#the song is probably gut wrenching but the thought of it makes me laugh

[mayrine]

wha- WHAT

imagine this: ranboo dies lovejoy starts playing

[thetimetraveler24]

PJO Episode Rankings

Episode 4: I Plunge to My Death

Episode 8: The Prophecy Comes True

Episode 5: A God Buys Us Cheeseburgers

Episode 3: We Visit the Garden Gnome Emporium

Episode 2: I Become Supreme Lord of the Bathroom

Episode 1: I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre Algebra Teacher

Episode 6: We Take a Zebra to Vegas

Episode 7: We Find Out the Truth, Sort Of

Key:

Good — Okay — Nope

My Thoughts:

Episode 4: Probably the only episode with a monster/fight scene I really liked and thought was well done. It was drawn out just enough that tension was raised. Even knowing what was going to happen, my heart was racing the whole time. Loved the Percabeth convo on the train when they should be sleeping. I feel like maybe that will be the callback they make when we get to the stables scene maybe? I really loved the addition of having the Arch as a temple to Athena. Loved the splashing Percy with water scene. Echidna was fabulous. Percy switching with Annabeth? Chefs kiss 😘

Episode 8: Ares fight was good. My only complaint was we never saw Percy develop water powers throughout the whole season so the wave comes out of nowhere without knowing his thought process behind it like we see in the books. I wish we got Ares cursing Percy because I truly believe the moment his sword fails him is end of MoA when he cannot use his sword to save Annabeth and cut the web. I’m sure there’s other ways to show how gut wrenching this is but I’m going to miss this when we get there. Also, disappointed there was no free appliance give away scene on the news but it didn’t seem like Gabe had a job in the show so I guess that wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Luke scene didn’t play out how I hoped but it was still a gut punch and having Annabeth be there was a fantastically angsty decision I’m loving.

Episode 5: This episode was Percabeth perfection honestly. Live laugh love Percabeth. The whole Grover and Ares thing was cool but also threw me off because I honestly don’t think the writers got Grover’s personality right. Aryan’s doing a great job acting what he was given, but book Grover would not be having this conversation. Not a huge fan of having Hephaestus present in this season, but I understand they had to figure out a different storyline because they couldn’t animate the spiders.

Episode 3: Bickering between the trio was great. I liked the consensus song. Loved the Medusa change. One problem. It was very sudden that they switched to trying to kill Medusa after Percy went to all the trouble to defend her and the episode painted her as a victim. It didn’t feel right to me. I think we could have explored that more and worked towards a shift in not trusting her anymore. Y’all could have shown the head too. Like it’s okay. Guarantee, middle schoolers can handle it. Also, we needed longer fight scenes. Draw it out, get my heart pounding because I’m so nervous about what happens next. Please.

Episode 2: Capture the Flag was a great scene. I guess there was one other episode with a well done fight scene. I think Clarisse and Percy’s fight was paced pretty well and it seemed realistic enough. I do wish the scenes with Luke showing Percy how to sword fight were before this because we don’t really get an explanation for why he’s suddenly pretty good at fighting.

Episode 1: It was a good start. I wish we focused more on Yancy and Nancy as Percy and Grover’s bully. I was hyped to see this played out and then Nancy got like a minute of screen time. There was a lot of exposition in this episode which is fine and expected but I feel like there was maybe too much? Some of the explanations could have happened in the next episode. Minotaur and Dodds fights were very anticlimactic. I was getting so hyped for the Minotaur fight and the second my heart started racing the Minotaur was beaten. Like… draw it out more. Build the tension.

Episode 6: We did not need Hermes. Didn’t need him. This episode humanized the gods a little too much and that’s not how this works. The gods are supposed to be deadbeat douchebags. They aren’t coming across that way. Also. Too much telling, not enough showing. Didn’t need to know it was the Lotus Eaters who ran the place. Let it play out please!!! That’s how you get suspense. If you let these scenes play out more then you wouldn’t have to force some tension by making the Solstice pass.

Episode 7: Easily the worst episode. All telling, no showing. Crusty was too easily beaten. Cerberus eating Grover was so stupid and unnecessary. Again, Grover was very ooc (all season but especially this episode). The pearl should have rolled into Tartarus. That would have been much more devastating. They also don’t even name Tartarus? As far as I can remember anyway. Like, obviously I know what that pit is but I read the books. Would you know what the pit was if you hadn’t read them? Hades was not giving god energy. Percy notes in the books that he was the only one to give off a godly vibe. I am coming around to his portrayal but I’m still not totally sold. Percy shouldn’t have figured out Kronos so quickly. Again. All telling, no showing this episode. Let us watch him put the pieces together. It’s not that hard, I promise.

Other Notes:

I wish Hades palace and Mount Olympus actually looked identical like in the books. Sad not to see that.

On the note of Hades being the only one to appear godly to Percy, I wish we could have gotten the gods fire eyes stuff. That was so cool in the books. And I wish the gods were made to look slightly bigger. Like seven foot maybe? Just slightly bigger so they tower taller than the lowly demigods, but also not totally out of proportion of a real human. The gods all appeared so… small. I liked Luke’s small, scary things get crushed speech and it would have been so in line with that to see very tall very big gods. Like, Hades’s throne room should not dwarf him. And it did. He was an ant and Percy and Grover were slightly smaller ants.

Anyway, these are all my thoughts for now. Probably will have to go back through and rewatch again to see if my opinions change.

[borkthemork]

Drabble Request: Anne and Marcy after her rescue

You know what, Anon? You get a 2,600 word draft as a treat. Thank you for your patience!

-----

Anne had read books before.

She wasn't the kind of person to read long-winding literature like the typical bookworms back home, but she did read whatever interested her. From magazines to comics to zoo books about bird mating dances, Anne liked stuff that had meat to it.

Give her enemies to lovers, she'd cheer at the makeouts. Give her gut wrenching biographies about surviving the Himalayas, she'd bawl her eyes out. And if one gave her story about being one's true self under the guise and acceptance of a duck instructor then she'd quack it up and never be heard from again.

There needed to be meat, drama, scenes of people kissing in the rain. Stories were all about getting punched in the gut over some random guy, and that would always be the best part!

So she had no idea why Cynthia Coven never stood out to her.

It might be because of the choppy writing style or perhaps fantasy wasn't her thing, but that didn't make sense to her. After all, she'd read anything as long as it was interesting and somehow the Coven books just…didn't stick?

Sure, Cynthia had a pet squirrel. Anne could find a squirrel at the park anytime. Cynthia had spells, curses, people with talking body parts that shouldn't be talking at all. Okay, cool — ugh, why wasn't she interested? Everything about it seemed right up her alley!

She chalked it up to preferences and moved on. 

But somehow, after all these years, the same book fluttered between the pages in her hands. And she found herself narrating, speaking the paragraphs out loud under the green canvas of her tent. 

All because the bedridden girl beside her couldn't sleep. 

It had been forty-six hours since Anne and the girls united. It felt a lot longer than that, if she wanted to be honest, but all the footing, fighting, and planning they did to get out unharmed from Andrias's castle had taken a toll on them. And for Mar-mar even more so, what with the amount of stuff that went down. A lot of explosions. Crying. Frog-on-frog violence.

So in this tent came privacy. Not enough privacy to basically stop Sprig or Sasha from barging in, but the makeshift walls were one of the most protected cliff faces inside the forests. So they were basically between a rock and a hard place.

And since Amphibia's nature became a hazard to not only the typical frog but aggro robot intruders, nothing got through as a threat in the end. Not even the huge mother frobo that she and Sash fought days prior.

Anne flipped a page.

The cold draft had slipped in and raised goosebumps on her umber skin. It almost seemed surreal that Summer started to transition out with the months passing, but the chirp of birds and the lack of cicada song had marked a new season, and now Anne shivered slightly with her narration.

Marcy's wounds needed to heal. From the remains of the stab wound to the headache to the numerous nicks upon her feet, if she didn't start sleeping then the medicine Maddie gave wouldn't come into effect anytime soon.

And if she didn't snore in the next ten minutes, Sash would have to knock her out with some sleepshroom grub saute and Anne wasn't going to let her get drugged anytime soon.

But from what was currently happening, Anne became unsure.

Marcy's eyes fluttered shut a few times. She would start drifting off at some random part in the story and then jolted back to listening intently as if nothing had happened. Nothing in the book could get her to sleep. Not Cynthia's introduction to werebeasts, her dramatic one-liners, or how she got knocked out for a minute straight from drinking a pint of Canadian beer.

Wait, could teens drink beer in Canada? Gah, that wasn't important!

What was important was that Marcy looked dead — terrifyingly dead — and no matter how much Anne tried to keep her eyes on the words, the fear clung to the recesses of her mind, asking if everything was going to be alright despite the girls' current luck streak.

That maybe this would be the last time she'd ever see Marcy alive. All because she fell asleep.

Anne leveled her voice when these thoughts struck her, and hoped Marcy didn't note the hitch in her throat or how she blinked faster to catch herself from crying.

Because Marcy was strong. She was stronger than people gave her credit for.

Anne peered down. Marcy's thumb had pressed to the side of Anne's fingers, their eyes meeting for a second; one harbored bags under her eyes, the other of worry.

"I promise I'll sleep." Her smile reached her gaze, the weariness plain on her worn out dimples and ashen cheeks. Anne might need a washcloth later. "It's been a long time since I've read the Cynthia Coven series, my brain can't help but pay attention."

"I know, Mar-mar." Anne closed her eyes for a second and let out a relaxed sigh. "Seven months can be pretty long."

"Tell me about it." Marcy's eyes lingered at the ceiling, licking her lips. "I've been so busy with everything that's been happening that I've barely caught up with the latest book."

"Yeah." Anne smiled. "You know they've got a new release out?"

She blinked. Almost as if Anne punched her in the face at that moment. "Are you serious? Aw man, I missed so much."

"Hey, it's alright. It'll be waiting for you when we get back." Besides, Anne already wrapped the edition in a lot of Christmas paper, might as well keep the surprise.

But Marcy still looked miserable. She pouted,  letting her sink more into the mattress almost comically, and Anne bit back a laugh when she groaned. "Oh man, I'm so excited, this sucks! At least tell me if Cynthia gets over the Bridge of Quintessence."

"I don't know what that means and besides, you're two books behind, why would you wanna spoil it!"

They shared a laugh and carried on. Anne missed this. She did. In between the page clips and the eagerness flowing in Marcy's voice, it almost seemed like they were back to what they once were: Two girls laughing and making fun of bad jokes, giggling at stuff that didn't make sense in the story. It almost made the worries over Andrias and her parents grow into background noise.

Almost.

Anne perked up. A question had flown past her, and now Marcy stared at her, inquiry clear in her eyes. "Oh, sorry, I zoned out a bit. What'd you say, Marbles?"

"I'm curious, Annarama."

"Curious about what?"

Marcy's eyes traveled over her shoulder for a second. Was it the fatigue? Judging from how she fiddled with her fingers, the question must've been something serious, maybe something about Andrias or what happened back in the castle.

Whatever it was, Anne readied herself as she waited.

And then:

"Is that mine?"

Anne blinked. She ogled her book, then at the bedside table with its medicinal herbs, then the Thai Go logo printed fresh on her shirt. "What's yours?"

She pointed to Anne's waist.

When Anne looked down, the realization struck her like a bat. Under the filtered sunlight, she almost forgot that the yellow jacket around her waist was there to begin with, snug and tight in that hard knot Anne tied everytime she stepped out of the house.

And somehow, it remained clean from countless dimensional hops and Super Saiyan power-ups. And now it was here. Being scrutinized by her and the girl opposite her.

With that, she started to sweat.

Right, that.

A nervous laugh burst out from her mouth, making Marcy stare at her more out of concern.

How was she going to explain that?

"Oh, yeah! I almost forgot!" She rubbed her neck, trying her best to pick out the right reasons in her mind, but nothing stuck out to her. "It's a funny story actually, so funny that you'll probably forget in the morning so why not another time?"

A smile formed. "I don't know, Anne." Her eyes scrunched up too in pleasure, pressing her thumb against Anne's knuckles. "I'm all for sleeping to a comedy. Remember when we watched Borat? I laughed so hard I passed out."

"Oh, Mar-mar, that's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" She then pulled her hand away, frowning. "Unless I'm pushing you, then I'll just—"

"No, no. You're fine!" What wasn't fine was how her heart pounded against her chest. Or, that the more she tried to take a deep breath, Marcy's growing concern made her laughter sound more like an old man wheezing from an asthma attack.

Anne was about to make a dumbass out of herself and that was fine! As long as she stayed calm and explained then maybe she wouldn't feel nervous about this.

Wait, why was she nervous anyway? It was just a jacket!

Oh, she knew why.

"Okay." Anne placed the book down, trying to regain her breath. Might as well go for it. What was the worst that could happen? Don't answer that. "So you remember how I've been trying to find my way back after I got through the portal?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I didn't want to forget. Not like I would've but I thought you died and I knew taking down Andrias was the only way to avenge you and get Sasha back." Anne sharply inhaled — words speeding past her ears. "So I thought 'Hey, I'll carry your jacket so I don't forget' and I basically wore it around everyday until I finally found a way back. So…"

Marcy's stare didn't help her sweating as she spoke, giving jazz hands to finish it all off. "Here I am. Yeah."

Marcy continued to stare at her. She'd never seen her this gobsmacked before; usually she found a way to ask questions, to let her enthusiasm shine through with eager stride, but now she became a deer in the highlights. All agape. All wide-eyed.

Oh Frog, I broke her.

"Mar-mar, you okay?"

"So you wore my jacket as a reminder to stop Andrias," she asked slowly, "after months of finding a way back?"

Anne puffed out her cheeks. "Maybe?"

"Anne…"

"Okay, okay, yeah." She hung her head, defeat in her voice. "I did."

"Oh." Marcy's eyes widened to the size of saucers, a shaky exhale breaking through. "Oh."

Anne stood up. If she didn't get out in the next fifteen seconds, she was going to explode. "Okay, yep! That's it for the Cynthia Coven series! Goodnight, Mar-mar, I'll check up on you later—!"

"Wait, wait!"

Marcy latched onto her wrist. Her ears pounded on, hard to focus with her sweaty palms and the shallowness of her breath. Because this whole situation was awkward and weird and it made her feel funny things in her heart and darn it Anne should've handled this back on Earth — not while they were stuck in the middle of a Frog darn war!

"Anne, please look at me."

She did. 

When she turned, the sight surprised her. Marcy's cheeks had darkened considerably as they held each other's gazes, the hold on her arm still having them tethered to one another.

Then the touch loosened slightly. It didn't speak of fear nor did it speak of pain. It didn't speak of the desperation Marcy once had when she held her fists in the broken halls of the Newtopian castle. What Anne instead found was reassurance. A reassurance in their interlocked hands, at how they gazed intently under the tent canvas, a heat creeping well onto Anne's cheeks too.

"It's really sweet that you wore my jacket like that." Marcy then bore down at the bedding lines, almost squeaking her words. "And very clever! Yeah! Because a physical reminder is a great alternative to notebooks and to-do list, and since my jacket has emotional connotations to me, of course you'd wear it! It just makes sense."

Marcy coughed into her sleeve, words almost a whisper. "You've always been good at improvising, after all."

"Mar-mar..."

"And thank you."

Anne stopped. She could've honed in on the bustling Wartwoodians outside. Or the rustle of the forest trees. But she focused on the comforting tap of Marcy's fingers, and the gleam in the girl's eyes — almost as if Marcy was about to cry.

"You've always been kind," she murmured. Her fingers trailed circles on Anne's palms, leaving her to shudder slightly under the touch. Especially when Marcy's eyes grew half-lidded. Remorse on her lips. "And to know you worked so hard after everything I did to you and Sash, I don't how I'll ever make it up for it."

"You don't have to do that," she said. Her words drifted between them, remembering what Mrs. Wu said a few months ago: That Marcy was the best out of all of them. Because she always needed to be. "What Andrias did was not your fault, and I'll beat him again if he ever makes you think it is."

"Besides," she said, putting on a smile. "Having you beside me has always been enough. Honest."

But Marcy's grief remained on her face, unspoken as her fingers faltered their dragging on Anne's palms.

Because she wanted to hold her hand instead, both their fingers trembling from the bedridden girl's arm.

"Anne, I hurt you. I did. No matter how much I try to justify myself, I still omitted everything about what I knew." Her eyebrows furrowed, glaring more at their shaky hands. "I was selfish. I wasn't honest."

"Don't say that. You didn't know this would happen, I understand this now."

"But you're still angry." Marcy sighed. "I know you are."

The conifers rustled silently. The faraway bugs whistled, occupying each interval as they held hands, their gazes observing anything but the other. Until Anne couldn't think up a better excuse anymore.

As much as Anne tried to forgive, there was something frightening about the resentment in her skin, underneath all that warmth. It went against every lesson she learned. Every lesson of compassion. Or maybe she was just denying it for what it truly was — a tight angry wound that had reason to exist as much as their handlock. 

Her body sagged at the thought. She'd gotten so far, trying to deny anything about herself would reverse so much.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I'm still mad. I don't want to be, but I am. But that doesn't mean I was gonna leave you guys in the middle of a war." The next words were under her breath. "I never wanted you guys to get hurt in the first place."

Marcy brushed her knuckles. "Take as much time as you need."

"I think a few months is enough."

"Or a year."

A smile. "Maybe more."

And Anne held her hand until the silence heard their heartbeats. Until their smiles returned slowly, surely.

"I talked to Sasha before you came in," Marcy said.

"You did?"

She nodded. "Mhm. And I don't know if she told you this, but we both agreed to a concordance." Marcy faltered. "An agreement I mean."

Anne snorted. "You don't have to dumb yourself down around me."

"Heyy, I'm not, I just don't want this to sound...clinical."

"Right."

The younger girl shuffled closer to her, which was surprising enough with the limited room on the bed itself. But when Anne held her eyes, there came recognition of something new. Was it relief? Worry?

"What we agreed on is that you don't have to forgive us. Maybe you'll be mad at us for a long time—"

"Mar-mar, I'm not—"

"Let me finish," she said softly. Anne hesitated. She resolved to caress Marcy's knuckles instead, and, of course, she didn't seem to mind. "Whatever happens, whatever you decide, we're not going to abandon you. If you want us out of your life, we'll respect it. If you want us to stay, then we'll respect that too."

Marcy inhaled, slow and careful. 

"And when you're ready, I'll make sure to be close by."

There had been times where Anne couldn’t predict what her future held. There had been numerous moments where Anne wanted to quit, to get angry, to question how her life hit upon all these coincidences like pinball and found herself in the most surprising of situations.

But when Marcy finished, stared at her, waiting for her to let her statement sink in, everything seemed to click in place. For just a single moment.

Each word had come out resilient, well thought-out. Anne could imagine the planning so clearly: How Sasha and Marcy sat in the same positions as them, sat with their heads together as they discussed what to say. And the more Anne listened, she could only hope that Sasha was just around the corner, ready to say the same things in her own Sasha-like way.

But for now, they gripped each other's hands, squeezed their fingers until Anne could only think of the heat. The burn in her nose. Then the bit-back sob and her trembling lip as Marcy pressed a thumb carefully to Anne's cheek, rubbing the tear trail away.

Because out of everything Anne predicted to find at the other end of the portal, it wasn’t this. 

"You promise?"

Marcy smiled, the ends of her lips twitching weakly. "I promise this time." Her voice broke. "I do."

