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wkil-109-fmx-radio · 4 years ago

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[Zone Info]

Events:

Helium I - Fought between 1993 and 1998 when tensions between governments around the world finally turned to war. Nuclear warfare wiped out Northern-Middle Eurasia, most of South America, South-Eastern North America, and Southern Africa. The war ended when what was left of Europe and Asia surrendered.

The Rise of Better Living Industries - BL/ind started as a weapons manufacturing/power company that rose into a major monopoly and self-governing body that overthrew the US toward the end of the first Helium War. It immediately began an effort to bring “peace” to the nation by ridding the country of all individualism and “radical” beliefs, believing that different ideas would turn into conflict. This quickly turned into ridding the country of creativity and self-expression to make a perfect, crime-free society.

Helium II - Fought between 2006 and 2011 when Better Living Industries had taken control of what was left of North and South America and began attacking the rest of the world, trying to rid the planet of ideas that didn’t match theirs. The East Coast started rebelling against the West Coast, where BL/ind had established their capital in what was once Los Angeles but had been renamed Battery City. A wall of nuclear bombs was dropped around the Rocky Mountains and thanks to the radiation around the globe affecting the radio waves, no one knows for sure whether there is anyone else living on the planet outside of Battery City and its surrounding Zones.

The Rise of the Rebels - Since the very beginning of Better Living Industries’ reign, rebels had appeared. When Battery City was established as BL/ind’s capital city, settlements started popping up in the desert outside of the city. On the East Coast of North America, a massive rebellion effort was led against BL/ind during the second Helium War. As the years passed, more rebels started appearing in Battery City and moving to the desert, eventually renamed The Zones, especially after BL/ind seemed to have destroyed the East Coast rebels. Rebels in the Zones became known as Killjoys and rebels in the city became known as Juvie Halls. Rebels began attacking Better Living Industries factories and facilities, hoping to weaken the company but only resulting in angering BL/ind.

The Fires of 2012 - From April till August of 2012, Better Living Industries began lighting fires across the Zones in an attempt to destroy the Killjoys, as they had grown out of BL/ind’s control. The Fires got out of control and ended up spreading to some Better Living Industries camps and buildings that were still stationed in the Zones. As a result, BL/ind blamed the rebels for the Fires and denied any claims of the truth. The blame being placed on the rebels sparked the start of the Analog Wars.

The Analog Wars - Fought between 2012 and 2017 or, to some, from 2012 to the present. The Analog War wasn’t your usual war; it was mostly small battles in the Zones or sabotage of BL/ind or rebel facilities. Better Living Industries describes it as “an effort to suppress the rebels and their radical and dangerous ideals.” During the war, BL/ind established the Draculoid and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units.

The Pig Bombs of 2017 - On July 4, 2017, Better Living Industries dropped a series of bombs in Zone 8 to destroy the Killjoy farming communities that were settled there. BL/ind had previously withheld using nuclear weapons in the Zones because they didn’t want the radiation destroying Battery City so they settled for dropping them in Zone 8, although they ended up also destroying several important Better Living Industries facilities in the process. The bombs wiped Zones 7, 8, and 9 off the map, left some places in Zone 6 uninhabitable, and created a wall of radiation around the Zones and Battery City, trapping them and isolating them from the rest of the world. This marked the end of the Analog Wars, although some believe that since there was no official surrender or treaty, the war is still going on.

Places:

Battery City - The capital of whatever is left of the US that Better Living Industries can control. In Battery City, the citizens are required to take “Happy Pills.” In the city, BL/ind controls the weather, the way people dress, where kids go to school, and where adults work. Every citizen has a set routine, sent to them in the morning along with their medication. In the center of Battery City is the Better Living Industries headquarters which is the tallest building and largest complex in the city and home to the Director, the head of BL/ind.

The Underground - The subway systems under Battery City where many juvie halls live and plot against Better Living Industries. “The Underground” doesn’t always literally mean the subway systems and can be used as a relative term for anywhere juvie halls may live.

The Outskirts - The edge of Battery City, bordering Zone 1. This is where lower-class citizens live, along with some juvie halls, as this is the least regulated part of the city.

The Zones - The desert surrounding Battery City, where the Killjoys live. As the number of the Zone gets higher, so does the population, as the Killjoys like to be as far away from Battery City and BL/ind headquarters as possible.

Route Guano - The most used interstate in the Zones, running from south-eastern Battery City all the way out past Zone 6.

The Getaway Mile - The interstate south of Route Guano, which is shorter and goes more south but is often used for quick escapes from Battery City.

Death Valley - The area outside of Zone 6 that is dangerous and completely uninhabitable due to the extreme radiation.

Lighthouses - Well-known places across the Zones that provide sanctuary for Killjoys on the run

Train Station Avenue - A popular lighthouse along Route Guano in Zone 5 that is notorious for fights, food, and hitchhikers

The Nest - The largest lighthouse in the Zones, located next to DESTROYA in Zone 4

DESTROYA Site - The home of DESTROYA, a massive droid built by Better Living Industries to destroy the Killjoys during the Analog Wars but ended up malfunctioning and turning against them. The droid was shot down and has remained there ever since.

The Bunker - An underground bunker turned nightclub in Zone 6, popular for raves and huge amounts of attendees

Witch’s Hut - A small hut in Zone 6 where a supposed prophet of the Phoenix Witch lives

The Tracks - A race track in Zone 5 used for competitive drag races where parties are held and bets are placed for your favorite racers

Vocabulary:

Angel Cake - Killjoys who travel across the Zones selling food for cheaper prices

Audition - Initiation rituals that gangs in or outside of Battery City may have for you to be able to join. What you have to do varies from gang to gang

Babysitter - a term used to poke fun at a gang leader but also used as a genuine term for gang leaders who may be visibly older than the rest of the gang

Bacon - dead or dying Dracs and Crows

Batt out of hell - a term for new Killjoys but not used in a derogatory way

Batt Rat - a derogatory term used by Sand Pups to describe new Killjoys who just escaped the city and don’t know the Zone ways

Black Smith - someone who’s good at repairing or modifying technology or cars

Bifrost - places in the Zones that were so greatly affected by bombs, that the sand turned to glass

Blanket drive - driving at night with the headlights off, the windows down, and the music turned up loud

Carbons - The currency used in Battery City and the Zones. One carbon equals four dollars

Chilly - something or someone that’s suspicious

Clap - a physical fight

Cloud - A large group of Draculoids and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W traveling through the Zones

Compass Rose - a Killjoy who knows the desert like the back of their hand

Costa Rica - things that went crazy or got out of control

Crash Queen - a daredevil or thrill seeker who is known for doing things that could easily get them killed and doesn’t care

Deadfaced - taking Battery Acid

Dead Pegasus - a fuel company in the Zones

Debut album - someone’s first love

Digital - An important moment shared amongst two or more rebels that they know they will never forget

Draculoid - droids and brainwashed Killjoys designed to kill rebels. Also called "bats" or "Dracs"

Drifter - someone who lives a nomadic lifestyle and strays from commitment in relationships

Drifting - A relationship that isn’t strictly anything but simply some sort of attraction between two individuals. A sort of go-with-the-flow, whatever happens, happens kind of relationship

Drive sidestreet - another way to tell someone to piss off. Also could use “get off the highway”

Dust Trail - an urban legend or a term used by non-religious Killjoys to describe religious Killjoys’ beliefs

ElectroKat - the most popular battery brand in Battery City and the Zones

Exterminators - High ranking Better Living Industries officials placed in charge of S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units

Fact News - The one news program in Battery City, notorious for spreading lies to the citizens

Favorite Record - someone’s significant other

Firefight - a fight using ray guns

Fly half-mast - that state after having recently lost someone close to you

Gearhead - someone who’s obsessed with all things mechanical

Gemini - someone suspected of being a spy for Better Living Industries

Ghost Chase - Searching the Zones for someone who is possibly, or most likely, dead

Ghosted - killed. Also can use "dusted"

Graffiti Bible - A collection of religious writings across the Zones, mostly talking about how DESTROYA will come back to life and destroy Battery City and the Phoenix Witch

Gravehead - crazy Killjoys who have lost everyone and everything and throw themselves into dangerous situations

Gravity - anything that brings you down

Groupie - someone who travels with different gangs and trades favors for food, water, and protection

Halo Head - religious Killjoys who believe their beliefs put them above everyone else, especially non-religious Killjoys

Happy Pills - Pills issued by Better Living Industries that they say will lift your spirits and protect you from the radiation but make you more submissive and easier for BL to control. The rebels call them "Battery Acid"

Hit the red line - run away, usually from a bad/dangerous situation

Icy - when someone dies or goes missing in a suspicious way

Juvie Hall - rebels who haven’t left the city, usually because they can’t or because they’re working with the Killjoys to smuggle supplies out to the Zones and/or give them information from the city

Killjoy - rebels who live in the Zones

Lawyer - someone who ruins all the fun

Mailbox - small landmarks in the Zones where an old mailbox is painted and decorated and filled with letters, mostly to people that other Killjoys have lost. The more religious Killjoys believe the Phoenix Witch delivers the letters put in the mailboxes to the dead

Maple Plaza - Places in Zone 6 where radiation is still very thick and dangerous

Mega - interchangeable with "wicked"

Motorbabies - people who live and breathe all things car-related

Mousekat - a cartoon character from Battery City

Murder - a magazine in the Zones with Zone news

Pangea - A friendly gathering of two or more gangs

Paperboy - someone who travels across the Zones collecting news, gossip, and reporting deaths, usually for Dr. D or Murder magazine

Phoenix Witch - a supposed deity of the Zones, looking out for the rebels and carrying the souls of the dead into the afterlife

Pigs - another term for Dracs and Crows

Plus - A battery replenisher used by droids that are known for being highly addictive

Power Pup - a pre-moistened dog kibble brand that is often the only source of food in the Zones

Ray Gun - guns that shoot high-powered lasers instead of bullets. Rebels often customize them

Rebel - anyone who actively works against Better Living Industries

Ritalin Rat - drug addicts, usually used for those addicted to Happy Pills but can be used for Zoneweed addicts as well

Robin Hood Honey - party going Killjoys that look beautiful but don’t act like it

Rongee Kay - Killjoys who wander from party to party

Royal - something fancy or high end

Runners - juvie halls who smuggle supplies into the Zones

Sand Pup - someone born in the Zones or someone who has lived there most of their life

Sand Worm - a derogatory term for Killjoys used by Better Living Industries

S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W - BL loyalists specially trained to destroy anything they deem worthy of destroying. Also called "Crows"

Screwhead - someone who parties too much and thinks too little

Shiny Magazine - a magazine for mature readers in the Zones

Shiny - interchangeable with "awesome" or "cool"

Shower Curtain - A rare day when the sun is behind the clouds and the heat isn’t so unbearable

Smiley - someone acting suspiciously

Sour - something off

Squeaky - not having committed a crime against Better Living Industries but still wanting to rebel against them. Also used when someone seems to avoid fights or dangerous situations even though they’ve never done that before

Static - another word for sand or remote areas of the Zones

Trojan Horse - a painfully obvious lie

Tumbleweed - someone who wanders the Zones, living a nomadic lifestyle, having no home or gang

Vend-a-Hack - A device used by Killjoys to hack into Better Living Industries vending machines to steal various supplies

Vending Machine - Dispense a variety of items, including ray guns, batteries, ammo, stickers, stress toys, Plus, Power Pup, and water

WKIL 109 FMX - Doctor D’s pirate radio station that plays news and music

Zone Rat - a derogatory term for Killjoys used by Better Living Industries and some Battery City citizens

Zoneweed - a popular drug grown and passed around in the Zones

#mcr #my chemical romance #killjoys #the zones #danger days #better living industries #bl/ind #party poison #fun ghoul #jet star #kobra kid #death tw #drugs tw

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years ago

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Take My Hand (Part Six)

Summary: rafael returns and things only get more complicated as the Davis case begins

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Reader, Rafael Barba x Reader

Word Count: 8,240

Song: There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me / But if it's all the same to you / It's the same to me (coney island by taylor swift)

Warnings: T, swearing, the angst is back, lot of soft parts, but a lot of difficult emotions to detangle, “sightless in a savage land” (22x04) is used as background (but i also f*cked with the timeline to make things easier for me), also the v*rus doesn’t exist b/c i don’t want to live in reality.

A/N: ok, things are happening, and i want to saw those of you who spot all the little parallels w/i the fic i love you. thank you to those who have stuck with the series and have reblogged and commented!! as always, thank you to @laneygthememequeen and @bucky-of-the-opera for being the best beta readers!!

You would be lying if you said you didn’t imagine this moment.

The moment you saw Rafael again. It was a thought that haunted the recesses of your mind — stuffed away with all memories of him — one that wriggled to the forefront when your thoughts had quelled in the silence and stillness. And you wondered what he would say. And what you would say.

And now you didn’t have to wonder.

"What are you—" the question deflates on your lips — stupid question — so you ask another, "when did you get back?"

"A few days ago," Rafael jerks his head to pull you aside, an easy smile on his lips, too easy. It wasn't easy when you both started dating. It wasn't easy when you left. It wasn't easy when he proposed. And it wasn't easy to say no. Nothing was easy when it came to this. But there he was, "my mother is moving down to Florida."

You raise your eyebrows, "Finally retiring? Did you have to pry the keys of her charter school out of her fingers?"

He gives a wry smile, "No, but helping her find a replacement and helping her pick out a place down there made it easier. That and promising to help her move."

"You're a good son," he was good — a good son, a good friend, a good prosecutor—

But he wasn’t good for you.

"Well I am a man of many talents," he crosses his arms, “with a few notable exceptions.”

And you know where this is going — to a place you don’t want it to.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but you cut him off, “Are you representing Davis?”

The words stuck in his throat, his mouth opening and closing, before he swallows them, “I am,”

“I didn’t know you did defense work,”

He tilts his head, “Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there? I assume you’re here because Noble-Gordon wants the case?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Keeping tabs on me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” the teasing is so routine — the banter clicks into place — picking up right where you both left off, smoothing over broken hearts and hurt feelings. Hiding behind quick witted barbs because it was easier than untangling ensnared feelings.

“Rafael—”

“I met with Jack,” he admits, holding his hands up, “I asked about you. Can you blame me for being curious?”

No. No, you couldn’t — not when you had asked Jack about him.

“I can try,” you want to bite the inside of your cheek when he smirks, “why do you want this case?”

“Off the record? Liv and Fin,” he slides his hands inside his pocket, “I suspect they didn’t know your firm would want the case for themselves, but,” he adds, “there’s a way this could work for both of us.”

“How?”

“How about a partnership?”

“A partnership?”

“Your firm gets their name on the case, and I need financial support,” and you furrow your brow, “but I have some terms.”

“Of course you would,” you sigh, “what are they?”

“One, I do the actual defense work in court, two, your firm’s involvement is limited to only a few employees — I don’t want your partners’ politics to be running the case — and three, you’re on the case with me,” and you raise your eyebrows, “before you say no—”

“Before I say no?” you repeat, “Rafael with everything that happened—”

“Before anything happened, we worked cases together, and even after everything happened, we did,” he shifts from foot to foot, “we know how the other works, we know our strengths and weaknesses, and I need someone I trust to work this case on — so I can walk into that courtroom for the first time since—” he sighs, biting his lip before speaking again, softer, “I want your help, and I know I have no right to ask for it, but I am. And that term is negotiable, but I’m pretty sure your firm will agree. You’re the best person to work this case.”

“But—”

“And before you ask,” he says, gaze soft, “this isn’t a ploy to win you back.”

You blink, “I know,”

Did you? You wished you could tell your heart because now it’s thumping against your ribcage, “I know I missed my chance, and I don’t want to cross any boundaries,” he reassures you, “this will be professional.”

“‘Professional,’” you repeat, the taste of the word disconcerting with just how unprofessional this felt, “Rafael—”

“Just think about it,” he tilts his head, “meet with Davis — trust me, he needs our help,” and then he pauses, “and you know that we’ll be facing—”

“I know Sonny is the A.D.A. on the case,” and he’s also my boyfriend. The words want to leave your tongue, but the sheer awkwardness is as disconcerting as working with Rafael — “Look—”

“Don’t give me an answer yet, just talk to your firm,” he checks his watch, “I have to go, but I’ll email you.”

“And where’d you get my email?” he shrugs.

“You can blame your firm for that one — firm’s website lists you,” and he begins to walk past you before pausing to look back, “it was nice to see you...counselor.”

How was it that he walked into your life as easily as you had left his? How was it that you wanted to hate him, but it was so easy to like him? How was it that everything was so easy — when it was him?

“It was nice to see you too,” and you spared one last glance at his retreating back, as the guard buzzed you in.

And that wouldn’t be the last time you’d see him.

Sonny was beginning to doubt any of this would ever get easier. Checking his watch, it was well past 3:00 PM and he hadn’t even eaten yet — typical. He spares a glance at the whiteboard — littered with schedules, case numbers, and statuses of cases.

But there was still so much to do.

He checks his phone — you had texted him, the messages bunched together, but his eyes fall back to the files stacked on the conference table. He begins placing them in a case box. It would have to wait.

“Carisi?” and he pauses at a voice — a voice he hadn’t heard in quite a while. He’s grizzled — different from the clean cut A.D.A. he once was, but he’s also lighter — again, different from the broken man who left his city with his reputation in shambles.

His words, not Sonny’s.

But now Sonny knows, knows that he wasn’t only broken because of the case, of having to leave his city, but because of you — the you that Barba had been with for years, the you whose heart he broke, the you who said no when he proposed.

And now you were dating Sonny.

Him, not Barba.

He stands in his doorway, “How’s the eighth floor treating you?”

But this was the same man that was his mentor, his friend — so he smiles.

“No differently than any other junior A.D.A.,” and Rafael gives a knowing smile, as Sonny continues to put away the files.

“They want you to cover their ass all the time? Never lose a case?” he knew it well — because he had lived it.

“Pretty much,” Barba crosses his arms, as Sonny grabs the box and brushes past him, “it’s good to see you, Barba. If you came to taunt me, I got all day.”

And it was good to see him — why wouldn’t it be? He would be lying if he didn’t wish before that Rafael was his boss instead — it would have been easier if nothing else. But not now.

“Huh, they gave you an office,” Barba remarks, glancing around his shoebox of an office, peering out his window to look at the paralegals at their desks, “nice view.”

Sonny places the box down, snorting, “I had to move the xerox machine and four filing cabinets just to get the desk in,” and then move them back. It wasn’t much — but it took him this long to get it — glorified closet or not, it was his.

“So you caught the Mickey Davis case?” He’s standing by the window, and Sonny sighs — the case had been all over the news, the media were having a field day, and so were his bosses upstairs. These were different times — and this was a dangerous case — vigilantism wasn’t something to be taken lightly. But it wasn’t something that was simple — not in this case.

“Oh, yeah,” Sonny sighs, leaning against his desk, “horror story.”

“What are you charging?”

Sonny almost scoffs, “The guy brought a gun to court, he followed the vic to transport, and shot him at point-blank range. What do you think?”

“I think the guy's got a Purple Heart, titanium leg, and PTS,” Sonny blinks — what was this?

“That doesn’t change what he did,” Sonny says slowly — Barba knew that — killing is still killing, no matter how justified it may seem.

He said it himself best — otherwise we might as well let the blood flow in the streets.

“He was betrayed by the V.A. and A.C.S., even the eighth floor has to know this is a dog,” Barba says, stepping forward, a ghost of a chuckle on his lips.

“Maybe,” Sonny admits, “but they still want him to do time.”

“That has to be negotiable,” and that’s when it clicks.

Sonny pauses, his mouth parted, as Barba meets his gaze, “Hold on,” he says slowly, “before we continue—”

“Mm-hmm,”

“Are you representing Mickey Davis?” And it’s Barba’s turn to pause, and he’s searching Sonny’s gaze — and he doesn’t know for what.

“I am,”

Sonny scoffs — that would have been nice to know from the start, “Okay,” Sonny gets to his feet, shutting his door and rounding the table to sit behind his desk — time to get down to business, “What kind of deal are you looking for?”

“No way you want to put this guy on trial,”

“Three and half years? No, but thank you,” Barba sits across from him, and Sonny knows he’s playing hard ball — he always played hard ball, but this time, they weren’t on the same team.

“Barba, we both know this wasn’t heat of the moment,”

“Maybe to you, not to Mr. Davis,”

Sonny raises an eyebrow, there was defending your client and then there was plain hubris,“There's security cam video. There's multiple eyewitnesses. Mickey broke the law—”

“A jury might see that as defending his daughter when no one else did,” Sonny narrows his eyes — jury nullification — did he get that strategy from Calhoun or Buchanan?

“Get the jury to ignore the law?” Sonny knew he wouldn’t make easy on him “That's a slippery slope, Rafael.”

He smiles, he’s almost proud, “You really have become a lawyer,”

Sonny wrinkles his brow, “What does that mean?”

“Mickey Davis is a human being. So are the jurors,” Rafael rises to his feet, as Sonny calls after him.

“You going for insanity?” He half-expects him not to answer — that would be the smart thing to do — but Rafael’s pride always trumped any strategy.

“I'm going for straight-up not guilty,” Rafael opens the door, turning, “and my co-counsel may be in touch as well.”

“Co-counsel?” Sonny leans back in his seat — he didn’t know Barba needed a second chair, “who’s that?”

And your name leaves his lips, “Excuse me?”

“Looks like you’ll be facing both of your mentors, Carisi,” and he knew that Rafael hadn’t seen the picture of you on his desk — “I’ll make sure to relay the offer as well. See you at arraignment.”

Sonny stares at the closed door, before his phone vibrates again, and he glances to see another text message from you: Hey, checking in on you. Can I drop by?

And Sonny knows, he knows you would never cheat. He knew this doesn’t change the year you had spent together, he knew it doesn’t change that you loved him, he knew it didn’t change anything, but — another text comes through: I miss you — it was complicated.

Not right now. Busy.

And he sighs, but it also didn’t change how he felt about you.

I miss you too.

The lights in the D.A.’s office had long ago dimmed — the barely lit fluorescents flickering as you passed the empty line of desks before finally reaching it. You knock at his office door, leaning against the doorframe, watching him work, his brow furrowed in thought, pen flicking as he scribbled notes.

“You forget about me?” Sonny barely looks up from his work, tight lipped, and your smile begins to slide off your lips, “Sonny?”

“Sorry, got caught up in work,” he leans back in his chair, just as you step forward, “what time is it?”

“Way past dinner,” you round his desk, leaning against it as you tilt your head, “you okay?”

You reach for him, but he moves away, crossing his arms, “Barba dropped by,” and his eyes fall on you — and you wonder if this was what it felt like to be interrogated — the pages of the book snapped shut, his cards resting against the table, and his face blank, “He wanted to discuss the Davis case—”

Your heart drops, “Sonny—”

“—and apparently you’re his co-counsel?” he shakes his head, sighing, his eyes falling to his desk, “When were you going to tell me that you met with Barba?”

You frown, “I wanted to tell you, I was going to tell you before I went to meet him — but I couldn’t reach you. You know my partners wanted to score some points—”

“Because of the Thompson case, I know—” but his brow is still furrowed, “but how did you end up calling point on the case?”

“I had to meet with Davis to discuss the details of the case,” you explain how your partners were too busy to go down and handle it nor did they trust any of the associates to do it, “we need this case — it’s a high profile case involving a vet? We had to jump on it, but when I got to Rikers, it turned out someone else got the jump on it first.”

He scoffs, “Barba,”

“He had already met with Davis, he offered to work in partnership with my firm, granted I handle the case and he gets to be in the courtroom,” and Sonny raises his eyebrows.

“He asked for you specifically to work the case with him?”

