#bridging open work permit

[skypodimmigrationconsulting]

What are the services associated with PR Card Renewal?

To enter Canada by any commercial carrier, including a bus, train, airplane, or boat, a Permanent Resident of Canada must possess a valid PR card; if not, you will not be permitted to board the vehicle. You can enter Canada without a valid PR card by private plane at an airport or by private car across the land border. This is not advised, though, as you may run into issues at Canadian customs if you enter the country again without a valid PR card for PR Card Renewal in Scarborough .

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗟𝗘𝗙𝗧 𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘 | 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟮

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where the weight of Matt's actions gets the best of him, and he tries everything to receive his girl's forgiveness.

WARNING: Fighting, cursing, crying, smut (mdni), slight praise kink. Angst with a happy ending!

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anons and @ivoncheetooo1239

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 1

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Matt sighed deeply as he parked his car at an abandoned gas station. He closed his eyes tightly as his index finger and thumb pinched the bridge of his own nose. His body was completely tense, as if someone had thrown a sack of potatoes over his shoulders and hadn't removed it until now.

The boy reopened his eyes seconds later, looking vacantly at the pitch black surrounding him before seeing out of the corner of his eye his phone screen light up for the thousandth time, alerting him of a new notification. He picked up the device, unlocking it and scrolling through the notifications bar.

His heart seemed to stop pumping blood to his body instantly, his face taking on a pale color as he saw more than 20 new messages and thousands of missed voice calls coming from Chris.

His brain seemed to go on red alert as his mind screamed Y/N's name, and then he finally revisited the memory of what he did to his own girlfriend just over an hour ago, the smoky fog finally dissipating from behind his eyes.

Matt felt like his chest was burning while his heart accelerated strongly. His arms momentarily lost strength, almost dropping his phone.

His eyes flicked through the messages before tossing the device onto the passenger seat, turning the key in the ignition and driving back.

He stepped on the accelerator with full force, exceeding all permitted limits and passing all red lights. He knew he would wake up the next day with a new ticket - or several -, but that was his last concern at that moment.

His orbs were fixed on the road, his brow furrowed as his mind rattled off the words he threw at his girl, his precious girl. If he could, Matt would go back in time right then and there, so he wouldn't break his promise to never hurt and abandon her.

Matt turned his steering wheel abruptly when their house appeared on his eyesight, slamming the break in front of the garage door, wasting no time in parking correctly. His hands quickly unlocked the doors, throwing his body out of the driver's seat and slamming it behind him, the dull thud echoing through the lonely night.

The boy's hands shook as he fumbled for the front door key, cursing under his breath each time it seemed to slip through his fingers.

Finally, after a few long seconds, he was able to open it, closing it slowly so as not to wake Nick, not wanting to involve another person in his huge mistake.

His steps were quick down the stairs, stopping in front of the familiar white door. The boy took a deep breath before turning the handle, pushing it slightly.

Matt's eyes met Y/N quickly, pain hitting his heart like a stake at seeing her in such a vulnerable state; Her eyes - despite being closed - were swollen and her face was wet from the last tears she shed before falling asleep.

A rude sound caught his attention, his gaze meeting Chris's, who stood up from his chair abruptly. His eyes held a fury that Matt didn't remember ever seeing before, while his shoulders were tense with nervousness.

Before Matt could utter a word, Chris pulled the collar of his shirt, bringing his face closer to his own. Chris's nostrils were flared from his heavy breathing, hitting Matt's face.

"If Jimmy was here, you'd be dead. That's no way to treat a woman." Chris rasped, his voice low but full of anger. "Fix your mistakes, or I'll end you."

He pulled away, roughly letting go of Matt's shirt, watching him with his right eyebrow raised and crossed arms, waiting for his next move.

Matt swallowed hard, biting his bottom lip hard, feeling the sensation of crying rise through his veins. He quickly turned his back on Chris, walking over to his brother's bed with tentative steps.

His hands lightly pulled the duvet down, exposing the fragile body covered in the pink sweatshirt set. Matt hooked his arms under Y/N's neck and knees, pulling her up carefully, watching her eyes move beneath her eyelids quickly. A sign of a nightmare.

Matt hugged her closer to his body, walking past his brother with his head down in shame, leaving the room and going up the stairs slowly, not wanting to wake her with every movement of each step.

Upon arriving in their respective bedroom, the boy took her to the bed, placing her body gently on the soft mattress.

"M-Matty?" The fragile voice echoed like lightning in Matt's chest.

Matt sighed, closing his eyes tightly as he crouched down, getting into a squatting position. The boy rested his arms on the mattress, bringing his face slightly closer to hers, watching her eyes slowly open.

"You came back. I thought you left me." Y/N whispered, her lips trembling as her eyes filled with fresh tears. "Would you really leave me?"

Matt felt his heart being crushed by her words, his cheeks burning, as if he had been slapped. He swallowed hard, mentally calling himself every worst name possible.

"No, no, no, baby! I would never leave you-" He shook his head repeatedly, his brow furrowing in such a way that he was sure it would leave marks.

You already did.

"But... You said you'd stay forever, and then you left me out in the cold, alone." A sob escaped Y/N's lips, her weak body shaking incessantly. "What did I do? Why would you do that to me?"

Matt felt his own eyes filling with tears, blinking them quickly to ward off the tears. The boy bent over his girl, hugging her head gently, stroking her hair with his fingers.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my love. I fucked up. Badly." An ugly sob escaped Matt's throat, cutting off his sentence. He closed his eyes tightly, the taste of his tears touching his tongue. "I love you so much, I'm so fucking sorry. I know that this doesn't change my actions, and trying to find a plausible explanation for why I acted that way won't erase what I did." His eyes travel across Y/N's features, seeing an ocean of hurt in her eyes. "If I could, I would go back and remake our day all over again."

He paused momentarily, swallowing hard.

"All the work we are getting with the 6 million and the new things on the channel has taken a toll on me. I missed you so much, Y/N, you have to believe me. I don't know what's gotten into me, I just got so upset because I wasn't seeing you as much as before. God, I was so selfish." Matt shook his head, biting his bottom lip hard. "I love you, and I never want to hurt you, not again. I was on the wrong, I fucked up with you."

His hands shook as they found her cheeks, caressing the wet skin.

"I'm so sorry." His voice now was a mere whisper, pain present in his tone.

"I-I understand. I also made a mistake, I should have warned you that I had to work overtime and... Give you space, I know I can be a lot sometimes. I never wanted you to come pick me up out of pity or obligation-"

Matt shook his head repeatedly, silencing her by guiding her head slightly so that she looked him in the eyes. His fingers working to brush the loose hair from her face.

"Don't say that. Please. You did nothing wrong. I love taking care of you as I take you to work and pick you up... It was my fault. I was an asshole, a terrible boyfriend, I- fuck..." He presses his lips into a thin line, stopping the sob that was about to come out. "I left you alone, what the hell was I thinking?"

"It's okay." Y/N whispers, lowering her eyes to the mattress, feeling her chest burn in pain from seeing him so distressed.

"Shh, no. It isn't okay." Matt denies it, his fingers touching Y/N's chin lightly, forcing her to look at him again. "I don't fucking deserve your forgiveness." He was pleading with his eyes for her to understand that she was not the one to be blamed.

Y/N nods while sniffling, closing her eyes as she feels her fingers caress her face as if she were made of porcelain.

"I love you. So much." Matt says. His hands cup her face, bringing his own closer, touching their noses in an eskimo kiss. "I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeated it like a mantra, sighing when he felt his girlfriend's ragged breaths so close to his. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Fuck, baby, I'm so sorry."

Their faces were equally wet with tears.

"It's okay, I'll forgive you at some point. Just... Don't ever do it again. Please." Y/N plead in a vulnerable whisper, half opening her eyes, before closing them again as she feels Matt's lips caress hers.

"Never, I'll never do anything like that again. I promise. I'll take care of you forever." He assured, nodding his head. "What can I do? How... What can I do to make you forgive me?" His tone was full of despair.

Y/N pondered momentarily, her heart beating heavily in her chest. Her hands snaked across the duvet until they reached Matt's wrists, wrapping her fingers gently around them. She pushed her head forward, lightly bumping her nose against his, touching their lips almost imperceptibly.

"Make love with me. Show me how sorry you are. Show me how much you love me, Matt. Please." She begged softly, her eyelashes caressing her cheeks as her eyelids fluttered, hiding her orbs.

Matt felt his breathing stop, his mind seeming to process what she asked. He curved his spine higher up the mattress, sealing his lips on Y/N's quickly, before pulling away, but not enough to lose the warmth of his face against his own.

"Are you sure? I don't want to take advantage of your vulnerability." His tone, despite being anxious, had hints of hesitation, not wanting to invade his girl's space after such a traumatic event.

"Please, Matty. I need to feel you. I need you to love me." Thick tears rolled down Y/N's cheeks, her tone full of anguish and lust, a strange mix, but one that matched perfectly at that moment.

Matt didn't blink, pushing himself up off the floor before kneeling on the mattress, helping Y/N lift her upper body.

He rested his right hand on the bed while his left one gently held his girl's jaw, as if she was made of glass and could break at any moment.

The boy brought his face closer to hers again, taking her lips in an intense kiss. His blue eyes closed at the sensation, his warm tongue caressing Y/N's bottom lip, asking for entry, which was quickly granted.

Their tongues started a beautiful dance, the taste of tears mixed with saliva. Whimpers escaped Y/N's throat, her hands flying to the back of Matt's neck, lightly tugging at the curly strands.

Matt moved nimbly onto the duvet, kneeling between his girl's legs and using both of his hands to guide her down, squeezing the spot below her breasts, just above her ribs, so that her back lay against the mattress again.

He bent his torso over Y/N's chest, keeping his weight supported on his right hand while his left one caressed her cheek, never once breaking the kiss.

Y/N snaked her hands around Matt's shoulders, squeezing the tense muscles caused by his position, desperate for contact.

Her fingers went down her boyfriend's abdomen like warm water, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up slowly. Matt broke the kiss for a second, allowing her to pull the piece of clothing off his body.

His large hands worked on ripping off Y/N's hoodie gently, admiring every bit of her exposed skin, and mentally thanking her for being braless.

He dropped the heavy piece to the floor, lowering his spine again and sealing her lips, their tongues now in a slower pace, pain giving way to love.

Matt ran his right hand down Y/N's breasts, caressing her nipples just momentarily, before moving further down, trailing his fingertips across her stomach and navel, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

He touched the waistband of her sweatpants lightly, breaking the kiss momentarily to draw in air, which filled his lungs like water on dry ground. His eyes wandered over the girl's hopeful expression, taking that as a go-ahead.

Y/N lifted her head from the mattress slightly, pressing their mouths together again, craving the contact.

Matt smiled against her sensitive lips, finally running his hand through the layers of clothes, moving down until he found Y/N's pleasure point.

His fingers rubbed circles around the already swollen clit, receiving nasal sighs from the girl below him, who raised her hips in search of more contact.

He took his fingers further down, slipping a finger between her folds, her wetness helping him to move better. He gathers a bit of it before slowly introducing two digits.

Matt pulled his lips away from Y/N, his blue eyes traveling over her features contorted in pleasure as she felt his long fingers going deep inside her. He felt like he could admire her like that forever; cheeks flushed from all the crying and pleasure, mouth slightly open - from where gasps and sighs escaped -, brow furrowed and eyes closed.

That was his private paradise.

"Matt, please." Her voice came out in a faint whisper, a silent plea for more.

The boy didn't take long, lifting himself onto the mattress to have greater access, dragging the sweatpants and panties down his girl's legs slowly, not wanting to hurt or rush her.

He removed his own pants and boxers, returning to his initial position between his girlfriend's legs. Matt lowered his torso, spreading small, wet seals across her belly toward her breasts.

His hands gently held Y/N's heels, pushing them so that she bent her knees and placed the soles of her feet on the mattress, opening her legs wider.

A breathy moan escaped the girl's lips as Matt gently kissed one of her nipples, the slightly chilled air of the room hitting the saliva on her hot skin, goosebumps rising through her body as a result.

"Is it good, baby? I'm making you feel good, hm?" Matt questions knowingly. "Y'so pretty. Even when you cry. My pretty girl."

He stroked the skin between the valley of her breasts with the tip of his nose, before moving up further, managing to see Y/N nod her head repeatedly in response, her cheeks wet from her tears.

Matt pressed his forehead to hers, their heavy breaths mixing as he looked down momentarily, taking his cock in his right hand, pumping it a few times, a wince escaping his lips at the sensation.

His blue eyes met hers, silently asking if he could continue. In response, Y/N's right hand snaked up his torso towards the small of his back, pressing down lightly, while her left hand squeezed the biceps of his occupied one.

Matt lowered his hips, brushing his red tip between her folds. He moved his hips gently, slowly pushing into her. A unison moan escaped both of their lips, Y/N closing her eyes tightly at the feeling of invasion while Matt kept his open, taking note of her every expression.

The boy eventually started picking up his pace, going with slow and shallow thrusts, sighs escaping his mouth, accompanied by breathy moans from Y/N.

"Matt- Oh." Her mouth opened in a perfect O as she felt Matt hit a specific spot inside her that made her see stars. "D-don't stop. Please."

"I won't, my love. I'll never let you go. Never again." Matt promised, his hips moving to deepen his thrusts.

Tears fell from Y/N's eyes due to the overwhelming sensations, the weight of the previous events still hurting in her heart, mixing with the immense pleasure that the boy was presenting her.

Matt sealed each of her tears with his lips, whispering sweet nothings and little apologies, along with huge declarations of love.

A sob escaped Y/N's mouth, her teeth working to clamp down on her lower lip in an attempt to stop the loud, ugly sounds from keep escaping.

"Hey, hey, sweet girl. I'm here for you. You're so important, the best girl out there. I love you so much... M'so sorry." He murmured against her lips lightly, his own heart aching with each tear that fell her pretty eyes. "Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?"

"N-no, please. I need you, I need to feel you." Y/N responded desperately, shaking her head, lifting her head off the mattress and sealing their lips in a messy kiss.

"It's okay, it's alright." Matt responded gently against her mouth. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

His movements never stopped, Matt alternated the rhythm between slow and deep, reaching places inside Y/N never reached before, feeling her hot, spongy walls pressing him into a delicious tightness.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck." Y/N moaned against Matt's chin, their faces moving messily against each other from the now faster movements. "P-please." She cried.

"I love you so much, so fucking much." Matt panted back, fucking her with a little more urgency, chasing her and his own orgasm.

It didn't take more than five thrusts, and Y/N felt her entire body tremble, her legs instinctively wanting to close - being blocked by Matt's hips - while her belly contracted. Her chest rose slightly from the mattress as her spine arched from the intense pleasure that hit her.

Her eyes saw little stars as she rolled them tightly, Matt's name escaping her lips like a mantra.

The sight and feeling of his girl's body shaking against his brought Matt's orgasm to the surface, hitting him hard. A moan escaped his throat as he buried himself deep inside her pussy, feeling his cock throbbing against the walls that seemed to want to crush him.

Matt pressed his nose against Y/N's cheek, breathing in her scent as he felt the sensations of his orgasm slowly subside.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Y/N whispered, still in a post-orgasm trance, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged, her legs still having small spasms.

Matt kept his eyes fixed on her face, watching her come down slowly, rubbing his thumbs on her hipbones to ground her.

"Y'with me, babe? S'all for you, my love. Always." Matt slurred, pressing his lips against his girl's warm, flushed cheek. His left hand went up her body to her face, wiping away the traces of tears. "I'm so sorry, petal." He asked again, his chest still aching.

"S'okay, I forgive you." She nodded, kissing his left shoulder lightly, her eyes heavy with sleep from exhaustion and excessive crying.

"I'm going to fill the bathtub and give you a relaxing bath, okay? M'gonna take care of you, sweet girl." Matt spoke softly, moving his hips slowly, taking his cock out of her, receiving a small sound of discomfort in response. "Shh. I know baby, I know." He whispered. "I'm gonna grab some snacks from the kitchen, so you can eat while I wash your body. How does that sound, pretty girl? Hm?"

"S'good. Please." Her voice came out in an almost incomprehensible whisper, her eyelids serving as curtains for her heavy eyes. She could feel her head floaty and her heart beating in a rhythmic rhythm, her skin warm with euphoria.

Matt sealed her forehead with his lips for long seconds, closing his eyes and breathing in the natural scent of Y/N's skin.

He still felt the guilt eating him alive, promising himself he would never again let his emotions get the best of him. He would take care of her, his best girl.

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[gor3-hound]

bark like you want it !

ft. ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, pet play, true form sukuna, sexual slavery(?) sukuna has a harem p much, degradation, oral(m!recieving), double penetration, p in v, anal, creampie, objectification, size difference, biting, barking, almost soft sukuna for a second, sukuna is his own warning tbh

a/n: idk i'd bark for him.. feedback/rbs always appreciated, esp this one bcs... i felt like he was hard to write and would love any feedback on him :3 this is ONLY smut btw. not proofread.. sorry :/ jjk works now being uploaded to @puppykento

word count: 1.5k words

Sukuna's gaze flicks across the row of kneeling concubines, analysing each of their features to see which one would be most suitable for his needs tonight. As he walks alongside the row of undressed women, he stops occasionally to have a closer look at the ones that particularly interest him. His hands explore them, groping every inch of them before he's lost interest once more, skulking further down the line.

He looks at you curiously once he reaches you, all four eyes trained on your body. He kicks your knees wider apart with a foot, tilting his head.

"You aren't completely hopeless." He says as he examines you, his two lower arms keeping your legs spread as he squats down. One of his other four hands begins to roughly grope one of your tits while his final hand explores between your folds, his fingers gathering up the slick that's begun to drip from you.

“With me, pet.” He orders after a moment, giving you a slight squeeze before standing up. Pet. That was all he had ever addressed any of you as. He did not learn the names of those deemed lesser than him. Your name would never register in his mind - you'd remain another pet for him to use and discard once he was bored. You keep your gaze down as you follow after him, staying quiet. It was best to be obedient when captured by Sukuna - something you had learned after witnessing the many punishments he'd made women endure.

You hadn't been chosen before. You could feel yourself shaking slightly as you were led to his chambers. He sat on the bed with his legs spread, letting his robe fall open. Your eyes widen at the sight, a tremble developing in your hands. You'd heard the stories, but you thought them to be exaggerations.