With it, came the waterworks.

[kyberconfessions]

No Matter Where You Go, I Will Find You. Part 4

Hello All! Sorry for the delay! My Hubby and I have had a busy month of July and I wasn’t able to keep to my schedule like I wanted too. Sorry about that. From Baseball games to Comic-Cons to Disney trips, we’ve been stupid busy. I am working furiously on the other chapters and hope to at least have some words on Cody soon! Y’all, not going to lie, the fact that there has been ZERO mention of him on The Bad Batch is killing me.

As Always:

This will eventually be a 18+ older fic and deals with anxiety, death, sex,  PTSD, murder, loss, found family, Order 66, and coming to terms. This is not just a fluff fic. It will very much be dealing with very dark and hard themes, so please, if that is something that can be too hard for you, don’t read.

Pairings: Rex x Reader x Cody (polyamory) I should say this is NOT a Rex x Cody fic. There will be ZERO Clonecest on this blog or story. Reader is a consensual relationship with Rex and with Cody. Yes they share, yes they will eventually have sex together, but Cody and Rex are NOT in a relationship nor will they be intimate.

Rating: 18+

TW: Death, Murder, infanticide, death of the Jedi, PTSD, Loss, Anxiety, eating disorders, sleep disorders, Order 66. I will add other things as I think about them

Part 4: It’s You.

You waited with your back to the door on Hondo's ship; another one was docked right outside, carrying the crew that had something either of you wanted. You took a deep breath, adjusting your blaster in your thigh holster and checking over your clothes before putting on your helmet. The base of it was a black Ubese helmet, edged with black dyed bantha hair and painted to resemble a Kaleesh skull in white.  The edges of the white skull were rimmed in a dark red and the faux eyes were painted an electric green, almost making them glow.The breather of the helmet was pointed down, tapering at the end and etched with designs reminiscent of a certain Kel Dor. Twin points also came down from the sides,  once again resembling a Kel Dor breather, but painted to look like the fangs of the Kaleesh skull. When you wore it, you were an incredibly fearsome sight to behold. 

Hondo had stepped out of the cockpit while brushing off his clothes, but when he saw you he went on and on in a poetic manner making you snort behind your mask, "Pretty Lady must you put on that horrid thing? How am I supposed to gaze upon your beautiful Visage? How am I to write songs of your shiny eyes if you insist on covering them? How am I to chant loudly into the heavens about the glory of your smile when all I see is that ugly thing staring back at me?" 

The sound that came out of the modulator was a loud crack of static. It wasn't lost on him though, and he waggled his brow at you, knowing he made you laugh.

"Hondo, one of these days I'm going to launch you out of an airlock. Then you'll be Wild Space's problem."

He laughed loudly, but before he could give a retort, the door-lock opened and the crew from the other ship began to board.

Immediately the hair on your neck stood up and your hackles raised. It was time to go into heartless bounty hunter mode, another mask that became easier and easier for you to put on.

Hondo noticed your posture change and went to greet whoever had come aboard, stepping in front of your turned back. Whether it was to hide his best and most terrifying asset or to put space between you and them for your sake, you never knew. You liked to think it was his way of still protecting you, even after all these years. It probably was.

"My friends! My friends! So good to see you again! Ezra Bridger! It has been too long!" 

You heard the cacophony of voices greeting him in a less than enthusiastic excitement. If these people were your friends, you would have laughed again. But you didn't have friends.     From the sound of it, there were four people behind you. Nothing difficult to take down, but not something you should be careless with. There was something off about one of them though, you couldn’t put your finger on it, but they were...familiar.

"Allow me for introductions! This tall, imposing creature behind me is my associate, bodyguard, smuggler, chief pilot, chief mechanic, artistic muse, platonic soulmate, oldest friend, and beautifully deadly bounty hunter, all rolled into one.  And this band of colorful characters are the crew of the infamous Ghost!" Hondo waved his hands in a grandiose manner between the group and your back; this was a well rehearsed situation that you both had done several times, though for whatever reason, he decided to over exaggerate your titles. Normally he would do the talking and you would scare the clientele. And if you had too, if they had something that you knew belonged to them, you'd kill them. Nothing would keep you from the last remnants of the ones you loved and lost.

"Ahh, Hondo? Does your associate have a name? Or talk? Are they even awake? Are they just going to stand there?" You heard a boy's voice, a cockiness only found in the young lacing every word. 

"Ezra." A woman, probably someone important, chastised the boy.

You waited for Hondo's signal for you to turn, but the door opened once more and you heard one more set of boots and something soft, furry, stepping across the steel. A voice spoke. A Lassat. Dangerous creatures, you had seen a few when you were still a young Padawan with your old Master. Before the war. Before they died. Back when your biggest concern was the eventual Trials. You knew a fight wasn't going to be easy and you hated the idea of killing an already dying race. But you would if you had too.

The Lassat male was arguing with someone about something, but you weren't paying attention.

Hondo touched your shoulder softly, your signal to turn. He had spent the time making pleasantries and lulling them into a false sense of comfort, probably. He could have been talking about the weather on Jakku for all you cared. You were more concerned about making sure the straps on your holsters were open, giving you easy access to draw.

Slowly you moved, letting them see just how dangerous you were, how in control of your body you were, how much they should fear the creature behind the helmet. But, you halted mid spin.

All of the blood drained from your face, your mouth went dry, your throat tightened up, and you were overcome with such anger and gut wrenching sorrow you thought you would snap.

The man that walked in with the Lessat was wearing HIS armor. The armor you had spent 15 years looking for.

You blanked. 

Somewhere there was yelling and cries to stop, but you couldn't make it out. Your head was spinning and it felt like there was cotton in your ears and as tunnel vision took over, everything knocked your senses for a loop. You didn’t realize you were doing it, but you grabbed both your blasters, turned fully, and pointed them at the man. Half the crew jumped out of the way, the others pointed their weapons at you, and Hondo tried to reason with both sides, standing with his back to you while the man had his own blasters trained on your head. Hondo quickly got out of the way of the four barrels, still trying to diffuse the situation. You couldn't understand what he was saying, everything sounded so dull and muted.

No, wait. Those weren't just any blasters. You would know those DC-17s anywhere. 

"HOW DARE YOU!"

 Someone was screaming. You couldn’t tell who it was or where it was coming from. It was garbled and cracking, a mechanical sound. It hurt your head. You just wanted everything to stop, just for a moment. But the world kept spinning and you felt like you were going to pass out any moment. You just wanted everything to be quiet, you needed to think, you just wanted a moment to figure out what was going on. Why was it so loud? Why did everything hurt? You just wanted everyone to just be still. Just be still, if only for a second. 

You could feel your breathing pick up, that tightening fear in your chest, that ache that gripped your heart and threatened to pull it from your body. ‘Just be quiet, please, please, be quiet. I can’t...I need to think, I need to think..’

"HOW DARE YOU WEAR HIS HELM!” More screaming,  “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO HE WAS?! DO YOU?! HOW DARE YOU WEAR HIS ARMOR AS YOUR OWN! HOW DARE YOU STAND THERE AND KNOW NOTHING OF HIM!" Maker, the screaming was coming from you. You were yelling at him, venomous spit falling from your mouth, words meant to shame and kill. Your blasters were trained on his chest, fingers laying on the triggers. 

"TAKE IT OFF OR I WILL RIP IT FROM YOUR BROKEN CORPSE!"

You could feel something wet on your cheeks but you didn't know what it was or where it came from.  Did this man kill Rex?! Did he rip his beloved armor from his broken body? Did he leave him to rot in some cursed field? Or did he just take it from his already forgotten skeleton? Your heart beat a mile a minute, you were sweating and your whole body shook in anger, but your hands never wavered, blasters trained perfectly on the man. How dare this cretin dishonor Rex, dishonor his memory. 

"YOU WILL NEVER INSULT HIS MEMORY AGAIN! TAKE IT OFF!!"

You were panting and your modulator was straining under the volume of your voice.

No one lowered their weapons. No one spoke. No one moved a muscle. All that could be heard were your wheezing sobs through the helm.

 There was a beat. And then another. And then the man did something unexpected.

You just knew you were going to have to kill everyone. You just knew you were going to peel bloodied, beloved armor from some backwater nothing. 

But when he slowly lowered his arms, holstering the DC-17s, you faltered. Was he giving up so easily? Perhaps he didn't want bloodshed after all. Good. But it didn't make you lower yours. Nor did it make the others lower theirs.

Slowly, like he was trying to coax a scared lothcat, the man raised his open hands to the old helm covered in hatch marks with jaig eyes and pulled it off. 

First you saw weathered skin tanned from the sun, a white beard trimmed nicely, then a strong nose and finally golden eyes, eyes you had seen a million times before. Eyes that haunted you every time you went to sleep. Eyes you thought you would never see again.

When he had taken the helm completely off and tucked it under his arm, he spoke. And everything inside of you shattered.

"My name is Rex. Captain of 501st regiment in the Grand Army of the Republic. This is my armor that was issued to me almost 20 years ago. I don't know who you think I am, but I can assure you, this is my armor."

The others watched you, weapons trained. No one moved, no one spoke, no one breathed. You, on the other hand, felt everything rushing back at you full force. When he spoke, his voice was a punch to your gut, knocking the wind out of you, causing you to hyperventilate.  Your blasters, still trained on him, began to shake violently in your hands.

You were panting and your eyes blurred from all of the new tears. Panic rose high in your throat, cutting off your breathing. It can’t be. How could it be? He died. The Empire recorded him dying after Mandalore. You were there, you saw the absolute destruction. No one survived that.

Involuntarily you dropped your weapons and they clattered loudly to the durasteel ground, but your arms were still stretched out, still holding onto phantom guns. 

You inhaled sharply, your modulator cracking in a loud hiss. Slowly, trying to control the tremors that wracked your body, you moved your hands to your own helm and unlatched the buckles on the sides. There was another hiss as the airtight seals released the pressure and vented.

"What's going on..." the young boy started. "Hush, Ezra Bridger." Hondo cut him off, silencing him with a hand on his shoulder as you and Rex stared one another down.

You lifted your helm up and then let it fall to the floor, a loud clank shaking the silence between you all.

Rex sucked in a breath and released it in a harsh shudder, his mouth hanging open. "Mesh'la," he whispered; he could feel his knees giving out, causing him to stumble forward and push his way through his crew.

His eyes were as wide as saucers and glistening. Fat, heavy tears tracked down his face and fell into his beard as he reached shaking hands out to you. He paused for a moment, afraid that if he touched you, you would disappear like every dream before. But carefully his hands gripped your face, gently turning it side to side, taking in the scars and faint crows feet and wisps of grey hairs you now sported. Your age and harsh life showed, but you were still just as beautiful, just as ageless, just as perfect as he remembered. Still the same eyes that he dreamed of every night. 

You couldn’t breathe. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs and every nerve ending burned. You could hear your blood pumping in your ears, creating a painful rush like being thrown under the oceans. Every part of you felt like it was on fire. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move. Slowly your shaking hands gripped his wrists and held him close. Your body tried to take a shuddering breath, but it only came out as a choked sob while you squeezed your eyes shut.

As the noise left you, Rex pulled you close, his mouth over taking yours in a passionate kiss, full of tongue and teeth. Your hands left his wrists and wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as he continued to hold your face.

"Rex. I thought....I thought you were...Rex," you whispered into his lips between kisses.

"I searched for you, Cyare. I looked everywhere. I thought you died. I thought Cody.."

Your breath hitched at his name, making Rex pull you impossibly closer. You both stood there, wrapped in eachothers arms, crying, kissing, whispering love to one another, completely oblivious to the others. 

You weren't sure if your knees failed you, or if it were his, but one of you fell to the floor, taking the other with them, still wrapped in each other, crying and holding on for dear life. 

The Twi'lek woman quietly ushered the others, a man and a Mandalorian girl, along with the boy and Lessat, out. Hondo followed behind, a smug smile on his face, ridiculously proud of himself, giving you both much needed privacy.

[snackhobi]

prompt: “Is that my shirt you’re wearing?”

thank you to my darling @yeojaa​ for sending this in and thank you to my darling @hobi-gif​ for beta reading it for me, you are both such lovely stars in the night sky of my life xoxo

pairing: seokjin x reader / word count: 1.9k / genre: fluff (sfw/general) / warnings: none!

--

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a hot roommate, must want to jump his bones.

Like. C’mon. Kim Seokjin is nothing if not easy on the eyes. It’s not enough that he has the body proportions of a god—broad shoulders, lovely thighs, everything in its place and perfectly in line with his height and his poise—he has a beautiful face, too. Those lips. That jaw. Those eyes. You don’t want to wax lyrical but it really is like God decided to take his time making Kim Seokjin and everyone else (like you) was just left with the dregs; the stuff that wasn’t good enough for Jin and was thrown aside.

The worst thing, though. The worst thing. The absolute worst thing about Kim Seokjin is that he is A Nice Person. 

You’d barely known each other, only a month into your cohabitation when he’d come across you crying into a tub of ice cream in the kitchen, sobbing over the guy who’d finally grown bored of stringing you along with promises of eventually becoming your actual boyfriend and had just cut you off altogether after one final lay. You were utterly heartbroken and entirely mortified when you noticed Jin standing in the kitchen doorway as you clumsily tried to dig your spoon into the still-hard vanilla, but he’d just slid down onto the floor next to you with a spoon in one hand as the other came to rest on your shoulder. He’d listened to you snivel and sniffle, quietly eating the weirdly chemical-flavoured chocolate ice cream in the own-brand Neapolitan tub you favoured—your least favourite and the one you always left till last.

Once a guy’s seen you crying your eyes out on the kitchen floor in old pyjamas, and you’ve seen him eat five pots of super hot instant noodles on the trot and chase the whole thing down with an entire box of doughnuts, you sort of get to know each other as people—both things are revealing in different ways—and it’s hard for that to not lead to friendship.

You could have dealt with Jin if he was just hot. But he’s hot and nice and funny, utterly ridiculous; he doesn’t take himself seriously while also knowing how to rein himself in when necessary to not overwhelm people and basically you’ve been crushing on him in a major, major way for a while now.

And like. Seokjin is single, so technically you have a chance. But you also have absolutely no chance at all, because? Hello? Kim Seokjin? You? You? Kim Seokjin? He’s so far out of your league he may as well be in another galaxy. And he’s also probably the best roommate you’ve ever had (cleans up after himself, doesn’t microwave fish and stink up the place, likes the same TV shows as you so there are no arguments over the remote), so you’re not about to throw a wrench into the mix by doing something stupid like confessing that you like him.

“Right, I should be back around ten,” says Seokjin. He’s all dressed up for a noraebang night with his friends—well, not dressed up really, they’re just gonna get drunk while wailing songs at the top of their lungs in a small room so it’s not like he has to go all out, but Seokjin makes everything look good. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

Seokjin is nice and hot and funny and friendly. Honestly, he’s just a dreamboat of a roommate and a man, with great friends too. Normally you would have leaped at the chance to spend a night out with Seokjin and the other guys, but you’d spilled your drink on Yoongi last time and were still convinced that he was plotting your imminent demise. Even if Seokjin insists otherwise, you want to give Yoongi a wide berth for a little while longer in the hopes he’ll suddenly suffer a bout of amnesia and forget that you spilled a very boozy and sticky Oreo and Baileys cocktail(/glorified milkshake) on him and ruined his shoes.

“I’m good,” you say. “But make sure you don’t have any fun without me and you have to let everyone know that it’s because I’m not there.”

Jin laughs, a wet squeegee of a sound, and it goes straight to your heart. “I’ll pass on the message,” he promises, blowing you a tiny kiss as he goes. 

(Ugh, he’s so cute. You hate him.) (No, you don’t.)

You seem to be setting a trend for yourself in the drink-spilling department, though. During an ad break you decide to get yourself a drink, and even though it’s just a Boys Over Flowers rerun that you’ve seen multiple times, you rush as you pour yourself a glass of orange juice—you don’t want to take too long and miss anything. Suffice to say you Fuck Up and end up with a shirt and trousers covered in juice and pulp and you miss a bunch of the episode as you clean it up, huffing dramatically to yourself the whole time, before scarpering towards your bedroom for some new clothes. 

At least, that’s the plan. You pass by Seokjin’s open door and pause, taking in the sight of a few discarded bits of clothing on his bed and across the back of his chair, things he’d clearly decided weren’t worth wearing out tonight. The one that’s caught your eye is the vibrant pink shirt strewn over his duvet, one of your favourites, one you haven’t seen him wear in a while. It’s one of your favourites because he just looks so cosy in it—Jin ends up with a lot of oversized clothes so they can fit over his shoulders, but he practically swims in material when he wears this shirt, flapping the sleeves at you and then laughing at his own antics. He could wear it as a dress if he wanted to, probably.

… so could you, if you wanted to, probably.

… but you shouldn’t. Like, that’s weird. Jin is your roommate and even if he’s made it clear that he has an open door policy, going in through said open door to get a bit of his clothing is weird. Definitely creepy.

But… you’ve already kicked off your dirtied outfit and you’re just in your underwear so you can’t be blamed for being worried if you’re going to get cold, right? You’re just grabbing the closest bit of clothing, aren’t you?

… You’ll take it off before he gets back and put it in the laundry with everything else; he won’t notice. You’ll just take this awful awful secret to the grave and never tell anyone about your invasive actions.

Oh, man, the shirt smells so good. You share the same laundry detergent but Jin had clearly tried this on before discarding it, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air as you end up swamped in the shirt (/shirt dress), and you don’t regret this. Well, you do, but also you don’t. It’s like being wrapped up in Jin’s arms. Jin’s not shy about giving you hugs but there’s something altogether different about wearing someone’s clothes.

You end up curled up on the sofa as you watch more Boys Over Flowers, knees to your chest and revelling in how cosy and small Jin’s massive shirt makes you feel. You have to hitch the material up so that your hands peep out the ends of the sleeves. Sweater paws are cute on everyone, even yourself, and you giggle as you fumble for the remote so that you can check how many more episodes there are before it turns to something else. You can indulge yourself for a bit. As a treat.

“Unbelievable, I can’t believe Minji did that,” you mutter, so caught up in the drama of it all (as if you haven’t seen this episode four times) that you don’t hear the key turning in the lock, nor do you hear the footsteps that are heading towards you—what you do hear, however, is the sudden sound of Seokjin’s voice, freezing like a rabbit caught in headlights when you do.

“I forgot my wallet,” he says. “I—”

And that’s how he catches you, wide-eyed as you stare back at him, wishing that you could bury yourself between the sofa pillows so that he can’t see you. His keys are still in his hand and his mouth is open around an unfinished word as he takes the sight of you in, scrunched up against the armrest in some ridiculous attempt to shrink yourself small enough that he would have missed you.

He stares. You stare. You both stare. And then—

“Is that my shirt you’re wearing?”

“No!” A high-pitched shrill of an obvious lie. “No, uh, nope. Nuh-uh. Haha, oh, Jin, always such a jokester, you.”

You want the sofa to suddenly develop sentience and swallow you whole, just so you can be out of this situation. So you wouldn’t have to watch as a smile starts to spread over Jin’s face, the way there’s a little glint in his eyes, the way he opens his mouth and says—

“You know, you didn’t have to turn down noraebang just so you could wear my clothes. You just had to ask, I would have said yes.” He doesn’t seem creeped out, just amused, which is—well, it’s better, but, what? He’s laughing at you? You don’t know if that’s worse, somehow, actually.

