself is doing shit all to prepare against the Reapers because they don't believe it's a problem, but within the Alliance, Hackett is running an undisclosed number of operations to prepare them against the Reaperocalypse.

officially, the Citadel Council dismisses this "Reaperocalypse", but in reality they're very aware of that, presumably doing something about it off-screen, and not keeping some very important people in the loop, such as : Shepard, and seemingly Anderson and the Alliance as a whole.

Also not kept in the loop : the Turian Hierarchy, since they learn about the Reapers from Garrus' dad. Oops.

Actually in the loop : the STG, and presumably the Salarian Union as a whole, since Mordin has been authoring studies on indoctrination and the military has been developing stealth dreadnoughts.

The geth have quit their self-isolation and sent a unique platform past the Perseus Veil to ascertain what the hell is going on.

The geth heretics, meanwhile, have been losing the war against the Systems Alliance and reduced to sporadic offensives in three clusters, but they're preparing an indoctrination-like virus to take over the orthodox geth and add their numbers to their own to service the Reapers.

And these are just the players we know about. We have no idea what, if anything, the asari or the batarians are doing (or know) about the Reaperocalypse.

But that's just what everyone is doing about the Reapers. You've got massive political and strategic things gearing up on the side : we all know about the intense situation in the Migrant Fleet, but did you know the Blood Pack was setting up an invasion of Illium ?

[jungkoode]

So... This Is awkward but we need to talk about plagiarism.

*taps microphone nervously* Hi everyone. It's your sleep-deprived disaster Kiki here. This isn't my usual chaotic author note where I scream about Jeon being emotionally constipated. Today we're talking about something more serious: plagiarism in our fanfiction community.

I've spent the last few days in a bizarre twilight zone where I had to defend MY OWN WORK from being copied. Wild, right? Not how I planned to spend my week when I could've been writing smut instead. (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

So! The situation.

Multiple readers contacted me about similarities between my fic Kkangpae and another work by Tumblr user jeonluvz called "Project Architect." Initially, I dismissed it. Gang AUs aren't exactly groundbreaking territory and creative overlap happens. But then I actually READ the work in question.

What I found wasn't just shared tropes or general vibes—it was specific, detailed replication of:

- Character assignments (identical roles for multiple BTS members).

- Setting details (down to the card-scanning system in the facility).

- Plot progression (same sequence of events, same turning points).

- Scene-by-scene recreation with only superficial changes.

Now let’s talk about coincidence vs. copying—because I’m a nerd like that.

In academic research on creative plagiarism, experts like Rebecca Moore Howard (Syracuse University) have discussed what's called "patchwriting" (= basically taking specific elements from source material and recombining them with minimal changes). This is different from being inspired by general genre conventions.

(Also, Dr. Thomas Mallon, in his book "Stolen Words," describes the difference between: drawing from the same creative well (using common tropes) and recreating specific unique choices made by another author, btw!)

Now. Let me break down the concrete evidence:

Character assignment and world building.

- Both stories have a division system with coincidental names (Seduction, Stealth, Medical…)

- Both stories feature exactly the same division system with Jeon as Tactical Chief, V as his rival, J-Hope as Medical Chief, Yoongi as Tech Chief, etc.

- Both use identical codename systems (where codenames must be earned).

- Both have the SAME codenames for key characters (Jungkook as "Jeon", Tae as "V").

- Both feature identical hierarchy structures where chiefs are higher-ups.

These aren't generic gang tropes—they're SPECIFIC creative choices I made for Kkangpae. I went through MULTIPLE codenames and hierarchy structures (military, boat system, I have my old scrappy notebook for reference, I’ll pull out the receipts if needed).

Scenes.

- Both begin with the reader sneaking into the empty cafeteria early due to strict serving times (pastries vs croissants btw).

- Both follow with the exact same cafeteria-to-Jeon interaction sequence.

- Both feature a joint training exercise that turns into paintball (ch 4 in my fic).

- Both have rules unexpectedly changed mid-exercise by V/Jeon.

- Both have the reader get separated/left behind and targeted by V.

- Both have the reader injured (ankle in mine, ribs in theirs) followed by Jeon's intervention.

- Both culminate in an identical confrontation between Jeon and V about the training, injury, and past issues.

This isn't coincidental alignment. This is scene-by-scene recreation.

Now, let’s go back to nerd stuff, because that’s just how I am: the statistical IMPOSSIBILITY.

Let's talk math for a sec. The probability of independently creating a story with ALL these specific elements in the SAME sequence is astronomically low. Dr. Mark Glickman, a statistics professor at Harvard, developed models to detect plagiarism that show how unique combinations of elements become statistical fingerprints of original work.

If you randomly selected character roles for 7 BTS members from even just 10 possible roles, the probability of independently matching the exact configuration I created is 1 in 604,800. Add in the identical scene progression, and we're talking lottery-winning odds.

WHAT PLAGIARISM ACTUALLY IS.

Plagiarism isn't limited to word-for-word copying. According to the Modern Language Association and academic integrity researchers, plagiarism includes:

- "Mosaic plagiarism" - taking specific scenes, structures and sequences while changing surface details.

- "Structure plagiarism" - copying the underlying architecture of a creative works.

- "Idea plagiarism" - appropriating unique creative concepts and their specific implementation.

This isn't about "both stories have gangs" or "both use paintball"—it's about the highly specific combination and implementation of these elements in the exact same pattern.

NOW. MY ATTEMPT AT RESOLUTION. I will be attaching SSs too to be fully transparent.

I approached the author privately first, explaining my concerns respectfully. I provided specific examples and suggested solutions like:

- Significant revision to create more originality.

- Acknowledging inspiration from Kkangpae.

- Removing the most directly copied elements.

Their response was to dismiss these concerns without addressing any of the specific examples I provided, claim their work was entirely original, and refuse to engage further.

Fanfiction exists in a unique space. We're all creating derivative works based on our love for BTS. But within this community, we still respect each other's creative contributions. The structure, plot, character dynamics, and unique world-building elements I created for Kkangpae represent hours of planning, writing, and creative energy.

When someone takes those specific creative choices and recreates them with only minimal changes, it devalues the time and effort that went into the original work. It's like copying someone's art and just changing the colors.

I'm not here for drama or to "cancel" anyone. I genuinely believe in resolving creative disputes respectfully. What I'm asking for is:

1. Recognition that specific, extensive similarities exist between these works.

2. Respect for the creative effort that goes into original story concepts, even within fanfiction.

3. Understanding that appropriating another writer's unique fictional framework isn't "just inspiration".

I've documented everything, including my attempts at private resolution, but I'd rather not have to pursue formal actions through DMCA claims.

Finally, to my readers and my writer girlies! 🩷

Thank you for bringing this to my attention and for supporting my work. Also thank you to all my writer girlies who validated my concerns and saw the similarities as well. Your enthusiasm for Kkangpae keeps me motivated even when I keepwondering why I made Jeon so emotionally constipated (the answer is because it's hot, obviously).

I'll still be updating regularly because no way am I letting this derail our journey through the disaster that is Y/N and Jeon's inability to admit they have feelings. The story continues!

Love you all (except Jeon who doesn't deserve rights after the stunt he pulled in the last chapter).

P.S. If you're curious about the academic side of creative plagiarism, I recommend Rebecca Moore Howard's "Standing in the Shadow of Giants" and Thomas Mallon's "Stolen Words" for more information.