“Because he knows how I work,” your hand reaches for him slowly, “nothing more than that. Sonny, please don’t be mad — it was a coincidence.”

“I’m not mad,” he sighs, eyes finally meeting yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, “Would have been nice to know you two decided to work the case together,”

“I was going to tell you — I was just about to—”

“I know,” and he’s pulling you into his lap, “Just don’t let me find out you’re working with your ex from your ex,”

“I won’t,” you whisper, pressing your lips to him softly, “I promise. I didn’t mean for this—”

“I know,” he kisses you again, his arms wrapping around your middle, “what about us?”

Your lips purse, “What about us?”

“Our relationship — will we have to disclose?” it hadn’t been a problem since the cases you handled fell out of Sonny’s jurisdiction most times and when it didn’t, you delegated the work to someone else, “it seems like professional responsibility 101,”

“Well, I already told Mr. Davis, I got his written consent in writing when I met with him, just in case I end up handling the case,” you bite your lip, “as for the judge, it shouldn’t be a problem as long as we have the consent of my client.”

Your hand runs over his cheek, and he turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, “Are you going to work the case?”

“I have to talk to my firm, see what everyone wants to do,” your fingers run over his face, “but if they do want me to handle the case, are you okay with that?”

“You know I can’t make that call for you,” his hand rests on the small of your back, “it’s yours to make, sweetheart.”

“But I don’t want to make it without knowing you’re okay with me working with him—” you lean down to press a kiss to his temple, “are you okay with it?”

“I am,” he says softly, “are you?”

“The firm needs the case — and this could be my shot at making partner,” his lips press butterfly kisses to your neck, and you sigh, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sleep on it?” he murmurs against his skin, “always how the best decisions are made.”

“Says who?”

“Me,” he replies.

And you chuckle, noses brushing, as you lean closer, “As long it’s from a reliable source,” and your lips meet again, he pulls away, but you give chase, until you’re pressing him into the seat, fingers sliding along his shoulders, your hand finding the back of his neck, swallowing his moan with ease.

“Doll,” his lips are kiss ruined, eyes fluttering, and you trail kisses along his jaw, “you’ll be the end of me,”

And the double meaning isn’t lost on you — “I would be happy to end with you,”

He smiles, and it’s enough. For now. You rest your forehead against his for a moment in the relative silence, only broken by the hum of the fluorescents and the quiet sound of your breathing.

Until his stomach growls.

And you blink, a grin breaking across your lips, “Hungry?”

“It depends,” and you slide off his lap, offering your hand to him, and he cocks his head, “did you cook?”

You huff at him, “You’ll be glad to know I ordered takeout right before I got here,” and he gets to his feet, taking your hand, “but just for that, I’m cooking for the next week.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” he wraps his arm around you, grabbing his bag, before flicking off the light.

And after you got back to the apartment, eating dinner, and slipping into bed, you lied awake, his quiet snores filling your ears, and you turned to look at him — barely illuminated in the moonlight that peeked through the parted shutters. His eyes shut, his breathing steady, his freshly washed hair falling against his forehead.

You turn away, reaching for your phone — finding the email from Rafael, disclosing the details of the case — a question ending the email: Are you in?

And you glance back at Sonny — only you didn’t know the answer.

He was okay with you taking the case, right? You scoot a little closer, nestling yourself beside him a moment, he said he was okay with it.

You shut your eyes. He was okay, and you would be okay.

Right?

“Wow, this is a nice upgrade from your office at the D.A.’s,” Rafael remarks at your office door, taking a moment to examine the room.

You barely look up from your work — a dozen cases, associates’ work to check, and several arraignments to do, “That’s because someone took the only nice office, and stuck me in a closet off of yours,”

“Bureaucracy at work,” he replies, shutting your door and taking stock, “how’s defense work treating you?”

“The same way it has been I left the D.A.’s office,” you spare a small smile, “wonderfully.”

“Found your calling?” you shrug.

“You could say that,” you sigh, placing your pen down, “what about you?”

“What about me?” he raises an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes. Always had to work for it when it came to Rafael Barba.

“What have you been up to?”

“Looking something I lost a few years ago,” and you furrow your brow, and he smiles, “don’t flatter yourself, counselor — I meant a calling,”

Your cheeks burn, “You came to talk arraignment? Thought you could handle that yourself, Mr. Innocence Project,”

“I wanted to talk deal,” Rafael crossed his arms, “there was one thing I didn’t disclose to you in that email and that’s my meeting with Carisi,” and you blink, only you knew about that already, “I met with him yesterday — he offered man 2.”

Sonny didn’t mention that, but then again it was better that he didn’t, “But you don’t want to take it?”

“I don’t,” he slides into a chair, pulling a legal pad out, leg folded over his knee, “I think we can do better — I think we can get not guilty.”

You raise your brow, “Do you want to—”

“I want to go for jury nullification,” he crosses his arms, shrugging, “we have a strong case for it.”

“And we have a man who literally shot another point blank on security footage, and who brought a gun with him to court,” you shake your head, “we have to at least consider it,”

“What’s there to consider? Mr. Davis doesn’t want to take the deal,” and you pause, and Rafael nearly wavers, adding, “I may have discussed it with him—”

“Before asking me about it?”

“You only told me this morning you were on board,” Rafael holds up his hands, “I had a duty to relay it to him,”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he didn’t want to deal — he wanted his day in court,” he tilts his head.

“Did he? Or did you?”

“What are you implying?”

“Did he come to this conclusion on his own or did you help him along?” and he pauses — all the answer you needed, “Rafael, this is our client, we have to be realistic—”

“He’s a vet with—”

“Awards and a prosthetic leg I know, but he also could go to jail for murder — and never see his daughter again,” and he opens his mouth to speak, “so I’m asking you, are you taking this to trial for him or for you?”

His lips are a thin line, “First of all, this is for him — I wouldn’t take this trial if I didn’t think there wasn’t a good chance of winning and if I knew this wasn’t what he wanted,” and he sits up, “and what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Your firm probably wants this to go to trial — need the publicity of a trial for this to work — for you to get the break you need, isn’t it?” Rafael argues the same way he does in court — his words pointed and true, aimed for the chinks in someone’s armor, “sounds like we’re on the same page.”

You glare at him, “Don’t question my motives,”

“Then don’t question mine,” the words are terse, a period at the end of a paragraph that is still left hanging, until he chooses to start a new one, “Is this about the case? Or is this about us?”

You scoff, “So much for keeping it professional,”

Your name leaves his mouth soft, but firm, and your eyes meet his, “Is it going to be like this?” he asks, crossing his arms, “throughout the entire trial?”

“Like what?”

And he sighs, running a hand over his bristled chin, “I know I’ve made mistakes, I know, you know, but I can’t change what I’ve done,” his voice grows soft, “and I’m sorry, I wish I could — I wish I didn’t hurt you, but I did, and I take responsibility for that,” your gaze falls and he continues, “but if this is too hard, if you don’t want to do this, if you’re still angry, like you have every right to be—”

“I do,” the words leave your lips, “I do want to work with this case with you — it’s just—” you break off. You had meticulously tucked away any feelings for Rafael Barba away along with any reminder of him, including the man himself. It was easy, it was clearcut, but this wasn’t easy — because now your feelings were leaking, slipping from your careful control, and where there was a leak, there was a flood. And you were bound to get hurt.

“It’s hard,” he swallows, and you blink.

“It’s hard for you?” the words leave your lips harshly, and he flinches, “I didn’t mean—”

“No,” he gives a rueful smile, “I deserved that, after everything I put you through,” he shrugs, pressing his lips together, “I did love you, I did, I was just afraid.”

“What were you so afraid of?”

And he shakes his head, “I saw so many relationships fall apart around me — my own, my parents, our cases—” he breaks off, “I didn’t want us to hate each other, I didn’t want to regret you,” a bitter chuckle leaves his lips, “but you ended up regretting me.”

You frown, “I don’t regret you,” and his brow furrows, “You’re surprised by that?”

“If I were you...I’d regret me,” and you sigh, hands wringing under your desk.

“Rafael, I loved you, even though it hurt, I can’t regret that. Do I wish things turned out differently? Maybe, but,” your voice softens, glancing at the picture of Sonny on your desk, and you gesture around you, shrugging, “it also got me to where I am.”

And you know you should tell him — you should tell him that you’ve moved on, you should tell him that you’re with Sonny, but the words are lodged in the back of your throat, and you can’t bring yourself to say them before he’s already speaking.

“Well,” he clears his throat, licking his lips, before smiling, “I’m glad, for that much at least,” and he sits back again, “So—”

“So?”

“Are we taking this to trial?” and you bite your lip — jury nullification was a risky move — for both the policy ramifications and the risk involved — but, that wasn’t your responsibility anymore, your duty and your only duty is to your client.

“Are you sure this is what Mr. Davis wants?” and Rafael nods.

“I would give you his exact words, but there are some obscenities,” and you snort, shaking your head.

“And you’re sure about putting him on the stand?”

“Not at all,” he scoffs, “he’s questionable at best, and a loose cannon at worst.”

You rub your temples, “That’s going to play well during cross,”

“We’ll prep him well — let’s just get through arraignment,” he sighs, flipping to a fresh page, “Carisi is going to ask for remand, how should we play it?”

“We ask for R.O.R. — he’s a father of a young girl who was just raped and impregnated, he’s a decorated veteran who needs physical therapy, and he’s not a flight risk.”

Rafael chuckles, “And when we don’t get it?”

“Honestly, I’ll take anything over remand,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “we should schedule a psych eval, start on gathering information on his tours, interview character witnesses and especially those who can testify to what he saw—” your words fall short when you see Rafael is smiling, “what?”

“Nothing,” he waves you off, pressing the tip of his pen to his lips, “Go on.”

And you blink, before going on — not noticing the way his smile returned when your eyes fell away.

Running late from the office — be there soon. Your text comes in just as Sonny’s food arrives at the table, and he’s about to order for you when a voice draws his attention away.

“Mr. Carisi,” Sonny’s head snaps up his phone to find Jack McCoy smiling at him, “am I interrupting?”

His mouth is dry, and he shakes his head, “No, not at all,” he gestures for him to join him, and Jack does, not bothering to look at a menu, “so I suppose this isn’t a social call?”

“I wanted to ask your progress on the Davis case,” he crosses his arms.

And he blinks, wondering why he hadn’t bothered to ask whether you had told his boss if a) you two were dating, and b) if he knew you were on this case, “Discovery is ongoing — I’ve handed my materials over per the new discovery rules within 15 days, and now I’m waiting on the defense to turn over their evidence.”

Jack shakes his head, “New York law catching up with the modern days — a damn fine day for defense attorneys — before we could sandbag the day before, not that I ever did that,” he gives a wry smile, before his eyes fall to Sonny’s phone, vibrating, “you need to get that?”

“No, sir,” Sonny waves it off, “What’s your interest in the Davis case?”

“Well, I am your boss, I’m interested in all your cases,” he replies, before smiling, “I did hear who the defense attorneys for the case are.”

And Sonny picks at his food, “Oh?”

“I am just curious how prepared you are to tackle a case against both of your old mentors,” Jack says, as Sonny chooses then to sip at his drink, “and your partner for that matter.”

He chokes, “Who—”

“It was obvious — at least to me,” Jack shrugs, “don’t pretend you haven’t heard the rumors about me,” he adds, furrowing his brow, “one piece of advice, son—”

“We are planning on disclosing to the judge—”

“Not that,” he says sharply, “you’ve been good together — the two of you. But it’s easy to let a case get between you,”

“Is this about Diana Hawthorne?”

And Jack raises an eyebrow, “Did—”

“Rumor mill isn’t just about me, sir,” he shrugs, “I heard it a while ago, that case was tough,”

“Made tougher by our relationship,” he sighs, “I think sometimes if we hadn’t been together, maybe things—” he cuts off, “my point is, you two have done a good job of keeping professional and personal from mixing so far, but when you both start bringing this case home—”

“We won’t,” Sonny says, and Jack raises an eyebrow, “we won’t.”

And Jack relaxes, before shoving his hands in his pockets, “How long have you two been—”

“Over a year now,” Jack smiles softly.

“Are you both happy?”

And is he happy? When he’s with you, he feels at peace for once — the world and its horrors slipping away, until he feels nothing but you in his arms. You challenge him to grow — even when he doesn’t want to. And he would do anything for you — he would give you the life you wanted, give the family you want, give you his best — if only he could give you the same peace you give him.

“We are,” Sonny smiles softly, hand slipping into his pocket, thumbing the ring box in his pocket, “in fact—”

“Hey,” you arrive, glancing between him and Jack, furrowing your brow — and he knows you hadn’t told Jack, “Jack, Sonny — what a—”

“Cat’s out of the bag, sweetheart,” Sonny slips his arm around your waist, and you tilt your head, before realization washes over you, relaxing into his touch, “care to join us?”

“You’ll be joining him,” Jack slips from the booth, “like I said, this wasn’t a social call,” he smiles between the two of you, “we should set up a lunch.”

“Will do,” you nod, “I’ll call you."

With a nod, he leaves, and you slip into the booth beside him, "Hi," you kiss him, "menu?"

"I would have ordered for you, but I got interrupted,” and you bump his shoulder.

You snort, “I wouldn’t have ordered if my boss was grilling me about my relationship,”

“You didn’t tell him?

“Should I have?” he’s frowning, and you’re shaking your head, “it’s not that I didn’t want to,” you bite your lip, “sorry, I’m not explaining this well,” you sigh, placing the menu down, “it’s just Jack had me and Rafael figured out from the second we…”

Sonny is shaking his head, sipping at his drink, “Yeah, well looks like not much has changed,”

“Well, he didn’t exactly approve of me and Rafael, which is why I was worried what he’d say to you,” you purse your lips, shifting in your seat, “did he say anything?”

Sonny pauses, “No I don’t think so,” and Sonny’s biting back a smile, remembering Jack’s words — he approved.

And now you’re bumping his shoulder, “Why so smug, counselor?”

“No reason,” and you’re stealing one of his fries, “I’m just glad I’m not on his bad side.”

“No one would want to be,” you say as the waiter comes order, taking your order, as well as the menu from your hand.

“Did you tell him?”

“Jack? I just told—”

“No, I mean,” he licks his lips, “did you tell Rafael that we were dating?”

And he was hoping he wouldn’t see your brow knit together like that, see your fingers wringing in your lap, “I didn’t,”

His mouth is dry, and he’s turning his body to face you, “Why?”

“I didn’t know how to bring it up — to just say, ‘by the way, I’m dating Sonny, just thought you should know,’” and doubt begins to creep in, “we were trying to keep things professional—”

“I understand,” and your lips are twisting and he knows you don’t believe him — hell, he doesn’t believe him.

“Do you want me to tell him?” and he doesn’t know what to say — he wants him to know, but why does he want him to know? You weren’t his property — he didn’t own you, he knew you wouldn’t do anything. He trusted you.

Didn’t he?

“I’ll tell him, Sonny,” and Sonny’s gaze snaps to you, “he’s picking up files from me at the office, and I’ll let him know—” Sonny opens his mouth, but you cut him off with his lips, “we have to disclose to the judge on Monday anyway before jury selection, it’s necessary.”

“I don’t want to make you—”

“I know,” you silence him with another kiss, soft, comforting, and his guilt settles, instead peace seeps in, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” his heart warms, as the waitress brings over your meal, and Sonny’s check, and he checks his watch, “and I gotta go. See you tonight?” and you shake your head.

“I got to work late tonight and I have arraignments early in the morning — but I get off early tomorrow and I’ll be waiting to make it up to you,” you kiss him again, before pressing chaste kisses along his jaw.

“Looking forward to that,” and he wants to ask — ask why you won’t consider moving in, why you brush it off, and the question burns on his lips, until the words are seared into his tongue — but he doesn’t, “call me?”

“I will,” and he kisses you one last time, before slipping from the booth.

And he wonders, fingers finding the velvet box in his pocket — if you won’t move in with him, will you even marry him?

Can you do me a favor? Rafael’s text comes in as soon as you’re leaving from court, and you’re sighing at your phone screen.

And another: Please?

He really must be desperate. What’s up?

Can you drop the files off somewhere for me? I can’t make it to your office today — something came up.

Is something wrong?

Only with my mother’s cable service — they were supposed to be by today to disconnect the service.

You snort, Then sue them.

Civil is not my area of expertise, and then he adds, but I may be willing to learn if they take any longer. Can you please drop the files off?

You raise an eyebrow — ‘please’ — he really must be desperate.

You bite your lip — you wanted to get home early, but you also needed to tell Rafael about you and Sonny. You glance at the time, sighing, before replying to him.

I’ll drop by with the files — text me the address now.

A tax ride later — you had arrived at a place you thought you would never be again. You couldn’t but stare at the door of Lucia’s place. You had been here five years ago — first and last time you had met his mother. And it was the first time you had realized you had to break up with Rafael.

It was over the moment you left here — even though neither of you wanted to admit it. His kisses could no longer patch your heart because it was no longer cracked — it was broken.

But it didn’t make it any easier to leave him.

You shake yourself from your thoughts, knocking on the door — but you had.

And so did he.

You hear his voice from within the apartment — a muffled coming — and some stumbling, until finally you hear the telltale sounds of the chain, bolt, and locks.

He opens the door, wiping his face with a towel — and he’s clean shaven. And you blink — he smiles at you, the very same smile he always gave you, “You shaved,”

“And you’re observant,” and he finds you staring at him, “Does it look bad?”

“No, no,” he steps aside, letting you inside the apartment, before shutting the door and locking it, “you look good.”

And his lips are curving in a grin now, “I look good?”

Your cheeks burn — always a dog with a bone, “Don’t push your luck, Barba,”

“Ouch,” he snorts, “you used to be much more accommodating to my self-esteem.”

“That was when I worked with you,” you cross your arms, taking a survey of the apartment — more boxes than apartment at this point, you could barely take a step before tripping, “men work better with their ego stroked,” You find your way to the kitchen table — his makeshift office from the looks of it — complete with two cups of coffee, “Old habits die hard, huh?”

“They often do,” he sips at the coffee, holding it by the rim with the tips of his fingers, “everyone is allowed to have their vices.”

“And here is your other one—” you pull the files from your bag, “I brought everything you asked for — you should be well prepped for jury selection.”

He nods, flipping through the materials, “You’ll be there right?”

“Of course,” you blink, “any reason you ask?”

“I may run a little late on Monday, but it shouldn’t be an issue—” Rafael waves it off, before setting it down, “can I make you a cup of coffee to thank you?”

You offer a small smile, “No, I probably should get home, but I’ll see you on Monday,” and you swallow your nerves, squeezing the handle of your bag, “but there is something I wanted to tell you—”

And that’s when you hear the lock clicking, “Rafi, how many times have I told you to just leave the door unlocked?” heels clicking against the hardwood, arms full of bags. Rafael slips from his chair, rounding the kitchen table.

“And how many times have I told you that’s not safe?” he replies, taking the bags from her arms, and then she spots you, blinking, “Mami, you remember—”

“Oh!” she walks over, pulling you into a tight hug, “it’s so wonderful to see you again, dear,”

“Lucia, it’s great to see you too,” you smile, awkwardness smoothed over the warmth of her smile, as her hands found yours, squeezing, “it’s been far too long.”

“I’ll say,” she shoots a glare at her son, before her eyes find yours and soften again, “I had warned him not to let you get away, and did he listen?”

Rafael is rubbing his temple, “Mami, please—”

“Oh,” she looks between the two of you, raising a brow, “if you’re here does that mean—”

“No,” he clears his throat, the tips of his ears red now, “I told you we’re on this case together. I needed some files dropped off—”

“You must join us for lunch,” and both you and Rafael open your mouths, “I insist, please. This will be the last time for a while I will be up north for a bit. Let me impose.”

And your eyes flicker between Rafael and his mother, before Rafael speaks, “We can’t impose on any plans—”

“I’ll stay,” and his eyes fall on you, as your phone feels heavier in your pocket with guilt — knowing you would be late, “it’s fine, how can I say no?”

Lucia squeezes your hand. And how could you say no to this?

After lunch, you’re helping Lucia clean up, when Rafael is in the bathroom, washing the dishes while she dried, “Are you looking forward to moving down to Florida?”

“I am, even though I’ll miss my work and my students,” she sighs, her shoulders much lighter, “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life living the same — I want to have time for myself, I want to experience new things, not like my mother,” her voice grows smaller, the plates clinking in the dish rack, “I don’t know how much Rafael told you about her—”

“I knew that she had passed, while Rafael and I were together,” he had been a mess — he wasn’t sleeping, he was barely eating, you had to ply him to get him away from the office —- when he wasn’t working, he was drinking. He had blamed himself for his grandmother’s death for so long — and even now you wondered if he had ever stopped, “she was a wonderful woman.”

“I wish you could have met her,” she sniffs, “she would have loved you,” and you nod, silent, and you feel her eyeing you, “what happened with you and Rafi anyway?”

“It just didn’t work out,” you knew she wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

“You two loved each other,” Lucia replies, “that just doesn’t go away.”

And you did — you had loved him, you would have married him, you would have started a family with him — but he didn’t want that. And you did.

“It doesn’t,” you wanted to brush it off, you wanted to tell her you were with someone else, you wanted to say something to make her stop pushing, but you couldn’t, “I did love your son, Lucia. I really did, but it wasn’t the right time for us.”

“You made him happy—happier than I’ve ever seen him, even now,” and you meet her gaze, “you can’t tell me you don’t feel something for him now? Can you?”

And you waver, no words coming to mind, “Lucia, I—”

But then the bathroom door is creaking open, and you jolt, continuing to wash dishes, tongue tied and cheeks burning in shame — why didn’t you mention Sonny? Why didn’t you just tell her you loved someone else? But another question nagged at you, as the object of the question appeared before you — and you turned at the sound of your name to find him smiling at you.

Why couldn’t you say that you didn’t have feelings for Rafael?

“Ma, we should probably let your hostage go now,” he tilts his head, hands in his pockets, “I’m sorry if we stepped on your plans—”

You clear your throat, “No, no, it’s fine—” And you move to grab your coat and bag, “but I really should get going.”

Lucia holds out her arms, wrapping you in a hug, “It was wonderful to see you dear,”

“You too,” you smiled, despite the interrogation that rivaled your son’s, “if I don’t see you again, please have a safe trip to Florida,”

“Thank you, and good luck on your case,” she presses a kiss to your cheek, as Rafael stands by, arms crossed.

“I’ll walk you out,” he nods at his mom, before slipping out of the apartment with you, as the door clicks behind you, and he walks you to the elevator, “I’m sorry my mom shanghaied you—”

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, as you press the call button, “I enjoy being shanghaied when it involves your mom’s cooking,”

“But still, I don’t want you to think that was my intention—”

“Rafael?” you cut him off, “it’s fine.”

And the elevator dings, the doors sliding open, “Are you sure?”

You smile at him, sighing, stepping in, “If it’s not, I’ll just sue you,” and he scoffs, “I’ll see you Monday, Raf.”

The nickname slips out before you can help it, and the doors close shut, as you step back, back of your head leaning against the wall.