“I didn’t! I spilled orange juice on my shirt and then I saw this shirt and you weren’t home—”

“Aha, so you admit it, it’s not your shirt,” Jin proclaims. He looks smug.

“Oh my God, I am full of regret,” you groan. “My life is a disaster. Can we pretend this never happened? I will pay you literal money. Please.”

At this, Jin’s eyes turn soft. “Do you really want that?”

“I—wuh? Do I really want us both to pretend you didn’t walk in on me wearing your shirt like some weird stalker or something? Absolutely. Yes. Let’s do that.”

“I wasn’t joking about letting you wear my clothes,” he says. There’s a note to his voice, something a little doughy, yielding and warm for you, and—you know what your gut is screaming at you, but— “I always thought you’d look cute in them, and I was right.”

You splutter. Jin thought you’d look cute—he’s been thinking about you wearing his clothes—the sort of thing that, you know, couples do. But this is Kim Seokjin you’re talking about. There’s no way he’s attracted to you in the way you’re attracted to him.

… but he is looking at you in a way that’s soft and tender, the same look you give him when you think he isn’t looking.

“Jin,” you say, slow. “Are you…”

“The most handsome man alive? Yes, I am.”

You make a face at his interruption and he laughs at your expression before going quiet, eyes so big and lovely and warm as he smiles at you, and you continue to speak. “Are you saying you want to, y’know. See me wearing more of your clothes? Or, uh... Less clothes in general?”

You can feel the blood rising in your cheeks as you say this, and you can see the red that starts to tinge the top of Jin’s ears, exquisite and wonderful. “I’m saying that I’m happy to give you what’s mine, including my clothes,” he says. “And my time. And love.”

You end up pulling the excess material of the shirt over your head as you turn into some sort of bright pink turtle, overwhelmed and in disbelief but so happy.

Judging from Jin’s laughter and the warmth of his hands reaching for yours in their too-long sleeves, he is, too.

[moxfirefly]

I come bearing the gift of Angst™️ like yall this took for fucking ever and this is some sad af shit here so I’m sorry but it was an idea that hatched and I wanted to do it.

Rated Mature (18+ and up only)

TW: Blood, mentions of alcohol, death

Tagging a few Lee fans, my apologies already lol @southernblossoms @aurora-the-kunoichi @ray-jaykub

“Now I'm trying to wake you up,

To pull you from the liquid sky,

Coz if I don't we'll both end up,

With just your song to say goodbye.”

Leonardo sees the night sky above him, the hard rain falling down on him and a vision of something he finds so beautiful.

You.

He smiles at the image. He welcomes it and allows himself to be whisked away.

The cold night slips away in hues and as the rain falls down in harsh drops he refuses to give the cold pavement beneath him much thought. He sees something shiny fly across his vision and the only sound he surrounds himself is the sound of your laugh.

“I-I’m... S-“

_______________

You wake with a startle and a gasp. The coldness in the room too intense for the usual New York winter. You wrap yourself in the duvet and patter towards the heater, it’s clearly not working for some reason and you contemplate freezing and forgetting.

Sitting on the carpet, legs crossed and wrapped up you try your best to not let your thoughts stray. The cellphone in your hand is warm and your finger hovers over Donatello’s number.

There’s a large duvet on the living room window. Your eyes have refused to land there, to linger and allow for the icy sensation to run through your veins. Every so often you wonder about moving, not just from your apartment but from New York. To leave everything behind and forget that this was your reality.

-Don’t think about it-

The sentence echoes and echoes and echoes.

You press down on the number.

________________

Leonardo secretly enjoyed being babied. He emphasized secretly, even if he knew that you knew to some degree. Your eyes trail bruises that tell a story of violence but Leo was always vigilant of never dragging you down that road.

It’s a horror show.

You press a frozen bag of peas to his eye, the swelling and black ring angry. “You can’t keep this up” You whisper against the top of his head.

“I have to, nobody is going to end this. Not the cops, not nobody that ain’t us... or me” There’s leftover adrenaline in his voice and if you weren’t sure you could command him to stay he’d probably haul ass and go out again before the sun decided to rise once more and ruin plans.

Leo is convinced that only he can bring down Shredder. Only he can save everything and everyone. It’s a stupid thought you think to yourself, that only one mutant such as himself could even pull it off.

But a huge chunk of himself doesn’t want his family involved like this. He doesn’t want the risk. “Your need to control everything is really annoying” You let go of the bag, he manages to catch it and place it back. You exit the bathroom and contemplate just how much bleach you’re going to need to get all of this blood out of your carpet.

You stare and feel your eyes begging to fog. The image of Leo climbing in a mess of cuts and bruises. Something within you wants to scream and never stop. You hear Leo get up, heavy steps approaching you as you stand like a ghost in the middle of the living room.

“Y/n...” Leo’s voice is soft but that hint of guilt stabs the end of your name. “Just leave with me, why can’t we go somewhere else? We can take your family and just leave, Lee” You turn around, fingers digging into your scalp. The manic feeling rises inside of you and your tears have to spill. Leo’s eyes look broken because he wishes he could give you this and everything you’ve ever desired.

“You don’t owe these people your life, Leo” You press a hand to your mouth as a quiet sob escapes you. “Please just-“ Your tears spill and he’s there in an instant to catch you and hold you so close it almost hurts. He soothes you with kisses and caresses even as you angrily want to shove him away for making this so difficult you fall against him.

The worry eats away at your insides. Why can’t he just understand that the world will never be rid of evil? It’ll find a new host to use and bring more chaos and death. Leo holds you close, even as you collapse against him in anger and fear, he holds you and tries to quiet the loud voice in your head.

The voice that bellows, ‘This isn’t going to end well.’

_____________

Leo’s eyes flutter open, an urge stuck in his throat that chokes him. The inherit need to cough pushes him somewhat upwards but as he tries he feels copper in his mouth, the taste of pennies too strong, god he wants to vomit. Warmth spills from his mouth as he looks about, eyes scanning but the rainfall blurs his vision.

He hears screaming.

He knows Shredder’s down, the monster hasn’t moved.

Leo keeps hearing his name in the distance, his side feels a pin prick when he tries to roll over the pain shoots all over his body and liquid spills from his mouth.

It’s blood.

______________

“Sorry for calling so late but it’s either that or freezing to death” You prepared coffee as Donatello eyed the heater. “I hate winter so I understand” He picked up a wrench when you came into the room, mugs in hand and the blanket still wrapped around your cold body.

“How are you holding up?” He took a sip making a face, the harsh taste of whiskey hitting the back of his mouth. “Went too hard on the added flavoring?” You chuckled, sipping from your mug without hesitation. Donnie placed it next to his tools, his eyes had scanned you when he came over and you could see the worry.

It was safe to say you weren’t looking your best, but then again you hadn’t slept right in the last six months and the clutter of bottles in your trash bin spoke of how you’d been spending your evenings. “Miss seeing you coming around, Mikey misses you a lot” Donnie started to fix the heater, occasionally taking a sip from the spiked coffee. You held the mug tightly, it had been a few months since you stopped going mostly because you always found yourself stepping into his room...

-Don’t think about it-

“How’s everyone?” You asked avoiding the question. Donnie’s shoulders shrugged, pulling apart pieces of your dingy old heater. “Mikey’s doing okay, he’s going on solo patrols really matured you know?” The youngest turtle had changed, there was still a spark of his mischievous ways but he had taken his duties more seriously as of late. “...and Raph?” You weren’t too sure if the subject still remained sour, the brute had a falling out with the tech genius around the time of...

“Raph stops by once in a while, for Mikey’s sake and well since Dad hasn’t been too well health wise” You hang your head, the light brown liquid in your hands still in the porcelain. Splinter was old, it was understandable, maybe you should stop by and see him.

“Splinter is strong, Don” You took a generous gulp, the burn of the whiskey dulling you. “He’s gotten older Y/N, he’s frail... I’m keeping him comfortable” He dug through tools, pushing aside things he didn’t need. You couldn’t help take in Donatello’s features, he had bulked up a little more, more definition in his arms but his eyes still spoke of the little sleep he was allowing himself. Your eyes landed on his wrist, a small piece of blue fabric wrapped around it.

Your eyes burned, so you chased it with another sip of your coffee. Rest hadn’t found you either.

“You two should make up, you need each other” Donnie sighed at your retort, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Getting through Raph isn’t as easy as getting through a firewall, you know how fucking stubborn he could be” He shook the heater, it tried whirring back to life but no luck. “He’s stubborn but he’ll listen even if you think he doesn’t-“ Donnie smacked the heater, hard enough something dented, hard enough for you to flinch.

“He doesn’t comprehend that we lost him too, Y/N, he wants to blame me or himself or... but no okay? He doesn’t get to act like a fucking child because it’s been half a year and it still hurts” Donnie gripped the machine, eyes shutting tightly, all you could do was remain quiet. Your chest felt too tight, you didn’t want to hear it.

Please, don’t say it.

_____________

The rain always brought an unpleasant smell. It’s probably due to how polluted this god forsaken city is. Aside from the smell of shit, there was that coppery scent in the air too and you smelt it as soon as you got to the roof via the fire escape. The guys had been chasing Leonardo and Shredder, April and you on car the others on the truck. This solo vendetta of Leo’s had gone too far and while he had tracked down the bastard it didn’t mean he had to take this on by himself.

The rain fell in hard drops, each resonating as it smacked down onto you. You looked about the roof trying to spot anything, the calm too eerie. The blood almost swam by you, meeting your sneakers, a proverbial map to your destination.

And what a awaited you...

There was no feasible way to prepare yourself, even the small prayer you whispered under your breath not enough to silence the gut wrenching dread that befell you alongside the rain. Your knees hit the pavement hard and you couldn’t seem to see clearly enough where to press down and hold the life slipping out of him.

It’s all mute from there, you remember the sobs mixed into his name. The slow way his eyelids fluttered and the shallow breaths he took, he wanted to move so badly to hold you close and tell you it’s alright. The part of his mind crashing, slowly but surely losing light just saw the image of you as a comforting sign.

That while he laid there feeling darkness overtake him, he’d at least have the image of you above him. You begged nevertheless, telling him to remain awake that the others would be there soon, even going so far as to try and move his heavy frame but you were too small and Leo would simply just not budge. Trembling hands pushed on Raphael’s name, something akin to ‘hurry’ escaping your mouth but your shaking hands couldn’t hold the phone long enough before more blood gushed out and you tried to hold it all in for Leo.

His hand landed on your cheek, thumb caressing the spot.

“I.. I’m s-sorry” He heaved out, hand slipping, blue eyes suddenly too dark.

He wasn’t breathing.

Leo wasn’t breathing.

_____________

You felt hands on your shoulder before you snapped out of that terrible memory. Donatello’s concerned gaze on you.

“Y/N? Hey, are you okay?” You couldn’t quite catch the image of Donnie, he was distorted as your eyes welled up with tears and you fought back the urge to let them drop. Because for six months you had been crying your eyes out for him, for six months you had not known the word peace, for six months you had stared at a window that yielded no end to your pain. In one manic night you had thrown up your comforter and nailed the damn thing over that fucking window, you had contemplated tearing up the carpets that had so many specks of Leo’s blood, you had tried to quiet the urge to burn your bedroom because every corner of it had some essence of him in or on it.

Some days you were so furious that he had done this. That he had died for a cause that would go unmerited, leaving his friends, his family and you to hold on to unamended pieces.

That very night he had been taken back to the lair, each brother having a moment with him, April as well. You were given one last moment with him, to be around him, to hold his impossibly cold hand.

At some point Splinter had stepped in and sat down next to you, his hand came to rest on your shoulder. It had to be admired, even if his eyes spoke that his world was crashing before him, he remained the rock that protected against the crashing waves.

“He loved you... with everything he had” Splinter had said and while there was comfort in there, the pain was far too great. You don’t remember stepping out let alone getting up, in fact most of that night had been a blur. At some point Raphael had supposedly picked you up and laid you down on the cot April used when she stayed over. Somewhere between that you had stumbled to Leo’s room and you had stayed there for a week.

That week had turned into a month.

For thirty days you stayed among his things, among his scent, on a bed you had been countless times on in countless ways. In the misery of it all there was comfort there, even if each night you dreamt of him, even if you swore that at times you heard your name being called by him. It was worse when you woke startled feeling as if he had ran his hand down your hip.

Around the end of that first month Mikey had stepped in with some food (much like he had done everyday) but this time he had placed it on the the night table and climbed into the bed with you.

He was crying.

You both held onto each other, anchoring one another to remain in the tough currents because this storm wouldn’t go away anytime soon.

You give Mikey credit for pulling you out of that room, even if you left a good chunk of your heart there, the other portions on that forsaken rooftop, the rest with Leo. You hadn’t been to the lair every since.

Donnie cupped your face, thumbs drying the tear tracks on your cheeks. “I’m sorry” You spoke out, not really sure why but all Donnie did was pull you close and hug you and you’re sure you haven’t hugged him in six months and while his scent is nowhere near that of Leo’s and his body lean muscle the contrast of his eldest brother, you still fell apart against the familiarity of it.

You sobbed against him quietly, dropping your mug, the shattering not jarring enough to bring you or him back.

And why come back to the present? To a cold home? To a place where Leo only existed in memories and lucid dreams?

Donnie held you close, his own tears falling and whatever fortress he had built up in this time had shattered like glass.

Leonardo was dead and there was simply nothing the two of you could do.

[whumperscorner]

"Hand Gagging " for the bthb please :D

Here you go! Sorry it took some time :3 it ended up slightly longer than I had planned eheh

This is the first time I’ve written and posted any ffxv stuff (even though it is one of my longest whump fandoms eheh) so please be kind :>

BTHB#2- Hand Gagging

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Prompto Argentum, Cor Leonis

Whumpee: Prompto Argentum

Word count: 1950

Warnings: kidnapping

It’s already dark when Prompto steps out into the crisp evening air, waves one last goodbye to his friends and begins on the walk home. Gladio had offered to follow him part of the way, but Prompto had said no. He knows the way well, and it’s not too far. Besides, he really doesn’t mind walking on his own like this. He quietly hums along to a song he doesn’t remember the name of, one Iggy had put on earlier that evening, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He’d better give Cor a head’s up that he’s coming home soon.

*Omw home now.* He sends the message, puts the phone back in his pocket and blows a breath of warm air on his hands before stuffing them too into his pockets. He should’ve brought a pair of gloves, Prompto thinks as he absentmindedly crosses the street by a corner. One lone car passes slowly behind him when the phone buzzes. Prompto takes it out and the screen lights up with the new message from ‘Dad’.

*Fun evening? Eaten anything yet?*

*Yeah! And no, we sort of forgot.* That isn’t entirely true. Ignis had made valiant attempts at getting them to eat something substantial all evening, but he and Noct had been busy with Noct’s new game. Which Prompto had beaten him at fair and square, no matter what the prince would say to that. The two hadn’t really had time to focus on eating.

*There’s leftover thai, want me to heat it up for you?* Comes the answer from Cor, faster now than last time.

*Oh yeah thanks!* Thai sounds delicious right about now, and the thought makes his stomach rumble.

Prompto’s legs have been moving on autopilot up to this point, but now he glances up from the phone at his surroundings. Aside from one lone car at the end of the street, he’s the only one around. Prompto’s eyes land on a familiar old sign shaped like a pretzel and he sends another quick message to his dad.

*I’m by the old baker’s now, so I’ll be home in 10.*

*Great, see you then.*

*Yeah, see you later!*

After the exchange Prompto again stuffs the phone and his hands back in the warm pockets on his jacket. He looks quickly to both sides before crossing the road again, and well over on the other side he turns right. There’s a shortcut a bit further down that he plans on taking. Behind him, a lone car starts moving slowly in the same direction he’s going. But Prompto doesn’t notice it. His head is full of longing thoughts of warm thai food, and the song that he still doesn’t remember the name of.

He keeps walking for another few minutes, where the most interesting thing to happen is a squirrel jump-scaring him by running across the road up ahead. Then, the phone in his pocket buzzes and lights up to show a message from Noct. It’s a shot of the tv screen and the prince’s new game, with a new personal best he’s showing off. Prompto snickers and writes out the reply.

*Oh shit, didn’t know specs knew how to play that. He’s really good!*

*Screw you xD* comes the answer.

The two bicker back and forth for a good while, and Prompto vows to beat him again soon enough, which Noct does not believe he can do. Prompto smiles at the screen, letting his legs carry him absentmindedly along, he knows he can. He beats Noct fairly often, and not that he would brag or anything, but he’s pretty good when it comes to games.

Had Prompto been less distracted he would have no doubt realised something was off. He would have easily noticed the car, which has been following him down two and a half streets already. Never too far behind, but never passing him either. But Prompto hums and types excitedly as he walks along. It doesn’t occur to him to check, and why would it? He walks this way home all the time, and nothing bad has ever happened before.

Reaching the sharp left turn, Prompto begins on the way down the alley he knows will cut at least four minutes off of his normal walk. He gets a glimpse of the car when he rounds the corner, but it’s out of his line of sight soon enough. The alleyway here is narrower than the previous road, and darker too, but that doesn’t scare Prompto. Though something about that car does feel off to him. It feels familiar and gives him the strangest sense of déjà vu. Prompto makes a valiant effort to shake the feelings of unease now creeping up in him, but it doesn’t take long before the sound of tires screeching to a halt stops him in his tracks. He swirls around and scans the entrance to the alley, but no car is visible there. Still, his stomach twists uncomfortably, and he finds himself regretting that he passed up the offer from Gladio to walk with him.

A growing sense of foreboding dread settles in his stomach as Prompto slowly turns back around and keeps walking. He must be imagining things, he’s almost sure of it. Almost. The wind picks up, howling loudly in Prompto’s ears. The sound of it rustling the leaves on the ground could almost be mistaken for light footsteps. A chill runs up Prompto’s spine at the thought, but he doesn’t dare look back, instead upping his pace slightly. There’s probably nothing, says the rational part of his brain, but then again... How many times hasn’t Cor repeated that it’s better to trust your gut, and that if a situation feels off then it’s better to be safe than sorry? Well, it is better to be safe than sorry, Prompto decides and finds his dad’s number in the contact list. His finger is shaking slightly as it hovers over the call button, a combination of the cold and the nerves.

Just then, as he presses down on the button, something heavy collides with him from behind. His eyes widen and his mouth opens in a surprised shriek, but any sound is muffled by the big hand clamping over his mouth. Then he's yanked back, barely having time to register the screen on his phone changing to show the call trying to connect before it clatters down on the ground. Adrenaline and panic rushes in his ears and he struggles, instinctively twisting and squirming and trying to pull the person's arms off of him as he is dragged back. The haze of fear and confusion lifts for just long enough that Prompto's brain can finally catch up to what's actually happening, and it does in no way ease the panic. A muffled, terrified, squeal bubbles up in his throat and his struggling intensifies, limbs flailing as unknown hands grab around his face and chest. As if by a miracle his elbow connects with something soft and a pained groan sounds from behind, but if Prompto had any hope of that making things easier he was soon proven wrong. With a guttural curse the person behind changes direction, manhandling Prompto around so he almost loses his balance and pushing him up against the wall of the alleyway. A low whine, muffled by the hand, escapes as he pushes uselessly against the bricks in an attempt to give himself any leeway.