Sukuna laughs at your reaction, clearly amused. “Impressive, are they not?” He muses, languidly stroking one of his large cocks, his eyes trained on your face. He thumbs over the leaky tip, his grin growing as he watches your gaze trail the movement.

“On your knees, pup.” He waits for you to comply before tugging you even closer by your collar - the only thing you were permitted to wear. He looks down at you, his eyes trailing your form. He slips one of his legs between your thighs, then pushes you down by your shoulder so you're practically seated on his ankle.

“Such a drippy cunt.” He teases, tapping the head of one of his cocks against your lips until you open up, pushing the head past the entrance of your mouth. “Go on, puppy. You look like a bitch in heat. Hump it and show me how badly you want your master.”

He laughs harder when you start to rub your pussy against his leg and desperately try to suck his cock. Your jaw is stretched to the limits to accommodate his girth, and all you can really do is suck on the tip.

“Is that the best you can do?” He grunts, pulling you off his cock with a look of dissatisfaction spreading across his features. “You're more of a dirty mutt than a pup, really. An entirely pathetic little thing. Can't even suck cock right. Are you sure you're one of mine? Usually I have a talent for picking sluts…”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like your very existence is an annoyance to him. He clicks his tongue, hoisting you up and onto the bed unceremoniously by your collar. “Not that it matters. A bitch is a bitch. They all take dick the same.”

He has your legs dangling off the edge of the bed, your ass in the air. He settles between your legs, spreading your folds with two thumbs. “Humans are such fragile things.” He murmurs, sounding like he's talking more to himself than he is addressing you. He fucks two fingers into your weeping hole, scissoring them open. “Need to make sure you can take me, little one.”

You hear him spit, a sudden wetness hitting your tighter hole that makes you flinch, your eyes widening. “Don't give me that look, pup. You have two perfectly good holes for my cocks. I'm going to use them.” He grunts, and then he's pushing a finger past the tight ring of muscle.

It takes a while to adjust, your chest heaving with heavy breaths as you grip the sheets beneath you. You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a pathetic whine, your brows pinching together.

“Good dog.” He coos, doing his best to stretch you open. His patience wears thin after a few more moments, and he pulls his hands away from your body, stroking his cocks. “Want a treat, puppy?”

He grabs a handful of your hair and yanks your head, shaking it up and down to mimic a nod. He grins at that, pinching one of your cheeks before he's rubbing the tip of one of his cocks up and down your folds, parting them before he presses his hips forward, filling you up inch by inch.

He bottoms out with a low groan, his hand lazily stroking his second cock as he focuses his eyes on you. “Such a fat pussy, pup. Sucks me in so good…”

He pulls out so just the tip is in, but he doesn't thrust back in like you expect. You make a noise of protest, arching your back and trying to push back against him. “Such a greedy fuckin’ dog. I told you you're taking both my dicks tonight, so be fuckin’ patient while I get it in. I've torn sluts in half before, and I'll do it again.”

Your heart beats faster at his threat, and you instantly still your movements. You feel the head of his cock nudging your ass, and it's not long before he's pushing forward, splitting both of your holes open on his cock. The pain of the stretch has your eyes watering. You feel like it's hard to suck in a breath, your body shaking as the air is fucked out of your lungs.

He's brutal. He doesn't give you a chance to adjust. This isn't for you, after all. You're his pet. His property. He pounds you into the mattress, pulling you harshly into his thrusts with his grip on your hips, using you like a fleshlight.

“Speak, pup.” He hisses through gritted teeth, yanking you back repeatedly as he fucks you on both of his cocks. The nails of his fingers dig harshly into the flesh of your hips, leaving marks in the skin.

“S'good, feels so-” You're cut off as he yanks your hair back painfully, making you yelp. Your body is folded in half, your back arched almost unnaturally as he drags the upper half of your body to be flush against his while he thrusts into you from behind.

“Stupid mutt.” He grunts out, one of his free hands grabbing at your stomach to pull you closer to him. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, biting down harshly. “Dogs don't talk. Try again.”

Heat creeps up your face and neck as you register his command, your heart dropping to your stomach. You bark once, as if just testing the waters. Clearly you've pleased him, cause he moans loudly in your ear and adjusts his hips so he's pounding relentlessly against that gummy spot that makes your stomach tighten up.

“Good… good fuckin’ pup. Just like that. Make some noise f’me.” His thrusts are slow and deep, knocking the air out of you each time he bottoms out. You bark again, and he speeds up, making you keen and arch into him further. You feel the coil tightening in your stomach, your mouth hanging open as he uses your cunt for his own pleasure.

A bark is forced from your lips every time his hips smack the fat of your ass. It isn't long before you cum, your eyes rolling back as you moan loudly, shaking in his grasp. Sukuna growls loudly at the feeling of you clenching around him, your walls fluttering around his cock while his other cock gets milked by your tight ass. He pins you to the mattress with his large frame as he forces his way balls deep into you, filling you with an inhuman quantity of cum.

He pulls out with a shuddering breath, cleaning himself off before slipping his robe back on. He watches your holes leak his cum with satisfaction, giving you a moment before addressing you again.

“Up, pet. Time to go.” He murmurs, patting your ass a few times. He seems to pause for a moment, his expression softening almost imperceptibly as he looks at you.

“I'll have someone run you a bath.” Is all he says before he waves you off, his eyes lingering only a moment too long.

[jeannineee]

coming up lavender, part three

cassian x reader x azriel

part one part two

author’s note: part three!!! comment to be added to taglist <3

summary: reader tries to hone her abilities. cassian is down bad. azriel is too, but he acts like azriel.

warnings: suggestiveness!! this is an 18+ series.

“I can’t do it.”

Scowl, rise to your feet. Glare at Rhysand, picture of indifference, if not a little amused.

“You’ve been trying for all of thirty minutes. You’ll have to work at it.”

Cross your arms over your chest, avoid his gaze as you make your way across the room to pour a glass of water. "My power isn't summoned on command. It surfaces when I feel any strong emotion. I learned that a long time ago."

Rhys sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think you're wrong. I think you're scared--"

Your whirl on him, seething. "I am not scared."

He holds his hands up, body tense as his violet eyes dart between your face and your hands. You follow his eyes, face heating as you notice your fists, encased in swirls of purple energy.

Sigh and murmur an apology as you force your power away. "I didn't mean--"

"I know."

"I just--I know my power. I don't think it will work the way you want it to."

Rhys nods. "We'll try again tomorrow."

Offer him a grateful smile, toy with your thumbs as you gather what little courage remains within you. "Can I--will I be able to leave the House soon?"

Rhys pauses in the doorway. "You haven't made much progress. It's been almost three weeks."

"I know that," you reply, picking nervously at your nails. "I just--I need out."

He ponders, remaining still for so long you almost consider relenting.

"I'll permit you to explore the city."

Your heart leaps out of your chest. "Thank you--"

"But you will need an escort. Myself or my inner circle. Whoever is available any time you want to leave."

Bite the inside of your cheek. "I'm not dangerous, Rhysand."

"You are. More than you know. But I'm not requiring you to have an escort solely because of that."

"Then why?"

"If our enemies knew of your power, they would stop at nothing to take it."

Take you, is the part he didn't say aloud.

"I don't understand."

"My inner circle are having dinner at my townhouse tomorrow night. We'll explain everything to you then," Rhys pauses, as if having a silent conversation with himself--no, with someone else. "For now, enjoy Velaris. My home is yours."

~~~

"You're my escort?"

Cassian sports a shit-eating grin as he approaches you. "Sure am. Who better to show you around?"

Close your eyes and sigh. "Fine." You step forward, place your hand on his bicep. Try not to notice how large it is. When you don't notice a change in the environment, your eyes open again, to be met with a confused Cassian.

"I'm more than happy to let you touch me, but I am curious as to why...?"

Groan and drop your hand. "Aren't we supposed to winnow?"

"Winnow?" Cassian barks a laugh. "No. I can't winnow. We're flying."

"We're what?"

"You heard me, sweetheart."

Glance down to the city. The very far away city. A couple thousand feet below. "I don't like heights."

"That's tough," Cassian says from behind you. "But it's flying, or climbing down ten thousand steps."

Loose a shaky breath. "You better not drop me."

A wide grin. "Didn't you feel my arm? I could bench press you for hours and not get tired."

Your cheeks flush. "Let's just get on with it. We don't have all day."

A chuckle from Cassian, and he places one arm behind your knees, the other behind your back, lifting you with ease. "Bossy. I like it."

He doesn't give you the dignity of a response before launching into the air. You bury your face in his chest on instinct, noting the way the wind whistles in your ears. The air is chill enough that you find yourself grateful for his warmth, trying ever-so-subtly to lean into his touch.

"Cold?" Cassian questions, grip tightening a bit.

So much for subtle.

"Just a little."

"You should look."

"Absolutely not."

Cassian scoffs. "I won't drop you. You're safe. Just look."

You slowly, very slowly turn your head, audibly gasping as you take in the view around you. Snow-capped mountains in the distance, a winding river leading into the sea, surrounded by countless ships and houses and people. So many people. "Oh, wow."

"I know," Cassian's breath fans against your ear, and you turn, only to find him staring at you, rather than the view.

Clear your throat as your face burns, remnants of that strange ache in your chest returning as you ask, "You've lived here your whole life--in Velaris?"

"Mostly. I've spent plenty of time in Illyria, though."

"I've heard it's brutal."

Cassian nods. "Not so different from your Court of Nightmares."

You study each other for a moment; some sort of unspoken understanding passing between you, before forcing your attention back to the scenic view; stomach dropping a bit as Cassian begins descending.

~~~

“That’s the best food I’ve had in a while,” you tell Cassian as you sit back in your chair, so full you’re fairly certain your stomach will burst.

Cassian hums and nods; speaking over a mouthful of food. “Told you so. Nothing like it.”

You sigh, tilt your head back. Grateful for the outdoor table; the sun in your face, warming your skin. Grateful for the salt-kissed air filling your lungs. Grateful for things you never thought you’d have.

“Doing alright?”

Cassian’s voice startles you from your thoughts, and you sit up, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah. Just contemplating.”

He arches a brow, silently urging you to continue.

“I never had…anything like this, back…” you swallow thickly, words caught in your throat, “…back home, if you can call it that. This is all new to me.” Fold your hands in your lap and pick at your nails; avert your eyes. "Nature, people, community...”

The silence stretches long enough that you begin to wonder if you've said too much.

"I slept outside, the first several years of my childhood. Not even in a tent. Outside. On the ground."

You meet his eyes, feeling a pull so strong you lose your breath. "I--I'm so sorry."

Cassian smiles halfheartedly, and continues, "I didn't know true kindness until I met Rhys. He was an ass, but the first real friend I had. My point is--I understand, how everything feels foreign."

“Like I don’t belong,” you mutter quietly.

“That will go away too, with time,” he says, before rising from his chair and holding a hand out to you. “If you’re ready, we can head back to the House.”

Slowly take his calloused hand, ignoring the flutter in your chest as you do so. “Lead the way.”

~~~

“Careful,” Cassian murmurs gently as he helps you settle after landing back at the House of Wind. “Didn’t realize you were so clumsy.”

Roll your eyes. “We’ve been walking around all day. My feet are bound to hurt.”

Cassian grins. “I’d be more than happy to carry you.”

You laugh, unamused as you turn on your heel. “Unnecessary, but thank—”

You trip over your own foot and curse, prepared to eat the floor, but Cassian grabs you, settling you upright. You lock eyes, face burning with embarrassment.

Cassian arches a brow. “You were saying…?”

“I was saying…” breath catches as you realize his hands are still on your waist, but you make no move to stop him. “I was saying that carrying me is unnecessary, though i’m sure you’d jump at the opportunity to show off—”

This time, you’re cut off by his lips pressing against yours. You tense at first in shock, but melt into him as though you’d kissed him a thousand times before. Stifle a whimper as his tongue dances with yours, still tasting of wine.

You aren’t sure how much time has passed when Cassian pulls away. His eyes search yours, almost worried. “Are you okay? I probably should have asked first—I didn’t think—”

You smile. “I’m fine. More than.”

~~~

That night, you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to cease your racing thoughts. Those of your powers, of the consequences of leaving the Hewn City. But the main concern that won’t leave you:

Who are the Night Court’s enemies, and why were you relevant to them?

See a shadow out of the corner of your eye, and scoff as you sit up. It swirls around the foot of your bed; observing.

“Tell your master he doesn’t need to spy on me. No evil plots coming from me.”

The shadow remains. In your head, you hear a question: Are you alright?

“I’m fine. Get out of my head.”

The shadow leaves your room, though you still have the feeling of being watched. Surprisingly, it gives you some level of comfort. But as you near the brink of sleep, you can’t rid yourself of the impending doom; the sense that the worst is yet to come.

taglist: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @marina468 @cherry-cin @sevikas-whore @tequilya @nickishadow139 @thatacotargirl @skylarkalchemist @lilah-asteria @acourtofbatboydreams @esposadomd @aelincaddel @sharknutz @pruvii

[eco-lite]

I’m once again returning to do god’s work by bringing you delightful moments from Spock’s World by Diane Duane.

[Text ID: “Spock was bent over [the Science Station], making some adjustment. ‘Readout now,’ he said, straightening and looking over his shoulder at the large, shaggy-fringed rock that was sitting in the center seat. Some of those glittering fringes stroked the open circuitry of the communicator controls in the seat’s arm. ‘Point nine nine three,’ said a scratchy voice from the voder box mounted on the rock’s back. ‘A nice triple sine.’ ‘Nice?’ said Spock. Jim raised an eyebrow: you could have used Spock’s tone of voice to dry out a martini.” End ID]

There’s a Horta crewman on the Enterprise now and they’re great!

[Text ID: “Still working on her doctoral thesis, Jim thought. Uhura was busy working on improving universal translator theory, mostly by taking the old theory to pieces and putting it back together in shapes that were causing a terrible furor in academic circles on various planets. Jim vividly remembered one night quite a long time ago when he had asked Uhura exactly how she was going about this. She had told him, for almost an hour without stopping, and in delighted and exuberant detail, until his head was spinning with phoneme approximations and six-sigma evaluations and the syntactic fade and genderbend and recontextualization and linguistic structural design and the physics of the human dextrocerebral bridge. The session had left Jim shaking his head, thoroughly disabused of the idea (and ashamed of how long he had held it) that Uhura was simply a sort of highly trained switchboard operator.” End ID]

Uhura continues to be a total badass and is amazing at what she does.

[Text ID: Chatroom title in all caps: “COMMON ROOM OPINION, INFORMED AND NON- RANTING AND RAVING PERMITTED NAMES NOT NECESSARY” Regular text: “It was one of the places he came to find out what his crew was thinking. Messages did not have to be attributed to a name or terminal, but they could not be private. The office of the common room system operator rotated through the crew, offered to various members on the strength of their psych profiles in areas like calm reaction to stress and anger. The common room syops tended to be closemouthed and dependable, the kind of person that others refer to as ‘a rock.’ (Once it had actually been Naraht, to the amusement of just about everyone.) Here tempers could flare, awful jokes be told safely, suspicions be aired, rumors be shot down. The common room was sometimes a peaceful place, sometimes a powderkeg. Jim never ignored it.” End ID]

The Enterprise has a dumpster fire chat room that has just as much shitposting and vitriol as twitter.

[Text ID: “Jim bowed over her free hand. ‘It’s been too long,’ he said. ‘It’s good to be back,’ Amanda said. ‘And in the middle of a party as well.’ She looked a little wry. ‘A little entertainment will be pleasant before the deluge.’ Sarek’s eyes flicked to Kirk, a considering look. ‘My wife speaks figuratively,’ he said, ‘in the tradition of her people. Deluges are not common on Vulcan.’ ‘My husband speaks circumspectly,’ Amanda said, just as dryly, ‘in the tradition of his.’” End ID]

Amanda and Sarek are as charming as ever.

[Text ID: “Jim was mildly surprised to see that to his other rank tags and decorations, McCoy had added a small, understated IDIC. ‘If I didn’t know you better,’ he said, ‘I’d think you were going native. When did you get that?’ ‘Today in the gift shop, when you were looking at the snowball paperweights with Mount Seleya in them. Tackiest things I ever saw.’ ‘Yes,’ Spock said; ‘they were imported from Earth.’ ‘You be quiet. We can’t let these people leave the Federation, Jim. At least not until they teach us how to make tasteful souvenirs.’” End ID]

Just this.

[Text ID: “There was Sreil, the burly, brown-haired biologist from the Academy, and T’Madh, a little bright-eyed woman of great age and curiosity, a computer programmer; and her son Savesh, who when asked what he did, said, ‘I am a farmer,’ with a sort of secret satisfaction that hinted he thought his job better than any of the more technical ones that the people around him held. Jim had to smile; the thought of a Vulcan farmer was slightly funny, even though there naturally had to be some. But the image of a Vulcan in coveralls, chewing on a stalk of hay, kept coming up and having to be repressed.” End ID]

I love Savesh the Vulcan farmer!

[Text ID: “’Jim,’ he said, ‘the best translation of nehau would be an old word: “vibes.” The feeling-in-your-bones that something gives you. It’s highly subjective.’ ‘Right. Go on, Savesh.’ ‘Well, Captain, I have heard numerous Vulcans say that losing the Federation and the Earth people would be no particular loss, because they had bad nehau, and that could not fail to affect us sooner or later.. But I must tell you that I find your nehau not objectionable at all; pleasant, even.’ End ID]

Vulcan wanting to leave the Federation because the ~vibes~ are off.

[Text ID: “His grasp of dialect and idiom as amazing for anybody, off-planet or on. He once reduced the President of the United States—then a ceremonial post, but one much loved by the people who lived within the old borders—to tears of laughter at a state dinner, by delivering a learned dissertation on computer data storage technology in a flawless Texan accent. The lady was later heard to propose an amendment to the Constitution to allow off-worlders to hold high public office, so that she could have him for her running mate in the next election.” End ID]

I would give anything to hear Sarek do a perfect Texas accent.