What the fuck were you doing?

~~~

Rafael slips back inside, shutting the door behind him, “So what was that stunt you pulled to get—”

“How much of our conversation did you hear?” Lucia replies, wiping her hands off, and crossing her arms. His gaze softens, “you still have a chance, mijo.”

“Mami—”

She finds her way over to her son, “Do you miss—”

He sighs, “You know I do,” but he shakes his head, turning away from her, “but it’s over, I can’t cross that line again—”

“Can’t or won’t?” she places her hands on her hips, “you heard us — couldn’t deny having feelings for you still, and you — I’ve seen you since you’ve been working the case, you’re happier.”

And he doesn’t want to admit it — it hurt to see you again, after you had rejected him, but more because of the way he had treated you. You were a reminder of yet another way he had failed, but also a reminder that he wanted to be so much better. And he did, and he was.

He wasn’t the same person — he had grown, and so had you.

And maybe, for once the timing was right — your mouth wrapped around his nickname, the way it used to be, still ringing in his ears.

He turns to face his mother, “Now I’ll ask one more time, did you hear our conversation?”

And he smiles, “I heard everything.”

And he knew what he had to do.

“Where is your co-counsel?” Judge Harper asks sharply, and you stand twisting your fingers, “Counselor—”

“I apologize, Your Honor,” you are texting Rafael for the sixth time, asking him where he is, “Mr. Barba is not responding to my attempts to get into contact with him. He had told me he may be a little late—” not twenty minutes late, but— “if you could give us a few more minutes—”

“The People have no objection,” Sonny adds, sparing you a sympathetic look.

“Even so, this is wasting the jurors’ time,” Judge Harper sighs, “Can you proceed without him?”

Fuck — you still needed to disclose to Judge Harper.

Proceeding without disclosure would be a violation of your duties, and your eyes slide to Sonny who purses his lips, not to mention Sonny’s. Well no time like the present, “Yes, but I would like to enter chambers before then,”

Judge Harper blinks, but agrees, rising to enter her chambers, and just as you round the defense table, Rafael arrives through the double doors, harried and rushing, “I apologize, Your Honor, I—”

And he's glancing at all of you on your feet, halfway across the courtroom floor, and Judge Harper speaks first, "You're just in time to join us in chambers, counselor,”

Rafael’s eyes flicker between you and Sonny, a questioning brow raised, but he follows, and your heart sinks.

Fuck.

He needed to know — you just didn’t want him to find out this way. You had opportunities — you had your chance, and you had lost it.

Just like he lost his — with you.

The doors close behind you, as Judge Harper settles behind her desk for a moment, “Now, what is this about?”

The uncomfortable feeling of everyone’s gaze settles over you, and Rafael’s gaze feels sharper than the others.

But why did it feel sharper?

It had been years since you had been together, years since you had ever— and why would he care if you were dating Carisi? Why did it feel like his gaze was carving into your mind and he could see the truth written across your forehead? But you still didn’t know — you didn’t know why you cared.

Why did you care?

Your throat was tight, and you still couldn’t think of an answer to your own question.

“I wanted to disclose something — something that’s already been disclosed to my client with his consent in writing from the very start,” you swallow the lump in your throat, unable to meet Rafael’s eyes,

“We wanted to disclose,” Sonny cuts in, “We were waiting for the trial to start, since we didn’t find any need to disclose to the arraignment judge, since Mr. Barba and I handled that.”

“Disclose what?” And you still can’t bring yourself to look at Rafael.

You hand her the paperwork, glancing at Sonny, “I’m currently in a relationship with A.D.A. Carisi.”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagines #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagines #law and order svu #svu imagines #svu #law and order: svu

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melisa-may-taylor72 · 5 years ago

Photo

Accolades such as “greatest single long-playing achievement since Sgt. Pepper” and “the most important record album ever made” fall over Queen’s latest album as easily as butter melting on a hot potato—but few realize what a hot potato the album actually was in its pre-release days. It took a bevy of high-powered attorneys, some low-life finagling, and more than the usual amount of wheelerdealing just to get the album out without its being hacked to death by defamation-of-character suits.

Guitarist Brian May explains: “I’m in real difficulty here because I’ve been threatened with libel because our old management had a good go at stopping the album coming out. They thought “Death on Two Legs’’ was about them. They wanted us to take the track off and we nearly had to, and in fact they got a load of money out of our publishing company because it supposedly was libelous, but it’s never been proven. It’s all very stupid—they wanted to sue Freddie, the band, the publishing company, and the record company.”

All very dramatic stuff, but a band like Queen survives not on operatic finesse alone, but on gut-level melo- dramatics in the business department as well. When you produce your records, write the songs, play all the instruments, and do everything yourself, chances are you’re going to have to pay some legal dues, too. But ah! the rewards—such as the single, “Bohemian Rhapsody,” hanging into the #1 spot in the British charts for seven weeks in a row!

“We’re a bit more in the public eye now, we’re starting to get recognized a lot more,” says Brian May. “We’re carrying on working just as we did before, but obviously we’re very pleased with how the record’s doing. It’s sold more than a million copies in England— can’t believe it.” But it’s true: Queen’s stature in England has risen from that of The #1 teenage hard rock band to that of the-group- that-made-the-single-that-every-house- wife-knows-by-heart”.

What propelled Queen in that direction is their Night at the Opera album, a slight departure from what Queen fans know to be the Queen sound. The hard rock screams have temporarily subsided, replaced by experimentation with different voicings of instruments and production tricks. Those who found Queen’s approach overdecibelled can relax to the quiet “ ‘39” or “Good Company” and tap their feet to “Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon” without fear of being gui- tarred to death. “It’s just what came out,” says Brian. “They’re offshoots of our main direction. There’s plenty of time for the rock.”

“The album wasn’t really supposed to go in the direction that it did, it was just the songs we had. While we were making it we were thinking, ‘Yeah, it is getting a bit light,’ but rather than fight against it we decided to do it properly and then think again afterwards. So instead of trying to heavy up the lighter things, we pressed on. We had a few things we didn’t use, but we’re getting more demanding of ourselves. There are a few heavy things kicking around, but we may use them on the next record.”

The two strongest forces in Queen have always been Brian and Freddie. With A Night at the Opera, where experimentation and branching out in new directions are the most obvious characteristics, the personalities of the band are often obscured by the newly emerging elements. “Sometimes I feel that Freddie and I are going in different directions, but then he’ll come up with something and I’ll think, ‘My God—we do think alike.’ When I’m working on one of his things I can tune in very easily to what guitar part he wants, and vice-versa. In terms of what we’re trying to do in songs, we are moving in different directions, but I think that could be a good thing.”

QUEEN II: Critical response to the band is now almost unanimously favorable in both Great Britain and the United States, which is quite phenomenal when you stop and think of how anxious many critics were to pan them two years ago.“I’m not going to take it too seriously,” Brian says, “because I remember what the critics said about Queen II. It would seem that everybody is beginning to like us. … very much. I can take it at that level, but there’s no doubt in my mind that sometime in the future there’ll come a time when we get slagged for everything. Queen II is still my favorite of the Queen albums, certainly the most daring. Especially for the time. I think we’re still finding our feet now, and the way I feel about the new album is that we’re searching for new directions and most of them are sort of half-formed. We’ve got the Queen II feel in some places, and in others we’ve got the Sheer Heart Attack polish. I don’t think we’re quite sure where we’re going”.

“This album, at the very least, negates all the comparisons to Led Zeppelin that we’ve been living with for the past three years. I think Physical Graffiti is amazing, by the way. I saw Zeppelin at Earls Court, and I met Pagey afterward, for the first time. It was great, he was very nice and gentle. I respect him a tremendous amount for “Kashmir” and “The Light,” for being able to put his brain on record—- it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t play a note.”

Economic criticism has been less favorable, however. A Night at the Opera was widely rumored to be “the most expensive album ever made” when it was released, a point which Queen’s management denies. Nevertheless, Queen has been taken to task by quite a few English journalists for spending so much money estimated at £30-40,000—making one record. Brian has a retort: “We wouldn’t have spent so much money if the studios weren’t so bloody expensive!

The album was recorded in seven of them, sometimes three at once.” We weren’t mucking about for any of it, it was four months of solid work. It came down to having the equipment available for four months, and we didn’t begrudge the amount of time spent in the studios, but it comes to a fair amount of money. There’s a lot of things that seem light, like “Good Company,” which actually took a great deal of time and care. All those trumpets and clarinets being fashioned from guitar sounds—I took it quite seriously because I wanted to do it right, even though it was a lighthearted thing. We worked too hard for our own health, we got a bit down and depressed.”

While Queen was laying about England between record and tour, a few of them got going on some independent projects. Brian and Roger produced an R&B group’s single, but there were some record company hassles and it may be some time before the record gets released. And on the eve of the American tour, Freddie Mercury went into the studios with a singer/songwriter managed by the Rocket Organization (which manages Queen as well) to try his hand at production. “Eddie Howells is the guy’s name, and he’s managed by David Mead, and they’re doing a single for Warners. I’m playing some guitar on it.” Brian restrained himself from going out on any limbs before the American tour in order to get himself physically fit. His health had been a crucial problem on an earlier American tour, and he’s not particularly anxious to spend time in hospitals when he could be onstage instead. “I actually get more tired offtour than ontour,”he admits. But I am in good health.”

HAIRY LEGS: Once the English leg of the tour did get started, word started to flow very quickly back to the States about Queen’s dramatic stage show—a stage show to end all stage shows, with Mercury donning short-shorts to add a bit of the hairy leg to Queen’s otherwise pristeen presentation. “The show is the same, but different,” Brian says confusedly. “We’ve merely developed what we did before with some new material from the new album. It’s a bit of reshuffling. Plus we do “Doing All- right” from the first album, which we’ve never done onstage before. And “Seven Seas of Rhye,” which we’d do in England but never in America before. It’s quite a lot different, actually.”

American audiences got their first chance to sample the new presentation on January 27 in Waterbury, Conn., when the first concert of Queen’s scheduled 32-date, 21-city American tour got underway in the Palace Theatre. After arriving in the States at Kennedy International on January 20 and spending a couple of days in New York for interviews, Queen began five days of rehearsals at the Palace to ready their show for American fans across the country.

After Waterbury they dove headfirst into the intensive six-week tour, which featured extended runs in New York, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles before its scheduled end March 12 at the San Diego Sports Arena.

Despite the novel direction of the new album, onstage Queen proved to be the same rocking outfit they’ve always been, letting loose with the same kind of guitar-bass-drums-piano barrage they’ve delivered in the past. “We don’t do “39” or “Lazing on aSunday Afternoon” in our show,“ Brian explains. He seems a bit defensive of Queen’s rock spirit, which is kept intact in the live set by “BohemianRhapsody,” “Sweet Lady,” “Prophet Song” and the deletion of the “experimental tunes” from A Night At the Opera.

By the by, those who missed Queenon earlier tours but want to see how they’ve changed now have the means. Queen bave joined the prestigious ranks of the Zeppelins, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones whereby sorne illegal entrepreneur has issued a boot leg album of one of their American concerts. “I hate those things-they rarely give an accurate picture of the group,” Brian states unequivocally, and in this case he’s right. The Queen bootleg has transistor radio fidelity, and the only truly audible members of the band are Brian and Freddie. Yet the fact that a bootleg exists confirms the fact that Queen is now well on their way to the top.

CIRCUS MAGAZINE, APRIL 1975

@natromanxoff, @mephisto92, @moviestorian, @x5vale, @39-brian, @onegoldenglance, @crosmopolitan, @an-abyss-called-life, @his-majesty-king-mercury, @i-live-for-queen, @brian-39-may, @toomuchlove-willkillyou, @brimaymay, @sail-away-sweet-sister, @drummerqueenrmt, @old-fashioned-roger-boy-deactiv, @briianmaay, @l-over-bo-y, @inui-mycroft, @deacytits, @iminlovewithrogscar, @drowseoftaylor, @brianmayislongaway, @balticlover, @astrophysicist-guitar-god, @miez-lakatz, @brianmayoucease, @jesus-in-a-life-boat, @roger-taylors-car, @silapril, @sherrifanciesfriskyfreddie, @tenderbri, @brianmydear, @thosequeenboys, @millionairewaltz-carpediem, @painandpleasure86, @bribrifrenchfry, @xlucylennonx, @a-night-at-the-abbey-road, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, @madformeddowstaylor, @queenrogertaylorfan, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @queen-for-life, @rethought, @darlinginnuendo, @mymakeupmaybeflaking, @old-but-still-a-child, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @warriorteam1924, @funnydressesweirdhairanddance, @painkiller80, @thefanhuman13, @yourtieddownmother, @hgmercury39, @brimi-stardust, @thefairyfellermercury, @retroromantics, @foxmonkey, @sophiaintheskywithdiamonds, @holybrianmaywritingbear, @lydiannode, @39-yellow-daffodils , @ure-gonna-loveme-when-u-seeme, @kaykaybeachgirl, @rhysjoejoshtomfarisblog @redspecialandclogsandcurls, @briansrainbowsocks, @delilahmay39, @ohmybribri, @bless-the-queen, @infunitehearbeat, @sketchiesscketches, @everythingaboutfreddie, @doitforthevine67, @recordsoftheseventies, @tenementfunsterwithpurpleshoes, @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band, @beatlegirl1968, @maylorsqueen, @shearrehartatacc, @gralto, @alittlepeoplemagic, @rainbowsockbrian, @sailawaysweetbrimi

#Circus Magazine #Queen article

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dokoni-mo · 5 years ago

Text

Far Away, Together || Darth Vader x Reader (Chapter 8)

(A/N: Taglist is still open. Asks are still open for anything. Good luck.)

WARNINGS: crying, cursing, otherwise none.

Key: (F/N) = first name, (L/N) = last name

Word Count: ~7200

Chapter One: [x]

Chapter Two: [x]

Chapter Three: [x]

Chapter Four: [x]

Chapter Five: [x]

Chapter Five and a Half: [x]

Chapter Six: [x]

Chapter Seven: [x]

~~~

You felt like nothing but a ghost of yourself the rest of that day.

You didn’t know what to think or how to feel. All you felt as nothing. Absolute, suffocating, nothing.

After that old officer left, you weren’t able to finish your meal. Your appetite vanished the instant the officer broke the news to you. The awful, unimaginable news. You couldn’t do anything. All you could do was stare straight in front of you, your knees hugged tightly to your chest, and think.

You replayed the past weeks of your life over and over in your mind like a broken reel of film. You heard all the things he had ever said to you play back and echo in your head. Everything that had ever meant anything to you...

Is it not past active hours for your department, mechanic?

I will come here again periodically, and I expect a full report of progress for each of my visitations.

Your name, mechanic. I wish to know your name.

Tell me, Miss (F/N). Do you enjoy your job here?

(F/N)... there is no one I trust more to accompany me.

If you wish to simply call me ‘Vader’ when the two of us are alone…I will allow it.

Tell me, (F/N)... what was your home like?

Would you… may I have this dance?

Your brain couldn’t make any sense of it. What had you done wrong? Why in the galaxy would he do this? Your fingers twitched to find an answer to these questions as you continued to blankly stare forward into the void of wall before you.

Your trance-like state was quickly drawn to a halt by the sound of the door opening. Picking up your head to face the person who had entered, you were greeted with the familiar face of the nurse who was tending to your wounds. She gave you as friendly as a smile as she could muster in response to your seemingly lifeless face. Your eyes were dark, and your cheeks were stained with absolutely no color. Even though all of your vital signs said otherwise, it was as if someone had come in and ripped your heart, your very soul out of your body.

And, in almost every sense, someone had.

“Good evening Miss (L/N).” the nurse said softly, closing the door to your room behind her.

You did and said absolutely nothing in response. How could you? When you already felt like nothing.

Filling the awkward air with a cough, the nurse continued her speech.

“W-Well, it looks here that all of your readings are normal, and have been for some time! With that, I will allow you to be released. I’ll have someone bring in your normal clothes and you can return to your normal job in the morning.”

…

What did she say?

No…

You stiffened at the end of her last sentence. Your fingers gripping onto the bedsheets, your allowed your head to move back to where it faced the wall in front of you, your eyes following suit.

Your voice was barely a whisper as you spoke, barely audible.

“Liar.”

The poor nurse seemed to be caught off guard by this. Quickly searching her mind for any way of which she could be found lying, she found nothing. This told her that you must have been mistaken. Or, perhaps, she had misheard you. You were speaking rather quietly.

Curiosity taking over her, the nurse spoke again.

“P… Pardon?”

You clenched your fingers tighter onto the sheets at this, your knuckles turning white. Your body began to shake, primarily your shoulders and arms, as a million thoughts came into your head at once. They were so loud. So very loud. You wanted them to go away. You wanted everything and everyone to just go away. All you wanted was him. You wanted him to run in and scoop you into his big, strong arms and tell you that everything was okay. You wanted him to burst into the room right then and tell you that everything was just one big misunderstanding. You wanted him to lift you up right there and carry you someplace far, far away where you could spend the rest of your days together. You wanted him to tell you that he cared.

But, you now knew that would never happen.

All of your suspicions were true.

All you were to him…

Was a mechanic.

You didn’t even realize how much you were crying. It was like all the oceans of your home planet redirected their water flows into the back of your eyes. Your whole body felt hot and cold at the same time as your heart was breaking in two, shattering into a million pieces. You didn’t even notice the flood of hot, steamy tears that was pouring down your reddened cheeks. You didn’t care about how your nose was starting to run.

You couldn’t even form a response to the nurse, the lump in your throat far too big to allow any of your voice to through. Your face contorted into one of agony as you let a sob out of your throat, the sound oh so pitiful and shattering. Slowly, you covered your face with your hands as you leaned your head down to rest on your knees. Finally concealed from the outside world, you allowed a flurry of sobs to rack through your body, your shoulders and back shaking as the tears flowed and your breath became more and more ragged. Your lungs were on fire with the amount of force your cries ripped out of you. Your sides ached and groaned with each gasp of air you took in between sobs and whimpers.

You felt like you were shattering at the seams.

Everything you had grown to love.

Everything you had grown to care for.

Everything you had grown to hope for.

Was not violently and mercilessly ripped away from you.

And all you could do about it then was cry.

No wonder Lord Vader wanted to get rid of you.

You were worthless.

How could you have ever convinced yourself that he could maybe, just maybe, care for someone like you?

He wouldn’t. Not ever. And you saw that now.

But still, all you could do was sob into the vast void of black that filled your vision.

You didn’t care that the poor nurse was there to see all of your emotion. In fact, you largely forgot she was there to begin with. Despite only known you the tiniest amount, she could tell that this was very out of character for you. She could tell that whatever has happened to you hurt you in the deepest possible way.

And she was right.

Flashing you a look of sympathetic sadness, she left the room quietly and let you have your moment on your own terms, listening to your sobs all the while with a heavy heart.

She could even still hear them once she entered the hallway.

She told the rest of her co-workers not to disturb you for the rest of the evening, and prayed that whatever was troubling you would pass.

~~~

He had called off all the meetings he had scheduled for the night. He wished to be alone in his meditation chamber by himself.

Lord Vader had not felt this way in a long time. He felt… awful.

Granted, he did know that he as a sith lord was quite awful. He struck fear into the heart of many. He took countless people’s lives. He ordered his troops to do such as well. He was a galactic symbol of death and destruction. But this, he learned to deal with over the years. He learned to live with this truth.

No. Not a day went by where he felt awful for this.

Instead, he felt awful for what he had done to you.

Sitting down inside of his meditation chamber, he watched from behind his mask the walls close around him, entrapping him within the cold, lifeless, white walls.

Cold.

That was a feeling he was used to.

But not one he wanted to return.

Now unquestionably alone, Lord Vader allowed himself to remove his helmet and mask, allowing his burnt, scared face to show itself once more.

Holding the mask in his strong grasp, Lord Vader turned it so that the face was looking to his own.

Looking into the black, lifeless eyes of the thing, Lord Vader saw his reflection staring back at him. The two figures staring back at one another, Lord Vader’s mind became both blank and full at the same time.

From seemingly no where and everywhere at once, Lord Vader heard a voice ricochet off of the walls of his mind.

Your voice.

L-Lord Vader!

It’s… It’s (F/N), my Lord. (F/N) (L/N).

It’s… acceptable.

I can continue on with the day.

I believe that you asked the wrong person.

It’s… nice. The view, I mean.

You know… I only just got here, and I’m already ready to call it a night.

What was...What was your home like, my lord?

I’m sure that wherever they are now… They all still love you. Unconditionally.

Lord Vader had to close his eyes at the last echo that came into his mind. Sitting there a moment, motionless, the sith allowed that echo to cross over his mind over and over again, the grip upon his mask tightening and tightening.

How could you have said that to him?

How could you have allowed such sympathy for someone like him?

A pang of awful shooting through Lord Vader, he allowed his mask to drop to the floor as he rested his elbows upon his armor-clad knees, his scarred, damaged head cradled in his large, mechanical hands.

Deep down within his core, he felt his stomach tie itself into a knot, his damaged, scarred heart in pain.

He hadn’t felt like this in so, very long.

But he deserved it.

How dare he think that someone like him should ever be cared for by someone like you? How dare he think that he could ever be worthy of reciprocating those affections? How dare he taint such a beautiful, radiant creature such as yourself with the likes of him? How dare he be so selfish as to indulge in the feelings you allowed him to have? How dare he be so ignorant as to bring you into harms way?

How dare he ever try to love again?

Didn’t he see how it ended last time?

He was evil.

He was cruel.

He was ugly.

He was scarred.

He was damaged.

He was…

Everything that you weren’t.

Every time he reached out with the force, he could feel how melancholy you were. You were hurting and confused. He didn’t blame you at tall. It pained him to his very being that he couldn’t tell you his reasoning. He couldn’t bring himself to face you that night.

What a fucking coward.

No wonder everyone he ever cared for left him.

He wanted nothing more than to go to you. He wanted nothing more than to scoop you into his grasp, rocking you gently and smoothing your hair until your cries subsided. He wanted nothing more than to call off your restationing and tell you it was just some misunderstanding. He wanted nothing more than to pick you up and carry you someplace far, far away, where the two of you could live together and grow old, spending the rest of your days…

Far away, together.

But, as much as it hurt him, made him bleed and scream within his soul…

He couldn’t.

If he were to keep you by his side, he knew.

All he would ever bring you was pain…

Suffering…

Depression…

Heartbreak…

Hurt.

And, maker above, did he want the exact opposite for you.

All he wanted you to be was happy.

Joyous.

Bubbly.

Sound.

Secure.

Safe.

And warm. Just as you provided to him.

But…

You would never get any of that…

If you were to continue being with a monster such as himself.

Leaning back in his chair, Lord Vader had to close his eyes once more as he felt a lump form in the back of his throat.

He hoped…

That you would at least remember him…

When you were gone.

~~~

24 hours from now, you were to leave the Super Star Destroyer.

Forever.

Packing was, unlike before, one of the hardest things you ever had to do.

They had provided you with the same kind of backpack as they had given you before, only it seemed far more depressing than the previous one. The first backpack you were given promised to take you someplace far away, to a planet you had never been to before. With him. But this one only promised you to take you someplace far away from him. Far away to a familiar place that you didn’t want to return to. Never in a million years.

The hardest thing for you to pack away into the small backpack was your formal uniform. Kneeling on the cold, hard floor of your quarters, you held the jacket of the uniform within your grasp for a long while, staring at the fabric with a blank, expressionless face. Rubbing your thumbs against the fabric, your mind flooded with memories of the most recent night you wore that piece of clothing.

The night he asked you to dance.

The night you were held in his arms.

The night where you felt the safest you had ever been.

The night you knew you…

A lump formed in your throat again.

You tried to swallow it down, but to no avail.

Feeling tears welling up in your eyes again, you gripped onto the jacket tighter and tighter as your face contorted into one of pure hurt and agony with absolutely no filter . Preventing yourself from hearing you sob again, you pressed the jacket to your face, your body bending over as silent, painful cries came out from behind your throat, your shoulders tense and your lungs thick with tension.

Kneeling there, next to your bed, docked in the emptiness of space, your face pressed against that damned jacket, you were hit with a sudden realization. It came to you gradually, and you could see it coming from a mile away. Perhaps this was because you knew all along.