"Come quietly pretty boy, and you won't have to get hurt." A deep man’s voice hisses. The voice is low and dangerous, and the man’s breath is hot on Prompto's ear. It makes him shiver. He attempts to shake his head, to protest, he wants the man off of him. His fruitless struggling evidently makes the man laugh, a mocking bark of a sound comes from behind and then-

"-Prom? You there kid?" The call on his phone, now on the ground somewhere, has gone through. That’s Cor’s voice. Prompto recognises it instantly and relief floods through him. For a short moment both he and the man holding him stand completely still, then Prompto gathers himself and wrenches free of the grip. He gasps in a breath of fresh air.

"Dad! Da-" and the hand is back, clamping over his mouth again with bruising force and muffling the rest of his yelling.

"Prompto?! What's going on?" Cor's voice is louder as he presses on, more urgent. He can tell something is wrong, it's obvious in his voice, and the man holding Prompto curses loudly. Out of the corner of his eye Prompto sees another silhouetted person approaching. For one wonderful moment he thinks it might be someone coming to help, but it isn't. The other person strides forward, past Prompto and the man, and through Prompto's muffled yelling brings the heel of their boot down on the phone, hard. Once, then twice, until Cor's voice distorts and disappears and the broken screen flickers to black. With his dad's voice gone again Prompto feels more alone and hopeless than at any other point this evening, and fear grips his chest tight.

"Should teach Leonis to watch who he messes with." the silhouetted person turns back, and Prompto can see the sharp features of another man, mouth twisted in distain at Cor's name. He spits on the ground and starts walking again. "Let's move."

The man holding Prompto nods in response, and without warning manoeuvres him around to walk back towards the entrance to the alleyway. The sudden movement wakes Prompto from his petrified state, he stumbles, but is quick to regain his balance and plants his feet firmly on the ground. Cor knows something is going on. That means he'll come look for him, Prompto is sure of it. He can't let the men take him away before his dad comes for him. He bucks and twists in the man's grip with renewed energy, if he can only stall for long enough this will be fine. Cor will come and he will be fine. It's the only thing on Prompto's mind as the man holding him grunts in effort at keeping him subdued. A few feet up ahead, the commotion alerts the second assailant, who wastes no time rushing back towards the two.

"Stop fucking struggling." he almost spits the words as he comes closer, but Prompto meets his eyes defiantly. He doesn't intend on going along quietly, especially not when he knows Cor is coming. "Fine." the second man spits through grit teeth. Then, with no prior warning letting Prompto know to brace himself, a clenched first collides with his stomach. The impact knocks the air out of him, he cries out into the hand, and if it weren't for the man's tight grip he probably would have fallen. For a short dizzying moment he thinks he might puke, he tries to gasp, but with the hand still over his mouth it doesn't work. He's not getting enough air. Then they're on the move again, and Prompto has no choice but to follow suit. He's more carried than walked to the alley's entry, where the black car from before is parked just out of sight behind the corner. Prompto's heart sinks in his chest at the sight of it, and he tries one last time to pull the man's hands off of him. Some small part of him hopes that maybe if he can yell again now someone will hear and come help, but he's tired, and the hand won't budge anymore. He struggles still, of course, but his resisting doesn't help him as the men lock him up in the dark trunk of the car and drive off.

[awakeshedreams]

So You’ll Stay With Me?

Prompt: "You could be my hero, if only I could let go."

Summary: Namjoon is always there when you need him, and you don't realise but you break his heart as much as you make him fall in love with you even more some times.

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst. ( one shot )

Wordcount: 3.4K

Warnings: a little alcohol consumption. Heart pain.

A/N: So here's a cute little kind of heart wrenching Joon piece ;_; heavily inspired by these songs : James Arthur- Say You won't Let Go, Broken Arrow- Pixie Lott and Terrified - Katherine Mcphee and Zachary Levi ! You can listen to it while you read this for a better reading experience but you don't have to ! I hope you guys enjoy it and like it um yeah that's it have a nice day! 💜

.

Namjoon had knocked on the door, three times to be exact, before clearing his throat and placing his hands in his pocket as he tapped his feet against your cute polka dot doormat, the one he got for you.

He hears shuffling from the other side of the door before a pyjama dressed you finally opens door wide, letting light pour into the dark hallway.

“You came?” you smile, sounding almost relieved.

“Of course.” Namjoon laughs and you sigh in relief.

“Come on in.” You invite as you grab his arm and usher him in.

Namjoon continues walking in until he gets to the living room, brows furrowing as he looks around your home.

“I thought you said there was a party?” he asks as you come to join him in the living room, rubbing your hands together.

“Um, well, it is. But it's just you and me?” you smile sheepishly.

Namjoon can’t help the deep dimpled smile that appears across his face as he nods and takes a seat on the couch, something he knew you loved.

“So you'll stay?” you ask desperately, ignoring how your heart skipped a beat when he smiled,  as you slowly approach him.

“Of course I will, for you.” He says as he takes a seat on your plush couch, hoping you don't notice how willingly he says it but also hoping you do, wanting you know that he'll always listen to you and be there for you.

“Thank You.” You smile before disappearing into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with 2 cartons of beer.

“Y/N...” Namjoon trails off as he stares at the cartons, wide eyed.

“What?” you ask innocently, sitting on the floor across of him with your legs crossed as you place the cartons on the table and open them.

“You... do know that you of all people in the whole world can’t drink well right?” He asks, hunched over the table with his hands clasped as he looked at you but you avoid his gaze.

You halt your movements.

You stay motionless for a moment, until slowly but surely, your shoulders start to shake and anyone would think you were laughing but Namjoon knows that you were feeling the exact opposite of joy.

“Y/N.” He says as he gets up and slowly comes to your side, sitting next to you.

You lay your head on his chest abruptly, taking him by surprise as his eyes go wide, but he eventually wraps an arm around your waist, his free hand coming up to pat your head as you cry into his chest.

He rests his chin on the top of your head after a while and you tighten your grip on his dark shirt and he's glad you're comfortable enough with him to be this vulnerable in his presence, he doesn’t even care if you stain it.

When you cool down, you pull away and sniffle, rubbing at your eyes and nose before you inhaled and exhaled deeply, all the while Namjoon kept his eyes on you.

“Noah broke up with me.” You finally say after a moment of silent.

“Oh,” Namjoon says, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as he shifts in where he sat. He felt bad, especially because he saw it coming. He knew how Noah neglected you and never paid enough attention to you, also about how he was unfaithful. He didn’t deserve you. And Namjoon had always tried to let you know through subtle cryptics, not wanting to overwhelm you and hit you hard in the chest. It was selfish but he didn't want to be the one who did that, he wanted to be one who would catch you when you fell from the blow.

Namjoon had always looked forward to the day when the two of you would separate for good, thinking that you would feel better after it and would finally get to be with someone who appreciated you for who you are, someone who would spend all they have on you, to make you feel good and give you all their love. Some times he thought , it wouldn't have to be him, but it would be nice for it to be him. But did even he deserve you?

However seeing how broken you were and how you were still trying and pretending to be okay made his heart crack as well.

“Well,” he says as he exhales and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Perhaps it was for the better. Don't you think?” he asks with a smile as he turns to face you abruptly, taking you off guard and you feel yourself flush as he had caught you staring at him.

“Yeah, maybe.” you say when you immediately look away, fingers scribbling nonsense patterns on the carpeted floors as you bit your lips.

Namjoon laughs at your reaction, long arms and large hands reaching out for two cans of beer.

He opens one of the cans, offering it to you.

“Here, just one.” He smiles and you feel flustered again when you look up and see his smile immediately looking away and taking a sip of the cheap drink, face contorting immediately once the liquid comes into contact with your tounge.

“Ew,” you stick your tounge out and Namjoon laughs at you as he takes a sip of his own.

“Let me know if you can't finish. “ he says as he sets his can down on the table.

After much coaxing, ‘aegyo’, persuasion and a little bit of seduction, Namjoon had agreed to letting you have one and half a can of beer. The half being half his own one. Namjoon had stopped at the first can, still wanting to be sober enough to look after you when you’ve finally decided drinking wasn’t for you.

You could be such a mess after drinking, the few times you did drink were etched to his skull, so were many other things about you but these memories were one of those that weren't the most pleasant.

You were currently slow dancing to Namjoon's humming, but not really. Namjoon can’t help but think that if any classical dancer saw how they two of you were dancing, they would be so offended.

“You're so nice to me. Why can’t all men be like you?” you asked when you were pretty much already drunk, head on Namjoon’s chest as you almost trip on your own feet again, but Namjoon's strong arm around your was it keeps you safe.

You had taken Namjoon by surprise, almost making him choke on the water he had fooled you into thinking was half of the beer he had given you poured into a cup.

“You think so?” he asks smiling a little too widely as he stares into his cup.

“Yeah, you’re literally so perfect. Really smart and tall, nice and handsome, you even have dimples.” You say as you draw patterns onto Namjoon's chest, the contact making goosebumps raise on his skin as he tried to keep his cool.

“Thanks.” Namjoon smiles against the rim of his cup.

“ You're so perfect that i feel like, sometimes... if someone like me were to ask you out, you would probably reject me.” You laugh at yourself as you sigh.

“I wouldn't.” Namjoon says after a while of silence.

“Huh?” you asks as you pull away and look up at him, resting your hands over his chest.

“I would never reject you.” He says again as he looks at you and you want to laugh because you think he’s joking but the stern and serious look in his eyes tells you other wise.

You finally break the gaze, feeling heated and flustered.

“That’s only because I’m your friend, Joon.” You laugh sadly.

“No. It's not.” He says firmly and you almost gasp.

“Namjoon...” you breathe out as you look back at him.

He leans in closer down to you, and you feel your heartbeat get faster and faster, threatening to break through your ribs and fall to his feet.

Suddenly your hand fly to your lips as your eyes go wide and Namjoon flinches back, afraid that he might have offended you and he immediately attempts to begin apologising but your hand fists the fabric of his shirt.

His eyes go wide as he knows what is happening.

Without a rush he quickly takes your hand and runs to the toilet, immediately opening the toilet bowl and pulling your hair back as you get on your knees and pour all the alcoholic content mixed with other foods you had throughout the day into it.

Namjoon pats and soothes your back as you feel like your whole gut is about to come out of your mouth.

You take deep breathes and pant once you were done. Namjoon hands you a glass of water as he helps you get up, an arm around your waist while the other held your hand and you feel bad because your hands were kind of stained with vomit but he didn’t seem to mind.

You chug down the glass of water, gurgle and then spit it out into the sink before washing your hands.

You exhale and inhale deeply as you shut your eyes and shake your head.

“I'm never drinking again.” You tiredly say, feeling drained as Namjoon laughs and reaches to open the sink from behind you, his breathe fanning your ear and you freeze.

Once he is done washing his hand he walks out, you hear some shuffling before he comes back to lean against the door frame of the toilet.

“I’m glad that you’re a little wiser now.” He jokes and you roll your eyes as you giggle.

Your shoulders start shaking and Namjoon freezes, you were going to cry again.

“Y/N,” he begins concerned as he pushes himself off the door frame and attempts to approach you.

But then you turn around, looking at him over your shoulders, smiling , before you fully turn around face him completely and he feels like he's fallen for you again, like Cupid has just shot the nth arrow through his heart while his eyes were on you.

He stays stunned and almost out of breathe  as you approach him, and even when you abruptly wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes as you held on tight.

Namjoon’s hand immediately come around your waist. Pulling you closer into his warm body, lifting you off the ground a little, making you chuckle into his shoulder.

You stay like that for awhile before you finally speak up.

“I'm so glad I have you in my life.” You confess.

“I’m so glad my existence causes you joy,” Namjoon smiles and you laugh.

“Joon, I hope you know I love you. More than anyone, even more than Noah. You mean so much to me. Don’t forget that.” You continue, voice cracking slightly.

Namjoon doesn’t respond for awhile and you begin to panic.

“I love you too. I feel the same.” He reassures, feeling the panic that radiated from your body as he rubs your back, making you sigh in relief.

He fears and also is relieved that you might or might know that he really meant what he said, that although your confession could more platonic than anything he wishes it could be, he really loves you, more than just as a friend.

You slowly pull away, standing on your feet as you looked up at him, eyes slightly glassy.

“Do you want to stay over?” you ask, almost desperate and Namjoon immediately wants to say yes, especially with how you were basically fisting his shirt, afraid to let go.

He also doesn’t want to try to take advantage of you while you were drunk again like when he had tried to kiss you earlier. He himself was just a little tipsy but he was 85 times more sober than you were out 100, and he wasn’t going to blame the alcohol for what his heart truly wanted.

“Maybe some other time,” he says, heart immediately dropping when your expression falls and you immediately try to cover it up with a smile.

“You should get some rest.” He continues, larger hands engulfing your shaking tense ones gripping his shirt.

His larger hands slowly unwrap your fingers, intertwining your hand with his as he smiled at you.

“I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow, okay?” he asks as he leans down and searches your face, heart feeling a little better and full when he see’s a true smile on your lips even though it’s small, it’s more than enough to make him grin.

You nod and hesitantly let go of his hand.

“I’ll be heading out now, I'll come by tomorrow.” He says as he carefully watches your expression, not wanting to upset you.

“Sure.” You smile before you begin walking into the living room, straight to the door, Namjoon following behind you.

You hand rests on the doorknob as the both of you stare at the ground.

“Tomorrow then?” you ask and he nods.

“Tomorrow, I promise.” He smiles and you bite your cheeks, trying not to display the giddy grin that threatens to make an appearance.

You open the door, allowing Namjoon to step out.

“See you tomorrow.” You say as you bite your lips and Namjoon feels like one of his heart strings have been pulled. You really wanted him to be with you, and he wanted that too, but not now. Not while you were drunk.

“See you tomorrow.” He reassures as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

You smile at him, looking at him one last time before you slowly shut the door.

The hallway goes dark as Namjoon stands there, the smile slowly dropping before a sadder one finds its way on his lips.

“Oh Namjoon,” he laughs as he shakes his head.

“What were you thinking?” he continues, running a hand through his hair as he gripped at his locks.

He sighs, looking at your door one last time before walking away.

Unbeknownst to him, you were watching him through the peephole.

Once he leaves you rest your back against the door as you placed a hand over your beating heart, trying to catch your breathe as your cheeks were flushed and heart heated.

“What was that?” you breath out feeling like you were going to loose your mind.

Just then, you flinch as your phone suddenly rings.

You walk into the living room and pick up your phone that was faced down on your coffee table and plopping down on your couch that was still warm from when Namjoon sat on it.

You raise the phone up and look at the caller ID.

You stare at the name that displays itself across your screen, the hearts placed on the beginning and end of his name still remains, you never got the chance to change it yet.

“Noah,” you breathe out, voice cracking as you feel out of breath.

Without thinking you pick it up.

“Hello?” you answer as you tried to calm yourself and not sound so out of breathe.

“Hello, Y/N, God. I’ve been trying to call you for so long.” He sighs and you can envision him massage the bridge of his nose.

“What is it? We're through...” you trail off, hoping you sounded unbothered and that your voice hadn't failed you.

“Where were you?” he asks and you gulp before speaking.

“At home.”

“Alone?” he asks further and you feel your eyes begin to sting as you tried to keep them open for too long, why were you even trying to control your expressions when he wasn’t in front of you.

“With Namjoon.” You finally say and you hear him scoff from the other side of the line, tongue in his cheek you imagined.

“That prick...” he hisses and you furrow your brows, feeling pissed at how he was a dressing Namjoon even though you knew he disliked Namjoon and there was a sort of mutual disapproval, although Namjoon was never as harsh as him and did his best to get along with Noah for you.

“Anyways, I want to see you.” He says before you can defend Namjoon, taking you by surprise.

“W-why?” you croak out, probably sounding a little too desperate.

“Baby, I miss you. I was a fool for trying to end us. Let me make things right please Y/N?” He says and you feel out of breathe, struggling to regulate your breathing as your grip on your phone tightened and your whole body shakes, tears unknowingly falling down your cheeks.

“Y/N?” he calls out after a while of silence.

“Okay.” You finally say through gritted teeth, mad at yourself for your answer.

“Great! I’ll come pick you up.” He says sounding excited and you shut your eyes as your shoulders slump and your hand comes to rest on your chest

Slowly you begin clutching the soft skin harshly, bruising it as a heavy lump settles itself in you throat , making it impossible for you to speak.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I love you.” He says and you just  nod, finding it very hard to say anything even though you know he can’t see you

You immediately hang up and throw your phone onto the opposite couch.You raise your legs, bringing them closer to your chest as you begin to silently sob while you scratches your chest and fisted the fabric of your top and tugged on it.

Something felt so off in your heart, something wasn’t aligned. Your feelings, what were they truly? Did you still love Noah or were you just lonely, was there someone else you truly wanted ? You were confused.

You’ve let Noah back into your heart plenty times, but somehow this time it felt like something was in the way, someone, and you were just being in denial and reckless to prove your senses wrong or right because you really did still love Noah right?

On the other side of the door, Namjoon stands. Fist hovering over your door as he was about to knock.

He had forgotten to give you the little gift he had gotten for you, one that he'd bought and held onto ever since you had first said you liked it quite some time ago, he thought he could finally give you now that you were single. But perhaps he was too ahead of himself.

His fists slowly come down as he clutches the ruby velvet jewellery box in his hands, lip pressed into a thin line.

You had a habit of putting on your earphones or in this case automatically turning on your loud speaker when you were in a call with somebody, and you were very comfortable with Namjoon hearing your conversations, but he just wishes that this one time he hadn’t heard any of it.

Namjoon sighs before he looks up at your door one more time, tapping the little box before walking away feeling dejected and rejected, even though indirectly, for God knows how many times already by you.

Maybe it’s time he stops trying, he ponders as he looks over his shoulders towards your door again and sighs before walking away and never looking back again.

.

😱 I'm very emotionally drained after writing and rereading this omg shshsh what did you guys think of it? Any requests?

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

Because Disney can pry the Finn Skywalker headcanon from my cold, dead, fingers. And because Disney can’t stop me from reworking their movies if I darn well please.

Most of the fortress had been picked over by scavengers years ago. Any Imperial memorabilia had long since been looted and either auctioned off or confiscated by the First Order. Really, that was the only reason the scout team had considered it as a potential base at all. It had already been gutted, and was pretty well beneath the notice of Kylo Ren unless he was up for sentimental tours.

The general didn’t find that very likely.

Mustafar was far from a hospitable world for most species, but the heat shielding of the fortress was still highly efficient. The scouts had set up a base camp in what looked like it had once been some kind of audience chamber. Nobody had felt like exploring alone. The whole castle just felt...off. 

The young leader of the scouts sat on a pile of rubble, head tilted like he was listening for something. He frowned and glanced down at his team.

“What, Trache?” he asked.

The Twi’lek raised his brows at Finn. “I didn’t say anything.”

Finn seemed confused. “You sure? I could’ve sworn-”

Finn?

Finn looked up again. "Rose, you heard Trache call me just now, right?"

Rose Tico set down a power lamp and plugged it into their Artoo unit, then shook her head. “Sorry Finn,” she said, “All I heard was Artoo.”

Finn.

He whirled, squinting into the darkness of the derelict fortress. “There! You guys heard it that time, right?”

Rose fidgeted awkwardly. "Finn...I didn't hear anything."

Finn.

Finn turned again. He felt as though someone had tied a string around his soul and was pulling. As if under some other power than his own, the boy began to stumble into the shadows.