[Text ID: “—but when Amanda became annoyed over what she perceived as his smugness about being right, her eyes would flash and she would become splendidly insulting, usually in bizarre Anglish idiom that Sarek found as refreshing as it was annoying. She caused him to laugh out loud for the first time in many years when she told him, after a disagreement over the translation of the word for war, that he should only grow headfirst in the ground like a turnip. Later that month, when he was right about something again and made the mistake of not immediately down-playing it, she issued him with a formal malediction, wishing that the curse of Mary Malone and her nine blind orphan children might pursue him so far over the hills and the seas that God Almighty couldn’t find him with a radio telescope. Sarek laughed so hard at that that he entirely lost his breath, and Amanda panicked and started to give him cardiopulmonary resuscitation, which was useless, because his heart was somewhere other than the spot on which she was pounding. It took him nearly an hour to recover: he kept laughing. He had never been cursed like that before, not even by union leaders, and it was very refreshing.” End ID]

This dynamic is perfect, no notes.

[Text ID: “The next night they sat in the Rec Deck again, in the middle of a large impromptu party that was going on around them by way of celebration. The sense of relief in the ship was palpable. A group of about a hundred crewfolk, mostly human, had surrounded Spock earlier in the evening and sung ‘For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow,’ accompanied by twenty crewmen on kazoos. Sarek had been given champagne.” End ID]

I really hope the TOS Enterprise has crew performances like on Next Gen. This kazoo band needs to be heard! Also, I can perfectly picture Spock’s annoyed-but-tolerant expression as he resigns himself to the kazoo serenade.

Thank you @dianeduane for making me laugh!

[themochiverse]

The Monster Under the Bed | KNJ

➳ Pairing: yan!nightmare!demon!nj x fem!reader

➳ Genre: Yandere, Horror, Monster Au

➳ Warnings: Swearing, consumption of alcohol, mentions of tera-phphobia (fear of monsters), childhood abuse and trauma, mention of an alcoholic parent, gore, violence, blood, injuries, asphyxiation, gagging, NON-CON kissing and touching (not sexually), Namjoon degrades the reader a bit, supernatural torment, physical harm to the reader, the reader goes a bit crazy, mentions of soul-eating?…. Anyways

➳ Synopsis: When a human falls asleep they face two realms: the dream and nightmare world— where one is controlled by the angels to kiss you goodnight, and the other controlled by unknown creatures that push behind your darkest fears. So when your constant fear of monsters hiding under your bed continues to grow in your life, one peculiar nightmarish friend becomes infatuated to keep it that way.

➳ Word Count: 6.7k+

➳ Disclaimer: This fanfic is purely from my imagination, I do not intend to harm any Idol or person in any way. Nor sexualising them. Please do not steal any ideas from here, this is all of my work and original work. I DO NOT CONDONE THIS BEHAVIOUR.

The Monster Under the Bed ©Copyright -2024- themochiverse - All Rights Reserved

No part of the story can be copied, reproduced, redistributed or transformed into any other form. Meaning no photocopying, recording whether written or electrically. No methods are allowed that uses anything from this fic. This follows in the permitted Copyright Law. All images and/or gifs go to their rightful owners.

A/N: Fuck my lazy ass, I got it done, and I hope the story is good! I wasn’t bothered to add a banner cuz I was too excited to post, I’ll add one later one. Anyways, enjoy!

Taglist; @minshookie29 @6tslovr @proflyndo @pinkcherrybombs @papijiminfeed @justanotherstarlightmonger @kittykatfey @princess-sunshyn @jinniesjoon94 @trashlord-007

You're asleep.

Head tucked in gently in the crevice of your elbow, the soft quilt tangled by your ankles as you parted your dry lips open, swallowing the icy air. After a long day of work exhaustion crept up on you, and once your head hit the pillow— like a spell chanted on you, you fell asleep. Subtle chirps could be heard from outside your fogged-up window but you wouldn't notice it anyway. As your body was at rest, your mind was yoked within a dream.

The breeze howled in your ear and your legs dangling from the old wooden bridge you sat on. The moon hid behind the thick clouds, ultimately bringing darkness to surround you. The field behind you swayed in the wind, and the tall grass whispered as they shook together.

Snap

Your head spun around to the impulsive noise, and your heart dropped. From a good distance stood an old man. He was decorated with long boots and a hat that covered his face. Your eyes followed his arm, it was clenched on an object so tightly that you recognised it within a second. It was a liquor bottle.

You knew him, you knew who he was.

“Y/N,” his voice dropped and trembled, “have you seen daddy’s new bottle?”

He stomped his foot, walking over to you with rage building up inside him. Instinctively, you got up and ran straight to the empty field, your bare feet facing any prick that came along the way. You could hear his footsteps getting closer but you won’t turn your head. You will never turn your head to see him.

But you stopped in your tracks as the sight of the old man appeared in front of you again. He raised his bottle high in the air, and you cowered in fear, covering your face as he was about to strike. You shrieked waiting for the impact, but it never came. Instead, your mind felt dizzy when your eyes opened to the familiar surroundings.

Old drawings of animals were stuck on the wall, the vanity mirror was disguised with dust and there were the broken scars on a cupboard next to your old bed.

Your childhood room.

With haste, you trudged to the door to leave but it creaked shut, and darkness clouded your sight. Your hands fiddled with a butterfly lamp that was on the bedside table, and your fingers wriggled to find the switch.

The insects cried, the wind roared and something whispered. You froze at that, and your eyes followed the gap under the bed. You gulped, clenching your fist as your nails dug deep into your skin.

Nothing is there Y/N, nothing is there—

“Are you sure?” A hoarse voice rumbled and you flinched. Your heart pounded as you felt your body giving up on you. Your legs shook and they dropped to the floor as you felt yourself being dragged to the dreaded place that has practically haunted you for your whole life.

“No…” you mumbled, “Please no!”

Red eyes blinked at you, and they glinted in mischief. A snarl vibrates and a long black hand appears—claws lingering within the air before it grasps your chin, bringing your face closer to him.

“Aren't you a pretty little thing?”

You couldn't see the creature that spoke to you but you shivered at its touch. The energy was drained from your body and your mind went fuzzy. This creature’s touch left a numb feeling in your head. Void. Alone. But alone with him. Your eyes could only witness the darkness within and your hands weakly clutched onto the dirty bedsheets as you felt this creature pull you closer.

“Still scared? Didn't Daddy teach you enough to not be afraid of monsters?” The voice left hot words in your ear and your neck stiffened at the comment. How the fuck does it know?

With little courage, you spoke.

“What do you want from me?”

A deep chuckle erupted in the room, and the grip on your chin loosened a bit.

“My, my, this is the first question you wanted to ask me? Very well, I’ll answer honestly for you,” his other hand came to caress your cheek, “You see, I'm very picky when it comes to what type of humans I want to devour. There's just something in your soul that's very precious to me, and it would be very precious to any other creature too—“

Your hands grabbed onto the cold claws that held your face, and you tried to get out of his hold. Your breathing quickened. What did he just say? Devouring humans? You struggled futilely in his hold, your clammy palms soon gave up. The grip on your chin tensed this time, and they hushed you with ease.

“Shh, my darling. Let me continue before I let you go,” the creature hummed before proceeding, “In other words, I want you and your soul. I want to be with you forever.”

Your eyes widened at those proclamations and the claw that was settled against your cheek crawled up to your forehead.

“Now wake.”

You gasped as you jolted in your bed. Sweat stuck to the back of your shirt, your body was burning and you felt suffocated. It was just a nightmare Y/N, just a fucking nightmare. You slid off your bed and a fluffy brown tail tickled your legs. Your body hunched as you stared at your adorable cat.

“Morning Max, you need some breakfast?” The cat blinked its eyes slowly before calling out to you as it walked out of your room. You sighed, stretching as you went after your pet into the kitchen. The sun was covered by clouds and the day groaned dimly.

Max purred as you grabbed the packet of food and began to pour it into his favourite bowl. His head dived in, and tiny crunches escaped from his small mouth. You squeezed the packet in your hand, the slippery texture on your palms was still there. You tapped your foot impatiently as the remembrance of the sudden nightmare continued to dawn on you.

This didn't feel right, the nightmare felt way too realistic. And how would a monster know about your past? Maybe it was understandable, you had a traumatic childhood and your combined phobia was already monstrous. It was unsettling though, the way it grabbed your face and talked to you. Especially how you immediately felt weak by its presence..anyone would get chills from it.

Ding.

A chime vibrated from your phone as you checked it.

Rosewood Clinic: Scheduled Appointment at 9:45 am with Doctor Link. Please arrive 20 minutes earlier. If you wish to cancel or reschedule please call us at xxx-xxx-xx

Right, the appointment. You completely forgot about it, and now you have more to discuss with your doctor.

Didn't Daddy teach you enough to not be afraid of monsters?

“Daddy, can we please go to the fair today? Please?” You pouted at your father, begging him to go to the country fair.

“Alright, we’ll go. Call your mama for me?” He asked and you smiled happily as you went to get your mum.

“Mama! Mama! Guess what? Daddy said we’re going to the fair today.” You exclaimed proudly, giggling when your mother picked you up in her arms. Her hair shone in the sunlight, and she kissed your cheek softly.

“That’s great news sweetie, come on your father must be waiting.”

Your family arrived at the fair, and loud country music rang in your ears. There were multiple rides and food stalls, vibrant colours and the laughter of children brought merriment. The scent of fresh food and screams echoed in the background as you had the opportunity to roam free.

“Y/N, come here. Daddy here is gonna win a prize for you,” your father gleefully said before he resumed the challenge he had to face. You watched with big eyes as your father held small darts, his arm flexed before he threw them.

Pop

Pop

Pop

The small balloons popped and a medium teddy bear is given to your dad.

“Here ya go princess.” With a chaste kiss to your cheek you laugh, holding tight onto the teddy bear. The fun day went by fast, your father had you in his arms and you rested your head on his shoulder. The noises from the fair soon disappeared as your family inched closer to the parking lot.

“Hey there partner, it's been a while, hasn't it?”

A gruff voice spoke out from the shadows and your dad halted in his tracks. The streetlight dimmed the place an ugly yellow. You felt two arms pull you away from your dad’s grasp and you were with your mother now.

“What the hell do you want Rodrick?”

“Have you forgotten to pay your debt? Did ya get too carried away with our money?” The man named Rodrick gestured towards you and your mum, and his eyes travelled to the fair.

“Leave them out of this.”

“Give me the fucking money, I know you have it.”

“I don't have it—”

“Give me the fucking money or I’ll shoot them!”

Rodrick pulled out a gun, pointing it straight at you both. Your mother hugged you, turning your head to the side as goosebumps drove all over her.

“Hey…hey, lets talk about this okay? This is between you and me, leave my family alone,” your dad said calmly as he eyed the gun, “put the gun down Rodrick—”

“No! Do you know the shit I had to go through because of you? They beat me up and killed my brother, you think that ain't enough till they come for me? I need the money now, give me the money.”

Your dad took a step forward, his hands were in the air as he inched closer to Rodrick.

“The fuck you doing man? I said give me the money!” The gun swung to your father as he was close to grasping the object.

“Don’t come closer or I’ll shoot.” Rodrick’s hand shook and his lips trembled. He was going to die soon, he needed the money desperately.

You peeked your head to the side and saw your father lunge at the man as they both fell to the ground. They wrestle on the ground, your father trying to get the gun off of Rodrick.

“Get to the car!” Your father yelled and your mother ran with you. The sight of your father fighting gets smaller and smaller as you're close to approaching the car.

Bang

A gasp echoed in the background, like a silent serpent ready to strike before falling to its own downfall. Crows cawed and the birds flew away from nearby trees. Like a tower descending, your mother fell on top of you.

“Y/N? Y/N?”

Your head shook off the thoughts as you stared at your doctor. You had zoned out before you had realised it, and with a fake smile, you responded.

“Sorry, I—”

“It’s alright Y/N, sometimes we remember the things we don't want to see. Tell me how your week has been.”

A clock ticked in the room and you stared at the pale woman. Her black hair almost went grey as she tried to keep a straight posture.

“Um, nothing much. Just work keeping me busy, and I've been getting a couple of nightmares lately.”

The scritching of paper caught your ears as you watched Doctor Link write down the things you mentioned.

“Nightmares, I see. I assume it's still because of your father or?” A long pause was held in the air before you replied.

“Still because of my dad, which I don't know why because I stopped having them a while ago, so I thought it would stop.”

“Okay, we've discussed this before Y/N, due to the abuse and trauma you faced at a young age, the memories we've collected can sometimes—”

“Monsters too. My phobia of monsters made it worse.”

“Okay, tell me about the nightmare then.”

You squeezed your hands together, the sweat starting to form again.

“…and then I was back at that place, and there was this whispering coming from my bed. For some reason, my body just dropped and this claw grabbed onto my face. It spoke to me, saying that it wants to be with me forever..”

Scratch

Scratch

A loud sigh poured out from the doctor’s mouth, “Y/N, the phobia you have is because it was transformed by your dad. Ultimately as this is a nightmare, the things you say about this monster, are not real. It isn't real, and it’s not going to harm you. I can guarantee you that.”

You rubbed your palms together, the voice inside you wanting to rip you apart for not speaking up.

It felt real, too real.

You’re back home, frustration building up inside you. Maybe the doctor was right, it was just a nightmare. With past events and your stupid phobia, it just made you a mess. You wondered what the monster looked like, all you could see was a black void and long black hands. But you should be glad you didn’t see its face, after all, only the devil disguises its impurity.

Max is asleep on the couch, the fluff ball in a vulnerable position. You grinned at the sight of him, taking a photo. The house felt quiet since you lived alone, and that nightmare, gosh that fucking nightmare keeps haunting you like a freak.

You decided to enter your bedroom, eyes automatically clinging to the gap underneath the wooden exterior. It’s fucking childish, why would you be scared of something like a ridiculous monster?

They’re not real, they’re not supposed to be real. Your stomach churned uncomfortably as you knelt, crouching and angling your head to the side to get a better glimpse of the number of things you put in there.

Just enough to block the gap, just enough to make you feel safe. It was like a shield to protect you, but little did you know that shield would come crumbling down because of you.

There were a couple of old boxes, empty perhaps, and decorative pieces to make it look messy. You kept staring at the very back endlessly, your room was dark, with the curtains drawn— you made a mistake.

Your breath hitched, fingers gripping onto your carpet thread as you swear you saw something blink at you. The house is dead, and the longer you stare at the dark end, the more you see the eyes. Though, they weren’t red this time but a dull white. Almost grey, but it blinked.

“Y/N…”

No… not now. What you heard can’t be real.

“Get the fuck out of my head,” you mumbled to yourself. A sudden urge grew deep within you, you needed something.

Wine

You needed some wine.

You jumped out of that position, drawing the curtains open to bring some light into the room. You gnawed on your thumbnail as you practically ran out of the room. You could hear your heart racing, the blood pumping faster and faster as you opened the wine cabinet.

Unscrewing the bottle, you poured a full glass, swallowing a tremendous amount of the crimson liquid as it trickled down your chin.

You sunk to the floor as you hugged your knees, your back rested against the cabinet. Fucking phobia, what Doctor Link had mentioned…. Was it true? Did this phobia happen because of your dad, or were you always just a fucking coward?

The grip on your wine glass tightened as you shut your eyes, hellish memories enveloping you like a greedy pig.

“This is all because of you!”

Slap

“Your Mother is dead because of you!”

Slap

“Get the fuck out of my sight, you keep reminding me of her. Get out before I fucking kill you.”

A bottle is thrown in your direction, and the glass stabbed into your skin makes you wobble. You felt numb, your body was bruised and battered at this point, and the blood that trickled from your forehead was damping your broken soul. When you fell with a thud, your father left, banging the doors shut.

Ironically unlike your mother, your father left you instead of running to you. Maybe there was no purpose to live anymore, you had no meaning, no goal or desire.

You should have died instead of your mother that night if you ever knew this would be the conclusion. Warm tears trailed down your face, they mixed with the blood as you stared at the ceiling.

It felt like staring at your mother, the same cold expression on her face as those tears continuously fell from her eyes before her final wheezes ceased.

Your father’s yell echoed in the background as your delicate hands cradled your mother’s soft cheeks. Except this time, there was no one to do that for you.

Your vision blurred, hoping that you would see your mother right now. It didn't matter if she appeared like a ghost, even if it sounded ridiculous.

Maybe she hated you for not taking her place. You're eyes scanned to a clock that ticked silently, and it was midnight. How much longer could you bear this?

You wanted to finally leave this hellhole. But you winced in pain, and the sound of the front doors opening made you freeze. Loud footsteps came closer as you saw your father’s dishevelled appearance.

“You’re still here?” He grunted as he plopped another box of vodka bottles onto a large table.

It was quick and painful as you felt your hair tugged upwards. Your hands weakly slapped your father’s rough wrists as he dragged you to your room upstairs.

“No, Daddy, please… I'm sorry.” Your eyes widened as he pushed you into your room, locking the doors shut. It was utterly dark, all the lights in your room were either torn apart by your father or destroyed by him.

You slid onto your bed, shielding yourself with the dirty covers as you shook. You always heard a voice whenever this happened, and one night you saw the thing that spoke to you.

It looked like a human and you caught the slightest glimpse of it before hell broke loose. Their skin glowed, and a white t-shirt was worn as they walked across your room. You remembered what he wore so well, yet you didn't remember him.

Your eyes opened as your butt began to feel sore. The glass was empty and only the stains of the red wine remained. Your body felt drained, the memories collapsed on you and you struggled to get up.

You trudged to your room quietly, closing the door shut as you crawled into your bed. Like a train coming to its last destination, your memories do the same, you don’t remember what happened after you were locked in your room.

It wasn't too long before you went back again to the realms, too bad they were interconnected.

When you trembled in your bed that night, the blood soaking the pillow, Namjoon grinned. Not because of what terrible consequence you had faced, but because he finally found a perfect person like you.

He spent years devouring the souls of many individuals but neither ever satisfied his hunger at all. He could keep as many humans as he would like, and he had the choice to not kill them. If he had you, he didn't need to waste more years to find another suitable victim.

He didn't know how he was entranced by you at first, maybe it was the way you'd brush your hair or how you tried to smile after suffering from your injuries. But you caught his eye, his heart would race whenever he saw you.

But rage took over him whenever he saw your father beat you, even though he had the power to do something, he already sensed that your father was going to be dead soon anyway.

He was really hungry that night, starving himself on purpose just so he could get a taste of your sweet soul, consume the euphoric feeling of your fear so he felt energised enough to convince you to stay with him.

But would you?

He didn’t mean to go overboard, he just really needed to have a bit of your soul. It wasn’t going to harm you any way and he wasn’t doing anything wrong, he needs to live too.