You knew why it pained you so bad to leave the Super Star Destroyer.

You knew why it hurt you to your very soul that he was done with you.

You knew why you didn’t want to leave.

You knew why you wanted to finish his TIE.

You knew why you felt so safe in his arms.

You knew why you cherished that dance so much.

…

You vowed to never admit it.

To anyone.

Ever.

~~~

24 hours from now, you would be gone.

Forever.

It was hard for him to concentrate on anything that afternoon.

Instead of dawdling around and trying to get things done, Lord Vader had decided that he would spend the day doing as he pleased. He was one of the only people in the entire Empire that had this luxury. However, no matter what he tried to do, his mind would always slip back to you. He wondered greatly what you were doing every moment that day.

He couldn’t bear to even try to hone in on your life force.

Wandering aimlessly around the Super Star Destroyer, Lord Vader would pause periodically to watch his troops as they worked. He would sense the nervousness coming off of them, but he found it difficult to care. Perhaps he was feeling merciful that day.

Watching the troops work struck something deep, deep down inside of Lord Vader. The movements and the conversations of every troop seemed just so… dull. And grey, lifeless even. They would mill around like droids, doing their jobs to a t with absolutely no flare, no passion.

…

That’s what made you different.

A startling revelation came over Lord Vader. Standing on the edge of the main bridge of his Star Destroyer, looking out to the stars, he felt his shoulders stiffen.

He knew why he thought of you at night.

He knew why he had come to see you every time he could

He knew why he felt the way he did when he made you laugh.

He knew why he asked you to dance.

He knew why he came to visit you in the medical bay.

But, for all the same reason…

He knew why he had to send you away.

…

But if he knew why…

Why did it hurt him so damn much?

~~~

Today was the day.

Today was the most awful, dreadful, hurtful day of your life.

You weren’t ready in the slightest.

Of course, you didn’t get to sleep in that morning. You had to wake up bright and early, and be out the door as quickly as possible with your stormtrooper escort. Waking up that morning, you couldn’t help but lie in your cot for a good, long while, staring up at the ceiling above you. Your mind was completely blank. You were speechless.

Even though you knew fully well that time would not stop just to make you happy, you were shocked that this day had actually come.

Eventually, you were able to roll yourself up into a sitting position on your cot, washing your face with invisible water. Sitting there a moment longer, you let your legs fall off the edge of the bed, your feet making contact with the cold, hard floor below you. Your lips pursed as you felt the cold of the ground seep through your nerves, making it way up to your heart.

This was the last time you would ever feel that cold again.

Taking a few steps over to the small table in your quarters, you stopped in front of it to shed off your sleep wear, your body shivering as your skin met the cold air of the room. Tossing your sleepwear on the cot, you gingery slid on your uniform, your face expressionless as you felt the material slide over your skin.

It was nothing compared to leather wrapped around robotic hands.

Sighing quietly to yourself, you pushed that thought to the back of your head. It was best if you forgot that feeling sooner rather than later.

Taking a few steps back over to your cot, you picked up your backpack off the floor, plopping it down upon the cot and opening it. Grabbing your sleepwear with a bit too much force, you stuffed the clothing into the bag, not caring at all if they would wrinkle.

With all of your belongings now packed, you closed the backpack and slung it over your shoulders, letting out another soft sigh. Picking your head up, you gazed around the small room you had called home, giving it one final look.

You felt so small standing there alone.

You felt like nothing compared to how he had filled the room.

…

You wished he was there in the room as you felt tears in your eyes.

You wished that he was there to hold you from behind as you hugged yourself tightly.

You weren’t even gone yet…

But you already missed him.

Before you could start crying again, you heard a strong, hard knock on your door. Whipping your head up, you quickly wiped the water from your eyes as you walked to the door, pressing the button on the side of the doorframe to open it.

Although you were greeted with the sight of a captain stormtrooper, you were certain that underneath the armor, it was the ferryman to hell.

“Morning, miss.” the trooper said, his voice distorted by the speaker in his helmet.

All you did in response was mouth the word morning to the trooper, forgetting you had to put air behind your words in order to actually say them.

“Are you ready?” the trooper asked.

You felt like bursting into tears. You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs that you were in no way, shape, or form ready to go. You wanted to curl into a ball and sob for the rest of time. You wanted to slam the door shut on the poor trooper and hide in your room until they came to kill you.

You knew it would be less painful than leaving this place.

However, you didn’t do any of the above. Instead, you swallowed the forming lump in your throat, looking down as you gave the trooper a quick nod.

After a quick follow me from the trooper, you began to trail behind him, giving your quarters one last look over your shoulder as you did so. Your view being cut off by the doors closing, you turned your head back to face forward as you repositioned the backpack on your shoulder. This earned a quick glance from the trooper, but he said nothing. You figured he was not one for conversation, and you didn’t blame him in the slightest. You knew you had to look like a complete wreck, and you didn’t blame the trooper for not wanting to pry into your business.

Deep down, you thanked him for it. You knew if he were to ask, you wouldn’t be able to help yourself from completely breaking down.

Following the trooper along the many long, winding hallways, you noticed how no one stopped to look at you. You noticed how no one asked to see if you were okay or not. Not that you wanted them to, but you were hit with a sudden reality.

Life would be like this for the rest of your days.

Life would never be as colorful as it had been.

Life would never be as… good.

You shook your head to rattle out those thoughts.

You didn’t want to cry in front of everyone.

Eventually, the trooper led you into a partially empty hangar, one of the lesser used ones on the Super Star Destroyer. Stepping into the hangar, you were greeted with the sight of a few troopers, a couple of pilots, and one fired-up shuttle carrier.

You were so close to collapsing onto the floor and shattering into a billion pieces. The only thing that prevented you from doing so was one of the pilots coming up to you.

“Are you Miss (L/N)?” the pilot asked you.

You nodded your head in approval.

“Great. We’ll be leaving in about five minutes.” the pilot said simply and flatly before walking away.

Five minutes.

That was the only time left you had here.

That was as much time as you had to say goodbye to everything that you had hoped for.

That was as much time as you had to forget everything that had happened.

That was as much time as you had to act like none of the past weeks never happened.

…

How could you?

Those days had meant so much to you…

He meant so much to you…

And all you had now was five minutes to throw it all away.

You were so confused.

You were scared and cold.

You wanted to throw your backpack on the ground and run back to his hangar.

You wanted the doors to open for you to be greeted with the sight of him, his arms open to you.

You wanted to fling yourself into his grasp, and have you hold onto him an never let go again.

You wanted him to cradle you in his big, strong arms for the rest of time, until you were nothing but ash.

…

How could you do all that in five minutes?

You couldn’t.

So you decided not to.

“Miss (L/N),” you heard the pilot say, “We’re leaving now.”

Breaking out of your trace, you shifted your gaze up to look at the shuttle. Sure enough, it's doors were open, touching the floor and creating a ramp so that you could walk in.

There it was.

The final curtain.

Tears welling up in your eyes again, you began to walk forward.

A thought passed through your mind as you drew nearer to the ramp.

I’m sorry…

A few more steps. You were closer now.

I wasn’t good enough…

A few more steps. You were so close.

Lord Vader.

You were at the edge.

You picked up your boot to step onto the ramp, but you were cut off.

You were cut off by two very familiar sounds.

Heavy, quick boots hitting the floor…

And mechanical, rhythmic breath.

~~~

Today was the day.

The day you would be gone.

Lord Vader didn’t say or do anything that day, and everyone had noticed. No one dared to ask the reason why.

As soon as Lord Vader had exited his chambers that morning, he quickly made his way to the main bridge. He only stopped his pace once he met the edge of the bridge, just in front of the large windows surrounding the perimeter. Assuming no special stance, Lord Vader simply gazed out to the stars, giving no order to this troops to do anything. No one even dared to ask him what they should do.

He would never admit it, but Lord Vader was grateful for that.

Lord Vader was greatly troubled. All of the emotions he was facing since the day he reassigned you had not dissipated in the slightest. They were all still a part of him, plaguing his very being. Yet, he did nothing about them.

He knew that he must suffer with them every day, in order to punish himself for what he did to you.

A few hours from now, he would know that you would be safe for the rest of your life. He knew that you would be looked after, and you would be some place where he would never affect you again.

…

But still…

He was in pain.

Deep, seething, agonizing, pain, greater than all he had ever felt before.

He thought he was selfish for it.

How dare he try and gain pity after doing what he did to you.

How detestable.

But still, a tremor deep down in his life force whispered to him.

It told him the most wonderful, awful things.

It told him he was wrong.

He tried to ignore it at first, but as the hours without you passed, and as the hour to which you would leave drew nearer and nearer, it's voice only grew louder and louder.

Lord Vader ignored it the best he could.

Until he couldn’t anymore.

It was ten minutes until you would leave. The voice was now screaming at him. Lord Vader clenched his fist as he tried again and again to ignore it. Every time he tried, however, it seemed to only scream louder, to the point where it was almost ear-splittingly loud.

His willpower crumbled, and Lord Vader gave in.

Although he wasn’t consciously aware of what the voice wanted him to do, his body seemed to act on it's own without him having to pilot. Unclenching his fist, Lord Vader reached his mind out to the force surrounding him. Concentrating, he bended it to his will.

To focus on you.

Focusing harder, he was able to sense your feelings.

…

You were…

So terribly, awfully, sad.

…

No.

This isn’t what he wanted at all.

He didn’t want you to feel that way.

He didn’t want you to ever feel such pain.

But, you did.

He cursed himself.

He wanted to make you feel better. He wanted you to understand why. He wanted you to be happy.

But he didn’t know how to do it.

He was at a total loss.

Pointing his mask down to the ground, Lord Vader’s mind went blank as he came to a loss for words. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t know how to make sense of it all.

After a long moment of silence, he was relieved to hear the little voice from before speak to him again.

It sounded so familiar, but he didn’t know from where he heard it before.

He knew it had to be a deep rooted memory within him.

Yet, he struggled to put a face to it.

But, whoever it was…

She knew exactly what was best.

And he heard her loud and clear.

Go to her, Ani.

Turning swiftly on his heel, Lord Vader made his way down the bridge for the first time in hours, his cape fluttering by the speed. Some officers glanced up at him and his sudden movements, but quickly returned to their work. At the end of the bridge, Lord Vader stopped before an old officer, a datapad in his hand.

The same one who broke you the news.

“Commander Vox.” the sith lord spoke flatly but hurriedly, “I wish to know the status of Miss (L/N)’s shuttle.”

The old man giving Lord Vader a quick look, he poked on his datapad a few times before answering.

“It says here that her shuttle is about eight minutes away from takeoff, my Lord.” the commander said.

“What hangar?” The sith asked quickly.

“Hangar 281, my Lord. My Lord, I-”

Without even letting the old man finish, Lord Vader had pushed past him, his pace feverishly fast as he walked. That hangar was a bit far away, and Lord Vader knew he had to hurry.

He must see you.

Many people tried to stop Lord Vader as he wound down all the hallways and corridors, but Lord Vader would simply ignore them and keep walking, his mask pointed straight ahead.

He must see you.

All other tasks could wait.

He had thought he was too late once he finally made it to the hangar. However, listening in a moment longer, he heard the dull whirr of the engines of the shuttle from within.

He wasn’t too late.

Lord Vader didn’t hesitate one moment. He walked in through the doors and into the hangar.

The sound of his boots colliding with the floor and the rhythm of his respirator filled the room upon his entrance.

~~~

“Get out.” you heard his voice rumble from across the room.

You couldn’t force yourself to turn around. It had to be a dream. A hallucination. There was no possible way that he was there. You knew if you turned around, all you would see was nothing.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to bear that pain.

So, you didn’t turn around.

“Wh-But, my Lord! We-” you heard a pilot try to say.

“OUT.” You heard his voice bellow, sending a shiver down your spine. Listening a moment longer, you heard the sound of his saber ignite. As you heard the purr of the crimson blade swinging in the air, you put your hands over your ears, squeezing your eyes shut. Greeted with the muffled sounds of boots running out of the hangar, you figured that you must be going insane.

This wasn’t happening.

This wasn’t real.

You weren’t hearing the sound of his saber humming to a halt.

You didn’t hear the sound of it unigiting.

You didn’t…

You let your hands drop from over your ears.

Your shoulders now slouched and your head slightly hung, your backpack was able to slide off of your shoulders with ease. You allowed it to do so, and listened to the thud it made when it made contact with the ground.

What you did hear, was the sound of heavy footsteps drawing closer to you, and the sound of rhythmic, loud breath drawing nearer to you.

The lump in your throat grew as the sounds grew closer, and a weight formed itself in the bottom of your diaphragm. You could feel his energy behind you. Your fingers twitched in anticipation. Anticipation for you to jump into his arms...

This never came.

Instead, you closed your eyes, and took in a shallow, long breath.

You were the one to break the silence, still refusing to turn around and look at him.

“I have to go soon.” your voice wavered out. The lump in your throat made it hard for you to speak normally.

Lord Vader felt what was left of his heart crack at your words.

“I… know.” was all he was able to rumble out. He prayed that the voice from before would tell him what to say. It refused.

This was his mess to fix.

Your lips tightened into a thin line as the tears threatened to spill over again. Your fingers twitched themselves into a brief fist before uncurling. Taking in another deep breath, you hoped your voice didn’t sound as broken as you felt.

You still refused to turn around as you spoke.

“Then… w-why are you here..? You have… more important things to do.”

Silence. Only filled with his respirator. For a good long while.

He eventually mustered up the courage to say anything.

“I… Nothing is currently more important to me… than saying goodbye to you, (F/N).”

You could have sworn you felt your heart finally begin to shatter at that. His words were like a million knives right through your chest, and made your blood run cold. Blinking your eyes rapidly, you couldn’t stop the tear in your eye from slipping down your cheek. Couldn’t he tell that this was destroying you? How could he be so cruel…

You couldn’t take it anymore.

Your voice was shaky as you spoke.

“W-Why…” you began, taking a pause for your shoulders to tense and your fists to clench, “...do you have to make this… so much harder than it already is.”

Perhaps Lord Vader’s heart really was breaking again. The flash of pain that engulfed him made him believe that it was true.

Lord Vader took a step closer to your back, reaching out his hand so that he could touch your shoulder.

“(F/N), I-”

You whipped yourself around to face him at this, leaning your shoulder backwards so that his hand would miss. Tears were streaming down your face like waves, and your cheeks were red from their heat. Your bow was bent into a scowl, and your lips were curved into a frown. Lord Vader was beside himself.

This isn’t what he wanted at all.

“What?” you asked, a slight hiss in your voice, “What do you possibly have to say to me? You’re getting rid of me, Vader. What in the universe could make this any better?”

Lord Vader lifted his hand to try and touch you again, but quickly let it fall, convincing himself that he will never be able to do it again.

“(F/N), I…” he began, his mask dropping it's gaze from your face to the ground, “I want you to know that... I am doing this for you. To protect you.”

You stood there speechless for what seemed like an eternity. Your lips parting, you felt your flow of tears fade into a trickle.

You couldn’t believe at all what he had said to you.

“Pro… Protect me?” you asked, you voice barely above a whisper.

“...Yes.” he responded.

You stood without moving a single muscle for a good while. Repeating his words in your head, your face contorted once more as you tears started to flow rapidly again, making you bury your face in your hands.

Lord Vader didn’t expect that at all. Catching him in one of the rare moments he was off guard, the sith pointed his mask back to your face, now obscured by your hands.

This still wasn’t what he wanted.

“(F/N),” he spoke, quieter than you had ever heard before, “Please… don’t-”

“Don’t what?” you choked out, taking your hands off your face to wipe your eyes, “Do you really not see? I am safe here, Vader. I can never be as safe as I am here… w-with you. Literally no one can hurt me, so why… I don’t… I can’t…”

Your chain of broken thoughts was broken by his voice.

“No, (F/N). You are not safe here. You are in danger as long…” he paused, the pain in his diaphragm almost too much to bear, “As long as you are near me.”

You shot your glossy eyes up at him, your brow bending upwards as you sniffled.

“Wh-What are you talking about?”

“(F/N),” he continued, refusing to meet your gaze, “You know what happened on that planet. I never expected you to leave that filthy place in such a way. If I had known… I would have never taken you there. It was not my intention to have you return… injured.”

His shoulders tensed as he continued on, his tone slightly more fiery than before, “I realized upon our return how much danger I put you in. Being near me… (F/N), you could have died. I have the blood of many men on my hands (F/N), but if I were to also have yours, I… I would not be able to bear it.”

Your body seemed to go into auto-pilot at that. An indescribable emotion taking over you, you reached up your hand to Lord Vader, cupping your soft, small palm against the sharp edges of his mask. Sensing your touch, the dark lord picked up his gaze again, allowing it to fall upon your puffy, reddened eyes.

Did he die?

Did he die and somehow go to heaven?

He could have sworn he saw an angel before him.

“Vader…” you spoke softly, your tears drying for the time being, “Do you not realize..? If it weren’t for you… I would already be dead.”

The sith lord stared at you speechless as you formulated what to continue on with. He feared he would ruin this moment by saying a single word.

“When… When I first got my job here,” you eventually said, your hand still firmly on his mask, “I wasn’t sure I wanted to go on. Life was so… dull, compared to my life back home. I hated it. I hated every day I woke up to. I didn’t think there would ever be a light at the end of the tunnel… That was, until, I got a job. I got your job. I was so scared at first. Terrified, really. I was scared you would just make my life darker… But I was wrong. Vader, the only thing that you have ever brought me in this galaxy is joy. The happiest moments of my life have been… getting to know you. And… that’s all I ever want to do, for the rest of time. Believe me when I say that I… I care so deeply for you...”

You paused a moment as you breathed out a smile, another tear slipping down your cheek.

“Vader, I… I… I never, not ever, want to leave your side again.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time. He only stared down at you as you looked up at him, a small smile on your features.

Maker above, you were the most gorgeous thing that Lord Vader had ever seen.

For a long time, the dark lord refused to believe it. He refused to believe that he could impact such a beautiful person like you in such a way. He was nothing compared to you. You and him were nothing alike.

But yet, in a fleeting moment of you…

He believed you.

Your eyes looked right into his soul, right into him. They looked right beyond the shell of his mask, right at him. If you had been looking elsewhere, Lord Vader would have not believed you. He would have thought you to be a liar. But in that moment, he could feel your gaze land right on his eyes…

Freshly devoid of any trace of yellow.

His softened, blue eyes.

In that moment he knew…

You did not care for his outer shell.

You did not yearn for that suit to hold you at night.

You did not want that suit to call you beautiful.

You cared for him.

His body moving without him commanding, he slowly but surely wrapped his strong arms around your tiny frame, pulling you as close as possible to him. As you stood upon your tip-toes and wrapped your arms around his armored neck, he snaked one arm across the length of your back and the other around your waist, his large hands bunching your clothes in his iron grip.

For the first time in what felt like years, you felt completely safe. You felt so, so happy. Letting the tears of joy slip down your face, your cries came out muffled as you pressed your head into the top of his shoulder, feeling him mimic the action on your own.

Waves of relief crashing over you, your legs suddenly felt extremely weak. The joints of your knees giving out, you slowly started to sink to the floor. Were it not for him following you down to the ground, you would have thought you were going to fall straight through it.

The rest of the galaxy seemed to slip away as the pair of you were knelt on the expanse of floor below you, clinging onto one another as if the other would drift away into nothing if one of you were to let go. In that moment, both of your minds were blank. You were speechless in every sense imaginable.

If the entire galaxy were to implode right then, neither of you would notice.

If the war were to end right there, neither of you would notice.

If the rebellion had defeated the empire right then, neither of you would notice.

The only thing that mattered in that moment…

Was you and him.

Eventually, Lord Vader lifted his head from your shoulder, causing you to do the same. Lifting his hands from off of your body, he rested them upon your cheeks, cradling your beautiful face in his hands like it was the most fragile thing in the universe. Using his gloved thumbs to wipe away your tears, he leaned forward and pressed the forehead of his mask to your own, making you breathe out another smile.

His version of a kiss, you took it.

You happily reciprocated, shifting up your hands to cradle his mask in your palms and closing your eyes.

He was the one to break the silence that had loomed in the air for a long, long while.

“(F/N).” Vader said.

“Yeah?” you responded.

It took him a moment to speak again.

“I…” he began, holding onto you a bit tighter.

What he said to you next made your heart skip several beats.

It made your whole body swell with joy.

It made every one of your fears dissolve into nothing.

It made the galaxy seem like such a better place.

You would never forget what he said.

“I… I love you.”

You breathed out another smile as you felt your heart beam with joy your eyes brighter than ever before. Closing your eyes, you leaned forward, pressing a soft, quick kiss to the triangle mouth of his mask.

“I love you too, Vader.”

His heart almost burst in ecstasy as he heard your words.

Surprising himself…

He believed you.

And vowed to himself that he would spend the rest of his life showing you just how much he adored you.

Holing you closer to his chest, he made another vow to you without speaking.

He vowed that one day...

perhaps very soon, perhaps very far...

He would take to you a place...

Where both you and him could live the rest of your days...