"W- what are you doing?" Trache hissed.

"Gotta check something out," Finn mumbled. He could just make out what looked like a figure, standing at the end of the corridor. "It's...it's okay. I think it's the Force."

His scout team's protests faded into static behind him. There was nothing but the voice.

Finn. Come to me.

Finn slowly reached down and loosened his blaster in its holster. There was a possibility that he was hearing this voice in his mind. And that had to mean enemies.

"Where are you?" he asked, tensed and ready to fight.

The shadowy figure he had glimpsed before reappeared, further away. It stood, as if waiting. Then it raised one arm, beckoning.

Finn didn't sense anything particularly hostile about the stranger, but he was wary nonetheless. He eased forward, following the dark shape into another chamber. The closer he got, the more he realized that it wasn't made of pure shadow after all. A faint flicker of blue light outlined the person, if a person it was, slowly illuminating more details. A black tabard. A heavy gauntlet. A cape that fell to the floor and seemed to swallow all light that touched it.

The rhythmic hiss that Finn had taken for some kind of machinery in the fortress took on a new volume.

It sounded like breathing.

Finn stopped dead in his tracks. He had seen that shape before. In the First Order barracks, as a little boy, he had seen that shape in the propaganda forced down the children's throats. 

"Aren't you dead?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. 

The giant inclined his head -- or, well, his helmet -- regally and turned. He gestured to one side.

"Walk with me."

The authoritative voice brooked no argument. 

Finn knew he should have been running. That was Darth Kriffing Vader, or his ghost, or a clone, or something. But...he didn't sense the kind of painful storm he'd always experienced around Kylo Ren. There was no hatred, filling the air with danger. Just a strange echo of regret.

With one hand firmly on the butt of his blaster, he gritted his teeth and stepped closer. 

"The Force is with you, young one," the late Sith Lord remarked, "but you are not a Jedi yet."

That rankled a little bit. Finn knew he couldn't do all the things Rey could yet. The General had told him that his connection to the Force was more like hers than Rey's, but he still didn't know what that meant. That didn't mean he wasn't learning. He was just going at his own pace.

"Maybe I'm not," he said, "But I will be."

Will I be?

Darth Vader began to walk. Hands clasped thoughtfully behind his back, steps slow and measured. Relentless. What did he want? And why was he even here?

Reluctantly, Finn followed a half step behind. 

"I'm not hallucinating this, right? Because my team can't see you." Getting lured into the depths of the castle by the ghost of a Sith probably wasn't a good thing. "Why'd you call me?"

"I have been expecting you for some time," Vader said, tipping his helmet down as if observing Finn. "It was inevitable that you would find me here."

His footsteps echoed on the stone, but did not disturb so much as a single mote of dust. The hair on the back of Finn's neck rose when he looked down and saw only one set of footprints behind them.

"You know who I am." It was not a question. 

Swallowing hard, Finn nodded. His mouth was dry, and despite himself, his fingers trembled. Like a death sentence the name fell from his lips.

"Darth Vader."

Abruptly, the man turned on his heel. His cape flared out around him as he raised a finger almost in warning.

"That name no longer has any meaning for me," he said sternly.

"Then..." Finn wrinkled his brow and tried to remember the legend. "You're um, you're a Skywalker-?"

His companion nodded. "I suspected that if I had chosen my true form, you would not have known me."

He raised his helmet as the chamber emptied out into another set of corridors. "Come. There is something I must show you."

Well. This was going to make an interesting story to tell the General later. Finn pulled the collar of his jacket up and shivered.

"Dar- I mean, uh...Master Skywalker? You didn't answer my question before. Aren't you dead?"

Anakin did not slow his steps. "The Force, young one, is a pathway to many abilities that some may consider to be...unnatural."

A wry chuckle wrenched itself from Finn's lips. He shook his head and took a jogging half step to keep up with the ghostly warrior. "You're telling me."

Anakin glanced down at him again. Finn wasn't sure how he knew the ghost's eyes were on him, but somehow he could guess where to look.

"You show remarkably little trepidation in the face of the impossible," he commented.

It was strange, but Finn was almost beginning to feel comfortable with the conversation. He shrugged. "Nobody ever told me how the Force was supposed to work. How am I supposed to know what's possible and what's not?"

He jumped when Anakin tipped back his helmet and laughed. It was a deep, rolling sound, utterly at odds with the mechanical whoosh of his respirator. 

"Indeed! Do not lose your open mind, Finn. It will serve you well."

"Did anybody ever tell you," Finn huffed, "That you make even compliments sound ominous?"

Another low chuckle. "Yes. Your father did."

His father?!

What was the ghost talking about?

Finn scowled at him. "Whoa, hold on. How do you know my father? I don't even know my father!"

Under his breath he added, "I don't even know what I'm doing here."

Abruptly, he began to sense a complicated tangle of emotions from the ghost of Anakin Skywalker. Regret, anger, concern.

"You remember nothing, child?"

Sometimes Finn thought he did remember. But they were just images. Feelings. A woman's voice and strong arms. A man's smile. Sometimes he heard snatches of a song in his dreams, always just out of reach by the time he opened his eyes.

Other times, the dreams were not so kind. Flashes of an old man, reaching for him even as he was shot in the back. His own tiny hands reaching desperately for an old woman screaming a name he couldn't hear. He wondered sometimes if they had been his grandparents. 

The Resistance was his family now. Rey and Chewie were his family. Poe and BB-8 were his family. The General was his family. But in his heart, Finn still wanted closure. To at least know where he had come from. 

"I...remember my grandfather dying." Finn said haltingly. 

"Not your grandfather," Anakin corrected him. "Your mother's cousin. Your grandfather died long before your birth."

He quickened his pace before Finn could insist on an answer. Through stone galleries and ominous archways he continued with a single-minded determination. He did not stop until he had reached what had once been an impressively secure door, long since reduced to ruin by looters. Inside sat a strange dome-like structure that reminded Finn of an egg.

"Did you see that in my head? Is that like a thing you can do?" Finn demanded. He was determined to get the truth. Maybe he could "sense" it somehow. "How did you see it if I can't?"

Anakin did not immediately answer. He waved his hand over the dome, and with a rumbling groan it separated neatly into two halves. It was an old-fashioned hyperbaric chamber. A few lights still flickered dimly inside. Anakin reached down to touch one small screen, and a hologram sprang up. A young man in Rebellion era fatigues smiled up at them from the hologram. Old though it was, the holo was still recognizable. 

"What the- That's Luke Skywalker!" Finn realized.

Anakin nodded. "He was no older than you are now when my spies brought me this image." He seemed almost lost in nostalgia for a moment. "Truly, I would have torn the very fabric of the universe apart to find him."

Finn watched the ghost, noting that he cupped the hologram in his hands as though he held something infinitely precious. 

"You...kept a holo of him in your chamber?" Seemed a little odd for a Sith.

He was pretty sure Ren didn't keep holos of his parents.

"Of course." Anakin did not look away from the tiny, grinning face of Luke. "He is my son."

Finn sat down carefully on the seat within the chamber. His feet didn't even touch the floor. "Hey...Master Skywalker?" he asked, "How did you know my grandfather died before I was born? If it was before I was born, I wouldn't have had any memory of that. Buried or no. Did you...meet him in the afterlife or something? Do all ghosts know each other?"

He sensed hesitation as Anakin answered, "No, I...I was...there."

That could mean a lot of things. "Did you kill him?" Finn guessed, "Like, was he a Rebel? Or a Jedi?"

He heard the creaking of leather as Anakin's hands tightened into fists.

"He was a rogue and peasant Sith. A knave who chased after power at the cost of his kin," Anakin snarled. 

Finn jolted back. A Sith?

A horrible thought slid into the back of his mind. What if his family had given him willingly to the First Order? What if they expected him to follow in his grandfather's footsteps?

"So...what does that make me?" he rasped. 

The tension drained quickly from Anakin's shoulders. He turned away from the hologram of his son and raised a spectral hand to rest against Finn's cheek. It did not pass through him, as he had expected it to. Instead, it lingered, like the brush of a curtain. 

"You are," Anakin said, almost reverently, "A valiant son of a worthy father. And the beloved grandchild of a grandmother who deserved a better life than she was given."

The Force was almost screaming at him that the answers to his questions were at last before him, but Finn was afraid to believe it. Afraid to get his hopes up and be wrong. If, after all this, his growing suspicion was wrong, he wasn't sure he could bear it. 

"Master Skywalker, please," he begged, "I don't know why I'm here, I don't know what you want from me. Just tell me the truth? Did you know my grandfather?"

The other glove rose, and Finn found his face being gently cradled by an ex-Sith Lord.

“No,” Anakin answered, quiet and inevitable. “I am your grandfather.”

[nostalgiahan]

Blinking Game

word count: 1k

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, songfic

content/warnings: friends to lovers, implied 18+ at the end, lapslock

pairing: hwang hyunjin/gender-neutral reader

a/n: this is a song fic based on blinking game by jonghyun! also the place that they’re at is inspired by a place that i live near called mother tree haha. i hope you all enjoy :)

“so, uh, thanks for coming out today.”

“of course! i mean, i don’t usually do things like this with my friends, so...”

that word. friend. every time you said it, it felt like a punch to the gut. not like you knew it, of course - but you said it so often that it sometimes felt like you did know about the y/n shaped hole in hyunjin’s heart. what had started as a fairly surface-level attraction turned into full-blown, sickly sweet, devastating Love that would prove to devour hyunjin’s entire being. he kept inviting you on more and more extravagant outings, which you infuriatingly called “friend dates,” in the hopes that you’d one day get the hint.

this time, you’re sitting under a massive tree in the middle of a clearing filled with daisies, sitting on a blanket and munching away on fruit and monte cristo sandwiches while soft music emanates from hyunjin’s bluetooth speaker. the tree sits atop a massive hill, where you can see the city, cradled by the mountains, hundreds of feet below you. it looks small and insignificant from here, and it might as well be, because right now, to hyunjin, all that matters is you.

the song ends and a new one begins, slow and jazzy, the notes flowing together like honey. you stand up and stretch your legs, and the shadows of tree branches dance across your face in the setting sun. to hyunjin, you glow.

suddenly, you look down at him and offer him your hand expectantly. a phrase comes out of your mouth that hyunjin definitely thought he didn’t hear at first - it was only when you urged him gently to accept your offer did he realize it was real. that you, in all of your glowing, ethereal, utterly unreal glory, had just asked him to dance.

he takes your hand and stands up, cautiously moving his hands towards your waist. you just laugh that bright laugh of yours and take his hands in your own, placing them around your waist yourself. he blushes and looks away, but the comforting weight of your hands on his shoulders brings him back.

this is familiar. when the two of you were in high school, fresh-faced and new to the world, hyunjin had asked you to the homecoming dance. he wasn’t in love with you then, not yet, but there was some feeling roiling in the pit of his stomach that didn’t feel entirely platonic. when it came time to slow dance, you just nervously put your hands around his neck and giggled about how stupid you probably looked, standing on your tiptoes just to reach him. you guys are older now, and your heights have evened out some (though he’s still taller than you,) but the feeling is still the same. hyunjin hopes you can’t feel his heart beating out of his chest when you’re standing this close together.

you sway back and forth with the wind, the tree branches creating a pleasant kind of white noise as they rustle together.

when the song ends, it takes a lot longer than it should have for you two to separate. eventually, you take a step back, crouching down to pull a daisy out of the dirt. you study it in your hands before tucking it gently behind the shell of hyunjin’s ear.

“you look pretty.”

your hand moves down to cup hyunjin’s cheek, and you smile up gently at him. he manages to stutter out a “thank you” before looking at the ground, unable to make eye contact with you for very long.

“hyunjin?”

your soft voice snaps him out of his anxiety and he looks up (down) at you again.

“yes?”

“is everything okay?”

“what do you mean?”

“i mean, you just seem different. you always blush when i’m around you and you keep taking me to nicer and nicer places when we hang out. i don’t want to sound ungrateful but what happened to us just hanging out in your room watching movies? i don’t need an expensive sushi dinner to know that i love you-“

“what?”

“shit. just, forget i said that, okay?”

you move away from him, sitting back down on the blanket with a dejected expression on your face.

“y/n...”

“i just don’t want to ruin anything, hyunjin. you’re my best friend. do you know how long it’s been since i had a best friend? i don’t want this to change.”

“but what if i want it to?”

you continue looking away, but hyunjin can hear the soft sniffles you’re trying to stifle. he crouches down next to you and places a delicate hand on your shoulder, careful not to startle you.

“y/n, i love you too. so much. more than you’ll probably ever know.”

your small sniffles turn into full-blown sobs as you turn around and bury your face into hyunjin’s chest. he just pulls you into his lap and rubs your back soothingly. you try to put together a sentence but all you can do is cough out strangled sounds that might be his name.

“it’s gonna be okay. we’re gonna be okay. i promise.”

you manage to wrench your head from his chest and look up at him. hyunjin just wipes away your tears and smiles softly, leaning his forehead against yours.

once you’ve calmed down some, hyunjin pulls away, still holding your face. the music is still playing in the background, and hyunjin’s gentle humming brings you back to earth. you open your eyes and his face is extremely close to yours. within kissing distance.

barely audible, you whisper a question to hyunjin. his answer comes in the form of his soft lips pressed against yours, holding the back of your head as he leans forward gently, caging you below him as you lay back on the blanket. you grasp his longish black hair gently, feeling it’s softness slip through your fingers and letting out a small whimper into his mouth. at that, hyunjin sits up and situates himself on top of your thighs.

“so, uh, my place?”

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Out Tonight (Part 1)

Part 2 ->

Summary: Barba would never admit to being a RENT geek, but when he gets drunk and no one from the SVU squad is there to see him, he can’t resist the siren call of the karaoke stage. You would never approach a stranger at a bar, but when you hear Barba singing your favorite musical, you gather the courage to ask for a duet. 

Rafael Barba x Female Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Dub-con!! Everyone is enthusiastically willing, but also super drunk. So... use your best judgement. (No smut this chapter just some intense kissing)

4,144 words

The thing about Scotch whisky is, it’s a drink meant to be sipped. A.D.A. Rafael Barba drank a Scotch every day, especially after a difficult case. One or two, mulled upon over the course of an hour. 

At over 40 percent alcohol by volume, the practical difference between Scotch, the gentleman’s drink favored by lawyers and Wall Street executives, and the tequila swigged by rednecks ripping their shirts off at a dive bar is the speed at which the beverages are consumed.

The thing about being a Scotch drinker is, you’re only ever one particularly bad day and a few extra drams carelessly tipped down the hatch away from getting well and truly shitfaced.

This would never happen to A.D.A. Barba. He had complete control of himself at all times. In the courtroom. In his manner of dress. In his speech. He won cases other prosecutors wouldn’t dare to take on, because he was meticulous. He was relentless. And he never let his guard down.

But on this particular day, nothing was going according to plan. All week, in fact, a case he was certain of had been falling apart piece by piece, slipping through his fingers, until today, a man who made Barba’s stomach sicken walked out of the courtroom a free man.

It was his fault. He got cocky. The victims subjected themselves to retraumatization just to testify on the hope of getting some kind of justice, and it was all for nothing. He let them down. He let the SVU team down. The look on Benson’s face when the foreman delivered the not guilty verdict made Barba want to crawl inside himself.

So he did what he always did on bad days, and went to his favorite bar alone to sit quietly and numb his sorrows over a glass of Macallan.

Except it wasn’t fucking quiet. This was supposed to be a subdued, sophisticated establishment that didn’t draw a big crowd. This was his bar! But for some godawful reason, the new manager had decided—unbeknownst to Barba—to try hosting karaoke night.

Karaoke!

He scowled at the colored stage lights. Glowered at the rambunctious crowds of young people. Seethed at the bad 80’s music and off-key bellowing. He dropped heavily into his usual seat at the bar and exchanged withering looks with the bartender, who slid him his usual drink without needing to be asked. What the hell was happening to his life? Barba began to wonder whether he had anything under control at all, downing the dram in one shot.

As he gasped on the fiery liquid burning down his throat, he gained determination. They were not going to take his bar from him. Not a chance. If these tourists and college kids wanted to have their revelry, they would have to do it with a grumpy old killjoy glowering at them. He ordered another round.

***

An hour and a steep tab later, and Barba was gripping the microphone with sweaty fingers, belting out One Song Glory at the top of his lungs.

He rationalized it as “better bend than break,” but the truth was, he had dreamed of becoming an actor before going to law school to please his mother. His inner theater geek was always waiting to slip out whenever he let his guard down, but since that was never, it was side he rarely indulged. Tonight, his head was spinning, and it didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“One song to redeem this empty life. Time flies—and then no need to endure anymore!”

The wooden bar stool creaked as his weight sank back down on it, and he ordered another drink to question about his life choices. “Will I ever be remembered for anything besides my failures?” he asked the glass. He’d come this far from the poor barrio where he grew up, but every step was a fight. He couldn’t just be good, he had to be better than the privileged WASPs he was competing against. He had to be the best. Every little mistake, every lost trial, could be the end of all he had worked for.

Barba was so busy nursing his latest drink, he almost didn’t notice someone else drunkenly belting a track from RENT. Except, as his head swung up to listen, it wasn’t drunken belting at all. A woman with a low-cut blouse and tight jeans that hugged her curves was singing so seductively, staring right at him. She winked and sweetly begged him to take her out tonight.

No—he was imagining it. He was just drunk, lonely, and pathetic. She was working the crowd, making everyone feel like she was singing just to them. Maybe she was a Broadway performer to have that skill, or at least a master at flirtation. Either way, she was way out of his league. There was no chance she had singled him out.

***

So what if you didn’t know anybody, and it was dangerous to go alone? You were in Manhattan on a Friday night—you were going to go out and have a good time, dammit!

The promise of karaoke drew you into a small but packed bar, and you were a few drinks in when you heard a voice like an angel and a rock-star had a baby singing a song from your favorite musical ever. The voice belonged to a singer wearing old-man suspenders, a pink tie, and a light coating of stubble from not having shaved since morning. He was fashionable, you guessed. Dapper. But it was that expressive voice that mesmerized you. As he sang, your gut was wrenched with the emotional pain woven through each note.

You were smitten. You tried to go talk to him, but the moment the song was over he vanished into the tightly-packed crowd. It was silly. It was far too bold to approach a stranger in the big city, but the warm tipsy feeling in your gut gave you confidence to hatch a plan.

Step one: Locate him from the stage.

Step two: Impress him.

Step three: Bond over mutual love for RENT.

Step four, if you managed to get that far, was a bunch of squiggly question marks and “kiss his face?” hastily scrawled in pencil. It was a long shot, you knew that. You were way too shy, and he was far too handsome not to have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a husband. Frankly, even if he were single, he was way out of your league. But still, the nebulous step four could simply be “Have a fun night with your new karaoke buddy,” and that possibility alone made you feel like glitter was exploding inside of you.

When it was your turn to sing, you found him from your elevated vantage—he was sitting far from the stage, at the end of the bar—and tried to catch his eye. You’d been using Out Tonight as your karaoke icebreaker for years, so you’d gotten good at playing up the sexiness, tossing your hair and biting your lip. Your clumsy ass had even picked up a few dance moves to spice it up, and you gave them your booty-shaking all when you saw him look up at you.