The sudden harsh whispers and calls of your name made you shiver and Namjoon watched in delight. He needed to transform and watch your beautiful expressions fall into place.

Oh, it was terrible, terribly good.

“Sweetie….my baby, Y/N?” You stiffened at the familiar feminine voice that came from underneath your bed. It couldn't be true, your mother was dead. But… did she listen to your prayers to God?

Hesitantly you replied, “Mama? Is that you?” Your voice shook as you waited for a response.

“My darling, why didn't you save me? Look at how miserable your father is.” Her voice wavered in the air and you swore you could feel her presence right beside you. Her words scarred into your mind, this didn’t sound like her at all.

Without hesitation, you pulled the covers off of you in a rush, and your heart dropped at the sight of darkness in front of you. Your mother was not here, then how the hell did you hear her voice?

“Y/N…?” You froze and your breaths started to become quick. You glanced down from the side of your bed, the voice was coming from there. Your knuckles were tense and white when you gripped your blanket, there’s no fucking way.

Silence clouded your sense of hearing as a long black claw stretched out from underneath the bed, its nails scratched the wooden floor before it rushed back.

Your breath hitched as you felt a cold exhale next to your ear. You bit your bottom lip harshly, chewing on the spot as you craned your neck slowly. Your pulse quickened when you saw the figure.

Their eyes glimmered in the dark and you gasped, an audible yell for help prepared to leave from your throat.

But he lunged at you, one inhuman hand pinning your wrists tightly above your head while the other was clamped over your mouth.

Your screams were muffled by his long black claws as you writhed underneath him. His demonic form took over, and red eyes blinked into yours as he watched your head snap upwards. His red eyes stared at you with adoration, God you were so cute. He shushed you softly as he wiped your tears.

“If I let go, promise you won't scream?”

You calmed yourself down a bit as he removed his hand away from your mouth. He delicately traced your quivering lips, grinning at the sight of your compliance.

“I know you're scared sweetheart, but you need to be a good girl for me, yeah? I've been watching over you for a while now, and you're such a good person. But you need someone, a bit of healing and protection to make you feel less lonely. I've come to offer that, I'll heal you and protect you in exchange for a bit of your soul.”

This thing had been watching you? For how long?

The grip on your wrists loosened momentarily as he leaned closer to you. Your eyes scanned its features—if you removed the black claws and the red eyes, it almost looked human.

“But the thing is, you have no say in this anyway. I nearly killed myself because of you, starving to death to finally have you. Don't you feel guilty? Making a poor monster like me wait for a long time to taste your soul?”

Namjoon wanted you to feel bad, and miserable for him. He chuckled softly, you were a monster too for making him suffer like that.

You felt your body sink into the mattress further, wrists weakly wriggling in his iron-grip hold.

“I just need you to listen to me, and everything will be okay.”

He grabbed your cheeks, squeezing them harshly so you could open your lips.

“Come on baby, open wide for me,” he murmured and he pushed one claw deep inside your open mouth.

You gagged repeatedly as you felt it go down your throat, and your mind fogged with pain. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, your lungs restricting any oxygen to escape. It hurt for a split second like something was being removed from your body entirely. It was solid and rough with jagged edges, your throat started to burn as panic settled in.

You couldn’t breathe.

You watched the thing turn more demonic, and it hovered over you as you helplessly felt too tired and weak to even do anything at this point. Your eyes blurred as you felt suffocated, and your heart pumped wildly.

Your mouth was wide open as you exhaled a heavy breath and a clear cloud-like bubble came out. The claw was soon withdrawn and you gasped for air.

You thought it was over, heck no, you thought it was fake. But he was still here, right in front of you. Black hair covered its demonic look as it devoured the bubble in one go.

You froze in fear, tears falling from your face as it looked at you.

“Such a sweet soul,” he murmured before lowering his face, “would you mind if I had more?”

Before you could even protest or utter a scream, you felt his dangerous hands crawl up your thigh, his sharp claws piercing through your skin lightly. It burned with every stroke, and you whimpered. His touch was numbing your mind, but you could still feel the pain ripping through you.

“Shh, be a good girl for me,” his hand wrapped around your throat, “and don’t fucking scream.”

You felt his cold lips on yours, his claws continued with their marks as they neared your chest. You realised too late that not only was your mind numb, but your body was paralysed. You couldn’t fight him, you couldn’t do anything to escape from this hell.

Your fingertips twitched when he shoved his tongue inside your mouth, and his claws finally reached the centre of your stomach.

At first, it was like multiple thumbtacks were piercing your body that soon felt like large knives sinking inside of you. Your eyes widened when you saw his sharp claws press into your stomach, the blood escaping as almost half of his hand was inside. You felt your insides twisting as a muffled, hoarse scream erupted from your mouth and Namjoon swallowed it all, pressing even deeper.

He was sucking the life out of you, his claws finally grasping onto a bit of your soul. His kiss was a form of intimacy, but it was much easier to consume your fear like this.

Mind numb, body paralysed, all under his control as he shamelessly sucked more of your already broken soul. It almost felt like you were dying. Once he removed his bloody claws, your teary-eyed expression remained as he finally removed himself from you.

“Sweet dreams, my love.”

The soft breeze cooled your body as you sat on a rock, watching the waves crash into the shorelines. It felt peaceful, magical almost. The high view of the far distance between the sea, and the cliff was pretty high too.

He could sense you. He could feel the happiness radiating from you once he stepped into the dream realm. Namjoon successfully got to get rid of the angels that were guarding the entrance of their world.

He must admit that the bright colours of this place were oddly fascinating. Light pink hues dusted with white clouds and scenery? Wow, it was nothing compared to the nightmare world. Nothing.

Namjoon’s land was far more different and special. It was like an abandoned location with monsters lurking around in the shadows. Thunderstorms were constant and daily, the sky as grey as a rock.

Ever since the Lord of Demons was able to break the barrier between the two realms, it has made easier access for any creature to be able to snatch their victims while they were dreaming.

They were ruthless, and greedy and had unimaginable appearances that would make your heart stop. Even if there were Guardian Angels, protecting their realm— demons like Namjoon were always able to come through discretely.

He wondered if he were able to glitch into your world so that he could easily have you to himself. Those sleep paralysis demons were extremely lucky.

He reminisces about the first time he got to taste your soul. You wouldn't understand the emotions that rushed through his body, he felt so high around you that the moment he stepped away after decorating your body crimson—he could only think about you.

With the recent interaction of finally getting to you after a narrow escape from the Guardian Angels, Namjoon felt relieved.

It almost broke his heart when you tried to escape from his grasp that day, his claws menacingly trying to provoke a reaction out of you.

He thought you would have recalled instantly ever since the first night he devoured a bit of your soul and left you with deep gushed marks of his claim on you. He didn't want to show himself deliberately because he thought you would know. That you would recognise him.

Maybe your father hit your head a bit too hard with the metal bat in the barn after he saw the medical bills.

The next day he watched alongside you. He watched the way your father hung from a big tree, the noose around his neck was stout and it was perfectly wrapped around his neck like a present.

Namjoon noticed the dead look in your eyes and a deranged smile crept up on your face.

You and he were a match made in heaven.

Namjoon could see you from afar, the way your body relaxed in this realm… if you could only do the same in his one. He quietly approached you, silently sitting next to you as his fingertips brushed your hand.

You flinched at the subtle contact and you snapped your head, eyes scanning the unknown person.

He looked familiar, with black hair and a white shirt, you swear you've seen someone like that before.

“Who are you?” You stared at the gorgeous man in front of you, his dragon eyes alluring you.

“We met before.” His voice drifted silkily into your ears.

“We did? Uhm, what's your name?” You responded as you thought hard about where you last saw him.

“I'm Namjoon, and you're Y/N.” A pang hit your stomach, how did he know your name?

“How do you know my name?”

“Like I said, we met before.” His voice almost felt recognisable, did you actually meet this man before?

Namjoon sighed, his hand brushing your hair out of your face. “It’s such a shame you don't remember me, do I really have to remind you?”

Your lips almost twitched into a frown, you didn't like the way he was staring at you.

“Listen—”

“Didn’t Daddy teach you enough to not be afraid of monsters?”

Your eyes widened and your breath shook, “what did you just say?”

“I said didn't Daddy teach you enough to not be afraid of monsters?” Namjoon repeated the words deliberately and slowly as he smiled. Your mind went into a frenzy, and your pulse quickened. It was him, the creature that constantly grew your fear.

You get up quickly, and he does too, the next words making you sick in the stomach.

“Were the claws too much? You know I was sorry, I would never hurt you love, it's part of the process for me to live for your soul.”

You began to walk backwards, his words hammering you like a nail. After all these years, the monster that tormented you so badly that your phobia was initially created was here, right in front of you. You finally saw his face. Innocent like an angel, but a devil within the heart.

“Do you remember now? Do you remember the way I had your soul? Shit, your dad knocked you out so hard that after this many years, you finally remember me.”

You stopped in your tracks, your head turning to the side when you realised you were on the edge of a cliff. Out of nowhere, grabbing onto your shoulders, Namjoon’s voice echoed and rang in your ears.

“Don’t leave me, you can’t forget about me again.”

“I won’t leave you alone like your father did, isn’t it good riddance that he killed himself?” There’s no way he’s been with you this whole time.

He pushed you back gently, each wavering step making you sick in the stomach.

“I want to stay with you forever,” he rested his head on your shoulder and you flinched, “you're a precious person to me, you make me feel better that I can have you, in any way I want.” You jerked, trying to elude from his iron-tight grip.

“I love you Y/N, I'm hopelessly in love with you.”

His words come crashing down as you lose your step right at the end of the cliff. You screamed as you felt a hand snatch your wrist. You gripped onto Namjoon’s wrist, your life depending on it. You weren't sure why he wasn't pulling you up—

He chuckled deeply, “Stupid girl, did you forget that you're in a dream? If I let go of you right now, do you think you're going to wake up or drown?” He cruelly stared down at you as he held your wrist.

He kneeled so you were face to face, “But I think it'd be much better if we fell together, don't you think?”

Your eyes broadened at the statement, blood rushing to your head. You shook your head, you pleaded at him,

“Namjoon, wait don't do this—”

Ignoring your words, you felt him let go of you as he jumped off the cliff. You watched him fall as your back hit the icy ocean, the water already trying to engulf your throat.

You jolted awake, shuddering from the nightmare you had just faced. Your back was wet with sweat, and as you were sitting up…

Thud.

Someone grabbed your neck from behind, feeling invisible hands wrapped around your throat. Your head hit the pillow again as you struggled to get up. He was holding you down, there's no way he came like this without a dream.

You claw at your neck, shutting your eyes when you suddenly see yourself back in the ocean. You could feel the water getting into your lungs, and someone had gripped your ankle. You saw Namjoon pulling you deeper and deeper into the abyss as you cried for help, words muffled by the water.

You opened your eyes and they started to blur. Panic grew as your heart pumped, feeling the dreaded emotion you never wanted to experience again. You couldn't breathe, it was like your oxygen was being sucked away.

You wriggled your body to grab anything and your hands stretched to whatever was on the nightstand. You couldn't see but your hands tapped on the lamp that was facing your way, and a ray of light burst.

Within a second, the feeling of invisible hands disappeared and you rolled over, choking as you threw up… water. Lots of water.

You groaned weakly as you heaved your breaths. The door to your bedroom was wide open and the hallway was extremely dark. You needed to get out. You shakily looked through the drawers and found a small torch. Turning it on you left your room to look for your cat, calling his name.

“Max! Max, where are you—”

You came to a halt, and your knees almost buckled.

“Isn’t he adorable?” His voice made your bottom lip quiver. You shook your head, tears rushing to your eyes. You couldn't believe this, there he was, sitting on your couch next to your cat. Namjoon turned to look at you and his eyes were black, a murderous intent glinted from the look on his face.

“You can't run away from me, ever.”

In the blink of an eye, he’s gone and silence filled up the whole house. Max then hissed as his eyes darted behind your shoulder. Your heart sank when you realised who he was hissing at.

An external force threw you back to your room, causing you to shriek. Your back hit the wall, knocking the breath out of you. The door slammed shut and you staggered in pain and your eyes flickered to the lamp. A hushed whisper attained your ear as you heard a crack and the light died out.

It was too dark in your room, and you luckily had the torch in your hand. You tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge. What about the windows? You rush over to the other side of the room, and your hands draw the curtain open only to come to a sight with no window. You almost drop your torch as you bite your lip.

It was just a solid wall.

“No—fuck, why—” Your voice croaked as you slammed your fist against the wall. Soon you realised why the house was so dark and why the lamp broke. Does he hate light? The thought lingered on your mind till you heard a shuffle from across the room. You swayed your torch to the side and held your breath as there was nothing there.

A low growl could be heard from under the bed as you shone the light there. All of the things you placed to block the gap were gone. Impossible, fuck your mind was going crazy. The light on your torch began to blink repeatedly, and you smacked the torch a couple of times.

“No, no no, don't die.” You breathed a sigh of relief as you managed to keep the light until it flickered one last time. Your breath affixed as there was complete darkness, and you gulped.

Screech.

Warm tears sprang free from the corner of your eyes and you quivered in place.

He was going to get you, he was going to get you, he was going to get you.

Maybe you should check the door again, just in case. Even before you could react, Namjoon’s lengthy, black claw snatched onto your ankle, yanking you in fast.

Your screams echoed as you disappeared the moment you were dragged underneath the bed. Your eyes opened to an unknown place, but it was still dark. Your body ached with every movement you tried to muster.

Namjoon appeared in front of you, his demeanour frightening you as he used his claws to turn your head to the side. A dim yellow light glinted in the dark ahead of you and you couldn't believe what you were witnessing.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Did you check the bed? I think I saw a boy my age last night.”

A small laugh vibrated from your father’s throat as he crouched down at your request. He got back up, caressing your cheek.

“Come on sweetie, didn't Daddy teach you enough to not be afraid of monsters?”

Click.

The lights turned off and the door closed shut. It was dark again.

Namjoon shifted around as you felt him lay down next to you, wrapping one arm around your waist tightly and the other still holding your face in place. He could feel your heart pounding furiously as his claw began to recreate the same process when he had you for the first time.

Your mind started to go fuzzy and your body went numb and his claw crawled closer to your mouth.

Namjoon whispered into your ear, and his heart grew at the sight of finally having you to himself, “You know, you shouldn’t fear the monsters that are under your bed, you should fear those that hide under your pillow and crawl into your head.”

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: Just a little something I was inspired to write (listening to instrumental sax music gets me going, lol). Enjoy!

~*~

You were smiling, you were giggling. Both sporting secret grins, warmed skin flooded with an overindulgence that came from an open window, one that let in winter’s air without remorse. And it wasn’t supposed to happen this way, you were just on your shared lunch break, upon his soft carpet, sharing a can of Coke, shredding on magazine model standards and going through his records. You never thought his attempts to prove he could do some top secret muscle man move would end up in him on top of you, that milky white smile illuminating every mole and freckle that dotted his defined neck, winding around his tendons, tracing across his jaw, only to splatter over his cheeks. And then he saw you, really drank you in, leaving him to look at you in a realization you were sure would never come to pass.

He’d nodded and you’d obliged. His calloused thumb working on the cream button, unbuttoning your blouse, pushing too gently to see the lace blush of your bra. Your breasts heaved into the cups, every nerve ending a blaze from the loose embers that escaped his hazel orbs. Those very same thumbs left an echoing sound. He breathes and you inhale, the defined bridge of his nose nudging its way into your cheekbone as his mouth meets yours.

His voice is honey-hot, shrouded in a whispers’ rasp when he asks, “What?”

“Nothin’,” you mutter, carding a hand through his caramel layered tresses. “Just you, that’s all.”

“What about me, honey?” A brief frown pulls his bushy brows together.

“You’re you, Steve Harrington. One-hundred percent, unashamedly, authentically you. And I love being here with you like this, did you know that?” You tug apart his polo to glide your fingertips across the chest hair that peeks out from the collar.

Steve is blushing now, a shy little grin quirked at the corners of his mouth. You wanna kiss it so bad. You permit yourself to fondle the gold chain around his neck into a jostle, bringing it out and bringing him forward to meet your mouth. The gold links tickle your chin and drip across your jaw, making you quiver into his hold.

It’s not the winter chill that’s suddenly making you shiver anymore…

~*~

“Wanna put some of my fingers inside of you. Can you take a couple of them for me, baby?”

You’ll do anything that he asks you at this point, and you always will. You’re nodding as he dips his thumbs into the straps of your bra and tugs them down so slowly that goosebumps pepper your flesh. Steve captures the swell of your breasts the way it sits in the cup, working that massive palm down between your legs and into your panties.

“Jesus Christ!” It’s a rather rapid statement, which causes Steve to pull back a little. Worry presses his blown pupils.

“You okay?”

“I just…” you pause, attempting to gather yourself. How can you even form a coherent thought when Steve Harrington has his entire hand cupping your overly wet cunt, leaving you a jumbled and heaving mess of pathetic limbs, all willed by his touch, like some puppet on a string????

“You just?” Steve is pausing to give you the time you need, eyes locked and spare hand curled, knuckles stroking your cheekbone.

“I just never want you to stop touching me.”

He captures your mouth with a trembling fervor, and his hand begins to explore further.

It’s not the heat that blows through the furnace of Steve Harrington’s house that’s suddenly making you hot anymore...

// Eat me paragraph //

[starryficsfinishwen]

“Why do you keep staring at me? Do I have the mission brief on my face?”

You blinked to find curious cerulean eyes feigning annoyance. Lee, donned in the gracious and gentle sunlight, was in the middle of recalibrating his weapon when he spoke. With his cheeks dusted in the lightest shade of pink, a mischievous thought crossed your fickle mind.

“Mm, yes,” you said, propping a hand to your chin, “I'm trying to read it, but you are making it hard for me to do so.”

His mouth curls into a frown, a somewhat low gurgle huff at his throat. Yet the pink that was on his cheeks seemed to turn into a darker shade, now extending to his pale ears. Ah, you were making things difficult, teasing your favorite construct while he's doing all the work for you.

“Quit playing around, Commandant,” he sighed, looking away, but the damage was done, “We aren't done with the mission. Focus.”

“Lee,” you called out softly, gesturing with your hand to make him approach you, “I'm sorry! Come here, I think there's something on your face, really.”