Far away...

together.

~~~

TAGS: @spaghetti-666 , @soullesstaco , @arsonistvoyager , @robin-obsessed , @glitter-rian , @captainrexstan , @easterncryptid , @deviatedwinter , @roseangel013bf , @danicalifxrnia , @dartheldur , @finest-trashbag , @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii , @elongatedmusk-rat , @shads121 , @muffinbeliever , @sakuramadae , @padme-parker , @khapikat222 , @the-official-memester , @rens-angel , @obiwankenobiness , @yvette1703 , @breakfastpizzagalaxy , @missmannequin , @clearnostolgia , @scarletsinsandsnowwithetragedies

#darth vader #darth vader x reader #fanfiction #anakin x you #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars fanfic

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wyofabdoms · 4 years ago

Text

Undercover I Do - Chapter 7

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: Memories of attempted sexual assault, fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, injury, swearing, soft Javi, feelings, I have no idea how amnesia really works, brief mention of masturbation, Javi reads poetry...did you know that?!?!?...me neither!

Word Count: 4407 (again....Whoopsie!)

Notes: A trip to the office in an attempt to jog your memories ends up revealing more about Javier Peña then you expected. Plus, a trip to the farmer's market knocks some things loose and a thunderstorm brings you and Javi closer.

Read on Ao3

It had been a week since you’d come home from the hospital.

During that week, there had been so little success in regaining your memories save for those brief hopeful moments with Javi the previous weekend. Javi had done as much work from home as he could this past week; when he did have to go in to the office, he usually returned with stacks or boxes of paperwork, spreading out on the coffee table or in the kitchen like now, grumping that he didn’t want to leave you on your own for too long if he could help it. The time in the alone stretched on endlessly and you always felt a jolt of happiness when you heard the key in the lock and your husband strode in on a cloud of cigarette smoke, faded aftershave and cologne with (more often than not) a frustrated scowl decorating his handsome face. You always took note of how that scowl slipped from his face when he greeted you, though, and that moment always made you smile.

The previous day you’d joined Javi at work for a short while. You had discussed at dinner the night before that maybe more familiar surroundings would jar something loose...after all, Javi had said, the two of you usually spent more time at the office than you ever really did in your apartment. You eagerly agreed. If nothing else you were excited for a change of scenery.

It had been more awkward than anything, really and you were disappointed that nothing short-term had seemed to come back to you. Feistl and Van Ness had both greeted you warmly, inquiring as to whether you’d gotten the flowers they’d sent. Both younger men had kindly remarked that you looked like you were doing well and then proceeded to lapse into an uncomfortable silence, glancing from one another and then Javi before quickly scurrying off to complete some menial task. Dixon had found you as well, and had seemed a bit on edge when she had made small talk with you. You simply chalked it up to stress, but you had seen her pull Javi a short distance away and speak furtively to him, clearly irritated with something he had said or done. Javi’s brows had lowered over his dark eyes when the older woman had moved away and he had ushered you into his office, telling you he needed to pop into a quick meeting...shouldn’t take more than fifteen, twenty minutes and did you want to wait here or should he get a car to take you home?

You’d been happy to settle yourself onto the worn leather couch, but as the time ticked by you grew antsy and started pacing around your husband’s office, tracing the pens on the desk, sitting in his chair and twirling in it absentmindedly, aimlessly gazing at the maps and photographs on the walls and bulletin boards. As you wandered, the corner of your jacket caught on something on the edge of the desk, pulling it off and sending a stack of papers fluttering to the floor. You cursed, then bent to re-stack the papers, hoping they had not been in any kind of order. You saw a thin, navy blue book also on the floor and reached to pick it up.

Rumi: The Book of Love: Poems of Ecstasy and Longing

You were struck for a moment: what was Javi doing with a book of love poems at work? You sat down in his desk chair again. Flipping open the small book you noticed a name written neatly in a woman’s handwriting on the inside cover: Sofia Flores

A small piece of paper, worn with time was tucked between the cover and the title page. You carefully open it and read a small message in the same writing as the name:

Even though this marriage didn’t work out, my sweet Javi, remember: I will always love you. Xoxo

Your stomach clenched. “This marriage” hadn’t worked out? You felt like your mouth was suddenly sandpaper and you started to close the book and place it back on the desk when another loose paper fluttered out from the middle pages...one of many pieces of paper stuck there you realized as you flipped to the middle of the book of poetry, finding two with corners dogeared. Two poems on opposite pages bracketed a small collection of what appeared to be newspaper clippings. The first poem read:

“Lovers find secret places inside this violent world where they make transactions with beauty.”

And:

“I want to see you. Know your voice. Recognize you when you first come ’round the corner. Sense your scent when I come into a room you’ve just left. Know the lift of your heel, the glide of your foot. Become familiar with the way you purse your lips then let them part, just the slightest bit, when I lean in to your space and kiss you. I want to know the joy of how you whisper “more”

Your breath caught at the simplicity and beauty of the poems, and it made your heart ache that your husband even possessed a book of poetry, much less one filled with such lovely words. You started to look through the clippings flattened between these two poems and were surprised when you noticed they all seemed to be about you.

There were five total: one from what appeared to be an interoffice newsletter highlighting your work as a successful agent in a mostly male dominated field. The short article included a photograph of you taken several years ago when you had graduated from Quantico. The other four were in Spanish and had clearly come from local Bogota papers. Each had grainy black and white photos of you (and two with Javi along with some other DEA agents) at different locations around the city taken during the last two years as you had worked to help unravel the mess that was Columbian drug trafficking. In one, you and Javi and Feistl stood together surveying a map spread on the hood of a Jeep, most likely either pre- or post- op. In another, you were escorting a minor drug crony from a building, his hands behind his back, your hand firmly on his shoulder and your torso covered in a sturdy tac vest. The others were similar and at the bottom of the small pile of clippings, you found a polaroid photo.

It was another picture of you, but in this one you were sitting amongst a small group of co-workers. Despite the others in the picture, you were framed at the center, clearly the focus of the photographer. You remembered this night from over a year ago: It was Van Ness’’s birthday and you and several other colleagues had pitched in to buy him a Polaroid camera like the one that would have taken this picture. It had been a good night out, a fun dinner with margaritas and beer flowing. As everyone got more silly and giggly and loose, the camera had been passed around and each person had taken a turn snapping a photo. You vaguely remembered glancing across the table just as the snap from this photo being taken had reached your ears and noticed Peña lowering the camera from his face, removing the picture from the roller as it slid from the device, growling something to the person next to him as he passed the camera. You hadn’t thought anything of it, thinking your partner had just taken a wide shot of you and your colleagues across the table. All of the photos had been collected at the end of the evening and presented to Van Ness, who had spread them all out on the table for everyone to giggle and admire one another’s silly faces and poses.

The realization struck you that your husband must have kept the photo he had taken that night, a photo with you at it’s center. It was worn, smudged along the edges and showing creases and a small tear in one corner. Clearly it was handled regularly.

“Hey.” The gruff rasp of your husband’s voice startled you and you looked up at him guilty. “You ready to get outta here…?” He stopped short when he saw the book in your hand, the clippings on the desk, the photograph in your other hand.

“I’m sorry!” Your first instinct was to apologize; clearly this wasn’t something he wanted people to see. “I didn’t…” You quickly moved from being apologetic to feeling tears well up in your eyes as you remembered: “even though this marriage didn’t work out”...from “Sofia”. You looked up at him. “Javi?” You could only choke out his name by way of question.

Javi’s face transformed to worry when he heard your voice say his name. He moved quickly to crouch next to you in his desk chair.

“Hey, hey...it’s ok. What is it? Whatsa matter?” He put a callused hand along your cheek, searching your eyes for an explanation. You could only look back down at the book in your hands.

“Is our marriage over?” You asked him, tears starting to fall. His brows came together in confusion and he spoke softly.

“What? What do you...what do you mean, sweetheart?” You flipped back to the front cover of the book, smoothing out the note from “Sofia”.

“Who’s Sofia Flores?” You held your breath, waiting for him to look guilty, ashamed, abashed at being found out, but you saw realization flutter across his eyes and his face relaxed; he released a puff of air...almost a small laugh, and he stood, leaning carefully on the desk next to you, wiping a hand across his face.

“No. No, sweetheart...it’s not what you think.” He looked at you for a moment, studying you carefully. “Do you remember...do you remember me telling you about Lorraine?” You nod and the next instant, you feel relief come over you. Lorraine: his former fiancé back in Texas. He had told you about her once, one late night at the office when you had both sipped a little too much whiskey and started swapping stories about miserable past relationships. Lorraine: who had always put him down, made him feel like he was never good enough, a piece of shit, who demeaned the things he had found interesting. You had never met the woman, but you remember feeling that night like you had never hated anyone as much as you hated her for treating Javi so poorly. You also remember thinking to yourself that night how incredibly wrong someone could be about another human being. But then again, you hadn’t been engaged to Javier Peña….yet. Javi sees it click in your face and continues.

“Sofia Flores was my mom. She gave me this,” he gently takes the book from you, “right after I left Lorraine...right before I came here. She taught herself English with this.” He held the book up, pride sparking behind his eyes at the memory of his mother. You nodded, remembering him telling you how she had passed during his first few months in Columbia; it had been sudden and he hadn’t even known she was sick until it was too late. He hadn’t been able to get back in time to say goodbye…You noticed him swallow hard as he saw the articles about you spread on the desk.

“What about…”you gesture to the clippings, the photo in your hand. “What about all of these? Why do you have all this stuff about me stuck in here? Why don’t you keep these at home?” He looked uncomfortable for a moment, like he was caught at something somehow.

“I, uh….I just...I had ‘em tucked away from...before we were…” He stopped himself, seeming to think carefully about what to say next. Then he looked from the articles to you and then away again, almost shy. “I guess...I had a little crush on you when we were partners and...I just never took ‘em out of there after...things changed.” He took the photo from you, looking at it for a moment, then back at you; for a moment he looked like a little boy waiting to be yelled at for breaking a window with his baseball. You smiled up at him and his face relaxed, returning the smile with a small one of his own. He cleared his throat and straightened from the desk, returning the articles and picture back to their spot in the middle of the book and quickly depositing the book into a desk drawer. He held his hand out to you and pulled you to your feet. “Hungry?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, taking a step closer to him and keeping hold of his hand for a moment when he let go. He looked surprised by your closeness, then smiled down at you again, carefully. You stood on your tiptoes and carefully kissed him; a chaste, quick kiss lasting only a moment or two, but you felt a current dance between your connected lips, like sparks from an incorrectly attached jumper cable. His eyes stayed closed for several seconds after you broke the kiss and settled back onto your feet; you smiled at how in awe of the taste of you he seemed to be. Your smile turned into a grin when he opened his eyes and met your gaze, smiling softly back at you. “I’m starving, actually.”

You slid your arm through your husband’s as the two of you left the office and headed for a late lunch.

****

You’re a fuckin’ moron, Peña! Javier had thought to himself instantly when he had walked back into his office and seen her sitting at his desk with the Rumi book in her hand. He’d panicked when he’d heard her say his name and seen the tears in her eyes. He’d quickly realized the confusion and had breathed easy knowing she hadn’t been angry with him.

Once more he felt like a creep when he realized she had found the articles and picture he had kept tucked away inside it. He saw her everyday in clearer situations: her beautiful face on the phone, tongue between her lips, determining if a tip is legitimate; listening through headphones as she giggled trying to seduce an informant; watching beads of sweat drip down her neck and the sound of her heavy pants after she’s finished running down a narco in the dusty streets.

He’s not proud to admit that he has thrown his imagination to any one of these memories on the occasion when he would not seek out a woman to distract him and he had instead unbuttoned his jeans and pumped himself to the thought of his partner. That seemed to have been happening more and more in recent months, but he hadn’t ever used those photos for THAT.

He kept these for the even more frequent occasion when he would close his office door, stare at her face and reread one of those poems for the millionth time, feeling when he did a balloon expand inside his chest with yearning for her...aching to hold her close to him and whisper those lines in her ear; truths about how he felt about her.

Now, he refused to acknowledge how much it made his heart sing as they walked through the outdoor market a few minute’s walk from their apartment. They had returned home and had lunch, no new memories having made an appearance with exposure to their place of work. She had been frustrated by and he had suggested they go for a walk, get out of the apartment some more...it was a beautiful day after all.

Now, they wandered past the tables and stalls of brightly colored pineapples, papayas, bananas, peppers and avocados, stopping occasionally to buy something for dinner or pausing for her to admire a woven bag. She spoke Spanish to the merchants easily, a good sign, he thought, that her long term memories were strong.

He discreetly admired his partner’s profile as she stopped to look at a bright display of flowers, enquiring about price from the kind, toothless, stooped older woman manning the stall. She paid the lovely worker and put her nose to the large white bouquet of petals and Javi felt his heart nearly stop.

She was so beautiful.

...It took him a moment to realize something was wrong, but when he noticed her stiffen and her brow furrow, he was next to her in an instant, his hand on her elbow, quietly saying her name. She looked at him...but didn’t see him for a few moments, her gaze was elsewhere, seeing something else. He knew she was remembering something.

“I remember…”she started, blinking her eyes and looking back down at the flowers in her hands. “Plumeria…” she said quietly. “I remember we were next to...a swimming pool? You and I? It was nighttime.”

Javi knew exactly what she had remembered. He gulped, saying nothing, not wanting to distract her from remembering. She continued following the thread of memory the scent of the flowers had unlocked.

“We were…” Her face flushed suddenly and she glanced up at him, then away again almost immediately. “...together. You...had me up against…” she gulped, the blush in her face turning a deeper scarlet. Javi remembered, too.

They’d made an early exit from Ortiz’s dinner party; she had feigned a headache. They had believed Ortiz’s lab was beneath his pool, the entrance through the pool house in the back of his home. While everyone else had been occupied with the forth course and an unknown number of drinks, the two of them had slipped back around the premises, creeping along the sparkling pool, trying to find some clue to get them into the lab, something they could use to get a warrant.

Javi had heard the noise from the guards making their rounds first, and he had yanked his partner by the elbow, pressing her back up against one of the plumeria trees, shoving one knee between her legs, gripping her ass with one hand and holding her head carefully with the other as he shoved his mouth against hers. She had fallen into the ruse seamlessly, recognizing instantly what he was doing. Her hands gripped fistfuls of his hair, one leg coming up to wrap around his waist, drawing her skirt up and giving his hips more access to the space between her legs.

Even though it was only pretend, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from growing hard...being so close to her sex he had found himself grinding himself into her without thinking, eliciting a small moan from her mouth. He had torn his lips away and begun devouring her neck, making her gasp into the thick, flower scented air and signaling their location to the guards. He had snaked his hand up the front of her dress and pulled down, releasing her breast to the cool night air. She had pulled his head down and thrust her groin along the hard outline of his cock and he had gladly taken the pert nipple into his mouth, relishing in the sensation the soft pebble made between the gentle ministrations of his teeth.

“Perdón por interrumpir, Señor Sanchez,” The two of them had sprung apart, reacting to Javier’s pseudonym, playing up the caught couple. Despite the act, though, Javi had looked at her as she’d straightened her dress, running a hair through her hair and he couldn’t help admire her swollen lips from his kisses and the flush on her cheeks. He had seen something in your eyes, reflecting what he felt himself.

That hadn’t been all fake.

“I...I don’t remember anything other than...us...against the tree.” Her voice snapped him back out of the memory; she was staring at the flowers in her hand sadly, grasping for more of the memory.

He didn’t particularly want her to remember what had happened next.

That night they had been found out. They had been followed back to their “home” and both beaten, separated for a time in different rooms. He had heard her yelling and had heard over and over the sound of crashes and fists and palms meeting flesh amidst the sounds of the same happening to him. He had shouted, too, wanting her to know he was still there, he was still with her, they were still in it together. Later, after the sicarios had given them both a rest, they had been reunited when they were dragged into “their” bedroom and secured to their respective places, whispering to one another, made to wait through the dark hours of the early morning...until Ortiz’s men had returned when the sun had come up.

The rest, he didn’t want to think about.

“Well…” His voice was gruff from the thought of how close he had come to losing her that day. “That’s something. That was...recent...just a few weeks ago.” She looked at him curiously, clearly able to see that he was reacting differently to the memory of them kissing passionately beneath a plumeria tree. She said his name, a question filling the sound. He looked at her and forced a small smile. “That’s good.” He said quietly, reaching for her hand. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

Javier laid awake in the darkness of the living room, trying not to think about that night again for the millionth time. The blanket was scratchy on his bare chest; he kicked it off of him and lay there, listening to the sound of the pounding rain outside, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the apartment, thunder crashing and rumbling loudly. He hated that he would always have that memory of her, calling out, yelling in terror and panic.

He sat up….had he dozed off? He thought he had heard her screaming his name again, just like she had from the other room that fateful night.

Then he heard it again.

“JAVI!!”

He was down the hall and next to her on the bed faster than he could take a breath. She was curled in a ball, the covers soaked from sweat and kicked off of her, shaking furiously. In the light from a flash of lightning, he saw that her eyes were closed tightly, her face contorted into a terrified mask. She was having a nightmare...

...and was calling out for him.

He carefully placed his hands on her shoulders, gently nudging her, not wanting to frighten her more upon waking, but wanting desperately to rescue her from the terror of her dream. She screamed as she bolted upright, nearly knocking her head into his. He gripped her shoulders firmly as her arms flailed out around her, fighting against him.

“Heyheyhey...easy, it’s me….its just me. It’s Javi.” She recognized him after a moment, and he continued to murmur that he was there, that she was ok, that he had her, that it had just been a bad dream; she flung herself into his arms. He held her against him, soothing her, whispering to her like she was a child, feeling her body shake. He felt warm, wet drops on his chest and knew she was crying. He gripped his arms around her more tightly, trying with all of his might to will her peace, a feeling of being safe.

They stayed that way for a long time, him stroking her hair, murmuring into her ear, rocking her gently against him. Finally, he felt her take a shaky breath and she whispered against his chest:

“It felt so real. I was tied to a bed and...there was a man...he was trying to…” her voice choked into a sob once more and he felt the tears start to wet his chest again.

“Shhhhh….shhhhhh. It’s ok.” His voice was hoarse from sleep, cigarettes, fear...memories. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” He buries his face in her hair and breathes her name. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ve got you.”

More time passes. Her breathing settles and her tears dry, but he continues to hold her. He feels the tension in her body release itself, little by little and she takes a deep, shaky breath before pulling back to look at him. The room is still dark and the rain still pours down outside, but the thunder has passed, is getting softer.

“It was just a nightmare.” She whispers, almost to herself.

He can’t bring himself to correct her; that it was a memory. Not tonight, he thinks.

She’s staring into his chest, appearing to think about something carefully. He moves to unwrap himself from her, to settle her back into bed, but she grips his forearms firmly, stopping him from pulling away.

“Stay.” She breathes and he almost doesn’t hear it. He thinks for a moment, telling himself he shouldn’t. It’s not a good idea. But then she lifts her eyes to meet his and in the near darkness he sees them sparkle and she whispers: “Please. Stay with me.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just carefully bores her backwards until she’s lying on her back, her head on her pillow. He hovers above her, gazing down at her like a lover...like a husband might do before kissing his wife and bringing her to ecstasy…

...He shifts himself to lie next to her, behind her and he pulls her back against his chest, feeling her legs move to tangle with his. He reaches down to straighten the sheets and pulls them over top of both of them, then wraps his arms around her. He listens to her breathing get heavier and slow and he’s sure she must be asleep. Just as he thinks about closing his own eyes, she turns and rolls to face him, wrapping her own arms around him, too and burying her face in his neck. He’s sure she can feel his pulse pounding frantically, but she simply sighs softly, her breath skimming across his skin. Her breathing slows and deepens once again. She’s asleep.

Javi sighs, remembering the taste of her lips during that sweet, innocent kiss in his office earlier that day. Closing his own eyes, he buries his face in her hair, drifting off to sleep with the weight of her in his arms.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

#javier peña x reader #javi #narcos #javier pena x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #undercover marriage

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butterbeerblurbs · 4 years ago

Text

dandelions (f.w.) - teaser

[just a teaser to a full fic coming soon!] it’s... going to be quite long, as i’m writing this, it’s at 4k words so far and i’m not done??? so... here’s just a preview! ;w;

💌 : fred stood in a field of dandelions, hoping one day, you’d be his. years later, when the war was over and you were searching high and low for him, he’s still standing in a field of dandelions. 📝 word count: 803 words / fred weasley x reader / 🌸fluff in this teaser - but in the full fic, it’s a bit of everything ;) 💬: boy o boy, this is going to be a journey. but i thought it would be fun to just share the opening to this story! it might be a week or so until it’s done, but it’s currently in the works!

fred never found the appeal of flowers... to be specific, dandelions. mainly because it always seems like you were more interested in a certain species of bloom than him next to you. as if it wasn’t enough, being one of professor sprout’s adored students, she’d always let you have your way to linger around the hills by the greenhouse even at times she knows she shouldn’t. with that, of course fred tagged along and knew exactly where he needed to go when all the other places he had in mind had checked off his mind.

although he never found flowers appealing, he never said he wouldn’t learn about why it fascinates you so much; or why you hold it dear to your heart whenever you come across them.

fred still doesn’t know why, but when he’s sitting cross-legged across you with the horizons aligning ahead of the both of you, the glow of the sun painting whatever it came across a pale orange, fred focuses on the color of your eyes. your eyes grow smaller as you smile widely, now offering him a dandelion between your bodies.

“close your eyes, freddie,” you can see he’s hesitant - well, of course he would, once you threw a frog at him when he did - and you understand, but now it’s different. sighing, you reach over with your free hand to grab onto his, giving it a gentle squeeze, “i promise there are no frogs here,”

he’s more taken aback by your hand in his rather than the frog but he can’t possibly show that now. clearing his throat, he nods, “f-fine,” his eyes flutter shut and he manages to keep his grip of your hand in his, refusing to let go.

“now, think about how your day has been,” pleasant, for the most part. he almost got into a week’s worth of detention based on a prank gone wrong with george but what else is new? regardless, he was here now with you, and that’s all that mattered now.

“what could’ve been...” well... if he’s being honest, he saw you in the great hall this morning but refused to come by and sit down with you like he usually did. he’ll admit, it’s a little silly, but when you end up finding him, taking a seat next to him and greeting him with a cheerful ‘mornin’, freddie!’, he’s reminded again of how he can’t ever not be around you. he’ll always, always want to see you.

“...and what you want it to be,” this is bloody unfair, now is it? things that he’d want to work out his way... maybe just weren’t for them to work out the way he wanted it to be. and that’s okay, fred has come to terms with that. but when it was you asking him that question, it felt like... a sort of punishment he didn’t know why he deserved. he let this question idle past him, his mind simply anticipating for the next prompt.

“and now... wish for what you want,” this is ridiculous. fred’s mind goes blank... until he feels the hand in his giving him a gentle caress on the back of his hand. the way your thumb soothingly draws circles makes him gulp - he’s holding onto what he wants already. before he can try to vocalize his answer internally-“open your eyes and blow,”

fred’s body reacts to your words faster than he can take charge of his motor reflexes. his eyes peel open and his lips part to gently exhale, watching as the remnants of what was a dandelion in front of him, disappear and flow into the wind. parts of it, land in your hair and you’re chuckling, closing your eyes and trying to shake them off. no matter how hard you tried to shake them off, it seems like the bits of dandelion were stuck on you and fred squeezes your hand, feeling like this must be a cruel joke.