You were glad you’d worn the jeans that made your butt look fantastic, and your sexiest, strappiest sandals (which were actually Tevas with a two-inch wedge heel, purchased from an outdoor gear store). He was watching you with fascination as you pouted the lyric, “don’t forsake me,” at him.

It sent a shiver down your spine to think he might really be looking at you that way.

The moment you got off the stage, you were bombarded by guys offering to buy you a drink, asking for your number. It was discouraging that Sexy Suspenders was not among them. Apparently your sexy routine worked, but entirely missed its intended target. Then again, a man like that probably let women come to him.

Ducking and weaving past your suitors like they were physical obstacles and not people, you reached Suspenders. The bar stool next to him was open, held by a briefcase and folded suit jacket. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his hair was a little mussed. He appeared to be deep in conversation with his empty glass. You took a step forward to approach him, but an anxious constriction in your chest froze you in place.

Who do you think you are?! A gorgeous, sharp-dressed city guy will never even give you the time of day! Your mother’s nagging voice chimed in to warn you not to talk to strange men in bars when you’re out alone, in New York City, no less. You grimaced at your awesome double-dose of anxiety. He would either laugh in your face, or you were about to get murdered. Hooray!

But there was a loneliness in his demeanor that encouraged you he wouldn’t laugh, and up close, you noticed he was so short you could probably pick him up like a little baby chipmunk if things got out of hand. Ignoring how thick his forearms were, of course. But if he crushed you with those, you would die happy.

***

The next singer on stage had started screeching a rendition of Don’t Stop Believin’ with ten drunk buddies, and Barba was squeezing his eyes closed to try to drown them out, so he was caught completely unaware when a tap on his shoulder startled him.

“Is this seat taken?”

His vision blurred. He had to rub his eyes and look twice to be sure he was seeing who he thought he was seeing. “Mimi!” he blurted. “From the—nice, um—no. No one’s sitting here.”

He moved his belongings to the top of the bar, and you sat on the vacated stool, quite pleased with yourself. The bartender immediately handed you a pink icy cocktail with a slice of lime, and pointed his thumb to someone at the other end of the bar who paid for it. Barba followed his gesture to a very cute guy in his twenties and felt a twinge of double-edged jealousy that the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was most likely about to get up and leave him, and that the drink hadn’t been for him, because frankly, he couldn’t blame you. You did get up, but only to crane your neck to find your benefactor. When you did, you gave the world’s dorkiest thumbs up, while conspicuously putting your hand on Barba’s shoulder.

Barba’s lips spread into a smug bastard what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it smirk as he stared down his attractive rival. His head cocked to the side pleasantly. The other man’s flirtatious gaze fell into an annoyed tick. You sighed with relief as he moved away.

Turning back to Barba, you realized your hand was still on his shoulder and quickly removed it. You inhaled and said, “I heard you singing you were amazing do you want to do a duet together? Can we? I love RENT! I’ve always wanted to do Light My Candle—can we do it together?” in one breath.

Your flurried gush of words nearly knocked him off his stool—he put his hands up defensively and sat wide-eyed, nodding slowly as you went full babbling-nerd on him. You may not have been as suave as he initially thought, and oddly enough, he was okay with that. It was disarming, and your enthusiasm was infectious.

Because his instinct to distance himself from anyone he might risk forming a real emotional connection with wasn’t working at the moment, he grabbed you by the shoulders, locked his piercing eyes with yours, and emphatically answered, “Yes. We must!”

***

Having a karaoke partner is essential for Broadway musical numbers, as most of them are duets—two or more characters interacting with each other as the plot of the show advances. Light My Candle was one of your favorite songs, and snagging the mysterious suspendered singer meant you could finally perform it outside your shower.

It was a bouncy back-and-forth duet that was fun to sing, but you forgot how aggressively flirtatious it was until you had to ask him—you hadn’t even asked his name yet—if you had the best ass below 14th street, and about wax dripping between your… um, fingers. But the way he looked at you made seducing him so natural. You just had no idea if it was part of the performance, or if it was real.

When the song was over, you bounced on your toes, clinging to his arm for balance as you tripped on the stairs down from the stage, squealing, “That was so much fun!” He put his hand around your waist to steady you. It felt like it was made to be there.

His face was flushed red and his eyes sparkled with exhilaration, and he quickly agreed to another duet, though he muttered, wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow, “Thank god no one from the precinct is here.”

Performing together with a partner always makes you feel a connection—even if it’s just drunken karaoke. When you sang one part of a harmony and he picked up the other part, your voices became two halves of a whole. And with musicals, it’s as much about acting as it is singing. He threw so much emotional intensity into the lyrics, which gave you something to respond to, throwing it back at him in fluid conversation as your voice soared above his and dove beneath it again.

You hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, and you had a feeling he hadn’t, either.

Not that you had any way of knowing, really. You guessed it by the ease in which he embodied Roger’s stubborn refusal to open his heart, by the mournful way he lifted his drinks to his lips like he was toasting at a funeral. His expensive leather briefcase and formal attire, too, suggested a well-paid but dreadfully boring line of work, like a financial manager.

Your guess was dead-on, in truth. Barba was vigilant against dating anyone he met professionally. Even if there had been a secretary or paralegal or two he’d had chemistry with, for the sake of his career, he could not afford to conduct himself in a manner that could raise even the hint of a scandal or ethical conflict in the workplace. And anyone he met outside of the workplace… well, he didn’t. His entire life revolved around his job.

The bartender had just brought a fresh round of drinks, and your head rested on your fist, elbow on the bar. Barba was staring deeply into your soul with those pretty green eyes, trying to figure out how he managed to get you and how he could keep you.

“We should do Another Day next,” you grinned.

“Who do you think you are, barging in on me and my guitar!” He sang in a gritty rock voice, poking at your chest accusingly while holding an air microphone with the other. You forgot to be surreptitious and blatantly checked for a wedding ring.

After Roger’s verse, you sang back Mimi’s part, seductively leaning in closer to him. “There’s only us. There’s only this...” As you leaned closer, his eyelids drooped, and his eyes darkened. “Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.” The smoky smooth molasses of Scotch was strong on his breath. He studied your face hazily, his eyes drawn down to the movement of your lips. There was no mistaking his attraction for a performance now. You sang softer and softer until your forehead was resting against his, your lips almost touching. Then you just breathed.

“No day but today,” he mulled the lyric and the impulsive circumstances that had led him to being with you in that moment. “I should follow that advice more often.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you murmured. “Here I am in the city, having fun,” your voice slowed to a crawl as your eyes flicked up and down his face, “...with a perfect, handsome stranger...”

His tongue ran over his lower lip again as his eyes dropped to your mouth and clouded over with some sultry thought.

You’re not sure which one of you moved first, but in the next moment his lips were melting into yours, desperate and passionate. That tempting tongue of his ran along your lower lip now, sliding easily inside as your mouth parted to invite him within, swirling in heated wet circles around yours. It was heavy with the taste of Scotch and the faint bitterness of coffee, as if that were all he’d eaten that day. You curled your fingers into his hair and deepened the kiss, moaning into his mouth, and his broad arms closed around your back and pulled you off your bar stool onto his lap.

His skin was burning hot, and waves of heat coursed up through your body like you were both on fire. Your pulse thundered in your ears until it drowned out the off-key music, and each pounding heartbeat sent a corresponding throb to your cunt. Your eyes closed. All that existed was the messy clashing of your teeth and tongues, the woody-sweet scent of his cologne filling your lungs, the heat of his strong hands on your back, and the bulge of his cock twitching beneath you.

When you finally had to come up for air, and hopped back onto your own bar stool, suddenly self-conscious of how pornographic that nearly was, all he had to say was, “I’ve never done that before.”

You blinked. “You’ve never… kissed someone?”

“Not someone I just met in a bar!” his eyebrows shot up and he sounded so utterly scandalized, your euphoric high from kissing him came crashing down. He saw you as some kind of cheap tramp for kissing him. Pretentious asshole. Suddenly you felt like shit.

You turned your attention to the second round of that fruity cocktail that random guy paid for. It turned out to be a pretty tasty drink, so you ordered another. Maybe you should have given that guy a chance.

“So, are you here by yourself?” Barba asked your profile, not bothering to hide the patronizing concern in his tone.

“Yeah,” you said without looking up.

“Jesus. I thought so. That’s really dangerous, you know.”

“Ugh,” you groaned and pivoted away from him further, leaving him confused. So first he implied you’re a slut, and now he was pulling the whole, the city is full of predators, but I’m a Nice Guy—let me walk you home routine. This is what you get for picking a guy based on how good he sings.

“I did not mean to imply that. I only meant that I’m usually more... careful.” Oh. You must have said all of that out loud. Oops. “But you’re right to be suspicious of my intentions. There are… all kinds”— he breathed the word out in a jaded huff—“of tactics predators will use. Manipulations, brute force, drugs, fake personas… And all they have to do is claim consent and half the time the jury believes it even if the physical evidence is horrifying.” He was getting visibly angry thinking about it, his drink dangerously close to spilling as he clenched his fist around it.

You stared at him. “Um.”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, “I’m an A.D.A. for Manhattan. Prosecutor. I’m a lawyer,” he clarified when the acronym earned no look of recognition in your eyes. “Lately I’ve been working with the Special Victims Unit, so when I see someone drinking alone late at night, talking to complete strangers,” he gestured at himself. “You have no idea how many sexual assault cases start with this exact scenario.”

“Big-shot lawyer, huh? Sure, now pull the other one.”

“What?” His head cocked at you in utter bewilderment.

“Pull the other… leg. You’re pulling my leg?”

“I know what it means, I’ve just never heard it said by anyone under sixty. Are you secretly an old man?”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re an old man,” you retorted childishly.

His lips folded in on themselves as he tried to keep a straight face. “I don’t know. What can you tell me about the Model T?”

You took a grumpy swig of the fruity strawberry cocktail.

“What was World War II like?”

“So are you really a lawyer, or do you just use that line to pick up chicks?”

“I am, I am!” he laughed. “I can prove it. Let’s see...” he pulled out his phone, brought up a search result for his name, and scrolled through headlines. “DA’s Office Helps NYPD Persecute Immigrant Families,” “Justice at Last for Serial Rapist Victims,” and others rolled across the screen. He narrowed his eyes as his index finger hovered over each one. “Oh, sounds like I’m an idiot in this one,” his mouth twitched into a sardonic smirk, “and I’m a real asshole here… Oh, look, here’s one where I’m the big hero.” He held out his phone so you could see the photo of him in another flashy suit and bold tie, speaking to crowd of reporters in front of the courtroom steps. He looked so sexy in his full three piece suit, and much more severe, his face hard and intelligent. The caption below it praised his victory putting away a notorious rapist, and identified him A.D.A. Rafael Barba.

“Wow. That is you. Who knew I was doing karaoke with such an important guy?” You slung your arm around his shoulders, which were irresponsibly broad and solid. God, being with him felt so right. Casual touches were so comfortable even though you’d just met, and the way he responded, melting under you, sent a wave of heat through your lower back.

He kept flipping through headlines, his brow quirking a little at one, eyes narrowing at the next. Then he saw one that made him stop scrolling. He put the phone down on the bar and scrubbed his hand over his face and hair, blinking back tears suddenly forming. You caught the glowing screen before it automatically locked. The headline was from today. “Local Teacher Found Not Guilty—.”

His head dropped into his arms on the bar. “It was my fault. If I had done something different, been more prepared...” A sad groan emitted from the Barba puddle.

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” you soothed, and rubbed his back sympathetically. “So one guy got acquitted. It happens every day.”

“I know,” he growled. This fact was the opposite of comforting.

“You’re sure he was guilty?”

“He did it. To at least a dozen kids over the last two decades, but no one wanted to testify, or the statute of limitations was up, and then our key witness… There must have been something I could have done, something I didn’t think of. I let him get away with it.” His shoulders heaved as he sobbed into his arms. “I fucked up.”

You kept rubbing circles over his back, whispering soothing words to him. You leaned down and peppered his head with soft kisses. He shifted off the top of the bar and began crying into your chest, his arms wrapping around you like a baby lemur. You held him tight, suddenly understanding that this was the memory he came here to drown. This was why all night you had caught him looking wistful every time the conversation lulled. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. “It’s alright. Shh.”

His arms tightened around your waist, then relaxed, tension melting from his body. “This is nice,” he sighed into your shirt, enjoying being snugly pressed against you, surrounded by warmth. “Thank you… this is nice.” He never let anyone comfort him like this. Never let his need for comfort show under his stoic exterior. If his judgment were functioning properly, it would have struck him as a red flag how easily he sought comfort from a stranger that he wouldn’t have accepted from his closest friends, but it felt good to let it out.

Eventually, he remembered his dignity and sat up, drying his eyes on his sleeve and glancing regretfully at the wet splotch he’d made in your shirt.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. He picked up his latest glass of scotch, and swirled its half-empty amber contents before setting it down again. It was possible he had drunk enough.

“It’s OK. You had a bad day.”

His lips tightened at the corners in agreement. “Usually Liv is the only one who tries to cheer me up. So, thanks for…” He closed his eyes and tilted his head. “You’re very nice.”

Your chest fluttered. He was terribly cute, and far too vulnerable for you to be having these lascivious feelings about him.

[iwriteforthetincanman]

Mandoctober Day 11: Sorgan

A/N: I went off the deep end with this one folks! This also acts as I part two to day 4: Nevarro. Thank you for reading! Also I may have drawn inspiration from one of @dindjarindiaries​ writings at the beginning of this with Ad’ika’s eating habits. :3

Warnings: angst, self deprecation, sadness (lil anxiety) hurt and comfort, fluff and a hint of spice at the end

This is for @leo-moon​ ‘s Mandoctober!!

Another place Din didn’t think they’d ever return to was Sorgan. It had been a while since they had last visited, before Din had met you at least. After what took place on Nevarro there had been a little distance between the both of you, but not enough to cause concern. 

Din had admitted to himself and to you (whilst you were asleep) that he was deeply and utterly in love with you, forevermore. What the both of you didn’t know was that whatever was about to take place next was going to change both of your lives...forever. 

As cliche as that sounded, you had a job to do. 

Feeding the child was as mundane as things could get around the Razor Crest, but he sometimes made it interesting. Whilst you weren’t looking he managed to sneak three extra berries by floating them into his mouth with his special powers. The only way you knew this had happened were the purple stains on his face, the one that you had just wiped clean. 

“Ad’ika, you know you’re not supposed to eat more than I give, you might get a tummy ache.” Chastising the kid gently, you plucked him out of his high chair, making your way to the cockpit. 

---

Din had been as strict as usual, Mandalorian style. Don’t communicate with anyone suspicious or unnecessary, Don’t contact me unless absolutely necessary and last of all, don’t do anything stupid. These were all the rules you had to abide by just to go unnoticed on each and every planet your feet touched. He reminded you so often it was like it had become your version of the creed. 

What Din didn’t tell you was that there was a village on this planet where everyone knew him. Apparently the last time he visited he had helped save the village from being practically destroyed by thugs. So when they saw him again, they weren’t only surprised (which is what you were expecting) but they also celebrated. Alot.

There was dancing, music, drinks and lots of food. You could stay here for a couple of weeks, Din had told you. It was safe enough for now. This whole experience had been a clear juxtaposition of what the Mandalorian told you. It broke the rules, you didn’t know why he did this. 

That is...until you met her.

Omera.

When you first met her, you should have sensed something between them just by the way she practically ran over at the sight of him. Over time, you realised that Din knew her better than the other villagers of Sorgan. Then it started to scare you how close they were. She gave him food, cared for the child and kept him company. 

It was like you weren’t even there. Either he didn’t care as much as you thought he did or...you really weren’t needed.

Not right now at least.

That night you watched as the villagers danced around the campfire, so happy and content with their lives. A new song started to play, this time husbands started to bring their wives into the circle, bringing them close as they swayed slowly. You would’ve smiled at the heart warming sight if it weren’t for one thing…

Omera holding her hand out to Din.

It felt like someone was ripping your heart from out of your chest and crushing it into dust right in front of you. If he chose to dance with her you knew you never had a chance with him...probably from the beginning. 

Were all these emotions you felt over the past couple of years a figment of your imagination? It was insane how stupid you felt in that moment. Feeling tears pricking at your eyes just went and proved that thought...all you could do was get up and walk as quick as you could, away from the gut wrenching scene. 

You didn’t want to cause a fuss, despite all these conflicting thoughts and feelings.

---

Crying your eyes out didn’t seem like the best solution at first. 

Hidden amongst the boxes in the hold, you tried to will yourself to stop. It felt like your heart wouldn’t cooperate with your brain. Din hadn’t even done anything to you specifically and he had managed to tear your heart in two. It could’ve been worse…

Who are you kidding? All of today had been a perfect recipe for disaster. 

Omera had known Din longer than you had...did you even have a chance against her? She was beautiful, capable and she was already a mother. To you, she was everything you weren’t. 

And Din Djarin...you could never say a bad word about him. You had recklessly fallen for him, not even thinking twice about the consequences. If another person hadn’t gotten between you two it would’ve been something else, with him being a Mandalorian, he could’ve gone on a hunt, leaving you and the child only to never return. 

Yeah...that could be the ‘worse’ option. 

Seeing him die in front of you? That was a close second.

Dying in his place? ...you would do it in a heartbeat.

Even now, thinking your heart had died in that one evening, you knew you would still do that.

“What are you doing down there?” 

In the midst of your self deprecation you hadn’t even noticed Din standing in the middle of the Crest. Startling out of your stupor, you got to your feet, wiping your tears away rapidly. 

“W-Where’s the kid?” You sniffled. No matter how much wiping away you did, you knew Din had spotted the tear tracks.

“He’s fine...he’s with Omera.” Just the very sound of her name on his lips almost caused you to cry out in pain. It was like he had directed a knife right at your heart. 

Seeing your face crumple like that, Din had no clue what was going on. After he had refused Omera’s offer to dance, he turned to you only to see you practically running into the woods. Wondering what on Sorgan you were doing, he followed. He would follow you anywhere, really. 

“She’s...she’s an amazing mother.” In an attempt to compliment her, you tried to keep yourself together. Of all things to happen, you didn’t want to lose your composure in front of Din over something so...foolish.  

“Why were you crying?”

It wasn’t a question of if you had been crying, he already knew that, he just wanted to know why. Of course...you couldn’t tell him the truth! Not without admitting the intense series of feelings you had for him! 

“I-I was upset...about the dancing.” What. The. Kriff. Was. That? Of all the excuses you could’ve come up with? You went with the dancing? Well, it was partly true in a sense. 

“The dancing? What was wrong with the dancing?” Upon asking this question, you really looked at him. Even in all his beskar clad glory, you couldn’t help hearing how quiet his tone was. Did he always talk like that or was it just with you? Taking a breath, you answered.

“I...don’t know how.” Now that...that was a whole truth. 

Even if you had been upset over Din’s choice in dancing partner, you had no clue how to even approach the subject of dancing, let alone with another person. 

“...I could teach you, if you like?”

...You weren’t expecting that. But how could you refuse?

Stepping closer towards the bounty hunter, you gave him a small smile.

“I’d like that very much Djarin.” Hearing a chuckle at the use of his last name, you grinned. Hearing him laugh was always a rare experience, knowing you caused that kind of joy? Sent you over the moon. 

Just the touch of his gloves brushing against your spine as he pulled you closer was the cause of many impure thoughts racing through your head. Scolding yourself internally, you let out a shaky sigh, awaiting his next move. 