“Did the corrupted damage my face?” He asked, “I was sure that I was careful.”

Lee took one last glance at his weapon before looking at you, placing it gingerly on the table you were sitting at. Nevermind the heat that was creeping on his face, he stood in front of you, inches away from your frame, looking elsewhere.

Tenderly, you reached out to cup his face. Although their bionic skin was far from the feel of a human, you cannot help but feel flattered as you felt the heat radiating off of Lee's blushing face. You tried, however, to keep a straight face as you held him.

“No,” you spoke, “I saw something. Stay still, please.”

Unconsciously, Lee leans closer to you. Your fingers trailed to his forehead, delicately brushing away the strands of hair that covered his eyes. You trace the surface of his forehead, slowly to his jaw, dragging your fingers to the arch of his eyebrows. His eyes, although sharp and flitting, you cannot help but look at him in awe as you stared deeply into his cerulean eyes. His mouth opens, breathing so shortly that you felt them fan your face, his body pressed close to you. To the apple of his cheeks, to the bridge of his nose, until your hands find themselves cupping his jaw.

“I want to kiss you, Lee,” you whispered, aware of his breath teasing your lips, the empty gap between the both of you, “...will you let me?”

Lee said nothing. Instead, his eyes were closed as he leaned forward, answering your needs. Muscle memory, you presume, as his hands find themselves wrapped on the sides of your hips, and your arms are on his shoulders. You leaned further, the kiss deepened. Kissing Lee like this was your energy, long missions and hard work melting away as you felt his soft lips crash onto yours. Love, love, love— you felt it in the way his body seemed to be enclosed perfectly in yours, like a puzzle piece; his mechanical heart in sync with yours. When he pulled away, you take in the sight of him drenched in the last hours of daylight, the sun cast on his love-lit cerulean irises, a rare, sweet smile on his lips. Your foreheads touch as you both breathe in the presence of one another.

You wanted more, the greed in you asking to be answered as well, but perhaps to take him right there and then would taint Gray Raven's name.

So, you sneak in one last, sweet little kiss to his lips and jaw, smiling. “There we go, you look good as new.”

“Commandant, you are a tease.” He laughed (and as much as you hated to admit, but it made your stomach tickle with the butterflies), his thumb brushing your lips, lingering it there, “You should have said you wanted a kiss.”

“Where's the fun in that,” you confessed, kissing his thumb, “I'll fall for you more if I said it directly.”

Lee only smiled, one that only you are permitted to see, “I'll catch you if you do, then.”

I'm totally normal about Lee. no, totally not obsessed with the idea of Lee. no, I do not spend my imaginations about him like this. nope. totally not.

ANYWAYS I GOT HIM BEFORE 2023 ENDED SO NOW I LOVE HIM WAH TOO MUCH MWA

(first line is from one of his "Idle" voiceline)

— starry

[misfitwashere]

We thank you, Joe

Tonight is for you

Robert Reich

Aug 19, 2024

Friends,

Tonight’s opening of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago will be an opportunity for the Democratic Party and the nation to take stock of Joe Biden’s term of office and thank him for his service.

He still has five months to go as president, of course, but the baton has been passed.

Biden’s singular achievement has been to change the economic paradigm that reigned since Reagan and return to one that dominated public life between 1933 and 1980 — and is far superior to the one that has prevailed since.

Biden’s democratic capitalism is neither socialism nor “big government.” It is, rather, a return to an era when government organized the market for the greater good.

The Great Crash of 1929 followed by the Great Depression taught the nation a crucial lesson that we forgot after Reagan’s presidency: markets are human creations. The economy that collapsed in 1929 was the consequence of allowing nearly unlimited borrowing, encouraging people to gamble on Wall Street, and permitting the Street to take huge risks with other people’s money.

Franklin D. Roosevelt and his administration reversed this. They stopped the looting of America. They also gave Americans a modicum of economic security. During World War II, they put almost every American to work.

Subsequent Democratic and Republican administrations enlarged and extended democratic capitalism. Wall Street was regulated, as were television networks, airlines, railroads, and other common carriers. CEO pay was modest. Taxes on the highest earners financed public investments in infrastructure (such as the national highway system) and higher education.

America’s postwar industrial policy spurred innovation. The Department of Defense and its Defense Advanced Research Projects Administration developed satellite communications, container ships, and the internet. The National Institutes of Health did trailblazing basic research in biochemistry, DNA, and infectious diseases.

Public spending rose during economic downturns to encourage hiring. Antitrust enforcers broke up AT&T and other monopolies. Small businesses were protected from giant chain stores. Labor unions thrived. By the 1960s, a third of all private-sector workers were unionized. Large corporations sought to be responsive to all their stakeholders.

But then America took a giant U-turn. The OPEC oil embargo of the 1970s brought double-digit inflation followed by Fed Chair Paul Volcker’s effort to “break the back” of it by raising interest rates so high that the economy fell into deep recession.

All of which prepared the ground for Reagan’s war on democratic capitalism. From 1981 onward, a new bipartisan orthodoxy emerged that markets functioned well only if the government got out of the way.

The goal of economic policy thereby shifted from the common good to economic growth, even though Americans already well-off gained most from that growth. And the means shifted from public oversight of the market to deregulation, free trade, privatization, “trickle-down” tax cuts, and deficit reduction — all of which helped the monied interests make even more money.

The economy grew for the next 40 years, but median wages stagnated, and inequalities of income and wealth surged. In sum, after Reagan’s presidency, democratic capitalism — organized to serve public purposes — all but disappeared. It was replaced by corporate capitalism, organized to serve the monied interests.

**

Joe Biden revived democratic capitalism. He learned from the Obama administration’s mistake of spending too little to pull the economy out of the Great Recession that the pandemic required substantially greater spending, which would also give working families a cushion against adversity. So he pushed for and got the giant $1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan.

This was followed by a $550 billion initiative to rebuild the nation’s bridges, roads, public transit, broadband, water, and energy systems. He championed the biggest investment in clean energy sources in American history — expanding wind and solar power, electric vehicles, carbon capture and sequestration, and hydrogen and small nuclear reactors. He then led the largest public investment ever made in semiconductors, the building blocks of the next economy. Notably, these initiatives were targeted to companies that employ American workers.

Biden also embarked on altering the balance of power between capital and labor, as had FDR. Biden put trustbusters at the head of the Federal Trade Commission and the Antitrust Division of the Justice Department. And he remade the National Labor Relations Board into a strong advocate for labor unions.

Unlike his Democratic predecessors Bill Clinton and Barack Obama, Biden did not reduce all trade barriers. He targeted them to industries that were crucial to America’s future — semiconductors, electric batteries, electric vehicles. Unlike Trump, Biden did not give a huge tax cut to corporations and the wealthy.

It’s also worth noting that, in contrast with every president since Reagan, Biden did not fill his White House with former Wall Street executives. Not one of his economic advisers — not even his treasury secretary — is from the Street.

The one large blot on Biden’s record is Benjamin Netanyahu. Biden should have been tougher on him — refusing to provide him offensive weapons unless Netanyahu stopped his massacre in Gaza. Yes, I know: Hamas began the bloodbath. But that is no excuse for Netanyahu’s disproportionate response, which has made Israel a pariah and endangered its future. Nor an excuse for our complicity.

***

One more thing needs to be said in praise of Joe Biden. He did something Donald Trump could never do: He put his country over ego, ambition, and pride. He bowed out with grace and dignity. He gave us Kamala Harris.

Presidents don’t want to bow out. Both Richard Nixon and Lyndon Johnson had to be shoved out of office. Biden was not forced out. He did nothing wrong. His problem is that he was old and losing some of the capacities that dwindle with old age.

Even among people who are not president, old age inevitably triggers denial. How many elderly people do you know who accept that they can’t do the things they used to do or think they should be able to do? How many willingly give up the keys to their car? It’s not surprising he resisted.

Yet Biden cares about America and was aware of the damage a second Trump administration could do to this nation, and to the world. Biden’s patriotism won out over any denial or wounded pride or false sense of infallibility or paranoia.

For this and much else, we thank you, Joe.

[jolapeno]

x. the day which rips and tears

javier peña x f!reader | chapter ten of nowhere to run

chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers. ptsd. grief. anxiety. reader hitting someone (not javi). no use of y/n. use of a nickname. mentions of smut. feelings. angst. anxiety. ptsd. love thoughts. word count: 5.8k.

AN: this is the big one. the one I've been dreading. all that grief comes to a head.

dedications: thank you to @yeyinde for letting me chew her ear off about this and my plan because i was so lost in the dark before. thank you @wildemaven for making me realise why writing what you love, matters.

It breaks him.

Not slowly. Not piece by piece. But all at once.

Walking in, chaos ricocheting around the room. Watching shards fall, seeing them shattering into a thousand pieces against the tiles as your hands push, shove and hit. 

Then, he finds the utter disappointment etched on Van Ness’s face.

Something has changed, shifted. 

On some level, Javi thinks he knows what it could be. He doesn't realise how wrong he is until he hears it through strangled sobs and tears running like a river down your cheeks. 

Javi thought he could even begin to know. 

The last standing shard, the one that had been there since he came into your life, blasted into fragments before twisting—turning to ash and dust at your feet.

You are standing in ruin, hand extended. 

He decides he won't let you stand alone. 

A good day, you've decided, is one that starts with waking up beside him. 

Before him, when you had clambered for anything to hold on to, it had been perfectly poured coffee, fresh fruit, and no red lights on your commute. 

Now, it’s the chance to take in the slope of his nose, to see how smooth his features are as he rests. It's the warmth from his body—how it gently brushes over your skin, his hand, fingers or leg. Him forever pressed against you, wishing to be connected with you in some shape or fashion.

You know there was a time—months ago—when you ran from this—remembering that night when you’d left this room, dressing haphazardly, spotting how his brows had been pinched together. Even if you knew you’d made the right decision back then, Javi is still more than you had him down for. A force, a presence you couldn't ignore. A person who has marked you—left you forever changed. 

For someone who in the day never stops, Javi barely moves in his sleep. You take the time to study him, without blinds being in the way or needing to put on a pretence why you were staring. It allows you to take in what a juxtaposition to the forever ticking, thinking—pacing and massaging the bridge of his nose—man you've come to work alongside. 

Allowing yourself the chance to admire him, commit this version of him to memory. 

You even permit yourself to wonder, thinking of a far-distant future with him—finding it doesn't seem nearly as complex or hard to reach as before. It's easier when you can pretend the world outside isn’t what it is and that this was a different kind of morning, where commitments and drugs weren’t going to demand so much from the two of you.

But that isn’t reality, so you take what you can. 

Mentally tracing the bow of his lips, you notice how some of the hairs above curl out. You glance over his cheeks, spotting how his long lashes hang over, casting little spider-leg shadows over his skin. Detecting the dark bags under his eyes, ones you’re sure could be worse, but nonetheless are still there.

Truthfully, you think about how you wish his eyes were open. Suddenly, missing the way his soft brown pools drag you under, wrap you in warmth—how they lap around you like gentle waves, all calmly and soothingly. Him searing emotions into you that are doused in nut brown and peeling your skin off in shades of coffee-coloured lust.

“Morning’,” he mumbles, voice an octave or two lower, all croaky but still dripping in its usual honey.

Your lips curl up into your cheeks, fingers strumming across his shoulder. “Good morning. Did you know you’re very good looking when you’re not talking?”

Keeping his eyes closed, you watch him stretch a little. Muscles and tendons flex under his skin before he rolls lazily onto his side, an arm sliding over you—warm and heavy on your waist.

“You’ll pay for that.”

Humming, you nuzzle into him. Distantly aware that soon, an alarm will cut into the quiet. It’ll do its thing and tear through the perfect morning—make the two of you put on your masks and begin another day of recreating your daily performance.

“I hope I will,” you whisper, fingers sliding over his chest, flicking your eyes to his face.

That’s when you find his eyes are on you. All soft, warm—sparkling with deviousness. A pair, you decide there and then, that you’d quite like to wake up to forever if you’re given the chance.

“Behave, will you?”

Tracing your finger up and down his chest, your teeth nip at your lower lip, staring through your lashes at him. “Do you really want me to, sir?”

For a moment, there’s just silence. No sound of passing cars or a city waking up.

Then, it’s disturbed by a groan before the mattress protests his movements as he pushes you onto your back. His body flushes with yours, sheets loose over the two of you—both smothered in the morning light so you can see the look that spells precisely what he thinks of your comment.

“Someone is awake.”

Curling his lips, he rocks his hips against yours—his hardening cock nudging against your thigh. “I’m always awake for you.”

Weaving your fingers through his hair, you pull—ever so slightly—swallowing his second groan. The two of you falling into your usual pattern, because he's as easy to read as you. The two of you are so in tune now, no instructions warranted—all freestyle movements that are easily read and understood, making words no longer needed.

He slants his mouth against your whimpers, hand on your thigh. They fall in a chant, the beginning of a song he’s the only one that can make you sing. Your voice reaches a new pitch when he rolls his hips, the head of his cock hitting that spot—causing your eyes clench as your lips curl around each letter of his name. 

Quickly, you decide that an even better morning is when you come before your morning coffee—when he tells you that you’re doing so well for him.

You’ve always liked receiving stars for doing a good job. 

Arriving at work is bittersweet. No scent of him, just the lingering remnants of Javi's body wash that you’d slathered your skin in before dressing. A new addition to your morning, one which has somehow pushed other mechanisms from your to-do list and mind.

One of them being your desk.

You’d have been distressed at the sight of your desk a while ago. The paperwork piling, the unsorted files—pulled and not even opened—all mounting. It niggled at something inside of you, another string of control snapping and hanging in two parts inside of you.

Another coping mechanism gone, robbed.

Even as it tightened your chest, you slid it to the side. Making a neater but taller pile as you adjust your keyboard. The brewed coffee steamed, the scent of it like an enchantress trying to coax you into relaxing into your chair. 

You almost do.

Almost.

“Hey, you got a minute?”

Dan never asks, least of all, with a pulled expression and an awkward dance of his fingers. He’s worrying, practically pacing—even if he’s not moving. It’s why you eye him for a second, trying to decipher what is happening behind his eyes and what has wound him up tighter than a yo-yo. 

“You good?”

“Are you?” 

Narrowing your eyes, you lift your mug—let the heat warm your palm. “Any particular reason you’re asking me that?”

His lip twitches, just enough to show evidence a smirk would have appeared—if whatever was bothering him wasn’t there. “Your desk.”

Swallowing, you lean into your chair. “What can I help you with?” 

“Chris said you mentioned a debrief.” 

A part of you—one which hammers against your insides—tells you to retract it. To think about the person behind you, the one who’d have to answer for the rules you’d be breaking if you follow through post-debrief. But Dan looks at you, almost pleadingly—even if to everyone else, his expression would have remained the same. 

Nodding, you don’t find words—knowing there are none. Making sure to take your mug with you, letting it roast your palm as you follow. 

You find yourself entering the room you’ve subconsciously dubbed the phone-tap-room—wondering, if only to yourself—if this is the room now where the real fucked up shit goes down. When the lines blur between being the good guys and the guys who have to ensure the job is done.

From the look on Chris’s face, you suppose it’s the latter. 

His conversation from yesterday returns, the way his words had been stitched together to form a sentence rather than fallen naturally. Suddenly, your back straightens. Eyes narrowing ever so slightly, needing your wit, all sense of your emotions and inner workings, as the door shuts behind the two of you.

You expect the silence, the waiting. Everyone waiting for the first person to speak, which is why you decide to take a drink. Coat your tongue in heat and your throat in caffeine.

It’s why you almost choke when Dan begins immediately. 

His voice fast, sentence after sentence falling in an array of unorganised disasters—another point to be ticked in the column that everything is fucked. Something you were aware of, you could read a room—could see it etched into the face of your…

Boyfriend? Person? Boss? 

Frowning, you take another sip. Your eyes lift back to the conversation only when your name is called. Not Luna—the nickname given to you by someone no longer here. Your birth name—the one you were blessed with, the one used in most of your last places of work before here. Before you became the cautionary tale of Cali amongst agents and the one that others couldn’t read or dare speak to.

“So, you think his cover is blown.”

You glance over, watching how Dan paces in real time now. A sight you rarely see. Not even when you were lost in old, dirty bed sheets with unbrushed hair and tears stained on your cheeks.

Four forwards, four back. It's a pattern you’ve only seen him do a handful of times. One that has stages—all of varying amounts of worry. Your brow arched, cocked. All set to be fired when he finally looks at you.

Except he doesn’t. He chooses to keep his eyes firmly on the floor, practically compelling them there. His conscience twisted, warped—the job pecking at the skin on his bone, changing it. Like it has done to everything.

Clearing your throat, you continue, “Well. You realise you can’t just go blazing in there and grab him. Shit doesn’t work like that.”

Chris, who has been forcibly rubbing his forehead for the better part of the last four minutes, sighs. Loudly. Dropping his fingers, leaving pink marks from their intensity against his skin, as the sound punches out into the air, making your eyes widen, and the embers of annoyance flare up in your chest.

Because you had other shit you could be doing.

Had things that you could be helping with—could even be of need to Stoddard. There were files on your desk that could hold answers, things overlooked with old information, but with the new amounts rolling in now, it never hurts to look at it all again. See if more of the puzzle comes together, if pieces fit more cleanly, and if names and identities were found and matched. 

Names to faces you’d quite like made.

Not just for the case, but for you—for sleep, for peace. 

But you’re in here, locked away in some secret plot, all set behind dark blinds.

“Hey, you wanna keep me in the dark on the details, all I have is to poke holes in your plan,” you continue, leaning against the wall, tapping your nails against your mug. “Plus, if you’re not actually going to let me in, I have work to get on with.”

“We don’t have much to give you—”

“Oh, he speaks.”

Chris glares, but you don’t cower. Smirking, lightly but with intent—all callous, cold.

An expression you’ve perfected, one shaped before the two of you ended things and, soon after, cemented when things turned to shit.

“Alright, you pair, come on,” Dan says, interjecting.

Ever the peacekeeper, he shoots you a sharper look. One that spells out: be nice. One that you want to fight, but you swallow because it’s him. 

Folding your arms, you rest the mug against your forearm—the base of it hot, steaming. It keeps you present as worries begin to try and wrap themselves around you. Something is off. Your gut is angry—inflamed. So much so that you bite the inside of your cheek, letting the silence simmer, thicken.