how the hell did does that piece of... piece of thing know? more importantly, how is this not magic?

regardless, he tries to ignore it and watch how pleased you are that he followed through. you’re excitedly swinging his hand around, “how do you feel?”

“t-terrific,” he squeezes out a single word out of his throat, feeling it seal on him soon after. he still has a genuine smile on his face, but he’s certain his heart isn’t going to slow down after this. not after the way you have stars in your eyes as you smile at him, the curve of your smile lifting his spirits to the sky... if it means having you like this with him, for a split moment where the world didn’t matter and magic wasn’t a priority, then by all means, fred loves dandelions.

#fred weasley fanfics #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley imagines #fluff #harry potter fanfics #harry potter stories #harry potter scenarios #teaser #ff: dandelions

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letspurpletogether · 6 years ago

Text

Teasing (m)

→ Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

→ Word count: 3.6k

→ Summary: The one where your study partner is just too cute you can’t resist teasing him.

↳ Warnings: pwp, (like zero plot istg...) explicit sexual themes, fingering, some dry-humping, unprotected sex, inexperienced partner, sub!jungkook, noona kink, some fluff if you squint. I didn’t proofread this so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

“Are you cold?”, Jungkook asks you after he sees you shudder again.

“I’m good”, you wave a hand in dismissal, you eyes glued to the laptop’s screen where the word document with your group’s assignment is opened, almost done. You’re freezing, actually, but there’s nothing to do about it considering you’re already wearing one of his fluffiest hoodies over your shirt. “Let’s just wrap this up real quick. We still need a better conclusion”.

Normally there is nothing in this world that can drag you away from your bed on a Sunday winter’s afternoon, but this assignment is worth 70 percent of your final grade and if you want to keep your scholarship you can’t afford less than a 4,5 for this essay. It was Jungkook’s idea to meet at his dorm, but he forgot to mention the heating system at his dorm was a little broken.

While you are sitting at the small blue couch right in front of his single bed, the laptop over your legs and a knitted blanket Jungkook had lying around his room threw over your shoulders, your partner sits down on the floor, legs crossed. Books and notes scattered around him and on his unmade bed, a bottle of banana milk half finished in his hand. He looks a lot younger than he is in his oversized black hoodie and the sleepy expression on his face as he sips from the red straw.

“We could finish it tomorrow, noona”, he suggests. But you are quickly shake your head in dismissal.

“We have to turn this in tomorrow. There is no time”

Jungkooks whines.

“We don’t have class with professor Kim until after lunch, noona. We have time”.

“If you want to sleep be my guest. I’ll see myself out when this is done”, you retort and hear him scoff.

“I’m not going to sleep with you in my room still working!”, he pouts. You can’t help a small chuckle leaving your lips at the sight of him with his pink-tinted cheeks. “Come on, noona... We’ve been over the essay half a dozen times already, it’s good. A single conclusion paragraph is good enough”.

You sigh and close the laptop. He has a point, but your perfectionist ass is always in search for the extra bit. Maybe you can try to polish it up by yourself tomorrow at first hour before leaving for your first class and give the poor boy a break. He’s never been one for academic writing, Jungkook always did better with the arts. He was quite good, even got some of his sketches published on one of the campus magazines.

“Fine...”, you stretch your arm to grab the laptop’s case and then proceed to secure it inside. “If you are that tired I guess I can leave”

“That’s not- !”, he looks down, a hand comes to his face in a poor attempt to hide his obvious blush from you “I didn’t mean it like that... You- you can stay...”. He whispers that last bit, but you still catch it.

“Stay?”, you smirk and look at him with amusement. Jungkook refuses to meet your eyes, he’s so cute when he’s embarrassed like that. “Stay where? Should I sleep in your bed then?”

He shoots his head up, like a deer caught in headlights. His doe eyes stare at you as if they couldn’t believe what you just said. His face’s gone completely red by now.

“I-“, he captures the red straw between his lips to avoid your question but ends up chocking up before he can swallow.

He puts it aside, coughing a couple times to get his breathing back to normal. Then he gives you a sheepish look.

“If noona wants to sleep here I can take the floor”, you can’t help but chuckle at his suggestion. Messing with him is always easy. He’s too shy, too cute sometimes that it’s hard to resist teasing him a little longer. But alas, you take pity on him and laugh it off.

“I’m just joking, relax”, you tell him and stand up from the couch to gather your things.

You hear him chocke out a forced laugh and turn your face to check his facial expresion. A hand rubs his neck, and there’s that tiny head tilt he does whenever he’s nervous. He notices your eyes on him so he immediately stands up and offers his help.

It’s when you are ready to leave that you remember that you are still wearing his hoodie. A last chance to push his buttons and watch his cute face contort in embarrassment.

“Oh, hold on...”, you hand him your bag. “Let me give this back to you before I steal it”

You step back to grab the hem of the hoodie and pull it over your head.

“You don’t-” The motion drags your shirt along a little, leaving your mid drift exposed to Jungkook’s eyes.

He knows he shouldn’t be staring at you again, but God! You’re so hot sometimes it drives him insane. And the worst part is that he knows you don’t see him as anything more than a kid. It’s not like you’ve rejected him or something, despite your constant teasing and flirting, he is convinced his not your type. He’s seen it: mature and elegant, with their life all figured out. Very much like that Seokjin dude you dated a few months back. Jungkook knows he’s the opposite and he doesn’t have the balls to ask you out anyway.

The last thing he wants is to make things weird between the two of you. If you stopped talking to him, then he’d be devastated.

You take off the oversized hoodie, and Jungkook notices something odd about the way your boobs bounce softly when you fix your shirt. And is with a racing heart that he realizes you are not wearing a bra.

All this time? Does that mean you walked in here like that?

”...W-Why aren't you wearing a bra?! , he doesn’t think before he speaks. “This is a boys only floor, noona!”

You look at him a little baffled at his outburst.

Why does he sound so scandalized? You are in your pajamas anyway, a long T-shirt and some joggers. Why would you use a bra when all you want is to be comfortable?

You smirk and raise one eyebrow.

”And why are you looking at my boobs, Jungkookie?”, you coo.

”I'm not! Well- I am but it's not...” he's completely flustered now, stumbling on his words. He covers his eyes with his palm and lets out an anguish whine. ”They’re just there!”

You chuckle and lean closer to his form. Just enough so you can whisper into his ear. ”Your such a little perv, Kookie... Fooling girls with that innocent act of yours when you are like this... tsk, tsk, tsk”.

“Oh my God! That’s not-”, he takes a deep breath and shies away from you. “Noona, don’t say those things...”

He plops down on his bed, now covering his embarrassed face with both hands. He blushes even harder, that even down the neck of his shirt you see that he’s completely flushed.

You can tell your little act affected his blood flow in more than one way also, by the way he bring one hand to his pocket to fix his pants. It only makes you want to push him even more, but you don’t know how much he’s going to take before he kicks you out of his room.

So instead, you sit next to him and try to calm him down.

“I’m sorry, you’re just too easy to tease, baby”, you half-joke, a hand goes to pat his broad back. A soft whimper comes out of his lips at your casual use of the term of endearment and you chuckle, delighted “I won’t do it again”

Jungkook takes a deep sigh and lowers his hand from his face.

“You’re so mean sometimes, noona”, he says and looks up to meet your eyes for a brief moment before looking away.

You give him more reassuring pats on his back.

“Sorry, let me make it up to you. Would you like that?”.

“How?”

“What would you like me to do, hm?”, you ask.

It’s actually an innocent question. You are thinking about buying him some of those lamb skewers he loves, or getting him a new sketchpad, maybe a coffee. But when eyes meet and you find yourself enraptured by the way his pupils visible dilate, obscuring the warm brown from his eyes.

He licks his lips, your eyes follow his tongue’s movements and your are suddenly aware of how close you two actually are.

He smells warm, like a sunny day. All the heat that irradiates from his honey skin you can feel it through your palm. You lick your lips and lean closer, your hand tracing figures of eight on his back. He shudders, but doesn’t draw back. On the contrary, he moves a little closer to your until the outside of his his knee touch yours.

The shift in the mood is obvious the next time he speaks.

“Noona...”, his voice is a husky whisper.

“Yes, Kookie?”

“Can I...”, his eyes linger for a moment on your lips, as his pink tongue prods out of him mouth to moisture his own. He’s so cute and he has no clue to what that little tongue of his does to you. “c-can I kiss you?”.

Kiss you? Did innocent Kookie really just asked if he could kiss you?

Oh, my...

He doesn’t even know what he’s getting himself into.

Your hand moves from his back to his cheek and you run your fingertips over his soft skin. You cup his cheek and like a puppy he closes his eyes, keening into your touch. So compliant, so cute, you think to yourself.

You don’t answer him. Instead, your body moves forward and you press your lips to his as your other hand comes to cup his other cheek. Jungkook’s breath hitches in his mouth when your lips meet, but he soon melts into you.

His lips are soft as they start to move awkwardly to match your rhythm.

You bite his lower lip, earning a gasp from him. That’s when you take the chance to prod your tongue past his lips. He tastes sweet like banana milk.

And he moans into your kiss.

You want nothing more than to ruin him, to hear him moan and beg for his release. But maybe not just yet... you don’t know if he’s ready, if he had any kind of experience. He’s a handsome guy, you know there are half dozen girls in your semester that are after him. But he doesn’t pay attention to them, it’s like he is not interested at all. That makes you wonder if he could be a virgin still...

However, it’s the hand that’s creeping up your shirt and grabs a breast without hesitation that makes you realize he is not. He kneads and pinches one nipple between his fingers making you moan on his lips.

Before he can make you moan again, your hands land on Jungkook’s shoulders and you push him back onto the mattress. He gasps as you move to straddle him, pinning his wrists to the mattress.

Jungkook looks at you with heavy lidded eyes, his lips red a swollen from your kisses. His breath hitches in his throat when you lower yourself on his lap and grind against his growing bulge.

You lean down to press a short kiss against his jaw and pull back to watch his worked up expression.

“What now?” You ask with a playful smile.

“Huh...?”

“Did you just want to kiss me, Kookie?”, you tease him further. He swallows hard.

“N-no...”

“No?” You coo. “What else do you want to do, hm?”

“I want- I want to...”, he can’t seem to find the words, so you have to do it for him.

“Do you want to touch me again, baby?”. A needy groan leave a his throat.

“Y-yes...”

“Where?”, he’s blushing out of control, and bites his nether lip so hard for a moment you think he might draw blood. You release one of his wrists and run a hand down his chest. “Use your words or noona is going to get her things and leave”

“No! Please... don’t leave... don’t-“

“Then answer me”, you hand slips under his hoodie and shirt, to find his warm skin, rippling with lean muscle. You can’t wait to strip him and cover his skin with love bites. “Where do you want to touch me, baby boy?”

“I- I want to touch your tits, suck at them...”, he admits with closed eyes. You busy yourself with trailing kisses down his neck.

“What else?”

“I want to touch your legs... “, his free hand moves to your thighs. “And your ass...”

“Is that all?”

“N-no, I... I want to touch...”, he opens his eyes, now clouded with lust and need. “I want to touch your pussy... I- I want to fuck you, noona”.

And the cute bunny surprises you again for a second time tonight. He’s bolder than you thought he’d be.

“You want to fuck me?”, You feign surprise to rile him up a bit more. “Such a dirty boy, baby”

He bites into his own lips and lets out a shaky breath.

“Noona, please...” he grips the fabric of your joggers, and the hand that’s still trapped in your hold tightens into a fist. “I’m so into you.. I- I really really like you, y/n. Let me... please let me have you...”, his cute and desperate confession has a streak of arousal shooting through your body, right to your core.

You smirk.

“Then take me”.

He nods and raises his head to capture your lips in his again. You free his wrist and he wastes no time grabbing a handful of your ass, prompting you to grind down against him. God you are so wet, you are sure it’s already begin to leak down your pants. You slide up and down over his clothed length with ease, his hard cock providing you delicious friction.

It’s with great difficulty that you manage to break from his kiss to get rid of his yellow hoodie along with his shirt in one tug. His skin is beautiful: lithe muscle in such a sweet honey color and you can’t help yourself. You want to taste him, and so you lean forward and leave a wet kiss between his pecs, and go down from there. He sighs. You quickly make your way to his left nipple and trap his hardened bud between your lips, while you hand finds the other one and tugs at it.

Jungkook cries out, you note he’s very sensitive and wonder how well would he do with the toys you have stored back home. You keep kissing, pulling, bitting twisting to elicit more of those beautiful sounds.

You are no longer bothered with the cold as you keep grinding down on him.

“Ahh... that- that feels good...”, he manages to speak between chocked cries, and tangles his fingers into your hair. “Noona... please...”

You pull back to discard your own shirt and wink at him when you toss it aside. Jungkook lowers his gaze to your exposed breast and licks his lips in anticipation. It doesn’t take too long before you are both naked, hands all over each other. Jungkook is sucking at your nipple whilst he other is being taken care of by his hand. Your hand wraps around his throbbing length, pumping it just enough to make him shudder.

He wraps his arms around your waist and rolls you over the mattress, so that he can feel your body flushed against his. One hand traces the curve of your hips, tracing a beeline towards your core, while he used the other for support.

He uses two fingers to separate your lips, moving them up and down to coat them in your slick. You pull the hairs at his nape when he decided to slip two of them inside your heat at the same time. He moves them in and out, squelching sounds filling the room along with your own labored breaths.

“Do you like that, noona?”

“Yes, baby... it’s feels amazing. Keep going”, you move your hips in circles trying to follow the rhythm of his hand. He makes you arch your back every time the heel of his hand brushes against your engorged clit.

He adds a third finger.

You are so ready for him, a gush of slick cover his hand and trails down between your butt cheeks. The coil of pleasure begins to tighten at the pit of your stomach with each thrust of his fingers. You need to have his dick now, or you might lose your mind.

“Jungkook...”, you call for him, but he’s too busy working you up over the edge that he doesn’t hear you. His fingers curve inside you, brushing against your most sensitive spot. He curls them again, every time white sparks of pleasure shoot through your body. His lips busy sucking a hickey on your neck. “Ahh... fuck-“

You grab him by the wrist. He raises his head to look at you.

“You need to lay back, now”, you say, out of breath. He grins, his bunny teeth showing making him look too adorable considering what he’s being doing. He nods eagerly and retreats his fingers from your pussy with a wet sound.

He positions himself on the bed, back against the mattress and you crawl up his body again.

The swollen and red head of his cock already oozing precum when you grab him to pump him a few times, before guiding his cock to your soaking entrance. However, the head just nudges past your lips when he stops you with a panicked expression.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath, as you sinking back to your heels. Jungkook sits straight and you examine his face, hoping to read whatever it is that made him change his mind. The red in his cheeks intensifies as he makes a poorly attempt to hide it.

“I- I don’t have condoms...”, he sounds defeated, and you can’t help but chuckle, reaching for his face to brush the fringe from his eyes. “And I’m not sure if I- if I can pull out on time”.

“I’m on the pill, Kook...”, he nods absentmindedly like doesn’t fully understand what you just said. You throw your arms around his shoulders and press your lips to the corner of his mouth.

Jungkook lets out a pleased sigh.

“Does- does that mean we can still do it?”, he asks and you align your faces together.

“Do you want to?”

He nods.

“I am, I haven’t- I mean... “ he mouths something you can’t quite understand. “I’m tested, I’m clean”

“I’m clean too”, you caress his chest and shoulders with a soft smile. You lower a hand between your bodies and circle his length. Jungkook closes his eyes and sighs his pretty face relaxing in pleasure. “Do you trust me?”

“I do”, he breathes.

You tilt your hips upwards, supporting your weight on your knees and guide his cock to your opening. The head nudges at your entrance, glistening with your mixed lubricant, and your hands come to hold his shoulders as you begin to sheath him inside of you.

You caress his chest, leaving a small peck on his lips before pushing him back on the bed. The stretch feels so good already and he’s not even fully in yet. Jungkook’s hands come to gently fondle with your breasts as you sink down completely with one thrust.

“Fuck... noona...”, Jungkook gasps as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

His thick veiny cock stretches you open, and you start moving. You keep slow pace at first, enamores with the soft sounds spilling from Jungkook’s lips as he moves his hips to meet yours. But a particular hard thrust has you clenching around him and he moans loud.

“Ahhh, shit... faster, noona... please”.

His fingers dig into the skin of your hips and he thrust up again.

He doesn’t need to ask you twice as you start to bounce up and down his cock, grinding your click against his pelvic bone every chance you get. A slapping sound every time your ass meets the seat of his lap. The bed creaks loud under the movements of your lovemaking, sure the room next door has to be empty or you would’ve heard complains by now.

Jungkook moans your name over and over, the bright flush on his sweat-covered skin tells you he’s probably close already.

“Are you going to cum for me, Kookie?”, You clench your muscles around him again, and he cries out. His breathy moans are the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard, and as you keep grinding onto him you can feel your own pleasure start to peak. But you don’t want to come yet, you want to see his pretty face when he comes firsts.

“¡Ngh...! I- Ahh...”, he swallows hard, taking a deep breath. His hands leave soft touches on your hips and move down your thighs. “I’m really close, noona... if you keep doing that I’m-“, you clench again and his eyes go blank with pleasure. “¡F-fuck...!”

“Do you want to come inside, baby?”, you push back his fringe that’s already drenched in sweat and keep up a steady rhythm. Jungkook nods fervently in response, unable to speak properly and you lean down to kiss him. You tongue plays with his, and you suck on his lower lip before whispering to his ear. “Fill me up then, baby”.

That seems to be enough to throw him over the edge.

“Noona, fuck, fuck, fuck...¡Agh! ¡Ahhh-!” he chants, holding onto your hips with both hands to keep you still as he starts thrusting up again until his release hits him.

The coil of pleasure down your abdomen that grew even tighter watching Jungkook come undone is about to snap. The way his cock pulses between your walls sending shivers down your spine. A high pitched moan leaves Jungkook’s mouth, his eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed and his mouth hangs open. Warm stripes of semen coat your inner walls as he keeps bucking his hips to yours, and you start moving again, to help him riding out his orgasm and chasing your own.

You bite your lip when Jungkook’s thumb finds your clit. Using his own release as lubricant that’s now leaking out of you, he circles the sensitive bud before applying direct pressure with the pad of his finger. You’re almost there, almost... “Ah... Jungkookie... Like that, just like that”, Your moans join his breathy whines as he begins to feel the pain of overstimulation.

“Noona, please... ‘s too much- Ngh!”. His voice sounds ten times sexier when he begs, whining and crying for you to come all over his sensitive cock. That’s what finally makes you reach your high. White sparks of pleasure flash before your eyes as your orgasm washes over you.

You moan your lover’s name and your nails rack down his chest.

“Shit, shit... Ahh... Ngh...”

You roll your hips, riding out your orgasm until you come down completely. Jungkook is trembling under your touch. Tired and spent, he winces when you slide off his member and let yourself fall next to him in the narrow bed.

For a moment there’s only silence and the sound of your labored breaths.

You bring a hand to your forehead to wipe the cold sweat off your skin. You are suddenly aware of the room’s temperature again and a shiver runs down your spine. Jungkook notices and rolls over to wraps your in his arms before pulling the blanket over your bodies. The warmth of his body pressing against your back makes you feel so contented, more than you’d dare to admit out loud.

“That was...”, he sighs and his nose nuzzles against the crook of your neck. “I’mma ask professor Kim to give us more assignments like this”

You chuckle and turn your face around to give him a peck on the lips. He grins like a little boy.

“You are too cute for your own good”

“Only for you, noona”

#jungkook smut #sub jungkook #sub!jungkook #noona kink #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #baby boy jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook fluff #teasing #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook x noona #noona!reader #jungkook lemon

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jmeelee · 6 years ago

Text

Sterek Bingo 2019 • Theme: Wild Card

Cora’s twenty-first birthday party is in full swing when the vibration of an incoming text jiggles Derek’s right ass cheek. He pulls his phone from the pocket of his too-tight jeans to find a befuddling text: There myst be sumething wrong w my eyes.

Derek’s future does not include being an Alpha, and that’s fine; he’ll happily leave the politics, management, and difficult decision-making to his older sister, Laura. Instead, he’s been training the last few years—learning languages and studying cultures and meeting werewolves all over the world—to become his pack’s liaison. He’s young, but his good name and reputation are already circulating, so he automatically thinks, this must be a young werewolf in need of help. Plus, it’s no secret to the supernatural community that his beta-shifted eyes are blue, instead of gold.

His thumb’s hovering over the touchscreen when a drunk girl bumps into him, her red solo cup full of cheap beer exploding like a water balloon all over the front of his olive-green henley. “Oops,” she slurs, lids drooping over bloodshot blue eyes. She gropes his soaked pectorals with her bare hands.

Derek’s eyebrows berate her before he heads for the staircase. He’s tired of pseudo-babysitting intoxicated college kids anyway.

By the time he’s showered off the stale booze and changed into pajamas, almost an hour has passed. He grabs his phone off the nightstand to finally reply to his cryptic messenger, and finds a new text: i can’t take them off of u.

What the hell? It wasn’t a cry for help at all; it was a lame pick up line. Derek’s mood sours as he imagines Cora egging one of her immature girlfriends into sending him the terrible come-on. The culprit is probably downstairs right now. He swipes over the message, deleting it, and powers off his cell before climbing into bed, pulling a pillow over his head to drown out the noise.

He’s so done with this day.

A week and a half later Derek’s pushing a cart up and down the aisles at the grocery store when his phone chirps. He stares at the flashing number of the unknown contact, wondering why it looks vaguely familiar before he opens the text. Did you invent the airplane? Because you seem Wright for me.

At least there are no typos this time.

He almost deletes the message right away, but the split second he hesitates gives him an excuse to type back. This is clearly Gustave Whitehead erasure and I won’t stand for it.

The return response comes before he can black out his screen. Dude. Are we having our first fight?

Derek doesn’t hesitate this time. Find someone else to annoy.

Rude.

He puts his phone away and staunchly ignores the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He’s already in bed, and would never have heard the vibration except for his supernatural hearing. My name’s Microsoft. How about I crash at your place.

Derek blinks the sleep from his eyes enough to type back, I own a Mac.

In the morning, he sees the response. Harsh dude.

You must be a trumpet because you’re making me horny.

Wow. This is your worst one yet.

Is that a challenge, Derek?

NO!

Did it hurt when you fell from the vending machine? Because you a snack!

Please stop.

“Derek, answer that or I’m going to punch you in the face,” Laura threatens between spoonfuls of cookie-dough ice cream. The harsh buzzing of his phone sounds like a jackhammer to their sensitive werewolf ears, and it’s disrupting their movie marathon.

If you were a transformer, you’d be Optimus Fine. Oh lord.

“What’s with the sappy smile, big brother?” Cora coos.

Derek schools his face into a scowl. “Nothing.”

She throws the blanket off her lap and lunges for the phone in his hand. A tussle ensues. Derek is older and stronger, but she’s fast, sneaky and not above fighting dirty, and she grips the phone before he knows what happened. “What the hell is this?” She’s screeching with laughter, holding his cell out so Laura can look. “Who’s sending you lame pick-up lines?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” he gripes. “You put her up to this.”

Cora furrows her brow. “Uh, what?”

“The night of your birthday party, the first pick-up line came through. It was someone at your party. I figured you put her up to it as a joke.”

She checks the number again. “The only person I ever gave your number to was Erica, for official pack business. This isn’t Erica’s number.” She grabs her cell off the coffee table and punches in the digits. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Cora laughs so hard her eyes water.

“Who is she?” Laura asks.

“Not a she.” Cora holds out her phone with a shit-eating grin so Derek and Laura can read her contacts. “It’s Stiles Stilinski.”

Terse silence follows her declaration. Then Derek asks, “Who the fuck is Stiles?”

6 & 7

“Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one…” Derek counts out his squats in a whisper, monitoring his form in the full-length mirror. He feels his phone vibrate, and the grin reflecting back at him is disgusting. He should be ashamed.

He gently places the weight back on the rack when he completes the set and digs the phone from his mesh shorts.

Is your phone in your back pocket? Because that ass is calling me!

Derek honestly can’t say what possesses him to turn around, open his camera app, and hold the phone over his left shoulder. Perfect timing ur not following me r u? he writes back, attaching a photo of his butt. A dude doing kettlebell lunges across the gym gives him the stink eye.

Stiles answers with a string of peach emojis, which Derek understands, and a single unicorn emoji, which he doesn’t.

I know who you are, btw. Stiles Stilinski, the sheriff's kid? Cora figured it out

Usually, the response comes immediately, but Derek’s walking out to his car before he receives two simultaneous replies.

Well since the cat (be gr8ful i didn’t say pussy) is out of the bag

my mother used to tell me to follow my dreams so… where will you be tonight?

Derek sits behind the wheel, staring at his phone, weighing the pros and cons. He’s never gone on a blind date before, and he’s been burned, badly, in the past. Being single is sometimes lonely, but at least it’s safe. He doesn’t want to put a defenseless, unwitting human in harm’s way. His brain keeps supplying him with a list of perfectly rational reasons why he should leave their playful correspondence in the sandbox of cyberspace, but his heart furtively whispers what if.