“Usually the guy leads and since I know how to dance and you don’t...seems like a good idea.” A laugh peppered his words as he placed one of your hands in his, leaving the other around your waist. Thinking back to the villagers, you remembered how the women placed their other hand on their partner’s shoulder. 

Mimicking the action, you felt like you had drifted somewhat closer to one another, if that were even possible. 

“If you listen hard enough you can hear the music coming from the village...it kinda echoes off the trees.” Doing as he said, you closed your eyes, intently listening out for the soft hum of dainty instruments as the notes thrummed through the forest. 

“...it does.” You giggled lightly at the observation. Wondering how, even with the helmet on, he caught on to all these little details regarding the common senses. Sight, sound, smell, taste and...touch.

It felt like his hand prints were burning through your skin, despite the extra layers. This was the closest you had ever been to the Mandalorian, armor or not. Wounds or not. This felt so...so intimate. 

“Now, it’s okay if you step on my feet the first couple of times, but it's a simple pattern so you’ll get used to it after a couple of minutes.” Minutes? He was going to dance with you for longer than a single song? 

“S-Sure thing.” Stumbling over your words, you tried to gain a grip on yourself. The need for coherent thought struck you as he began to sway. Tripping over your own feet, you realised how difficult it was to do this whilst keeping your eyes on Mando. All the couples made it look so easy. That was when something Mando had said came crashing back to you.

“Wait...you said you already knew how to dance? Who taught you?” You didn’t know what you were expecting him to say as he took a moment to collect his words but you guessed that someone in the covert had taught him for fun. Instead...he opened up to you.

“My mother taught me.” Those words were spoken so quietly yet it was almost as if he had yelled them into your mind. Just the image of a little Din standing on top of his mother’s feet as 

they swayed around their home brought a fresh batch of tears to your eyes. 

“You’ve...You’ve never talked about her before…” Trailing off, you didn’t expect him to tell you more. You didn’t need him to, you knew how sensitive the subject of his parents was. You would never make him feel uncomfortable for your own personal gain. 

“You remind me of her...sometimes.” This sentence was an attempt to knock you off of your feet altogether as you glanced down, a furious blush kidnapping your features as you faked a hurried look at your feet. 

“...how so? If you don’t mind me asking that is.” You would ask, but if he didn’t want to go further. Further than this...a simple dance lesson yet it was so much more. If he didn’t want to tell you about his mother, one of the people who meant the most in the galaxy to him besides the child...perhaps besides you. You were completely fine with that.

“I don’t mind you asking questions Y/N...it’s one of the many qualities I like about you.” The combination of the words ‘I’, ‘like’ and ‘you’ filled you with an overwhelming urge to hug him. Restraining yourself, you chose to grin at him, shyly albeit. 

“My mother was curious, kind, forgiving yet fierce in the way she loved those around her. It showed through in the many ways she cared for me and my father. I remember asking her one night how they met, she told me that the scenario of that night was predictable up until the point where she saw him through the crowd. I remember the look in her eyes when she recalled ‘It was like the galaxy was pushing us towards one another’ she said. I remember...at the time, I yearned for something like that to happen to me one day...although it was a childish dream I know now.” 

“It’s not childish to yearn for love Din.” You couldn’t help your outburst, biting your lip, you refused to meet his gaze. That helmet may have deemed an unforgiving message to others but to you, it was him. You had refused to face the facts for so long now...no matter how true they were, but you were...you are so utterly in love with him. The Mandalorian. 

“You sound like you’re talking from experience.” He hummed, letting out a bitter chuckle you faced him with a forced smile. 

“I always seem to fall for those who have already fallen...for someone else it seems.” The overwhelming sadness was threatening to overtake you once more. You didn’t want to cry...not in front of him. Not after this wonderful pick me up, the feel of the beskar against you, all you wanted to do was rest your head on his shoulder and dance the rest of the night away. 

“-Are you...are you in love with somebody right now?” The daring request shocked you. Sure, you had learnt a lot about Din tonight, you knew you refused to tell him your true feelings in the past but...you couldn’t seem to lie to him in this moment. This bittersweet yet perfect moment. 

“...Yes.” The force of air that left your lips was inhuman in a way...like you had stopped breathing. At this point you hadn’t even realised how effortlessly you had been dancing with the Mandalorian. Not until he brought you to a complete stop, the music carrying on through the wind.

“I...I think that despite how often I tried to remind myself that love wasn’t in the cards for me...that I wasn’t worth that kind of sacrifice...I fell in love. What I didn’t expect was for it to hurt...Din, it hurts so kriffing much and I don’t know what to do because I don’t want to leave you and the kid so I can run away from the pain.” You were crying now...brilliant. 

“Why? Why would you talk about leaving? Ever?” You could hear his breathing now, it was heavy and gasping, like he had been dunked in ice cold water. You hated to imagine the look on his face that went with the sound of his voice. It broke your heart all over again. 

“Because Din...I fell in love with you and I didn’t even think twice about it. About how you could go on a job and not come back, you could get killed right in front of me, leaving me to care for the kid alone or...or you could already be in love with someone else.” A sob bubbled up into your chest and it pained you to keep it there...not as much as this though.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Omera!” 

The scream of this dragged itself around the edges of the Razor Crest, leaving you a heaving mess due to the effort. Through the tears you realised you had ripped yourself away from him, his hands were held in mid air...he was reaching out for you.

“I’m...I’m not in love with Omera.”

His voice pierced your heart in the complete opposite result of tonight’s events. 

“What?” This time you were completely and utterly confused, tears beginning to dry. Slowly, the Mandalorian approached you, noticing the way he wrung his hands it was obvious...he was nervous. 

“Do you know what ‘Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum’ means cyar’ika?” At the nickname he frequently called you, your heart warmed despite your lack of knowledge towards Mando’a. 

“No? ...But why do I feel like I’ve heard those words before.” Crinkling your forehead in confusion, you wracked your brain for where you had heard those words before. You may not know what they mean but you knew they were important. Infinitely important. 

“...Probably because I’ve said them before.” His helmet was hanging now, the lip of it pressed against his chest as he stared at his own feet. 

“...Din, please tell me what they mean.” Stepping closer to him this time, you pressed your hands to his chest. Refusing to meet your gaze, the quiet intensified by tenfold, loaded with tension. 

“Din Djarin...please.” Resting a hand on the cheek of his helm, you raised his head so he knew how serious you were.

“They mean…’I hold you in my heart forever’...it’s the Mandalorian way of saying I love you.” He may have whispered these powerful words but it felt like he had stolen your breath. You wanted to kiss him, gods above you did. Instead, his arms wrapped around you once more and he pressed the forehead of his helm to yours. 

“How could you ever think I was in love with something else when I’ve only ever had eyes for you? I’ve been pining after you for months on end, wondering if there was even a possibility that you could love someone like me in return.” These words may have been softly spoken but they scorched a way into your heart as you pressed against him in return.

“Din Djarin, a fearless bounty hunter and Mandalorian...do I make you nervous?” You joked a blush still fresh on your features. 

“...Extremely cyar’ika.” Biting your lip once more, a pleasant sensation rang through your body at the sound of his voice lowering.

“Are you ever going to tell me what that one means?” Fluttering your eyelashes up at him, you attempted to flirt.

“Darling, sweetheart.”

“That was two different words?” 

“It means either and both at the same time. Mando’a is complicated.” He shrugged under your palms. 

“What about...cyare?” You tested the word on your tongue only to gain a shiver under your fingertips. Knowing that Din felt the same way made you the happiest person on Sorgan. But learning that your words affected him just as much as his bewitched you? It sent stars into your brain. 

“Beloved.” 

At the dangerously low pitch he emitted, you knew you were in for a long night.

[kaylorrehabcenter]

Gold Rush and Happiness are Sisters

Gather round everyone and witness the clown try to prove that Taylor Swift wrote songs about a married (now pregnant) woman in the year of our lord 2020.

Also this is a seven page doc in my google docs so like. Get a cup of tea and some popcorn.

Ok full disclosure this is…..mostly me clowning. Like seriously. Don’t take my words as the word of God, this is just my interpretation and how I listen to the songs. And as a (former? Idk man) Kaylor I’m going to want to make these songs about my ship. Acknowledge your biases kids.

Also like. I change my mind a lot, but for a while this theory that Gold Rush and Happiness are connected has been stuck in my head and I wanted to write it down and post it in case anyone else got something out of this.

If you read my last post on Gold Rush (here!) you’ll know I don’t think of it as a happy song. To elaborate further- I think it’s Taylor catching herself looking back on Karlie/that time in her life (Because I think Karlie is emblematic of the 1989 era for Taylor and is thus tied to the pain that came out of that, along with her ties to the masters heist) and reminding herself it wasn’t good and ended for a reason.

“Gleaming, twinkling/eyes like sinking ships on waters/so inviting, I almost jump in”

“But I don’t like a gold rush” 

The sinking ship line makes me laugh. I like to think it’s Taylor saying she’s literally sunk our (dead) ship, but that’s mostly regressing to 2015 tumblr humur.

To the actual analysis, she almost jumps into these waters, maybe it’s literal (don’t text your ex kids, write a bop like closure instead) or maybe it’s more metaphorical. She almost allows herself to think the good times were the only times. Maybe there’s a desire to move back to nyc, capture the magic that she may have felt during the era. 

“I don’t like that flying feels like falling till the bone crush”

But that’s the thing. It feels like flying at the time, but it isn’t a feeling that can last. These relationships built on temporary promises (we’re assuming here Taylor was a side thing for Karlie, not that serious and built not to last, even if there were genuine romantic feelings on both sides, which I think there were to some level) won’t last, and will hurt when they do end. At least, this one did.

“Everyone wonders what it would be like to love you”

Everybody wants who she’s singing about and is imagining what it would be like to be with them, they think it would be a fairytale. Hell, Taylor probably thought their relationship would be a fairytale against her better judgement. Karlie is a celebrity and a model no less, yes she has other things going for her (Koding and investments), her brand and her success in the fashion world depends to some degree people desiring and fantasizing about her.

“I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch”

The funny thing about that, Taylor’s the only one who knows the pain of that relationship, of being a side thing and never committed to. It’s draining. It's difficult. She isn’t allowing herself to jump into those waters.

“I see me padding across your wooden floor/with my Eagles t shirt hanging on the door”

I point out this line mostly because it feels like a Delicate call back (Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs). Am I reaching though? Probably. Also as someone with parents about the same age as Taylor’s (give or take ten years), I like the Eagles reference. Stream Hotel California for clear skin <3

“At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit”

Taylor was the first person to call Karlie out on her “I’ve tried!!” bullshit, how cute. <3

Besides this line being very iconic, it also shows to me that Taylor’s been frustrated with Kar even when she was busy giving her heart eyes. She’s a frustrating person to be around even when you are “turning her life into folklore”.

“What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?/With your hair falling into place like dominoes”

Damn that’s a gay couples lines you got there Tay. Wonder if you’re wondering what it must’ve been like for Kar to grow up in the model industry, and all of the pressure and exhilaration that entails. From a male’s perspective ofc.

I also take the dominoes line to be Taylor saying what must’ve it been like to have this easy idyllic childhood. Maybe Taylor is the first time Karlie’s been with a girl outside of a hookup and didn’t have to go through the pain of realizing she was into women until later in life. (Not that that’s not painful, it’s just different, and allows you to have a perfectly straight childhood/teenagerhood)

“And the coastal town we wandered 'round had nеver seen a love as pure as it/And thеn it fades into the gray of my day-old tea/'Cause it could never be”

Maybe this relationship never existed in the way she thought at all. You know Carrie Fischer’s character in When Harry Met Sally and how until she meets the right guy, she spends the whole movie insisting that whatever married guy she’s seeing really loves her!! And he’s gonna leave his wife for her!! That’s what these two songs make me think about, waking up and realizing they were never going to leave their wife, you were projecting this whole story onto someone else, but that doesn’t mean there was no value in what happened.

“And the coastal town we never found will never see a love as pure as it/'Cause it fades into the gray of my day-old tea/'Cause it will never be”

The coastal town seems an obvious Rhode Island reference, to get more specific it reminds me of when Josh and Karlie visited Taylor at her Rhode Island home in 2014 and Josh looks peeved as hell. 1, 2 Also if I remember correctly, enty has a blind where he says there was a huge fight between Josh and Taylor which ended in Taylor not wanting to be around him again. Just interesting to note. (And if anyone has the receipt, please send it my way!)

Taylor may have been projecting this fairytale narrative at the time of being able to make it work, of being friends with Josh even but it didn’t work and the fairytale is left to be folklore, never made real.

The outro is the same as the intro to the song, implying to me that while she’s telling herself it was bad, you weren’t happy, she’s still catching herself missing it and what she had with Karlie. She left a part of her back in New York see, and she can’t stop her mind from retracing old footsteps.

Now, onto how I think Happiness and how I think it connects. I’m about to audition for the national team in the reaching Olympics. Wish me luck. :)

A bit of a preamble though, I don’t take this song ~super~ literally. Depending on what day of the week it is I think it’s probably her divorcee rpg simulator or her closing the book on her ex situationship gf on her own terms ~in a straight way~. So not to discredit this whole ass post but. Take with a grain of salt.

“Honey, when I'm above the trees/I see this for what it is”

See that bold bit? That’s the main connective tissue between these songs. She’s finally woken up and now that she’s this far removed from the relationship she sees what it was. To add to the pain of it all, this is especially potent if you wonder if Karlie gaslit Tay into thinking this wasn’t a big deal, they were just fucking around when Karlie has literal Softest Love Song You Are In Love dedicated to her.

“But now I'm right down in it, all the years I've given/Is just shit we're dividin' up”

This seems to me to be a masters heist reference. Karlie since Lover, is musically tied to this event in Taylor’s life, it’s what I think is keeping Tay from making a clean break from her so to speak. 

“Showed you all of my hiding spots/I was dancing when the music stopped”

This seems to be a Rep era/dwoht reference. Yes, Taylor constantly references dancing, but the hiding spots (loved you in secret! you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis!) combined with the dancing when the music stopped (I'd kiss you as the lights went out! Swaying as the room burned down!) brings out the full kaylor clown in me. 

“There'll be happiness after you/But there was happiness because of you/Both of these things can be true”

This is probably some of the most gut wrenching lyrics Taylor’s ever written. Damn, imagine having that written about you. Anyway, the point here is the thesis of this whole damn post. Gold Rush is Taylor catching herself daydreaming about the happy parts, and reminding herself about the bad to make her snap out of it. Happiness is her coming to terms that both parts of that relationship were true. Things aren’t that simple. 

“Haunted by the look in my eyes/That would've loved you for a lifetime/Leave it all behind”

This feels very Cruel Summer doesn’t it? “I love you ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?” These lines make this relationship read as two things to me. One, it was very one sided, and Taylor/the narrator, was obviously left behind at the end of it when she was heavily invested into making this work. And 2, it was doomed from the beginning. Again. Big cruel summer energy here.

Or it’s a divorcee rpg simulator 3000. Now with extra glamour and opportunities to dramatically drink wine in dressing gowns.

I don’t have a lot to say about the second verse of the song that. Karlie has a nice smile, Gatsby reference, dig at whoever the next person to take Taylor’s place as a side fling (or a dig at Josh, or a baby reference since that’s what the Gatsby line refers to). The only other thing worthy of note for this post is the line following the Gatsby reference.

“No, I didn't mean that/Sorry, I can't see facts through all of my fury”

 is the next line, where she regrets what she just said and admits to saying overly harsh things and overlooking the truth of the matter when she’s angry, which to me feels like a big Afterglow/Me! reference.

“There'll be happiness after me/But there was happiness because of me/Both of these things, I believe”

I think a lot of what Taylor’s doing emotionally in the chorus is legitimizing this relationship for herself. Yeah, Josh and Karlie will have a happy life in Florida with Ivanka and them, but Taylor also made Karlie happy too and she doesn’t want Karlie to forget it. 

It reminds me of the way she talks about August, that she genuinely loves James/Karlie, and thinks they have something. But she’s just the pit stop on the commitment highway, and the depth of her feelings for the other person will never be acknowledged. It’s exhausting you know?

“In our history, across our great divide”

“Guilty, guilty reaching out across the sea/That you put between you and me”

Nothing to see here, just a nifty parallel. Karlie doesn’t want wrinkles in her new life see.

“There is a glorious sunrise/Dappled with the flickers of light/From the dress I wore at midnight, leave it all behind/And there is happiness”

This bit (which has some of my favorite imagery in this whole dang album!!!) reminds me of the end of the Wildest Dreams mv where she runs out to the car with the lover following her after the big charade of pretending not to care as much as she does, while knowing you aren’t the one that got picked.

Interestingly, if you look at the shot of the four characters together near the end, the outfits parallel the ones worn by Kar, Tay, and Josh at the 2014 Met Gala. This was of course the one where Tay and Kar got ready together and Karlie proceeded to spend the night with Josh and where Tay just looks. Miserable. (see here!)

The line also parallels Wildest Dreams lyrically.

“Say you'll remember me standing in a nice dress/Staring at the sunset, babe”

Which you know. Worth noting.

The last line (And there is happiness) seems to point to there being happiness in leaving the bad situation just as much as there was happiness in the situation. It’s Time to Go anyone?

“I can't make it go away by making you a villain/I guess it's the price I paid for seven years in Heaven”

A series of thoughts. One, I love the first line where Taylor acknowledges anger isn’t going to make it better. There’s only so much being angry in this situation will do, and it’s not like Taylor’s record is clean here either. (I mean I assume. We know she went psycho on the phone anyway)

Two. Seven years in heaven is both a play on a famous game/turn of phrase (Seven minutes in heaven) but one of the more bold references to Karlie in her whole damn discography. Do I think they’ve been together for seven years straight? Not really. But do I think Taylor saw an opportunity and jumped on it? Yep. 

“And I pulled your body into mine/Every goddamn night, now I get fake niceties”

No thoughts head empty this line is a sucker punch and I love it. If anyone needs me I’ll be watching her perform ikywt on the vsfs and crying to yail.

“All you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness”

Oh look! Another Gatsby reference. Or Taylor calling Karlie out on profiting off of her association with Tay after they clearly did not end on good terms. (Folklore themed maternity shoot anyone?) I mean, whatever floats your boat. 

A bit on the green light metaphor from Gatsby, because it’s worth noting even if I don’t have much more to say on it here.

“Situated at the end of Daisy’s East Egg dock and barely visible from Gatsby’s West Egg lawn, the green light represents Gatsby’s hopes and dreams for the future. Gatsby associates it with Daisy, and in Chapter 1 he reaches toward it in the darkness as a guiding light to lead him to his goal.”

Yes I copied that from Spark Notes. No I am not sorry. I have an exam tomorrow and I’m writing about a dead ship on a dead social media website. Sometimes we do what we must do.

I love the ending of this song, I really really do, it feels like taking in a breath of air and finally feeling free of the weight you’re carrying. It feels like a final goodbye, like Tay’s getting closure on her own terms and I truly love that for her. Bb’s stepping out into the daylight. <3 

There is happiness

In our history, across our great divide

There is a glorious sunrise

Dappled with the flickers of light

From the dress I wore at midnight, leave it all behind

Oh, leave it all behind

Leave it all behind

And there is happiness

So, what was this whole seven page post for then? 