Because even if they had both somehow decided they needed your help, neither of them had said with what exactly. Something which thrummed in your bones, your gut angry and noncompliant—because it likely involved you risking everything.

Your chance. Your job. Your life.

“Can you… I don’t know, give me a file, papers—something that allows me to do my actual job to help. You promised me photos, information—“

Holding his hands up, Dan moves, grabbing something the two of them had clearly forgotten about. “Yeah, here. Look, we don’t have much. But here.”

It’s a swap. He takes your mug, fingers brushing yours—eyes meeting yours in a way that whispers gratitude, even if his voice has yet to say it. Your hand taking the file, it scratching against your fingers, thumb brushing over his, finding something on his face that unsettles you.

More than being hidden behind blinds.

Sliding your thumb over the folder, you release your anger in one breath. Not shooting Chris a look. Not wanting to swell the rage back up inside of you as you slowly open it—spotting the map, the circles, the clear indications of a plan they’d tried to put together. You recognise the building, having seen it from other pictures—briefly in the distance when you were down there. 

You recognise the names in red writing—similar to the ones on the board you pass each day. 

It isn’t until you move the map to the side do you find a selection of handwritten notes—ones you recognise belong to Dan. The chicken scratch you’ve had to decipher when he’s left lunch plans on your desk or notes on things. A smile wanting to spread, to slide, and then—

You see it.

That face.

It’s instant the way a shudder runs up your spine, ripping, smothering over anything that had been there prior. 

You consider turning, giving them your back—taking the chance to stare into the eyes that have plagued you for months. The ones that haunt you.

But you can’t move. Your throat trying to close. Air, all of a sudden, a luxury you don’t have. 

Your palms sweat, glueing themselves to the page. Not allowing you to close it—not allowing you to drop it. Just forcing you to stare, to greet his face as your legs feel weak, and shaky as your stomach twists and knots. 

It’s like everything you’ve been feeling but turned up a notch. Like you’ve been wrenched through the floor and placed in the past—but with the memories of the present. With the knowledge of what is to come. The scent of Cali, the air around you suddenly rich with iron, your skin stained in rich scarlet and ichor. None of it yours, none of it ever belonging to you—

Even if you wish…

And wish…

And wish…

Your name cuts through the room. Slicing. 

But it’s not enough to dull the whispers, the pleading chants of Luna from the lips of your former best friend. It fills the space around you in a chorus—like a voice out at sea trying to tempt you to rocks and demise.

You’re trapped, stuck—misplaced. All lost somewhere between the past, present and a mist-covered future.

Even if your feet are planted in your work shoes—the ones digging into the cheap flooring of the building. Even if you can hear the voice in your head, the one banging against bone, screaming that you’re here. Safe. Protected.

That you’re not in a building in Cali. You’re in a room with people who get it, who understand.

You won’t believe it. 

Sucked in. Suffocated. Hand still holding the picture, the photo—all ink and various shades that etch out into the face that plagues your nightmares. The one you see behind your eyelids when you blink.

It rises—all of it. 

Like thick bile clotted with lumps, your chest is tightening, and your skin is desperate to be itched.

Sunshine yellow, splintered sobs—

You want to scream, to beg—to plead. Save me, pull me back, save me. But your throat barely permits a gasp, never mind a plea. Instead, your suffering begins to show in your hand, a tremble, a shake. Something you can’t rid with ease as it travels down your fingers, showing in a slight movement of your fingers as they struggle to keep hold of the rest of the file.

You try to move your feet again. Do something. Anything. But you almost stumble, your body not your own—it’s his and the past’s. 

It feels wrong to be here, as though things are catching up. 

Chasing, darkness coming in—

Then it spreads, the shakes. 

It floods up your wrists, into your shoulders. 

Filling your lungs, burning, the flames licking up your oesophagus, even as you try to swallow. It blends with shame. With guilt. You survived, and she did not—

It finds anger and uproots the depths of the trauma that made your tongue prefer alcohol to coffee. Your heart is racing, dancing and pulsating before it pounds and aims to ravage. 

You can’t tear your eyes away—even as they rip through you. 

Shred the last pieces of you that had remained scratched, but intact. His eyes are on you, as though they’re in the room. Spearing into you, the same as they are in your terrors. The visualisation of your fears—the thing that goes bump in the night, what hides down dark alleyways and on corners when the sun has set.

The face is still the same—no scars, no new haircut—

Someone touches you as a flinch ripples out, lifting your chin, 

A flinch rippled out as Dan steps back, as though he’s suddenly aware of how hard you’re breathing, how defensive you must look.

“Hey, you ok—“

“W-What’s his name?”

It comes out shaky. Breathy.

Wrapped in tightness that makes it shoot out. Spat. Poisonous. Your voice whips around the air before silence spreads in its wake. Then it hums. Everything.

The tension.

Your grief.

The trauma that has both broken you and kept you together. 

Dan is looking at you, even as he steps back. Concern slowly webbing across his skin as he pauses his pacing—

“Chris.”

It’s sharp, the way you spit out his name.

If he’s aware there’s something wrong, he’s not showing it. Masking, like he constantly fucking does.

“Salcedo,” he says. “Jorge Salcedo. He has a wife…”

He begins speaking, and it’s all monotone. Handing information to you like it’s nothing. But it isn’t nothing.

He’s not nothing.

Your hand drops the file, his face falling to the ground as tremors rumble through you. Your edges crumble, the foundation cracking from the centre rather than the edges.

“—He’s helped us loads, and he’s prepared to—“

“Sal-ce-do…” you whisper, cutting Chris off.

You can feel it—how the room tightens. The air constricts, vines from the past cutting through reality, slicing one by one. Walls shoot up from the ground, separating you—just like it did before. You, the damaged shell and them, the untouched souls. Not helped by the way they’re watching, all three of them—the ones on the floor continuing to make your bones shake in their place, unable to control it.

Even if you try to stop them—try to hide how much you’re being consumed by anger that has been sitting, somewhat diluted, but ever heavy in your chest. Having done so since that night—

Sunshine yellow.

Those eyes. The way they pierce through your sleep and hang around your dreams. How, that even here, you worry they’ll be around the corner.

Breathe.

That’s what you say to yourself. A reminder, a wishful thought. Because you can hear your blood pounding in your ears, your legs still shaky, not confident they can keep you up for much longer.

Not as the floor continues to be tugged from you, attempting to be ripped—

But you’re strong. So much more than you once were. Your back is straight, feet planted. Not willing to be taken, choosing to fight, to battle. To go to war against the feeling which has already robbed you of so much. 

Your jaw tightening, gritting. Because—

Because…

Splintered sobs—

“He tried to kill me, y’know?”

You don’t offer to pick up the file, leaving it there, sliding it across the floor with the heel of your shoe. Watching, studying, how the colour drains from Chris‘s face as your own hardens.

Watching the dots connect. One by fucking one.

The first thing you note, there’s no guilt. No apology. Nothing falls from his tongue as you stare down the man you once lay with.

Sunshine yellow, splintered sobs—

“Salcedo. Your reason. The man with his wife and his adorable kids… he t-tried to kill me—they killed her. My f-friend. Your…” your finger points, shaky in the air—your whole arm, in fact.

Other words, clot, clinging to the side of your throat as you swallow.

Something stitching, something ugly that you hope can’t be true as you watch his expression. See it being created as you continue. 

“He sat in his fucking car—“ 

Your voice cracks, loud and undignified, the calmness evaporating, feeling the energy inside you—inside the room—vibrate. Feeling those eyes back on you through the car's front window as her blood soaked through your dress to your skin. No lights on. The passenger seat empty. 

Just watching.

“—and he watched me f-find her. His headlights turned on. He would have killed me or the person with him.”

He stares, and your eyes flick to Dan.

It takes you a minute. 

The rage had amassed into an exchange of words that had needed to be spilt. Now they were gone, and you were left with something else—the creation in front of you. 

A thing far worse than the acknowledgement, the sentences that rotted in your chest.

You’re embarrassed at the time it has taken you—heart sinking. The new feeling spreads over you as your body is slammed into it, suddenly thrumming with pain.

Your head tilts, lip quivering. “How long have you known—that it was him?”

“Luna, we didn’t—“

You’re quick, shooting a glance, “Not you, Dan. Him.”

It’s the look you’re used to. 

The soft, almost puppy-like expression that used to undo you. Now, it hardens you and makes you want to rip out his eyes and feed them to him.

“Spit it out, Fiestl—“

“A few days ago.”

You can smell the road. 

Feel the heat as if you’re standing there as you go looking for her. Watching, like a movie, how it plays out in front of your eyes and behind your lids. How you’d been shouting her name, painting it across the unlit buildings and quiet streets—

Sunshine yellow, splintered sobs, carmine-stained palms…

Even in the dark, the temperature had been suffocating. It had wrapped its arms around you and dug its claws in.

He shuffles, Fiestl. 

The sound cuts through the tension and your story. 

Your hands are shaking. Your body is vibrating.

Carmine-stained palms. Carmine-stained.

You trace your lip with your tongue, lifting your eyes to meet Chris. “You’re a piece of shit—“

“I… I didn’t—“

Chest tightening, your nails digging into the flesh on your palm as you try to push past it.

Sunshine yellow—carmine-stained palms. Dead. She’s dead. Cold. Splattered in crimson.

Dead.

You make the mistake of looking down, finding the eyes again. It forces you to snap your eyes back up, finding yourself confronted with an unreadable expression on one, and concern painted on the other.

“You can do this on your fucking own—“

Chris’s hand comes out as he calls out to wait, the words not meeting your ears, but his touch…

Cold. Dead. She’s dead.

It spreads like wildfire. It is like the key in a door that should forever remain locked, your body twisting, moving more quickly than you thought possible as your hands shove, push.

Your hand balls up, closing, becoming a fist. It moves, pulling back before connecting, landing on his chin—knuckles against bone, a crack sound—before you pull back again, fingers unwinding, palm-flat as it lands, slapping against him as it erupts out of you.

Words spit. Tears fall. None of it lessening. 

Chris taking it all. Not trying to stop you—no one trying to stop you.

The mist having descended, the lights on, but nobody's home as it swallows you, eradicates you. It all rises from where you kept shoving it into, weaving around freely in your veins, turning everything good into red.

“Let me expl—“

You collide your palm, it stinging up your wrist before you’re yanking it back to do it again.

“—I hate you, Chris. I hate—“

And again.

And again.

“–you killed her. You had her killed. You lied, you lied, and you lied again—“

Your palm flattens, connecting with his chest as your words slide through the air. They rip up, rising from beneath buried pretence to cut him—to wound him.

You don’t stop.

Won’t stop.

Not until you have no more to hammer into his chest. Words falling, laced in the hatred you’ve tried to keep back—because he had hurt you, but now he has wounded you. Left you covered in scars no one could see. Left you broken, parts of you forever wrecked—withered and wilted.

“—you knew, you knew and st-still—“

The words were not able to come. To leave.

That is, until an arm wraps around your waist. A scent you know like it was your own. The arm, belonging to someone you know, pulling you back—tearing you back, dragging you.

All of it allows you to breathe, for your lungs to fill with something other than hatred and brimstone. Let things settle as your spine connects to the chest you’ve woken up against.

You know it’s Javi.

You know it before his voice sounds, demanding an explanation; you knew it from the firm but gentle way he had pulled you back—how he held you as you tried to thrash to get back to Chris.

It’s his words that still you.

Whispered, all close to your ear. “Cariño, enough.”

His touch is like an extinguisher, but it’s his name for you that smothers the flames and the room.

Your body softening, pliant. Almost ready to burst differently—tears burning your eyes, stinging, making it hard to see, thick and feel.

It’s why you turn in his hold. Blurry eyes searching the outline of his expression—looking for any confirmation, a swirling sickness in your abdomen that he could have known too.

But you don’t find it. 

Not in his eyes—not in the soul he allows you to see from time to time.

Your head instinctively tilts, and you want to ask, make sure he knows why—because this isn’t you—needing him to know that, needing him to understand. Wanting to rid the confusion in his eyes, and the pain in your own.

He’s trying, you can see. 

Attempting to come to a conclusion with the information at hand. Ticking, like Javi does—but this time, for a reason that has nothing to do with the case.

A sob breaks. Your shoulders sinking, body depleting, even more so as Javi's hand rises, all set to touch your cheek.

And you want him too. Just him. Just Javi.

“I’m…” you begin to whisper, swallowing. 

Tears coat Javi’s fingers as he gives in, brushing your cheek with his thumb. An explanation wanting to fall, to tell him—wanting nothing more than to share with him.

Instead, your lip quivers. “I’m done. With it all, g-getting Cali, Colombia… f-fuck it all. I quit.”

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. Process them. 

Your feet force you back, stepping as the back of your hand comes to your mouth, movements groggy—like they don’t belong to you. Watching in slow motion as Javi’s hand remains in place where your cheek was, before it slowly descends. 

Then, you’re a passenger. Your hand finds the door handle, feet carrying you forward as your body storms through it. The eyes off the office fall to you, but you’ve grown so used to them, that they don’t slow you. They don’t force you to wipe your cheeks or stifle the sobs that try to crack through you.

Each step is heavy, with the heel landing solidly, but your legs still feel weak. Your vision is blurry, yet somehow, you manage to avoid desks as you hunt for your own.

Bag, keys, coat. You tell yourself. That’s all you need.

The back of your hand is still pressing against your lips, choosing not to look at Stoddard even as he stands. Not wanting to be greeted by more concern and faux pity—

Until you realise that Stoddard is standing because you know he’s behind you.

Hot on your tail. You can hear it now as your hand wipes your face as you almost reach your desk, hand reaching out, wishing to grab your items.

Bag, coat, phone—

But, he’s quick. Javi is quick, good and perfect.

The only thing that can bring you any comfort or calm. But, you want to fight against it. Want to sit in this, let it eat you alive, surrender to all the energy you’ve spent trying to keep yourself standing, working and doing.

That thing in your chest burns again. 

All acidic, travelling north of your throat. It mixes with the anger, the shoved-down annoyance that you’ve fallen for him. Having only ever wanted to see what the fuss was about, discover why talks of his prowess had rippled through the office before Escobar landed face down on the roof.

You’d wanted just to know whether his cock could really make you see the stars and the heavens—dispute the rumour. Forget, be able to forget with someone who didn’t know or care to ask.

Now, you’re pretty sure you love him.

And you suspect he loves you, too.

You imagine it’s why his hand is wrapping around your elbow, leading you to his office, why you don’t fight it as it happens. No longer able to run from it—from how you feel, from your past, from your grief. 

Suspecting it’s why, as you step through his office, you feel things begin to crumble and crack. His door shutting feeling final, the blinds being closed, feeling the curtains coming down at the end of the performance. You no longer need to pretend, to fake it—you can break, crumble and snap. 

And you do when he’s back in front of you, feeling him pull you close until you’re burying your face into his chest as it falls from your lips.

All in horrid, choking sobs.

Vibrating. Gently soothed from you as his fingers massage the wrist of your balled-up hand near his ribs.

“Breathe, Cariño. Just breathe.”

I love you. I love you. I love—

“I s-should say that I love—“

“Shh,” he whispers. “I know, I know. I do, too.”

And you relax, fingers clutching his shirt—soaking your tears into the fabric. Letting him hold you again, letting him actually try to comfort you more than just using him. Let his feelings seep in. Let his words warm the coldest parts—the ones shrouded in darkness from old heartache and fear.

“Javi, you have things—“

He holds you tighter, more insistently. “We can stay as long as you need to.”

And then you break.

Fully.

Not in neat parts, but messily. Letting him see it all, how there were pieces held together by sheer hope and grit, and others somehow having been teetering in place for so long, they were always bound to fall.

“Salcedo is… h-he’s the one who came for me.”

You feel him still. His body tensing against you—his heart quickening in the chest you’re pressed to, right against your ear.

In the silence, you’re sure you can hear how his brain even begins to whirl. Just lightly, almost drowned out by how you gnaw at the side of your cheek until it stings—tasting blood as it smothers over bitter coffee and earlier apprehension.

“And h-he knew. Fiestl. He-he put the… fuckin’ pieces together sometime between asking me to help and p-putting me in that room.”

Your voice shakes, quakes—

It all begins somewhere in your throat before it latches on, cutting into your words. Fragmenting them, letting them hit the air all in pieces, just like your heart.

It takes you a moment, a second before you realise you’re being seated. Finding yourself arranged until he’s sitting beside you, somehow weaving in close, allowing you to touch him as much or as little as you need.

Searching his eyes, your throat tightens at the look of concern—how his finger brushes over your cheek before dropping to his lap.

You’re not sure how long the two of you eventually sit beside one another for—not touching you—just staring. A mirror of last night, when he’d asked you about Texas, about a life way after all of this.

His silence is an odd comfort—usually, you’re so used to cracking under quiet. Yet, with him, you settle. Relax into it. Shoulders slide from your ears as your body grows tired from all you’ve been through. 

No one knocks.

No one comes to find you—no one even rings.

It’s like the world outside goes quiet while yours still recovers from the earthquake.

In time, you let your fingers slide over his—feeling their warmth, the small healed scars and calluses on his fingers as you sigh.

“I’m… I’m really done.”

And his mouth opens, then closes.

“But not with you,” you add.

Tightening your hold on his hand, a shaky breath rips through you as you half-smile.

“You, I'm not done with.”

The leather grumbles as he moves, and he says nothing, just pulls you into the crook of his neck as his arm comes around your shoulders.

“You have to save him,” you whisper, staring at a patch on the carpet. “Sal… the man who has helped. He has k-kids. They... they don't deserve…”

Then he kisses your forehead. In understanding and in comfort. 

An act that makes your eyes close and the last knot of tension fade from your body as you sink into him—clinging, like a starfish trapped on a rock, being battered by the sea.

an: i feel i should apologise for the wait, but this chapter was horrible to write because so much of her anguish and trauma had to come out from somewhere. this piece has way more shards of me than it should, but i hope you appreciate them all ✨

[skypodimmigrationconsulting]

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[court-jobi]

The Nightmare

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Words: 3,481

Rating: Teen & Up

A/N: Flashbacks, Mando's angst turns into fluff, alludes to a more intimate relationship, nightmare comfort, descriptions of bounty hunter-typical violence, etc.