8 & 9

There’s a live band at the bar, guitar player crooning a popular rock ballad while Derek nurses a beer for show. He checks his smartwatch for the seventh time in a span of three minutes and happens to catch the message notification as it pops up.

Do you know CPR? You better learn because ur taking my breath away

He spins around, searching for guys on their phones, frustrated to find almost every man in the bar staring at their screen. A baby-faced guy plops down on the open stool next to him as Derek’s eyes scan the crowd.

“Scott bet me I wouldn’t be able to start a conversation with the most beautiful person in the room.” Derek glances back, startled, to find a generous mouth smiling at him. “What should we do with his money?”

His first thought: HOT. His second thought: young. “Tell me you’re twenty-one,” Derek greets him. “Actually, please tell me you’re legal.”

Stiles dramatically crosses his heart, eyes wide. “I only look seventeen, I promise. It’s a blessing and a curse.” He holds out a sturdy but slender, long-fingered hand. “I’m Stiles. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

Derek takes his outstretched hand in a firm grip and swears he feels a zing when their skin makes contact. It’s official; he’s been single too long. “Derek. Let me buy you a drink, and you can tell me how you got my number in the first place.”

Stiles winks as Derek flags the bartender. “A gentleman never reveals his secrets.”

“Gentleman?” Derek, cold, fresh beer in hand, arches a brow. “Based on some of the texts I’ve received, I’m not sure gentleman is the correct term.”

Stiles clinks his drink against Derek’s. “Touché.” He eyes Derek over the lip of his brown bottle. “So, did you lace your pilsner with wolfsbane, or do you enjoy the taste?”

Derek, mid-sip, spits his beer onto the bartop. “What the hell?” he sputters, mopping at the mess with the world’s least absorbent cocktail napkin.

Stiles calmly takes a sip. “Come on, dude. My father’s the sheriff, and this town is literally a supernatural shit-show. If that wasn’t enough, my best friend is Scott McCall.”

“McCall?” Derek leans closer, soggy napkins forgotten, to whisper, “The True Alpha?” Derek’s met Scott at a few local pack gatherings.

“Yup,” Stiles replies. “He was bitten by a rogue werewolf when we were sixteen. So you could say I’ve been a little-” He makes exaggerated air quotes- “involved in the supernatural scene the past few years.”

Derek leans back, accessing Stiles in a new light: deceptively lean physique, handsome, impish face, the ability to make Derek laugh, and take him by surprise. The laundry list of reasons not to do this quickly goes up in smoke in the face of being able to show his true nature to a partner. Stiles smiles like he knows exactly what Derek is thinking.

“So, what do you say? Do I pass the test? Should we give going on an official first date a shot?”

“One condition,” Derek demands, holding up his index finger. “You’re not allowed to use a single pick up line all night.”

Stiles squawks, tossing long arms into the air. “You might as well ask me not to breathe! Or the Mets not to lose!”

“Chicken?” he asks, leaning into Stiles’ space. Derek quirks a brow and lifts his chin, eyes drawn like a magnet to Stiles’ tongue when it sneaks out to wet his lips.

“Hell no. Challenge accepted. Eight pm Saturday night.” An impish grin. “I’m gonna date you so hard, Hale.”

As far as (official) first dates go, it’s pretty damn amazing. The conversation flows as easily as the wine at dinner, and Stiles’ running jokes and commentary during the shitty movie doesn’t bother Derek at all. He’s thrilled to find their easy banter translates to real life, after weeks of electronic flirtation.

“Hey,” Derek whispers as they say good-night at Stiles’ apartment door. He wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, pulling him close. He brushes a kiss, feather-light, across Stiles’ mouth and smirks. “Are you a magician? Because when I’m with you, everyone else disappears.”

Stiles leans back, arms still locked around Derek’s shoulders. “What the hell, man! You said no pick-up lines!”

Derek tuts. “I said you couldn’t use any. I never made the same promise.”

Stiles’ eyes narrow. “Serious question?”

“Shoot.”

“Will there be a second date?”

A second, a third, and more, if Derek has any say in the matter. “Absolutely.”

Stiles’ grin is slightly manic as he untangles slim fingers from Derek’s hair. “Well then, there’s probably something I should show you.” He holds up a hand in front of Derek’s face and snaps his fingers. A spark of light fizzles to life before his eyes, emanating from Stiles’ palm, and burning ozone singes the fine hairs inside his nose.

“Huh,” Derek replies, dumbly. “I did not see that coming.”

Stiles’ coy smile ignites something hot inside him. “I have some other party tricks I could show you if you want to come in?”

Derek leans forward again, chasing the bright glimmer of magic between them, the one that’s been there the whole time. “Oh, absolutely.”

——

For @evanesdust and based on THIS PROMPT by @faladrast

#eternalsterek #haleinski #sterekbingo2019 #sterek #sbwildcard3 #sterekbingo

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luvdsc · 4 years ago

Note

Hello miss cat! It’s been a minute since I’ve popped in on your blog, and just in time to see you posted a new fic! I’m so very excited to start reading it and come back to gush since I’ll always adore your writing (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

Anyways, life update on my end! Sorry if it’s a little long hdjshfj I started college and have been doing not so good 🤩 I have online classes still, which I think is part of the problem, but I’m also just very unmotivated to do any of my stuff :’) I’ve been really liking my job though (I work at a restaurant and my coworkers are literally the best) and thought maybe I’d take next semester off or just take a class or two and go full time, but I’m not sure yet. I just don’t know what I wanna major in or what I even wanna be in the future still? I’ve always had a “go with the flow and do whatever” type of mindset, plus I’m very indecisive AND not super attached to any specific thing, which doesn’t help me at all. If I did go into a job with animals like I’ve always thought I would, I don’t think many are the right fit for me in terms of how much I’d like to get paid, how long I’d have to go to school, and my actual interest in the job as well,,

In terms of kpop and stuff, I’ve fallen out of the loop so hard omg... I don’t even buy albums anymore and have been trying to sell pcs for school money 😔 I’ve only been buying nct dream albums and debating whether I wanna keep diving into txt or tbz even though I already know I probably won’t stick around for long. I saw you bought one of txt’s albums though? :0 I swear fourth gen groups are extra hard to choose a bias for, so mine literally switches between all of them, but Taehyun is my number one for the most part! (Jisung’s birthday twin 🥺) also, have you gotten your hot sauce/hello future albums yet? If so, wHO DID YOU PULL? I’m still searching for Jisung’s past Kihno, pls,, but I have Jeno’s departure and Renjun’s past Kihnos, so I’m happy for now :’) also Eric and Jeno finally met aHH, the twins 👀

Anyways, I hope you’re doing well miss cat! Please do take care of yourself and your well-being :) drink lots of water and eta lots of good food and take mental health breaks when you need them! Time to go and read your new fic so I can tell you how much I lone it later <3 - 🥫

hi, sweetpea !!!!!! 💓💓 omg it’s been so long, I hope you’re doing well !!! How have you been? What have you been up to these days? 💘 aaaa I hope you enjoyed the fic if you’ve read it :’) I haven’t been writing at all these past few months, so unfortunately, I don’t see any new postings in the near future 🤧

oh noooo, I’m sorry to hear that college isn’t going as well as you hoped ): online classes are such a struggle, I only had my last quarter online, but it was so difficult to pay attention in class…. I hope it’s gotten better for you, lovebug, and that you find the motivation to go to your classes !! You got this 💜💜 I’m happy to hear that you’re enjoying your job and liking your coworkers though !!!! It’s good that you have something positive to balance out with the gross online classes 🤧 picking a major is definitely a hard decision, and I also struggled really bad with it (and I have two major changes and two minor changes on my school transcript to show for that lmao) but whatever you think is best for yourself, then I’d say go for it! If you think it’s better to take a step back to figure out what you wanna do, then I support you. If you decide to continue to take classes and see if any interest you enough to major in it, then I support you also, lovebug 🌸 yeah, there’s a lot of factors that go into picking a major, and if it helps, my final top two factors were money and stability lol I ultimately chose to major in a field that will make me a rather decent amount of money and have a stable trajectory up the chain, like I know I’ll get promoted after so and so years, how my salary will rise, that I can find a job easily, etc. so it’s not the job I dream of, but it gives me what I prioritized

oof yeah, I feel this too 🤧 I just saw that there’s gonna be nct 2021? But other than that, I only paid attention to winwin actor 🤩🤩🤩 omg did you get rid of your nct collection ???? 😦 they do go for quite a lot….. hmm maybe wait a few more months and see if you still like tbz or txt? albums are quite expensive after all 😅 and yes I bought two !!!! I bought fight or escape and blue hour ✨ omg taehyun, I think I got his pob pc ?? YES april told me that he and jisung are bday twins and that’s so cute :’) I LITERALLY GOT THE NOTIF THAT MY ALBUMS FINALLY SHIPPED YESTERDAY 💀💀 but I checked the tracking and it says location unknown so 🥴 I’m honestly so done with this, I don’t even want the albums anymore 😭 omg good luck with finding jisung’s past kihno !!!! It’s super cute 💕💕 and YOU GOT JENO’S DEPARTURE KIHNO was it hard to find??? I hope it wasn’t too expensive, I know his kihnos for that era were sooo pricey 😬 and renjun’s pcs are so pretty ✨✨ is Eric from tbz? the only 4th gen idols I pay attention to are itzy and aespa 🤧 and somi ! 💞💞Although idk if she’s 3rd or 4th gen shjdjdjdkx

I’m doing very well, lovebug, thank you so much for checking in with me and for all your well wishes 🥺💗💗 I hope you’re also taking care of yourself and drinking lots of water and eating yummy food and having a good weekend !!!!! 🌷🌷🌷 I’m always so happy to see you in my inbox, and I hope everything has been going well for you, angel 🌼🌼

#asks #anonymous #🥫 anon

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cillian-oconnor · 5 years ago

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( sam claflin, human, he/him & cismale ) is that ( the boys are back in town ) by ( thin lizzy ) playing? ( cillian james o’connor ) must be nearby! heard folks say the ( twenty-nine ) year old ( police officer ) was not at the letum falls thanksgiving fair because ( he’d been called elsewhere on a different job ). as a result, they weren’t present during the glitch but ( he’s haunted by the guilt of being unable to save everyone who died ).

𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍

born 29 years ago in dublin, ireland, to john and ellen o’connor, cillian was the second-born of three sons, although middle-child syndrome is a totally foreign concept to him.

school was a pretty easy ride for him but he tended to get bored because he liked a challenge, something more hands-on and interesting.

the rest of his childhood was relatively ordinary, until the age of eleven when his parents moved to letum falls, taking him and his brothers with them, in search of ‘the american dream’. if he was honest, he couldn’t put his finger on how he felt about the move. on one hand, he was thrilled at the idea of a fresh start, the chance to be whoever and whatever he wanted to be. on the other hand, the thought of leaving every single friend he’d ever made was nothing short of terrifying.

it was tough for cillian as an irish boy going through american schools, but he was grateful for his brothers to help him through it. nothing too horrendous happened to him, he just felt like the odd one out, never quite fitting in with everyone around him.

he had a small but solid group of friends, but a few more certainly wouldn’t have hurt.

he got through more than his fair share of exes, people seemingly fascinated by his accent amongst other things (as though they’d never heard a different accent before), but usually managed to end relationships on relatively good terms.

days after his twenty second birthday, cillian moved out of his parents’ and worked towards his freshly realised goal of becoming a police officer. years of training later, cillian is now an officer at letum falls police department.

up until the thanksgiving fair and the chaos that ensued, work had been just about the only part of his life that he had all figured out, as outside of work, he’s always been a ‘go with the flow’ kinda guy (he blames it on his whole life being uprooted at the age of eleven and not even being able to have an opinion on the matter).

his parents and brothers still live relatively local, though all three boys have now left the family home.

originally, the o’connors had arranged to meet at the thanksgiving fair and spend the day together, however, as he was unable to get the time off work, cillian missed the family get-together and was instead sent to investigate a case elsewhere.

it was a minor petty theft, but it was during this time that the glitch happened and things at the fair went haywire. luckily, his family weren’t severely harmed during the chaos but cillian can’t forgive himself for not being there to protect his family and all of the casualties that happened as a result of the glitch.

in his heart, he knows that there was likely nothing he could’ve done, even if he had been there, but as a member of the town’s law enforcement, he feels obligated to protect the citizens of the town and as a result, feels that he let everyone down and failed at his duties.

all that continues to play through his mind is what if i’d lost my family? and all he can think about is how many people did lose their family.

even worse than being unable to protect everyone, he has no idea what even happened and that makes him feel even worse than useless. he’s entirely convinced that it’s something beyond the realms of human understanding though, and is certainly fascinated by the countless cases that have been labelled by the police as freak accidents.

𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢

cillian can come across as being quite confident, but he lacks self-assurance and masks his true feelings a lot of the time.

externally, he’s amiable and warm but inwardly, it’s a bit of a different story. not only does he find it difficult to tell people about himself, but he often fails to see the purpose of doing so.

he’s incredibly laid back and sees no point in wasting his energy worrying about things that don’t matter or that he can’t change. he has a ‘big picture’ approach, focusing more on the end result of things and situations rather than the details along the way – he’ll cross those bridges when he comes to them.

cillian likes to think of himself as pretty charming and easy-going, determined to make people like him. its his naturally easygoing nature which makes him easy to open up to and confide in, even if this isn’t reciprocated.

when it comes to his work, cillian is a different person. he’s focused and driven, determined to get the answers people need and deserve.

however, because of this, he can often take his work home with him and mull over cases while he’s off, particularly those unrealistically labelled as freak accidents.

he’s torn between his loyalty to his job, and his belief that people deserve the truth so for now, he continues to investigate and peruse cases alone without divulging too much incriminating information to others.

if ever anyone encounters him staring blankly into the distance, chances are he’s lost in his world of work again. he loves what he does, because he loves knowing that he’s helping people.

he’s sensitive to other people’s emotions and patient regarding differing opinions – definitely more of a mediator than an argumentative type of person, however this can translate as indecisiveness at times (don’t ask him what flavour cupcake he wants, just give him one, he’ll be happy with whatever you choose)

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

friends w/ benefits

Dodgy People™️ who’ve had run ins with the police

unlikely friends

enemies

exes/previous flings

literally anything and everything

yes i did copy/paste this section from billie’s intro and no i’m not sorry

#othqintro #did i make this up on the spot? absolutely #have i actually thought through any of this? hell to the nah

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shiikadai-archive · 8 years ago

Text

here it comes (the unavoidable sun) | voltron

i realized i would never write this bc i’m a Lazy Fool so i thought i’d just post my somewhat in-depth outline of shiro and allura throwing themselves back into the tournament so that they can rescue matt bc he’s obviously still there DUH (also i’ve conveniently chosen to assume shiro comes back bc, to reiterate, obviously he does DUH)

after ages and ages of searching for Matt, the squad (read: Pidge) discovers that he’s still stuck cycling through the tournament

since only the winner of the tournament is allowed to dictate the terms of their imprisonment, Matt has essentially been stuck in limbo

Shiro reasons that, as the previous Champion, he has a shot at winning the tournament and renegotiating the terms of Matt’s imprisonment if he wins again

Allura, however, refuses to let one of her Paladins go on such a dangerous mission unsupervised and insists that she tag along

Shiro and Allura land on one of Galra’s satellite moons in a small pod

Allura disguises herself using her shapeshifting abilities

Shiro grows a beard ?

Allura masquerades as a dealer wanting to get in on some cash and negotiates with another dealer to sneak Shiro and another contender (read: herself) into the games

a subtle and sentimental moment follows where Shiro assures the princess that they’ll make it through this before the two are separated and taken to their holding cells

there are two objectives at play here:

Shiro’s primary objective is to make it through the tournament so that they can negotiate Matt’s terms

Allura’s primary objective is to find Matt and garner as much information about the Galra’s plans for the future while they’re here, as well as somehow survive the tournament

finding Matt is relatively so much easier now that they’re in the tournament, but his head is a little lost and he’s having trouble remembering how he got here and where he was before

Shiro not only has to focus on the tournament but on jogging Matt’s memory because it is absolutely not an option that he brings back an amnesiac brother home to Pidge

the fights are definitely harder this time; there’s a new overseer in control and he’s much better at calculating which prisoners to pit against each other so as to keep a constant flow of competitors but to not let anything get too out of hand

Allura comes back beaten near bloody from one of her fights and Shiro is almost tempted to yell at her but he sees this fierce look in her eye and she wipes the blood from her lip real easy

and the thoughts in his mind fracture for a moment, because he thinks of how he nearly lost her to Haggar when they broke the source of the quintessence

she’s in reach of his arms this time but he’s still unable to do more than look on and hope for the best and watch her fight like hell to grow stronger than she already is

sometimes they pass each other while their respective groups of cell mates are on water or bathroom breaks and there’s this look that they have for each other

even while they’re murmuring quietly to each other about how things are progressing, Shiro’s fingers brush over her knuckles and there’s a catch in her breath and he asks if she’s okay and she just whispers “yes” while refusing to look him in the eye

it’s a few weeks before the semifinals of the tournament roll around and Allura has been eliminated by this time but she is still made to watch the matches and every time she sees Shiro she can’t help but cringe

because here’s the thing - he’s so used to the pain, to every blow to his shoulder or abdomen or jaw, that he hardly reacts and just pummels back at his opponent with equal force

and Allura thinks of how someone so gentle with her can condition himself to be so hard given a particular situation

her eyes lock with his as he comes out of his match, the winner and the first contender for the championship title, and the smile he sends her way makes shivers run down her spine

of course, you’re probably wondering where Matt fits into all of this

it’s surprisingly a combined effort that helps jog his memory a little at a time; Shiro and Allura will stand on either side of him on water breaks and just talk about Pidge as if it’s any other day and Matt will remember some tidbit from his childhood and his heart will lift and for the first time, he’ll feel like he can actually make it through the day

in fact, the day before Shiro’s final match, Matt says that if Pidge has made herself into someone new for the sake of getting back to him, that he’d like to show her he’s tried to change to get back to her, too

his hair has grown long by this time, but Shiro uses the heat from his Galra tech arm to shave off Matt’s hair from the sides and cut it a little short and shorn a Jewish prayer into one side of his head

and then, it’s the final day of the tournament; Shiro wins, as expected (and desperately hoped) by Matt and Allura, and all seems good as he files into the overseer’s office until a paper is held in front of his face and all it is is his reflection staring back at him

Shiro doesn’t even realize until too late that he’s being injected with the serum and it’s a splitsecond before everything goes Galra purple but he sees Allura’s face, and the scar on her left eyebrow or under her jaw and the short, jagged cut to her hair, and the cracked skin of her lips, and then he has to close his eyes

he comes out to the crowd with the overseer holding his hand aloft and announcing that the Champion has returned, and Allura is down in the prisoners’ box wondering what the hell is going on

but then the overseer is calling for a challenger to battle the recrowned Champion and Allura has to find out where the hell they are in all this so she tugs her hand from Matt’s - he holds on for so, so long, and it pains her to let go but she has to, if they’re going to get out of this - and marches up to one of the guards at the gate and says that she’s the one going into that arena

the guards, of course, are amused that some girl who got beat up in the first few round is daring to challenge the Champion, but they call the overseer anyway

and of course, in the overseer’s eyes, this makes for the perfect bloodbath, so he gives the okay and Allura steps into the ring and starts running through how best she can communicate with Shiro while still making their fight look good

but then she’s fighting him and she barely has a chance to talk before he twists her arm so hard and Allura sees stars, feels the pain rocket up her spine as she tries to catch air

her head twists in an effort to meet Shiro’s eyes but all she sees is black, and then the overseer hanging above them in the box with a disgusting smile on his face and it all sort of sucker punches her at once

Allura blacks out from another hit and before she knows it she’s waking up in the cell, Matt’s hand on her arm and his questions running past her mind as she fits all of the pieces together

there’s so much anger and anguish filling her up and Allura just clutches at her hair and screams for a second before tucking her head into her knees and breathing heavily for several long minutes

it takes her a few days, but she regains her composure and formulates a plan and the first part of that plan is to disguise herself and get Matt out because not only is it what Shiro would want, but after being here for so long, it is what Matt deserves

so she gives him the instructions that Pidge had given her for sending the signal and waiting for Keith to pick them up while Lance provided cover, and it takes a while for her to convince him to go, but she tells him that Pidge needs him more than she does, and that’s something he can agree on, so he goes

and then, finally, it somehow comes to the point that Allura hadn’t been expected to anticipate but did anyway, because she is a princess and a leader and this is what she does, is foresee and plan accordingly so she can get things done

every waking minute in the holding cell is spent utilizing any opportunity to strengthen herself or train so she can throw herself into the tournament again

she makes small talk with the other cell mates and works herself into a position where she can practice on others and collect information all the while without giving herself away

and when the tournament begins again, Allura doesn’t spare herself any time to watch Shiro the way she used to when he battles, with concern or agitation; the look in her eye is always calculating and observant of angles and trajectories and weights

she’s building herself into a mirror of Shiro, or at least she’s trying to, and every battle that she goes into she comes back out from bloody but not beaten, because she’s stronger each time she shows her face in the arena - she has to be

and somehow the weeks go by and she doesn’t know how she’s lasted this long without smile-cringeing at Lance’s jokes or fussing over how best to get along with Keith now that he’s part Galra or trying to talk to Hunk about Altean food or recounting memories of her father with Coran or trying to learn more about Pidge’s likes and dislikes or seeing Shiro genuinely smile, but it hurts, it hurts, it hurts

the semifinals of the tournament come along and it’s a miracle but she makes it, kicking and screaming because she has to get to Shiro before he loses himself to them, and as she’s walking out she notices there’s a small patch of hair missing from her forehead, but for some reason she doesn’t even care

the day of the final round her hands hardly shake and she runs her fingers through what hair she has left, brushes her thumb over the scars that mar her skin on every possible surface

his eyes are black when she looks into them before the battle but as soon as the siren sounds Allura is screaming and she’s yelling at him about how Keith is probably dying to see him and Pidge is worried sick and Lance can’t handle being without someone to look up to or to have guide him and Hunk just needs everyone to be okay or his anxiety will skyrocket

there’s no sign that he’s listening but she claws at him, doesn’t think twice about resting her eyes on the scarred bridge of his nose or the nice shear to his undercut or what used to be a hard but gentle jaw

everything at this point is about clawing past the black and into the soul, and there’s a moment near the end where she thinks it’s all over, because it’s Shiro, and really, how can she face off against him?

but when she throws her arms his way for one last punch, her wrist slips into his hand and their eyes meet and it’s so quiet for a second, she swears the world stops

and it’s ages and ages, but a fleck of gray comes back into his pupils, and then another, and another, and pretty soon Allura of Altea is staring at Takashi Shirogane, and her eyes are welling with tears upon tears

he whispers to her to kick his ass and drag him through the dirt because he deserves it for being so optimistic and letting himself get caught, and she throws him down to the ground, and Shiro’s face is as composed as ever but she can tell that on the inside, he’s just laughing and laughing

they’re a lot better about dealing with the overseer now, and because Allura is feeling a little bolder with each day that passes, she doesn’t hesitate to reveal herself to the overseer and promptly threaten him if he speaks a word about their deal or who they are

she and Shiro sneak out the way they came in, make it to the dropsite, and send the signal, and while she has come to appreciate Keith, Allura is so happy that it’s Hunk who comes to get her and Coran who covers

she dissolves in Hunk’s arms and starts to cry, and when Shiro asks from within Coran’s arms if she’s okay, she can’t bear to respond it’s all overwhelming her so much

they get back to the castle and the others are ecstatic, Pidge rushes for the infirmary and with Matt’s help - she’s so happy to see him, she’s been lively enough as it is but with her brother around it’s like she’s a walking lighbulb - washes the blood off of Shiro and Allura and properly sutures and bandages any of their open wounds

it’s a long time before they’re alone together, but Shiro is lying in his infirmary bed and he can’t sleep and he asks her, “How did you do it?”

Allura smiles, gets up from her infirmary bed and walks over and talks it through - the strenuous training, the detailed observation, and the continuous struggle

he’s so proud of her he can’t help but hold up a hand to cup her face, and it nearly takes the breath out of him when she leans into the touch

in fact, his voice is so hoarse that when he finally says “Princess” it sounds like a plea, and Allura just opens her eyes and says, “Allura”