Gold Rush and Happiness being connected has been a theory rattling around in my brain for forever and I’ve wanted to write it down for just as long. The tldr of it all is pretty simple, Gold Rush is about her reminiscing about the good parts of Kaylor, and pulling herself out of it, reminding herself it was bad and bad for her. Happiness is her legitimizing the relationship, and moving on while acknowledging there was bad and good in their story. It just took me seven goddamn pages to articulate that.

If you’ve reached the end of this. Damn. Thanks. Go get a snack or something, you deserve it after reading this.

[expiredfairydust]

best friends ~ a bubblegum rock/kazuleon fic || ft. nb gay! kaz

leon and kazuichi were best friends - that was obvious to anyone who saw the pair together. the way they did everything together, from kazuichi following leon in his music career, always the loudest cheerer at his shows, doing free maintenance on his equipment - which they never did for anyone else; to leon always being kazuichi’s test dummy when they wanted to test an invention, cheering the mechanic up when things went wrong even when no one else cared; there was no mistaking it. the two were almost soulmates, it seemed.

but they had secrets. secrets no one could ever find out. not even each other.

because their stories weren’t happy ones, and without each other they’d have nothing to keep them alive.

well, leon would have his music career. his rocky, unpredictable music career... his music career that could topple with a gust of wind...

but kazuichi, they had no one. and nothing. and it terrified them to think of life without leon, once their best friend got famous and left them behind.

but of course, they didn’t know leon’s secret. his huge secret that could make or break his career, the most likely being the latter.

but kazuichi’s secret; their shameful, embarrassing secret; it was that they were in love with leon. like, scary in love. like, they’d be willing to do anything just for a chance to see their best friend smile again.

best friend,,, the words stung the mechanic’s heart. they knew they’d probably never get any further than besties, but they didn’t realise that it’d hurt this much. that the thought of leon leaving would be so gut wrenching and heartbreaking.

because leon’s band was going on a tour soon, and while it was only a japan tour, kazuichi knew this was just leon’s beginning, that soon the ultimate baseball star would be a world rockstar too. that then, they’d be tossed aside, because someone better would realise the ginger angel’s perfection and they’d go off together in love.

in love...

just like that, kazuichi was pulled out of their thoughts to realise they were tearing up while snuggling with the man they were thinking about in question. leon kuwata, stroking kazuichi’s hair with a concerned look.

his lips - god his beautiful, kissable lips, his lips that kazuichi constantly fought the urge to kiss again and again until they were both breathless - were moving but kazuichi hadn’t caught a word.

“huh?” the mechanic mumbled, rubbing their eyes with their sleeves. that made the ginger punk chuckle and ruffle his best friend’s hair before repeating what he had said,

“i said, cutie: you’re looking sad, what’s on your mind? it hurts to see you about to cry because i love you homie” he proceeded to add “no homo though” with a little laugh.

it was a lie. he was actually trying to tell kazuichi his terrible, ugly secret. his secret that no one could know. even kazuichi, the universe seemed to be screaming. no, especially kazuichi.

because leon couldn’t risk losing kazuichi. the one perfect thing in their life.

“i was just thinking” kazuichi replied, resting their head on leon’s lap. leon gasped and placed a hand over their forehead as if he were checking his friend’s temperature.

“thinking?! are you sure you’re ok kazzy?!” he dramatically exclaimed, smiling at the giggles he got as a reaction.

he couldn’t risk that being the last time he heard that laugh... maybe it was for the best if he didn’t tell kazuichi his secret. it could always wait after all.

but that didn’t matter, what mattered was cheering kaz up! so, the ginger boy smiled and started to speak again, “how about we sing something together? singing cheers me up!” he said, proceeding to start singing.

“you are my sunshine, my only sunshine...”

it was the older boy’s comfort song, and hearing him sing it made kazuichi’s heart flutter

“you make me happy when skies are grey...”

they hadn’t realised they were singing along too

“you’ll never know dear, how much i love you...”

there were more tears coming up in both of their eyes, sharing the same thought.

“please don’t take my sunshine away...”

before either of them could stop to think, their lips were touching in a sweet kiss.

[professional-bts-simp]

Broken

Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Summary: The aftermath of your boyfriend’s betrayal.

Genre: Angst

Warning: Possibly sad

Part 2 of 3

Other parts: part 1

A/N: The angst ending of ‘Saying Goodbye’.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn't know what felt worse, the way Jungkook ripped your heart out or how your best friend wasn't answering his phone. You suppose Jungkook ripping your heart out broke you, but Taehyung not answering finished you off. You thought he'd at least care enough for you after witnessing for himself what your now ex boyfriend said and did.

You couldn't stop the tears rolling or the pathetic, loud wails escaping you every time you took a breath. You leaned against your sofa, moving from kneeling to sitting on the floor. Pulling your knees to your chest you buried your head in them, body shaking with cries. You have no idea how long you sat there, maybe a few minutes, maybe a free hours. You grabbed your phone calling Taehyung one more time, hoping you'd have better luck yet to no avail.

You got up from your sitting spot stumbling a little at the dizziness you felt in your head. Forcing yourself to walk to your bedroom you close the door behind you, walking up to your bed you remove the blanket before getting in, covering your body and crying yourself to sleep.

The next day wasn't any better for you. You tried getting up from bed which proved to be an impossible task, but somehow you formed energy to force your body to get up, walking to the bathroom to do your routine. Walking back to your bed like a zombie you flop down on it, burying your head in the pillows. A ding caught your attention and you took your phone, seeing a text from Tae that filled you with a little bit of hope.

[Tae👌🤤]: Eat

A one word text. You almost scoffed at it, knowing that you both used to send essay long texts to each other, but you were kind of glad he at least sent you something, it felt like he wasn't ignoring you as much as you convinced yourself he was.

Eating turned out to be a complete bust. You weren't even able to finish your sandwich, it making you feel nausea and your stomach to hurt. Leaving the half eaten sandwich on the table you sluggishly walk back to the bedroom, wanting nothing more but to be suffocated among your pillows and blankets falling back into slumber.

Sleeping was another thing that seemed to avoid you, waking up every hour or so, unable to sleep from overthinking and the dreams, or more nightmares, you had. You finally decided to stay up after waking up for the third time, your phone saying it was four in the morning. You tried watching some of your favourite YouTube videos but they did nothing to lift your spirit or your mood, you only watched the screen with a stoic expression.

You put your phone down, getting your earphones and putting on the saddest songs you could find on YouTube, laying on your back staring at the ceiling for a few hours crying and feeling the tears roll down your cheeks to your neck. The sound of your phone going off distracted you from your self deprecating, wincing the moment you heard Jungkook's voice sing, having Euphoria as your ringtone. You pick up your phone seeing Taehyung's name across the screen. You reluctantly answer, heart rate speeding up immediately, hearing Tae's voice at the other end and how it sounded so small and frightened.

"Hey (y/n), how are you?"

You scoff loudly into the phone wiping the tears with the sleeve of the hoodie you've been wearing for the past two days, Jungkook's hoodie might you add. You don't know why there is an awkwardness when he speaks, you usually fell easy into a conversation, feeling comfortable with each other. You suppose dating then getting dumped by one of his members would cause awkwardness between you.

"Not good Taehyung. My whole world is crashing down," you play with the sleeve of the hoodie, nerves high, "could you maybe come over?" You hate how nervous you feel asking Taehyung to come over, but you just couldn't be alone anymore.

He was quiet for several seconds before he spoke again, "I don't think that's a good idea (y/n)." You couldn't describe the wrenching gut feeling you had, but you were sure it wasn't a good one.

"Wh-why not?"

Taehyung took a shaky breath, almost as if he were scared to tell you what's next, "The company doesn't think we should see each other for a while." And suddenly you understood why he was scared to tell you.

A new batch of tears welled up in your eyes, falling faster and faster down your already wet face. You couldn't believe what you were hearing, you lost your boyfriend and now you're going to lose your best friend. This had to be the worst week of your life. Taking a deep breath you steady your phone in your hands, determined not to let Taehyung slip past your fingers like Jungkook did.

"No."

There was a short silence on his end before he spoke again, "What do you mean 'no'? (y/n) this isn't something to debate over."

"I'm not letting you leave me. I can't handle that too." Your voice was a ghost of a whisper but Tae heard it, he heard it loud and clear and hated himself he had to put you through this, alone.

He was quiet once more on the other end and for a second there you thought he might reconsider, might convince the company to at least see you once a week or something, anything. You heard a door open and close and muffled voices on the other end, but then you heard a voice you could distinctly recognise anywhere, "Hyung get off the phone we have practice soon and you know Hobi hyung will kill us if we're late."

Jungkook.

"Who are you talking to anyway?"

"I'm really sorry, cupcake, I hope you can forgive me." Was the last thing Taehyung said to you before he hurriedly ended the call. You threw your phone against the wall, shattering it, how dare he use the nickname you loved more than anything? The old childhood nickname he affectionately gave you was now being run through mud in your mind. You felt angry, you felt sad, but most of all you felt betrayed. You had no one by your side anymore. How were you ever going to get through this?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Looking down at your phone you laughed at the new message that you got. Damn was he always this funny or did you never noticed it? Picking your coffee from the table you press it against your lips, swallowing the sweet taste of your beverage.

"(y/n)? Is that you?"

You almost choke on your drink at his voice. You look up from your phone, the tall figure standing in front of your table, a cup of what you can presume is a very sweet vanilla latte knowing he almost always got that at cafes.  You hadn't seen him in about a year, maybe a few months past a year and he still looked the same. Still devilishly handsome.

"Oh my God, Jungkook hi!" You smile up at him greeting him enthusiastically. Oddly you feel okay seeing him, there's a slight pang in your chest but nothing like it was before. He seemed a little thrown off at your greeting yet you decided to brush it off.

"Um how have you been?" He clears his throat, trying to sound normal and relaxed.

"Oh I've been good, great actually, been working hard and got a promotion at work." You hear your phone ding again and look down quickly, letting out a chuckle at another text. Looking back up at Jungkook you quickly saw a dash of confusion on his face before it was replaced by curiosity.

He looked down at your phone before looking back up to your face, "That's awesome, so um, what are you doing here? I mean at the cafe." He pointed a finger at the ground to indicate what he meant. You laughed slightly at that, Jungkook was always a dork. "I actually have a date today so I went here to wait for him." You nodded a few times, licking your lips then smacking them together.

Jungkook followed your action of head nods, his tongue sticking out against his cheek.

"Also I'm sorry to hear what happened with you and Jisoo." You offered him a comforting smile.

He stiffed a little, but kept his composure. "It's alright, these things happen." He looked down at his cup, far more interested in looking at it than looking at you.

"You have your date here?"

You raised an eyebrow at him, wondering why he would even ask you that, "Ah no, actually we're going to the movies," there was a doorbell chime, "and here he is now." You grabbed your purse from the other chair, waving your date over and standing up with your own cup in hand.

"R-RapMon hyung?"

"Jungkook hello. Didn't expect to see you here." Namjoon glanced from him to you, offering you that dimpled smile that gave you all sorts of butterflies. You linked your arm under his, moving closer into his touch while Jungkook still looked puzzled.

"When did this happen?" He swallowed hard, almost as the words physically hurt him to say.

Namjoon and you chuckled at the shared memory, "Well we met in a cafe much like this, half a year after you two…." Namjoon stopped, knowing it was a sore subject, for both of you probably. You started filling in after him, "And after that we just got to talking and hanging out and we clicked." You look up at the taller man, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek lightly, not noticing how Jungkook's face twisted into one of sorrow and pain.

You both excused yourselves, wanting to get to the theater as fast as possible to get good seats. When you and Namjoon left the cafe, Jungkook still stood there, looking at the glass door with a broken expression on his face and a broken heart. Now he understood how you felt a year ago.

Broken.

[wri0thesley]

number 11 with Melone?

“So…do you want your underwear back?”

warnings for: obsessive behaviour, stalking. neutral reader and pronouns although reader DOES wear sexy underwear. 

It's the third pair of underwear that's gone missing this week - and you really liked this pair, dammit! You're tired of going out to the cheapest clothes store you can get to with a shit assassin's wage (what kind of asshole pays their assassins this badly? Your boss, apparently), and having to choose ugly pieces that are on sale and not at all your personal style.

And, unfortunately, you know exactly what's happening to them.

You avoid Melone as much as possible. The rest of the team have not been at all coy about telling you you're doing the right thing; making vague references about how Melone treats possible lovers, or about how he can't be trusted, or about how he's just creepy. You've never been assigned to work with him on a mission - by all accounts, Melone works well alone, and Risotto is glad of that. But this is getting ridiculous.

You know it's none of the other guys. For one thing, they don't seem the type - and for another, most of them have shrugged and admitted they're keeping lovers on the side in safehouses and the like. Trying to keep their loved ones safe in the only ways they can. But Melone . . .

Well.

He's got nobody to come home to, if the boys in the squad are right. And from the hungry way he's always looking at you, eyes travelling the length of your body, hunger radiating off every lithe, panther-like inch of him, he's not particularly interested in keeping a lover off-base. He wants his lover somewhere a little closer to home.

It's not that he isn't handsome - he is handsome. It's just that he's so . . . intense. His eyes focused on you, gloved fingers flying over keyboard keys, low hum of acknowledgement in the back of his throat when somebody speaks to him. Utter focus. The cold, clinical way you've heard him talk about both his marks and his Baby Face mothers. Something about him just gives you shivers and shakes. Sorbet and Gelato are terrifying, sure, but they're terrifying in a way where you know what you're getting if you get on their bad side. Melone seems like he could snap at any moment.

You're not doing any good pontificating. You get up from your bed, slamming the drawer shut - your favourite pair of pale blue satin underwear with lacy rose appliques isn't going to retrieve itself from Melone's room on its own, you guess - and neither are all of the other nice pairs you've had to replace with sale rack rejects in leopard print and hot pink. You're sure Melone would appreciate them - he seems like the kind of guy who'd appreciate that kind of performance - but they're not very you.

You try and be quiet as you pad along the hallway. Melone's out on a mark, so you know he's not going to be around to catch you (the schedules of La Squadra members are easy to pick up on if you listen, or if you sweet-talk Illuso and bring him some of that hair conditioner he likes), but you still don't want anyone reporting back to Melone that you've been snooping about his room. Ugh. You wrinkle your nose, stopping outside his door. You can't believe you're going to go in there out of choice.

You hope it's not going to be like a weird fetish porn studio. You can barely look at the way Melone dresses without flushing red - most of La Squadra dress like they're in an erotic movie, but Melone is the utter worst for it. You pause, and take a deep breath. Alright. You can do this.

You push his door open--

And it's normal.

A perfectly ordinary, serviceable bedroom, much like how yours had looked when you'd first moved into the hideout. Yours is possibly a little more lived-in - you have nice coloured blankets and knick-knacks. Melone's bedroom is bare; a laptop on his desk, some biology and astrology books on a shelf, a tarot deck (you shouldn't be surprised about it, based on how much store he puts in where the planets where on nights people were born) - one decorative throw pillow. It's almost sad, how quickly Melone could probably pack his things up and just leave the squad entirely.

You almost feel bad for him, before you remember why it is you're in his room in the first place.

You're pretty sure Melone is stealing your underwear. Your used underwear, to make it even worse! Right out of your laundry hamper! (Melone, coincidentally, doesn't seem to have a laundry hamper. You wonder if his wardrobe is just full of the exact same suit and snort to yourself before you lean down by his bed and open a drawer).

Boring clothes. Civvies; plain shirts and jeans, that Melone almost never wears because his stand means he can work remotely. Clicking your tongue, you rifle through them - and your fingers catch on a hard edge. You push the fabric to one side and pull out . . . a photo album?

Is he secretly soft-hearted? Sentimental in private? There's a small smile on your face as you flick open the photo album, that falters when you realise the polaroids slipped within the clear casings all have one thing in common.

All of them are of you.

You, smiling as you talk to Formaggio. Your head thrown back in laughter on the sofa downstairs in the living room. Concentrating on a mark on a mission you'd been sent on with Prosciutto - your face falls as you rifle through them.

Not just you as a member of La Squadra. 

You as a civilian. 

A picture of you before you'd gotten caught up in this business. A picture of you and your family. Your graduating class--

Your heart begins to beat hard in your chest, as you drop the photo album and wrench open the second drawer.

A half-empty bottle of your perfume, that you thought you'd accidentally thrown away. Post, addressed to your old apartment before you'd moved in here. A napkin with a kiss mark pressed against it, lipstick in a colour you haven't worn for over a year.

Your guts feel like they're dropping through the floor as your shaking hands pull open the bottom drawer. This time, Melone's made no attempt to hide things from you.

Your underwear, neatly laid out beside one another, gussets showing. They're stained with something you know isn't from you. A sex toy that you'd bought and only used once because Pesci had knocked on your door whilst you were using it to check you were okay, and you'd bundled it away in your own bottom drawer so you didn't have to look at it and remember the sheer embarrassment of Pesci maybe overhearing you touching yourself--

Three more polaroids. You, undressing in the shower, bent over to fold your clothes. You, hands buried inside your shorts on your bed. You, getting dressed in a morning, bare in the light filtering through the curtains--

Your face burns at how open and vulnerable your naked body is in them. 

How did he get these?

Your hands are shaking, your mouth dry. You want to take your underwear back, but also - what might Melone do if he finds out you've found his creepy little shrine?

"Enjoying yourself?"

The voice is soft, the cadences gentle - but you still start, falling to one side, your head turning to stare at Melone through wide, frightened deer in the headlight eyes. He sees the fear on your face and smiles, cold and clinical, and you wonder if perhaps he's just going to kill you right here. He shrugs his elegant shoulders.

"I've been watching you for a while," he says, unhurried as he crosses the room, kneeling beside you on the floor like you aren't trembling viciously. He drags a gloved finger over your face in one of the polaroids, his small smile not faltering for a moment. "I had to bide my time, didn't I? But once you find such a perfect match, you don't want to let them go so easily . . ."

"Y-you're sick," you manage to spit out, heart beating like a drum. Melone tips his head to one side, considering.

"Healthy as a horse," he says, after a moment. He winks at you. "Hung like one too, if you want to find out."

Your fingers cling at his stupid, plain, characterless bedspread as you pull yourself onto your shaking legs.

"I'll tell Risotto," you whisper, your heart seizing in your chest. Your voice is coming out so dry.

"And who do you think he'd prefer to lose, cara?"  Melone says. He doesn't sound mean, or patronising, or smug - he sounds like it's a fact of life. "The new recruit, or me? Someone who's never failed on a mission? Who doesn't need a babysitter on jobs?"

"I--" your voice peters away. He's right.

"Besides," he says, motioning at the array of items he's collected. "Do you think I got these myself? Do you think nobody noticed? You're not the only one who can bribe Illuso with hair care products, you know." That same curious, simple smile on his face, he continues; "We share the same favourite brand."

"I . . . This is . . ."

Melone reaches over and he touches your face, griping your cheekbone in his fingers so you can't pull away. Your flesh feels like angry fire every place he skims, sickness rolling in your stomach.

"Oh, you're so pretty," he says, sing-song tone leaking into his voice. "You're going to be so perfect, tesoro."

The spell breaks, and you wrench yourself away. Fuck your underwear. Fuck all of your stuff. You stumble away from him, across the room, heading out of his door on unsteady legs that are at least managing to be fast. You hear Melone's voice, an echoing laugh as you head towards your own room to pack immediately and get the fuck out of here--

"So I'll take it you don't want your underwear back?"