Summary: Settling into weeks of quiet have done wonders for Din Djarin's stress levels. Laying low had it's perks. With his adoring riduur at his side, the heartaches that crop up feel bearable... Until the night terrors start. Memories from past and present mix and force the Mandalorian awake.

Compartmentalize. Strategize. Aim. Detain. That’s how he operates, how he works at his best.

He supposed this was what came with the territory of having something worth living for; the gratitude and the grief. The gift of love and the subsequent fear of losing such a treasure. Coming to terms with a life without love in it and being honest enough to admit something like this could rattle him, that was his new challenge.

Read on AO3

Din shot awake, roused by the scream that haunted him in his mind. The flashback, the bruises, you being strangled. The memory played in a tense loop while his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. 

He whipped around to his side, finding you completely sound asleep– armed with a pillow hugged by your arms. 'A poor placeholder for my hunky Mando,' you said; not that your subconscious could tell the difference. Even if he were snuggled as closely behind you as he could manage now in your shared bed, you’d still have cushions and blankets swarming you… It was all part of your adoring charm, Din decided long ago.

He let out a breath and let his eyes fall shut for just a second. 

Thank fuck it’s over.

The images burned again behind his closed eyes, so he willed them open. No way he’d be sleeping anytime soon.

Eyes open, he looked to you. A hand slipped from the covers– his. Should he touch? Just to– no…. His heart ebbed again. 

Carefully, Din slipped from the bed all the while watching your sleeping body breathe in and out. Not even bothering with a shirt, he wiped his face with the corner of the sheet to rouse himself, and left the bedroom in search of a drink. Nothing to numb him– just to remind his body of what was real.

Coming back to the living room window, carafe in hand, he took a long swig. From the tip of his peripherals, Din noted his hands jostling on the way up. He frowned at the shakiness as the water passed his lips in gulps.

He ran through the steps: find a light source, find the ground, steel your feet, steel your heart. ‘Fear has no place in safety.’

His heart began to slow with the practiced familiarity. What his upbringing taught him.

He was safe, you were safe, and always would be, with him. It was just a dream. 

Problem is, the dream was no fantasy. No hypothetical, or worst-case scenario. No, it was a haunting memory he'd filed away in its proper place when it had happened, a gross oversight that would not be repeated- and one he thought he’d out to bed long ago. The guild he’d confessed to was a fight that you’d finally gotten through to him that you’d forgiven him of, any complicit part he’d played in it was pardoned and dismissed. That was months, nearly a year ago. So much has happened since that little ‘heart attack’.

The thought should be comforting, so why were his eyes stinging so?

The truth…was that stress compounded. 

And it’s been a hell of a year.

Din sat, pondering the nightmare and more at the bay window. Of the nightly terror, and the one he faced in his living hours. He thought of his child, wherever he was. Now, he couldn't guarantee his safety. Only faith could keep him from harm while it was not up to his father to keep watch. And he thought too of what followed: when he’d turned around that bridge– the eyes all on him, in the face. Taking off his helmet was the final straw that severed him from his personal creed. That was permitted after all, but in private. That moment was another he could never take back… 

A renewed sorrow came over Din again and he whispered out a curse, drinking as if to wash the paternal worry back down inside. Why was it so hard to hold onto that promise– when he himself gave it so freely to Grogu just weeks ago? 

//Don't be afraid.// //I’ll see you again, I promise.//

Din rubbed the heel of one hand against one eye, then the other, breathing out against one of the dual moons’ lights coming in from the landing fields. Each blade shimmered in the wind.

He supposed this was what came with the territory of having something worth living for; the gratitude. The gift of love and the subsequent fear of losing such a treasure. Coming to terms with a life without love in it and being honest enough to admit something like this could rattle him. 

After taking up this life, one he never thought he would have, where would he go next without his family? Without his creed?

"--Hey, you ok?" 

Your serene, sleep-laced voice sung a bit higher than it normally did.

Din turned with a bit more of a start, disappointed in himself that he disturbed your peace despite his best efforts. 

“I thought someone called or something…” You discovered his unshed tears in the light when he set the carafe away. In a stride, you joined him with a sad smile, unaware of anything on a docile planet like this that could have woken him up from a dead sleep. "What happened?"

Din’s voice came out rough and choked, he cleared it with a bashful, twisted expression.

"I didn't want to wake you--" 

The moment you stepped into his space you cupped his cheek and kissed the opposite one softly and slowly in a sleepy greeting, hugging him around his back when he rose to collect you. Your darling riduur. Once you parted, he cradled your head to him and let out a breath against your neck– clearly upset and trembling.

"Din– baby, you're shaking… why didn't you get me up?"

He looked sadly over your shoulder. The tall grass, rustled by the breeze in waves…

"You needed your rest." Din settled on a half truth.

You nudged his side with the arm enclosed around him there,

"So do you." You pulled back just enough to look at him again. Not only was he tired, but looked haunted. 

You guessed, with a loving scratch to his lower back, "Bad dream?"

He relented with the subtlest of nods. Smoothing out your hair, he corralled you in before he settled back on the sill. You followed the flow of his movements and claimed the space on his thigh. From here, it was the perfect height to hug him fully on your perch.

You hummed to acknowledge. Laying a little kiss to his darker skin, laden with hard, sad lines all across his forehead. Your lips sealed a caring touch, 

"You're safe, honey." You reminded The Hunter in him.

"--Wasn't about me."  Strong arms squeezed you in a reflex.

You paused a little, then added another kiss. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

At the close of his eyes, Din saw it all again…

The Razor Crest didn’t hum as she normally did. Or maybe she was, but Din could barely hear it over the pounding of his heart. Shock rattled his system, and sent his pulse into overdrive.

That godsawful day: the one where he got your emergency callsign and a quick comm in, telling him to ‘get there and fast and in case he didn’t, that you knew he’d be just fine with the munchkin, anyway’-- like he didn’t need you like he needed oxygen piped into his helmet’s filtration system.  

That comm call sent fear prickling his senses and pumped lead into his stomach. 

Luckily, his brain moved faster than the shock and the steely part of his mind set you as his bounty. Compartmentalize. Strategize. Aim. Detain. That’s how he operates, how he works at his best.

He hunted you down to save you in record time.

Action tore the dream into spurts– first, how he tracked you down from the op gone wrong. You split the job in two: he’d take one informant and you’d take the other, playing to your strengths and getting back to the buyer’s table in tandem. It had worked so far for the last few jobs with a near perfect track record. Until that day. 

Maybe he should have listened to his gut. You said this was going to be ‘just as easy as the first time’, and set off to recover some intel and maybe swipe a few things vigilante-style that your targets would never miss in the first place. Not a bad move, when stealing from the obscenely rich for a good cause. Only it clearly must not have gone the way you thought, and now unfortunately left you to wrestle with very real death threats. 

Every muscle burned as he fought his way to you. Din Djarin –the Mandalorian– running on silent fury and a protective streak to rival a mudhorn left the spice smuggler’s transit with no one who tried to cross him without a few bruises.

– at least until he found the spice dealer holding you up on the wall by the neck… then all hell broke loose. 

Din removed the Yuuzhan’s arms from the equation. Called it ‘cutting the hand that sins’. 

Scared everyone in the hallway straight, at least, and got you back in his arms: ready with a bleary laugh and a witty word. 

Next, there was the chase- how you both made it back in one piece. By some miracle, you sped through the alleyways of Correlia with the confidence that you could do it blindfolded on that speederbike. How you managed that after the trauma of the day by only taking breaths in hard spurts still amazed him; long after you settled back into the ship and held the kiddo in your lap for the first time in a week. Grogu constantly tried to reach up and play with your hair, but you slipped him some old, battery-deficient comm shells to play with and stack instead. Kept him busy, cute little thing.

Seeing him so happy, there on the Crest… It hurt to see such a different time played over and over in his dreams. Even that felt so real.

This part felt like a lifetime ago: Din’s visor squaring up to your face as you sat detangling your hair with a little wince. At the time, he’d not been honest about the warmth in his chest, not told you how he felt, hadn’t felt you sigh and unravel beneath him surrendering all of your soul in return for his touch, and you certainly hadn’t seen his brown eyes in the light of day yet. No, now he just watched you from the comfort the shell of his helmet and creed provided.

You heard the door hiss shut behind him when he’d left the fresher himself, and looked up with a funny little eye roll at the weird angle of your arms. He'd caught you like this several times, after all. It was an annoying part of using a fresher versus a real sprayshower- the pressure was all wrong, and left your hair a bit of a mess. And now, every yank of your head hurt. You had to laugh under your breath. So much for keeping beauty tricks a secret around him. 

But he didn’t care. Not a bit. Not about something as trivial as hair when he was worried about so much more. Worried sick about your life.

Under the thick straps of the belt and ammo guards, Din’s stomach tensed in knots. He tried to pipe up, but his first syllable got caught in his mouth funny, and he swallowed to try again where the voice modulator would pick up.

"Feel better?" he’d asked.

Dew-adorned eyes looked back at him; tired, but gemlike as ever. You nodded very little, a small hum acknowledging his concern.

"The heat was nice," your voice answered, small. "I appreciate the hot water, that was reallyngggg.. sweet of you to save that for me-" your grin turned sour and breathless at the unintentional swallow at the end. 

You hid the pain poorly, if you were trying at all. Blowing a slow, smooth breath acted as an intermission between the throbbing’s effect on your body.

Din stepped towards you just as he’d done in real time, taking a kneel in front of you, level so that you didn't need to look up at him. The recognition of your reflection so close caught you off guard for half a second.

He asked softly to ‘let me see’.

You gave a thin lipped smile. "It– looks worse than it is.."

Brush falling to your lap, you pulled all your still-damp hair to one side.

Still angry and a bit red from the asphyxiation you'd endured earlier, the color sent a renewed flare of anger in him. You noted that in the rise of his chest. His hands ached again.

Those eyes, your eyes, looking at him in worry mirrored what they’d just looked like under the Yuuzhan’s hands and claws– how close you’d gotten gambling with your pulsepoint.

The cry of his title that eeked from you– so broken and terrified–

Did he want to talk about it?

A chill rippled in him. "Not really."

"...Want me to stay?"

"Yes." Immediate.

Smiling above his head now, you looking out to the fields from Din’s unofficial spot, with you snuggly in his arms. You unleashed your arms from his waist in favor of trailing up his expanse of chest and around his neck. He looked back at you with softer eyes when you settled around his shoulders. You guided his head to the spot below your chin, where he nuzzled his way of thanks.

"You know I'm here for you now, right? We're in this together." You kissed what hair was available to you at this angle and felt his sigh against your chest.

"I know. Mhi solus tome… ner riduur. N’cyar’ika."

The memory of so many nights, watching how you'd held Grogu to this spot on your chest just like this leaked out.

"...I miss him."

A few fingers threaded through his mussed hair,

"Me too, hon."

Minutes passed just holding each other like this, leaving your Mandalorian’s heart to take stock again:

The moon was the light, the ground was firm, his feet were stable, his heart secure by the woman holding him together.

Your eyes had closed peacefully atop his head when he rumbled beneath you in a little laugh.

"Let's go back to bed."

You lured those big brown eyes at you, closer to sleep than wakefulness, “You sure?”.

"I'm ok now." Din smiled up at you, rubbing at your waist. "You're falling asleep on me."

"No m'not."

He shook his head at your sleepy stubbornness and stood. WIthout a fight, he nodded off and guiding you by the hips in front of him– to head back to your room,

"C'mon, sweetheart. I'll hold you."

Sure enough, when you'd half crawled back into bed and pulled the covers back for him, Din spooned you close with one arm scooping you up and the other pinning you to him. The weight was absolutely wonderful to you, but also grounding for him.

The light is behind him, the ground supports the bed he's on, his feet are warm now, his heart full.

Din woke with the sun to a face full of your hair that was currently tickling the bridge of his nose. 

Your half lean back onto Din’s chest like he was your personal hammock had caused his shoulder to go a bit numb when he tried to move it, but he was hardly uncomfortable. Using a hand to brush your hair out with a small huff, it caught in what small facial hair he had. 

Din suppressed a laugh. You really did have a lot of it. It was then he felt your inhale and full body stretch against him. 

The way your back curved, gods was it tempting… In your bliss between sleeping and waking, you’d ground up against him -only natural- and he rumbled at the brush to his groin (good as it felt, it’s not the time). Later. Saucy focus pushed aside, Din simply stilled you with a soothing hand at your hip.

"Good morning~" he laid a kiss on your shoulder.

"Morning," your sigh, a pitch higher, "d'ya get back to sleep ok?"

Din hummed a gentle reply, laying another couple kisses before some more hair fell in his face from you shifting. He snorted it away this time, and you giggled at how his expression furrowed at the intrusion. 

Collecting your hair back and over, you turned in his arms and he laid back flat for the first time in a while, with a little groan.You cooed at him.

"You could have moved me, baby!" 

Chiming back easy in spirit, he had no complaints, "It was worth it."

Rolling your eyes, you pressed a dreamy, light kiss to his lips. Both of you could've used something to drink to wash the taste out of your mouths, but at this moment, didn't really seem you’d mind either. The touch was comforting enough to win out.

And after that dream, he’d take the sight of you in any fashion while you had that smile on your face. And Grogu? Well.. in the light of day, he knew he’d likely be giving that Jedi the same good-morning treatment. One he had a sneaky suspicion he’d see again, one day. The pang of missing the little bug stung less and less. 

DIn offered his usual, “Want some caf?”

You hummed a second, then lit up more awake– “Oh! The new tea~ let’s have that.”

Din smiled bright, then even brighter.

– that’s how the dream should have ended: the same way things really ended.

Down in one hand, Din’s vice grip remembered the short canister he held. He swallowed and unscrewed the cap with a little swirl around to disturb the foam on top.

"I brought you this. It's a tea from Sorgan." Taking his gift, you brought it to your nose to smell the herbal blend with interest. "The heat should be easy on the throat."

The thought of repeatedly swallowing didn’t sound entirely pleasant to you, and it showed.

"Yeah."

"You haven't eaten anything either. I want to see you drink something first before trying anything solid."

"...right." Still thumbing the drink you lifted it, studying one of his ammo straps with laser focus as you fought through the pain of the swallow. A little sting of a tear edged again like it did in the fresher.

At your wince, Din set a hand on your knee. Just some comfort that let you know his presence was there.

What really took you out of the moment’s ache was the next thing he said.

"I'm sorry."

Your eyes fell to him again, concerned, "What for?”

"I should have been there, before he ever laid a hand on you."

You licked your lips a little nervously. "You had no way to know Osuff'd do that. It's not exactly the first time; I remembered the tricks to make it to the expressway, and we made good time of it." 

You tried for positivity to alleviate his concern, but that ‘little’ comment…

"...He's done that to you–before."

"It was a long time ago." You shyly admitted, sipping again. "More of a-... throw than a chokehold that time."

… Din can’t believe this. What he’d believed you at your word, not knowing the danger wasn’t far from your mind; and yet you went through with it, at his insistence to take the fekking job.

"Hey," 

With that gentleness that radiated from you, your fingers reached out to the bottom edge of the metal casing, gracing his helmet by your tenderness and bringing his face back to you.

"You got there in time. You stopped it before it got ugly. I have you to thank for that." You whispered genuinely, hoping to give him some assurance. "I've seen you go into fire before, but- it's really something when you're coming to the rescue."

A gross exaggeration. Everyone says bounty hunters are fun to watch when they’re not coming after you. 

"It was the bravest thing I've ever seen, Mando. Of course, I doubt anything scares you."

"--I was scared." He answered back firmly.

That silenced you. 

And for the first time, Din took your hand. Not because you needed to run… He just wanted to.

"Nothing has ever scared me more than seeing that bastard hurt you." His voice fell low and gravelly. "I haven't felt that kind of fear in years."

"...Really?"

"You deserve to know–" 

Hearing you choke, seeing you cry for him, tearing him off you and severing his joints for good measure in a rage-filled blur-

"--I was so scared for you."

But his favorite part:

You swallowed again. A new look filled your eyes– one he’d later call love. 

And you remembered: when you wanna kiss a Mando, just give him a little headbutt.

And you did.

What a gift.

What something as simple as tea could do to warm him through, and make a hard Mandalorian forget his nightmares with something warm in hand -and at his side- on a beautiful morning.

[jungkookslipring]

I Will Never Make You Lonely: CH 3

Summary: When your life is falling apart, your 8 best friends are there to lift you up

TW: mentions of de&th, su!c!de, su!c!de tendencies, su!c!dal ideologies, depress!on, anxiety, crying. If this is in any way triggering I’d steer towards more of my happier works. 

If you or someone you love has thought of or acted on suicide, there is help and there is hope 

Call or text 988

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, non-idol AU

PSA: this is no way represents the artists. While their birth names are used in this story, this is in no way a reflection of the artist or artists in real life.

AU: mentions of de&th are implied in this chapter, read at your own risk.

Ch 3

A few days later, you were in your room, double-checking to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything important. Minho, Hyunjin, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin came in early to bid you farewell and wished you a safe journey. They were sad that they couldn't accompany you as their schedules didn't permit them. Although you weren't going to be away for long, you were eagerly looking forward to your flight back to Seoul. As you packed your last-minute items such as your toothbrush, contact lenses, medication, etc., there was a soft knock at your door.

“Come in,” you answered. Changbin and Han peeked their heads in as the door slowly opened. They didn't have classes till later.

“Hey,” they greeted you with smiles.

“Hi,” you said. 

“You all packed up?” Han asked. You nodded.

“Yeah, just packed up the last-minute stuff,” you said pointing to your toiletry bag that sat on top of your backpack. Changbin stepped forward.

“Well before you go, I didn’t want you to leave without this,” he said as he pulled out a squishmallow he had behind his back. It was a large taro boba squishmallow. 

“What’s this?” you ask as you stare at it with adoration.

“We know you were talking about getting yourself one. We were going to give it to you on your birthday but decided maybe you needed it more now,” he said with a smile. You slowly accepted the squishmallow and you held it close. 

“You guys are amazing, thank you,” you say sincerely, pulling them both into a hug. They would truly do anything to help you feel better. When it was time to leave, you saw Chris walking out of his room with his favorite sweatshirt in hand, ready to give it to you. You folded it and put it in your backpack along with the squishmallow. The boys hugged you goodbye and you left. The ride to the airport was terrible and the flight was worse. While the flight itself was smooth as can be, you couldn't sleep for the 12-hour flight, despite trying everything from listening to music, podcasts, and the ASMR links that Felix sent you, but Chris's sweatshirt and squishmallow provided some comfort. You curled up with them, feeling the scent of Chris's cologne. When you landed at SEATAC, you messaged Peyton and the boys to let them know you made it back.