“What?”

“You called me ‘Allura’ when you were worried about me”

“I’m not worried about you right now”

“Of course not, but you were worried about me, at least once”

Shiro nearly cries from the thought, but he pinches his nose and keeps it in, tucks his forehead against hers and wraps his arms around her waist before pulling them back down to the bed together

and neither of them has to say anything but Allura closes her eyes and smiles soft, tucks her head into the crook of his neck and doesn’t startle when his lips meet the patch of skin where no hair lies anymore

it’s well past midnight in a galaxy a dozen light years away and it’s been who knows how long since they were home, but they are, and home is her body tucked under his arm while she closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep

Shiro thinks to himself, “I love her”

and for the first time in a long time, his eyes close, too

#takashi shirogane #allura of altea #shallura #vld #voltron #voltron: legendary defender #*hc

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talesofzestiria-r · 8 years ago

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Script: Mt. Mabinogio Ruins

Part 1 - Mt. Mabinogio Ruins

Download as PDF: click

For the complete list of skits, refer to this post: Skit List For the overview of the whole script, click here: Script

If you find any mistakes or have questions, don't hesitate to contact me.

The legend of the „Shepherds“... In a bygone age of myths, when darkness threatened to enshroud the world, it was they who reclaimed light from nothingness. Over and over, as the world plunged into chaos, the legend would come to people's lips, and the would pray for salvation. And Io, each time a Shepherd would appear to vanquish the darkness once more. But with peace returned, it was never long before the Shepherd's would vanish. As for where they had gone... No one can truly say. And with all things, eventually they faded into legend. Now, once again, the world faced the thread of the darkness... … And the people began to speak of the Shepherds once more. But alas, no Shepherd' came forth to guide his people to peace. Sorey (S): I knew it! A hero, brandishing the Sacred Blade... This mural is a depiction of the Shepherd! Bout time I found it! Mikleo (M): Nothing on my end, Sorey. S: Mikleo! M: Looks like you beat me this time. S: Heh Heh! This proves the Shepherds have been around since even before the Era of Asgard! I knew it! M: Let's not jump to conclusions just yet. We still don't have definitive proof that this ruin itself is pre-Asgard. It could be an imitation. S: Seriously? You really think they'd make a fake ruin of this scale? Get real! (Dark clouds and lightning) M: That... that doesn't bode well. S: Wait, isn't that-- M: I think our ruin adventure is over for today! (Sorey can't take his eyes off the wall) M: C'mon! (Mikleo is falling) M: Urgh S: That was too close! M: Could I get a little help, please? (Both are falling) M: Surging currents! Twin flow! Sorey! That didn't go quite how I planned it but not to shabby, am I right? Guess that makes us even! S: Unbelievable! Who knew there'd be ruins underground? Woah, good thing we fell down here! M: Right... Hey, let's try and find a way out of here. (Mikleo reaches out his hand to Sorey) S: Huh? Oh yeah. I didn't knew the ruins where this deep! M: Better leave the investigating for another time. We need to find a way out of here. S: Woah, oh man, what a drop! It's been nothing but heights all day. But I had an awesome bas-relief to distract me. M: Yeah, I bet you did. (S sees something in the distance) S: Hm? (S sieht Alisha am Boden liegen) S: It looks like someone's lying there. Hey Mikleo. M: Hm? S: It's... It's a human. M: It can't be! (S passes M) Stop! We shouldn't involve ourselves with their kind! S: She's still alive! We can't just leave her here! M: Fine. I'll give what help I can. Let's take a look around the area first. S: Kay! (S tries to destroy a spiderweb but fails. S hears/ feels something) M: What's wro- S: Shh. There! (A spider hellion falls from the ceiling) S: It's huge! What is this thing?! M: Quit gawking and get your sword ready! (After beating the hellion) M: Wait, hold on. It can't be... a hellion? S: A hellion? For real? M: I've never seen one in person before. S: What could a monster like a hellion be doing in a place like this? (The hellion disappears) S: It's getting away! M: Wait. Don't you remember what Gramps told us? S: Huh?

(Backflash with Zenrus (Z), S and M are children) S & M: Hellions? Z: Yup, Hellions. Horrible monsters that are created by the malevolence. They can only be defeated by the power of purification, which naught but a chosen few can use. So if you ever cross paths with a hellion, just run as fast as you can! Remember you two: common folks like us don't stand a chance against those fiends! Got it? (Z caresses M's and S' heads, Backflash end)

S: We can't beat a hellion without the power of purification. M: We should just be glad we escaped it. S: And anyway, we have bigger problems. M: Hm? S: We have to hurry and save that girl! Before something worse finds her!

→ Skit: The Cause of Thunder S: That human probably got caught up in all the lightning just like we did. M: More like the other way around. We have her to thank for all the crash-boom-bang. S: That lightning... That was Gramps, wasn't it. M: Yeah. It's a warning to invaders: Not one more step. S: … Sorry, Gramps. I can't just leave someone who needs help. M: Heh... This is turning into an eventful day for once.

→ Skit: A Mysterious Monolith S: That was a cool monolith! M: We've had quite a bounty of discoveries today. S: If I'm not mistaken, that stone is a lot newer than the surrounding ruins. M: Yeah, it's from a completely different age. S: It read like advice of some sort. M: Most likely it's a guidepost left by previous visitors to aid fellow travelers. S: So we're not the only ones who go around investigating ruins! M: Humans have terms for them. Things like „adventurer“ or „explorer“. S: Explorers...

(M opens a treasure chest) M: Might as well help myself to some treasure. I'll tell you what it is when we get back. Come on, let's keep moving. (M and S are standing in front of the abyss and are looking for a way to get to Alisha) M: Well? S: Heh heh... Okay, maybe not. (Some stones are falling down) M: Hey, watch out! Don't scare me like that. S: Sorry about that. Hm? You don't suppose... M: Hm? (Dirt is flying mid-air above the abyss) S: There, take a look. M: Hm? S: Go on... Look closer. M: Come on, we don't have time for this! Let's cut the fun and games, all right? S: Oh! Then let me explain! As you see... M: Ugh, forget it. Let's just go back down there. S: Hah! You never could handle losing. (Both are going down again) M: I see. So that's the deal. S: Who would have thought that you could walk in midair here? M: Or, that an invisible bridge would be here. S: Think it could support a person? M: Well well, aren't you sharp today. S: Heh heh. M: For a change. S: Pfft.

→ Skit/ Discovery Point: An Incredible Bridge (Discovered by Sorey) S: This bridge is incredible! How do you think it was made? M: I think this is beyond the capabilities of human technology. S: So like, the bridge alone might date from the Era of the Gods? M: Possibly. But either way... They definitely had assistance, whether from seraphim like me or someone else. S: They really didn't want anyone to reach the other side. M: The path ahead leads to Elysia. It stands to reason that they'd do what they can to protect the Pureland. S: In the past, any pilgrims who showed up at the shrine probably thought the gap was simply uncrossable. M: Same as we did until just minutes ago. But good job picking up on that. Your intuition is always impressive. S: Oh yeah? M: For its rarity. S: There we go. I knew it was too good to be true.

(They have reached Alisha (A), S picks up her spear) M: Maybe we should rethink this. S: Hey. Are you all right? A: Uh... Ah... I was... I was in a forest, and then... (A looks around in panic as if she is searching for something) S: Looking for this? (Shows her the spear) (M stands in front of her) M: Boo! (A doesn't react) Yep, she's human, all right. S: Yeah. Glad you're okay. A: I'm sorry to have troubled you. And you are...? M: Your name. S: Oh. Right! My name! I'm Sorey. A: Sorey? S: Yep. Nice to meet you! A: Well met. Is there anywhere one could rest around here? I'll need to make plans to get back to the capital. S: You're from the city? A: Well? S: Umm... Hmm. Why don't you come to where I live? M: Sorey! Are you nuts? A: Are you sure that wouldn't be a problem? You barely know me. S: I can't just abandon someone in need. That's all. M: Haven't you noticed that she won't even volunteer her name? It's only natural to be cautious. A: Aren't you going to ask my name? Are you sure? S: Everyone has their reasons. But you don't look like a bad person to me. A: I cannot possibly thank you enough, Sorey. M: Gramps is gonna let us have it when we get back. S: I know. A: Yes? S: Nah, don't worry about it. Anyway, that's the way out. Let's get moving!

Talk: Hey. Are you all right? A: I appreciate the concern, but I am fine. Lead the way. I am right behind you.

M: I don't want to have to remind you, but keep your eyes on the girl. S: Kay. But too bad we didn't meet in better circumstances. M: You really don't have a skeptical bone in your body.

(S, M und A verlassen die Mabinogo Ruins) S: Whew, we made it back in one piece! A: Wow... It's beautiful! Like a shrine out of myth. I half expect to see seraphim wandering around. S: You really do call them „seraphim“! A: Is that funny to you? S: Nope! „Things which cannot be seen or explained, such as gods, spirits, or supernatural phenomena, are revered by the people as 'seraphim'.“ Right? A: A quote from the Celestial Record? (S pulls out his book) S: Bingo! A: You've read it too?! S: Yup! Wait, you as well? A: I used to read it all the time when I was a kid! (M pokes S) S: Agh. It's a little ways from here to my village. Let's get moving! A: Okay! S: So, uh, is the Celestial Record a children's book? Well, I mean, you said you read it when you were a kid. A: Plenty of adults read it too. I was probably just mature for my age. S: Oh yeah? Huh. Well, figures, I mean, it is an amazing book. A: Yes. M: Well, looks like someone's enjoying himself. S: This is my village, Elysia. A: So it's not Camlann, but Elysia then. Then the rumors where false after all. (Sees the goats) A: W-What are those creatures?! S: What do you mean „creatures“? They're goats. A: Goats? Are they usually this big?

#tales of #tales of zestiria #tales of zestiria r #zestiria #alisha #diphda #alisha diphda #mikleo #sorey

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ladystylestores · 5 years ago

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Li Edelkoort Talks Overhauling Fashion, ‘The Age of the Amateur’ – WWD

https://pmcwwd.files.wordpress.com/2019/06/emily-bode-new-collection-02.jpg?w=640&h=415&crop=1

The Age of the Amateur isn’t just upon us — it should hang on for decades. That is one of the expectations put forward by trend forecaster Li Edelkoort, who described the waves of change crashing on the fashion industry.

As the pandemic has prompted designers, creatives and consumers to re-evaluate their personal and professional choices, the fashion system, in turn, is shifting. While the pandemic shutdown has to a large extent pulverized retail sales, employees’ jobs and consumers’ thirst for fashion, there are other factors at play. The past few months of self-isolation have led to the discovery of individualized creativity, demand for more sustainable practices, an appreciation for handmade creations and the need for imaginative fashion presentations, according to Edelkoort.

Her plans include setting up the World Hope Forum, an international alliance designed to counterbalance the World Economic Forum. The aim is “to bring new ideas on how to design new ways of doing things, innovation in the structures of companies, brands and educational institutions, etc.,” she said. Having more powerful people, who create, could lead to new searches by companies and “growth without greed,” the trend forecaster said. A cadre of WHF ambassadors will be selected and local chapters may be set up this fall. The first forum day is expected to be held next spring or summer, Edelkoort said.

“So many things need to be reset and redone that creativity will be very needed. We need to exchange ideas and learn from each other on all levels. We need to open source ideas so that we can help other people with ways of doing things,” she explained. “What I want is for the creative people of the world to be involved with the business side. There needs to be more powerful people who create. There also needs to be sustainable growth that is taking care of the planet and the people.”

While upheaval abounds in fashion retail, manufacturing, show production and pretty much every other sector of the industry, Edelkoort remains encouraged. “It’s also a beautiful moment, because we can overhaul everything. It is really the moment to reset our profession. I’m also excited about this moment because we have this opportunity,” she said.

Here, Edelkoort discusses “The Age of the Amateur,” her new hope forum.

WWD: What are your expectations for the fashion industry with so many people being devastated by all that is happening?

Li Edelkoort: It is a very difficult moment for fashion. It was difficult before COVID-19. In many fields, we see where there was difficulty before, there is even more difficulty now. It’s almost like unavoidable things are happening, because there was nothing of interest any more in several brands. American brands especially are going to be very tested. They have trained to be basic, normcore and fast. After this, we will expect other merchandise, better merchandise — with a bit more spirit and quality. Certainly, they will have to give more time to making collections. The brands that will make fewer collections will be doing better.

WWD: How are people changing?

L.E.: People are really discovering their own creativity. This sort of forced stillness helped them to start baking, mending, creating embroidery, even creating fashion or re-creating [it], singing, making music, dancing and [making] film. I call it “The Age of the Amateur” — the idea of the creative amateur is very important. Maybe one day I will want to write a book about it. I see it going on until 2050 or so. More and more people are involved with the creative flow in the public at large. It’s a very deep current that, of course, started with things like Airbnb, where everybody becomes their own hotelier. There is more and more of this initiative to maybe retail a few dresses, have a salon, do some baking, host a dinner at your table — whatever people do.

WWD: What about consumers’ interest in fashion?

L.E.: Less interest. I’m also quite sure there’s no interest, because there are no interesting things. Interest will come back as soon as it becomes interesting. Personally, I feel a very strong draw to fashion that I haven’t felt in a very long time. I think it’s because of the lockdown. I really enjoyed my clothes more than ever…we had more time to think about how to dress. It’s like I discovered my clothes and what it is to dress. I’m ready to find very new clothes. However, I will not buy much anymore. I never did. I am absolutely slowing down because I want to find the thrill of buying.

WWD: Do you see the scale of production drastically reducing as people are becoming more conscientious about their purchases, sustainability and the back stories behind their purchases?

L.E.: The planet has become more important to many people. Even after two months of lockdown, there have been real results for the planet. The air is clean, clean, clean. The water got clear and the animals are enjoying our cities. It was a very strong visual lesson…that, in fact, the only thing we need to do is to stop producing so much product and already we can solve some of these problems. Imagine that.

WWD: What else is changing?

L.E.: A few years ago I made the anti-fashion manifesto. Basically, what we wrote then is what everyone now says. In all aspects, we need to find new ways. It’s going to be different — virtual presentations, films. So far there is no one brand that has managed to do a proper exciting thing. So we’ll see what happens in the next few months.

WWD: What about the diversity problem?

L.E.: It’s a problem in the world and it’s a very big problem in fashion. The fashion world is more behind than any discipline. It’s a very white industry. First of all, there just needs to be more attention. We don’t see enough diversity in art and design collections. There we need to take the first steps so that we create the creative Id, which is colorful and diverse.

WWD: Do you think interest in influencers will fall off?

L.E.: It is such a fickle system. It became business-as-usual, which took away from the uniqueness of the system in the beginning. In a way, it’s just consumption. If there is one term we will not want to use anymore, it is “consumer consumption.” Those words just don’t sound right anymore. We need more content, more stillness. We need much more love put into the creative process. There needs to be more care for the workers. The overhaul is vast.

WWD: Have you discovered any new designers recently?

L.E.: Not really. Of course in America, Emily Bode is the frontrunner of how to do things.

WWD: Will all the shows be virtual or films?

L.E.: No, there will be smaller shows, smaller venues, more homemade. Maybe it’s just the designer and the team. There may be more local models, because who wants to take big flights? It’s barbaric to take a plane actually [now]. In many ways, it’s like starting new. There is something incredibly cute about that.

WWD: Do you expect the museum shows to be canceled for the next year or so?

L.E.: Most of the shows are canceled. We are doing a big design exhibition in September in the north of France. But most exhibitions are canceled. It’s not all gone. It’s just that everything is on hold.

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meraenthusiast · 5 years ago

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How a 24 Year Old Creates Passive Income from $40 Million In Multifamily

Passive Income

A few months ago, my teenage son approached me and asked, “Dad, when I get older, can you teach me about that real estate stuff you’re always reading about?”

For those of you that have teenagers, not only was I just completely surprised that he wanted to learn about something, but he actually put his phone down and spoke. It’s a miracle!

Literally the next day, I was searching for podcasts to listen to while on the treadmill and I came across the interview below from Real Estate Investing Live.

I was completely blow away what David Toupin, a 23 year old (now 24) had accomplished in such a short period of time with real estate investing and passive income creation.

After hearing his story, I just had to connect with him to pick his brain. And luckily was able to.

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Hearing his story at the perfect time my son wanted to learn more about real estate falls into David’s mission of inspiring young people to become entrepreneurs and teach real estate investing along the way.

Shaquille O’Neil

It reminded me of an interview I recently saw where a Wall Street Journal reporter was interviewing Shaquille O’Neil, AKA Shaq.

One of the greatest basketball players to go through LSU mind you.

Anyway, the interviewer asked him about why he does what he does. You see, Shaq has his hand in all kinds of business and franchises such as Krispy Kreme and now is a spokesman for Carnival Cruises.

My first thought was, “How does he fit in those tiny cabins?”

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Anyway, the guy asks him, “Shaq, I’m sure you have deals pitched to you all the time. How do you filter through all of them and decide which ones to pursue?”

Shaq answers, “You know what? In the past it was all about how much money I was going to make in the deal. But now that I’m out of basketball, I’ve changed. And it’s if I know if I do this deal, I can help change other people’s lives, money doesn’t matter.”

David and Shaq are on the similar mission, to change people’s lives. The cool thing is that David can connect with the younger crowd because he’s one of them!

Entrepreneurial Journey

David is currently owner and cofounder of Obsidian Capital which is a real estate investment firm based out of Austin, Texas. He began his entrepreneurial journey when he was 13.

His story his similar to mine in that we both started a lawn service at the age of 13. He stopped doing it before going off to college as he thought he’d like to be a dentist like his dad.

After taking that first year of biology classes at the University of Detroit Mercy, he decided that dentistry wasn’t for him.

He eventually switched to finance and did a few internships in investment banking. On the last day of his internship, he turned down a six-figure job to start up a real estate business.

They asked him, “Oh, well how are you going to start? Do you already have something lined up?”

David replied, “Nope, I’m just going to figure it out.”

After beginning to self-education himself reading books and listening to podcasts, he connected with a local mentor and started doing a handful of fix and flips.

He eventually got interested in apartment investing and got his first deal under contract as a 12 unit apartment complex. At the time he was a broke college kid living at home and had this deal on a contract where he needed a couple hundred thousand dollars to buy it.

He figured out a way to arbitrage raising capital from investors who came in on the deal passively. They were seeking passive income and thus he was creating a syndication or a pooling of funds together to buy a larger property than typically one individual can on their own.

Usually the operators, or those that put deals together, get a piece of sweat equity for their work. Normally David gave the investors 70 to 80% of the deal while he got 20 to 30% for putting it together and managing it.

And then, he gave them 70 to 80% of the profits, while he got 20 to 30% of the profits.

During the hold period it cash flowed and then was sold.

He bought that 12 unit, then another 12 unit, and then before I graduating college bought a 100 unit complex.

Let’s think about this, he’s coming out of college with over 100 units and sitting on roughly $7 million of property. Not too bad for a 20 year old. Amazing actually.

Mindset Change

David mentioned that after becoming successful with real estate investing, he had to move away from several of his circle of friends he grew up with due to his shift in mindset.

In life, the more successful you get, the more people will try to bring you down. Sometimes it’s done intentionally.

Every investment conference or book I’ve read usually talks about changing of our mindset first. We have to commit that we’re going to change and go in a certain direction.

This was true in the books:

The Millionaire Mind

Grant Cardone’s 10X Rule

The Automatic Millionaire

As I’ve done a little bit of financial coaching on the side, I’ve seen too many physicians and dentists that make a lot of money but are broke.

They’ve gone through life struggling with debt and have a scarcity mindset vs having an abundant mindset.

It’s always some type of excuse why they’re broke such as:

“I had to pay off student loans“

“My practice loan was too big”

“I had to buy a house”

“I had to pay for my kid’s college and then their weddings”

I don’t know about you but if I’m broke, I’m not paying for anybody else’s bills until I get myself straight.

401k vs Real Estate

David recommends paying off all consumer debt and I wanted to get into some specific recommendations once that’s done.

I asked him, “For someone that has no debt except maybe a mortgage, what are some of the different things that they could look into build up passive income vs putting money in the market such as in a 401k.”

This was right up his alley in that his sole focus in his business is working with investors such as physicians, dentists, attorneys, entrepreneurs, business owners that are looking for passive income.

Obsidian Capital will put together a deal, run the numbers and present what type of returns are expected.

He gets several people that will invest with them with either cash or through their IRAs or 401ks using self directed accounts.

They pay out quarterly distributions to you so his investors are getting cashflow as opposed to just a value increase on a stock. Some stocks have dividends but they’re normally not more than 2-3%. He targets annually an average 8%, cash on cash return.

When they turn around and sell the property, their minimum targeted return is a mid to high teens annualized return.

Example

Here’s an example of a deal purchased in 2017 for 4.2 million. They put a couple hundred thousand into it and increased the value of it by increasing the rent.

They sold it a couple months ago for $7 million.

So in over a year and a half for an investor that put in $100,000 investment, they got back about $168,000. That’s roughly a 68% return in a year and a half, which is 70 times what the market’s going to give you in the stock or financial market.

He says that each deal is different but he hasn’t had a deal where they’ve been under a 15% annualized return after a sale.

His goal is to target stabilized cash flowing assets and people love getting those checks every quarter.

Syndication

David’s company focuses on mainly putting together syndication deals.

I asked him to describe what this is and he stated:

“A syndication is a term to describe the way that we fund the deal. So you can go in and buy a property on your own or joint venture with somebody. So, I put in $100,000, you put in $100,000 and we’ll go buy a property.”

“But then there’s syndication, which is where we pool funds together and essentially we’re selling shares to investors. So, for example, I just did a deal in Fort Worth, Texas, with a 140 unit apartment complex. We raised $3.6 million from investors, I think we had 26 separate investors put in money. Our minimum is normally 50,000 for accredited investors.”

“And so people put in money, it relates to X amount of shares based on their percentage of that total invested amount. You invest $360,000 of that $3.6 million you have 10% of the investor portion of the deal. For people that put in funds like that, you are classified as a limited partner.”

“This is a passive investment creating passive income. It’s not liquid, it’s not something that you can really sell out of. But you have ownership and shares in that, and you sign on an operating agreement, and ownership of the deal. And then that’s typically classified as a class A ownership interest, on this operating agreement.”

“For a lot of dentists and physicians that are in practice, you’re going to have an LLC that owns it, or partnership documents and an operating agreement. So we have the same thing for these properties that we buy. And then my company is the manager of the deal, the decision maker. And we have class B ownership interest, which outlines our roles and responsibilities.”

“We sign on all the debt, take the risk in terms of the loans, the management, operational responsibility. The entire time the investors stay strictly passive (which is what I like).”

What About Taxes?

Many of the readers on this site ask me about taxes whenever they’ve invested in passive real estate so I was looking forward to ask David about this.

Here’s his explanation:

“In terms of the tax implications when investing in a syndication, what happens is investors get a K1 every year. Normally the K1 deadline is mid March. It shows your portion of the profits or losses that the entity that you own a piece of gets every year. So what’s nice about real estate is we have all these write-offs like depreciation and capital expenditures. There’s bonus depreciation. So we can kind of front load a lot of these things, and it makes us show a loss on paper at the end of the year. And even though you’re getting distributions and making profit, you’ll have a loss in the first couple of years normally that you will be able to take on your taxes.”

“The great thing about these types of investments is it’s a great way to lower your taxes you receive on the passive income. Any loss that you show, you actually can write off against any other ordinary income that you make in your business, for example, or your salary. So not only do our investors get distributions, but there’s normally a loss that’s shown that reduces the amount of taxes you pay on your other income. And so going forward, most of our investors pay no taxes on any of the income or distributions that is earned throughout the course of the investment until we sell.”

My Thoughts

Whenever someone joins the Doctor Investors Circle, I get to learn firsthand all about their financial goals. (Have you joined?)

The majority of the time, they have to do with retiring early from seeing patients to begin pursuing all of their interests that they can’t now because of work.

Unless you save and invest a boatload of money early on, it’s tough to retire early maintaining your current lifestyle (fatFIRE) unless of course you’ve been creating passive income streams along the way.

David has learned early on in his career how to do this and now he’s helping others along the way living his dream.

The post How a 24 Year Old Creates Passive Income from $40 Million In Multifamily appeared first on Debt Free Dr..

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