It's The Spamming For Me

Me: Just landed in SEATAC

They all must’ve had their phones surgically glued to their hands because they all responded immediately.

Father of 7: glad you made it safely!

Cowife: eat and sleep well y/n!

Twin: miss you already!

Disney Prince: sleep well y/n, see you soon

BBG: sending you so many hugs

Angel Baby: you’re already missed!

Minnie Mouse: THE APARTMENT IS CHAOS COME BACK NOW

It's just a Little Guy: we love you y/n

You giggled at their messages as you quickly responded. 

Me: I love you all too xoxo

After retrieving your bag, you headed towards the sky bridge that connects to the parking garage. Peyton was already there, waiting for you. Seeing only Peyton pick you up instead of her and Carter made your heart hurt, but you sucked it up and walked quickly over to Peyton. As soon as you were in each other’s arms, you could hear her sniffles, but you stayed strong for her. Peyton was Carter's only legal guardian, so you had to be there for her.

“How was your flight?” she sniffed as she helped you with your backpack. You shrugged.

“Fine, I guess…I didn’t exactly sleep,” you said scratching your neck. As you both walked towards the parking garage, she threw an arm around you. She then threw your backpack into the backseat before starting the engine. The drive to Peyton's place was quiet and uneventful. Once you arrived, you tossed your belongings onto the bed in the spare bedroom. While you were unpacking, Peyton walked in with two glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“It probably isn’t ideal, but Carter would’ve done it for either of us,” she said with a slight smile. You snorted because yes, Carter would’ve 110% gotten plastered the night before either of their funerals. The two of you made your way to the balcony and plopped yourselves down on the couch. Even though you felt like crap, there was a gentle breeze and at least the stars were out, and the skyline was gorgeous.

“How have you been?” Peyton asked. You shrugged.

“It’s been a rollercoaster for sure,” you said, swirling your glass. Peyton nodded.

“But how about you?” you ask. You had no right to be feeling the way Peyton felt. That’s what you told yourself at least.

“I can’t bring myself to even sit in the living room sometimes,” she says looking down at her glass. You nodded; Carter used to always sleep on the couch when she’d stay the night, claiming it was comfier than Peyton’s bed. 

“I’m sure the guys have been there for you?” Peyton asked before sipping her wine. You smiled. 

“Yeah, they’ve been nothing but amazing. One night I had been up for almost 72 hours cause I couldn’t sleep and I was studying, but the guys got me to participate in our weekly Friday night movie marathon night, and I ended up getting a decent amount of sleep.” Peyton smiled at that. 

“It’s nice having friends like that,” she said genuinely; she was a little concerned though. She could sense you were distracting yourself more than just feeling the emotions. The thought of your boys made your heart sing.

“They’re the best…,” you said before taking a swig of your wine as Peyton watched.

“Damn down the hatch,” she says with a wet chuckle. 

You spent the rest of the night with your friend, sharing your favorite memories of Carter. It was a way to remember her, especially the stories you wouldn't dare tell at the funeral. The day of the funeral came around too quickly. You woke up feeling heavy-hearted, wrapped in Chris's hoodie, holding a plush toy close to your chest. It took all your strength to get out of bed and ready for the funeral. You couldn't believe you were preparing to say goodbye to your best friend.

You tried to remain composed for the sake of Carter's family. The funeral went by in a blur, and you were grateful there was no open casket. It helped you stay strong for everyone, but you couldn't help denying the fact that Carter was in that casket, about to be buried six feet under. You tried to push the thought out of your mind, but it kept coming back.

You let your friends know you needed to study at your apartment for a few days, but you'd be back soon. They understood and said you were always welcome to come back. When it was time for you to leave, you said goodbye to Peyton and sent a text to your friends to let them know you were heading home. You knew you couldn't stay in the States any longer without it feeling too real.

It's The Spamming For Me

Me: I’m heading home

Father of 7: have a safe flight y/n!

Twin: see you soon!

Disney Prince: xoxoxo!

BBG: Minho and I wish you safe travels!

Angel Baby: YAY! Get back safely, I need my cuddle buddy!

Minnie Mouse: Have a safe flight! Jeongin says hurry back and save him from Minho

The second you stepped foot in your place, it didn’t feel right. You pulled out your phone and dialed the first name in your contacts list.  

While he was in the shower, Chris’s phone started ringing.

“Hannie, can you grab that for me please?” Chris called out. Han grabbed the phone and checked who it was before answering. 

“Chris’s phone, his favorite child speaking,” Han joked, pretty proud of himself. 

“Yah!” Chris scolded but with a big smile plastered on his face. You snorted.

“Felix?” You said biting your lip trying not to laugh. Han’s eyes went huge. 

“YAH!” He yelled even louder. Chris laughed as he did his best not to get water in his eyes from leaning so far back. You shook your head.

“Can I come over? I was going to study at my place but I need a change of scenery,” you say playing with your shirt.

“You don’t have to ask y/n, you're always welcome,” Han said sincerely. You smiled at that.

“Okay, I’ll see you guys soon then!” You said enthusiastically. 

“See you soon!” He said before hanging up. He set the phone down and looked at Chris. 

“Y/n is coming over so get unnaked,” he said jokingly before going to open the door. Chris laughed.

“She lives 10 min from us. I think I have time!” Chris shouted back with a big smile on his face. You kept your composure when you walked in, despite the lump in your throat upon opening their door. All of the boys greeted and chatted with you briefly before you retreated to your room. Instead of unpacking and relaxing, you decided to work on your computer. Despite not getting any sleep on the flight, you felt that you should be productive. It was around 9 pm, and although you were exhausted, you didn't want to think about the funeral. While reading case studies, you came across one that deeply affected you. It made your heartache. This particular case study caused one of the subjects to take their own life because of the trauma they went through. Once you were about to finish writing a sentence, you got a call from Carter’s sister. 

“Hey Peyton,” you say as you continue typing. You heard sniffling on the other line.

“Pey? Shit did I forget to let you know I made it back??” You ask. You heard her take a shaky exhale before speaking. 

“No no, you did…um…I don’t know how to say this so I’m just going to say it. Y/n…Carter’s death wasn’t an accident,” she choked out. Your eyes went huge.

“What do you mean?” You ask frantically. You were hoping with every fiber of your being it wasn’t what you thought it was.

“I was sitting in her room and I…I found a letter…” and your heart stopped.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @felixmainacc @felixburneracc @myforevermelody143 @dunno-wut-to-do @itzsana-kiddingmenow

[chelseachilly]

king of my heart - pt 3

sometimes i wonder when you sleep are you ever dreaming of me? sometimes when i look into your eyes i pretend you’re mine, all the damn time

pairings: reader x ben chilwell chapter summary: things between you and ben begin to escalate, especially when he invites you to a match for the first time warnings: implied smut but mostly fluff in this one :) word count: 3k

a/n: and i’m back! i really like this chapter and hope you do too :) i’ve also opened my asks and am taking requests for ben and mason if anyone has any!

see my masterlist for previous chapters

The next six weeks are pretty incredible. You spend every free night you have at Ben’s, having dinner and making out on the couch, which inevitably leads to more.

One day, when you’re particularly stressed from work, you jump him the moment he opens the door, wrapping your legs around his waist and kissing him firmly. He gets the hint and carries you upstairs to his bedroom, your dinner long forgotten.

In some ways, it feels like a real relationship. You spend a ton of time together, basically all the time your busy schedules will permit. You spend nights at his place. You text constantly throughout the day.

However, there are some unspoken rules you’ve put in place.

For one thing, you always leave before breakfast in the morning, as that feels a bit too coupley of an activity. You never go on dates outside his house, not wanting to get photographed together.

And, most importantly, you try very hard not to get too attached to him. You know that the sex is good and that you enjoy each other’s company, but you also know that he has his pick of women and this could end at any moment.

You’ll just have to enjoy it while it lasts.

While you’re busy working one Thursday afternoon, your phone lights up with a Snapchat from Ben, and you immediately grin as you go to open it.

You think about it for a moment. You definitely want to see him tonight, but the thought of going all the way to your flat to change and shower and then all the way back to his sounds exhausting at the moment.

Ben messages back immediately.

Ben No problem, sounds like a plan 😊 see ya soon!

Suddenly feeling a boost of energy at the thought of seeing him, you finish up your work for the day and head back to your flat to clean up a bit. You can’t bring yourself to put on more than joggers and a t-shirt, though at this point you know he really doesn’t care what you wear in front of him.

Ben shows up at seven, a bag of takeaway in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

“What are these for?” you ask as you let him in and he passes you the gorgeous tulips.

“Oh, you mentioned you had a long day, thought they might cheer you up,” he says nonchalantly.

“That’s so sweet,” you say, trying to calm your racing heart as you go to the kitchen to find a vase. “Thank you, Ben.”

“No big deal,” he says with a wave, walking further into your place. “Nice flat.”

You roll your eyes as you turn back to look at him.

“It’s like a closet compared to your place.”

“Nah, it’s great,” he says sincerely, walking over to the wall of photos you and Charlotte set up next to the couch. You can tell he’s looking at the one of you and your dad - your favourite photo of the two of you at Stamford Bridge when you were a kid. “That’s a really nice photo, Y/N.”

You walk over to where he’s standing and glance at the photo yourself, remembering the day it was taken with both fondness and sadness.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “that was a great match. Lampard scored the winning goal in the 92nd minute.”

Ben smiles and wraps his arm around your waist, providing you with comfort you didn’t even realize you were craving. You can’t help but lean into his warmth for a minute before you come to your senses.

“Let’s eat, yeah?”

Charlotte is out for the night at a work event, so you make the most of having the flat to yourselves for the evening.

By the end of the night, you’re both so tired from your days and several rounds of sex that you both pass out in your bed, curled tightly around each other. It’s crazy how quickly you’ve gotten used to sleeping in Ben’s arms, listening to the beating of his heart as you drift off.

When you wake in the morning to Ben kissing your neck softly, your day is already off to a good start.

However, one glance at your phone tells you that it’s nearly eight, which means you both have to be out the door to head to work within the next hour or so.

“You’re going to be late for training,” you mumble as Ben kisses your jaw and cheeks, making you smile. “It’ll take forever to get to yours and then to Cobham in the morning traffic.”

“I left everything I need for training in the car,” Ben explains. “I kinda figured I might end up staying here.”

“How presumptuous of you, Chilwell,” you tease as he continues to kiss down your stomach. “As much as I would love to continue this, I’m gonna be late if I’m not on the tube by quarter to nine.”

“I’ll drop you at the office,” Ben offers before placing his head between your legs, and you really can’t argue with that.

Some rules - in this case, your unspoken breakfast rule - are meant to be broken, after all.

After you’ve both showered (together) and gotten dressed for the day, you go out to the kitchen to make coffee. To your surprise, there is already a full pot.

Even more surprisingly, Mason Mount is sitting at your kitchen table in his underwear.

“Oh!” You exclaim. “Uh, hey there, Mason.”

Ben, right behind you, is equally shocked to see his teammate and best mate sitting here in your flat.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ben asks.

“I spent the night with Charlotte,” Mason shrugs.

As if on cue, Charlotte comes out of the bathroom brushing her hair and bursts out laughing when she sees the three of you standing there.

“Sorry, Y/N, I assumed you’d be at Ben’s,” she chuckles, glancing at Mason. “Mason, babe, you wanna put on some clothes?”

“We’re literally going to be in a changing room together in, like, an hour,” Mason points out, looking to Ben. “So, this is the mystery girl you won’t stop smiling about.”

Both you and Ben blush at this comment. Although it makes you feel giddy to think about him smiling at training because of you, it does sting slightly as you realize he hasn’t even told his best friend about you.

“I didn’t know anything was still going on with you guys,” you say quickly to Charlotte, changing the subject.

“It wasn’t til last night,” Charlotte giggles, sitting next to Mason at the table. “Guess we had a full house, then.”

You groan and go to pour yourself a coffee, and Ben follows. After you put a couple slices of bread in the toaster, you take a long sip of your coffee - you’re in desperate need of some caffeine.

“Sorry,” you say in a quiet voice so only he hears. “I’ve only told Charlotte what’s going on with us, but if you wanted to keep it a secret-“

“No, it’s not that,” Ben says softly, placing a hand on yours where it rests on the countertop. “Mase is one of my best mates, he’s not going to leak a story to the press or anything. I just didn’t tell anyone because I wasn’t sure you would be comfortable with it. That’s all.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling a bit relieved. “That’s considerate of you. Um, you can mention it to your friends if you want. Not that there’s anything to mention, really.”

“Right,” Ben agrees, and you try not read into the way his face seems to fall a bit for a moment.

“So, Y/N, are you coming to the match tomorrow?” Mason asks from the other room.

“Oh, um…” You trail off, staring at your coffee mug.

Neither you nor Ben have broached the topic of you going to one of his matches. He knows you have a complicated relationship with the club due to everything with your dad, and you still aren’t completely sure you’re ready to go back to Stamford Bridge without him.

“You should come,” Ben says softly, surprising you a bit. His eyes are wide and sincere. “It’s up to you, of course, but it would be nice to have you there.”

You’re not sure you could say no to that even if you wanted to - and all of a sudden, you don’t want to say no. You want to go watch them play for the first time since your dad passed. Moreover, you want to watch Ben play.

“Yeah, alright,” you say with a small smile. “I figure you can swing me a good seat?”

“I might know a guy,” Ben jokes, a twinkle in his eye.

You suddenly feel the urge to wrap your arms around him and kiss him - not to initiate sex, just to kiss him - and you’re grateful for Charlotte and Mason’s presence to deter you from that.

Kissing in the kitchen in the morning while eating breakfast is definitely not friends with benefits material.

After Mason leaves and Ben goes to your bedroom to gather his things, you and Charlotte are left sitting at the table.

“I know you said this wasn’t going anywhere,” she says, smugly eating her cereal, “but the way Ben looks at you says otherwise.”

“I don’t want a relationship,” you protest, though you can feel yourself losing conviction every time you say those words. “Besides, I doubt he actually sees me that way. We’re just having fun.”

“You’re going to a Chelsea match for him, Y/N,” Charlotte points out. “That’s a big deal, babe.”

-

Ben calls you that night to make arrangements for tomorrow’s match. You know he’ll be going to bed early tonight, as he always does the night before a match, and that you likely won’t see him before kick-off, but he makes you promise to meet him afterward.

You don’t have any of your old Chelsea shirts, as they’re tucked away in your closet at your mum’s, so you settle on a blue t-shirt and jeans with a light jacket.

Charlotte has to work, so you’re flying solo, the only real instruction you have from Ben to go to the VIP entrance and give your name.

A nice woman in a Chelsea jacket comes to escort you to your seat, which is in a very nice box where you’re offered snacks and drinks. You gratefully accept a pint to calm your nerves.

It’s strange being back here. You have so many childhood memories of driving into London to go to games and cheering in the stands with your father, him lifting you up and spinning you around with glee when they scored.

Now, for the first time, you’re here alone - an adult woman, here supporting not only your team but your…friend? Fuckbuddy? You’re not sure what to call Ben at this point.

You text him before the match, wishing him luck.

Y/N - 2:44 PM Good luck out there! You got this 😊

You know he likely won’t respond until afterward as he’s starting, but you kind of hope he sees it anyways.

As the match begins, you still feel a bit nervous and out of place, especially in this fancy box filled with likely very important people, but that all fades away quickly.

The moment you spot Ben on the pitch, deftly passing the ball to his teammates and defending his side, you feel sucked right back into the sport in a way you haven’t in years.

You get lost in the game, gasping and cheering along with the other fans as Chelsea dominates on possession. Right before half-time, Havertz scores, leaving them up 1-0 against Leeds.

The second half is a bit more stressful, with Leeds creating some chances. At one point, one of their midfielders has the ball and is moving quickly toward the goal. You’re on the edge of your seat, praying that Kepa manages to save it, when Ben miraculously catches up to his opponent and makes an impressive tackle.

You cheer loudly for him, along with the rest of the supporters, admiring the way his face lights up with joy as Chelsea once again regain possession.

It’s still 1-0 at full time, Chelsea winning the match, and you jump up in your seat to applaud.

As per Ben’s instructions, you wait in your seat for about ten minutes until he texts you.

Ben Chilwell - 5:01 PM Meet me in the tunnels? 😊

You figure the VIP badge the staff member gave you must grant you clearance, so you head down to the tunnels, following signs for the changing rooms. It’s surreal to be back here, especially right after a match. You pass several of the players and their girlfriends or families, your eyes scanning for Ben.

Eventually, you find him talking to Mason, both of them freshly showered and in their club joggers and zip-up hoodies.

The moment Ben sees you, his eyes light up and he jogs over to you. You can’t resist jumping into his arms and hugging him tightly, overcome by the excitement of the win. When you realize how many people might be watching, you attempt to pull away, but Ben only holds you tighter.

“How did you enjoy your first time back at the Bridge?” he mumbles in your hair, sending shivers down your spine.

“It was incredible,” you admit, pulling back just to look at his face. “You were incredible.”

“I think you might be my good luck charm,” Ben grins. “Gonna need you to come to every match now.”

You feel yourself blushing like crazy, but you try to play it cool nonetheless.

“Well, if it’s for the good of the club.”

Ben reaches to pull you into another hug, which you happily reciprocate, loving the joy radiating off him at the moment.

Then, over his shoulder, you see Frank Lampard coming out of the changing room. Ben must feel your body tense, because he quickly pulls back.

“You alright, love?”

You blush again when he calls you love, a nickname usually reserved for during and right after sex. Still, you can’t help but stare at your childhood hero just across the room.

“Yeah, just a bit starstruck by Lampard,” you admit.

It was one thing meeting Mason and Ben and everyone else at that party at Mason’s, but Frank is different. He was Chelsea’s main man from as far back as you can remember. You and your dad wore his kit to every game, even after he retired. Even more importantly, he was your dad’s favourite player of all time.

You’ve told Ben all of this during one of your many long chats, so he understands the significance of this for you.

“You want me to introduce you?” Ben offers softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “He’s actually a nice guy. He’d be happy to chat.”

“Are you sure?” you ask. “You don’t have to-“

Before you can insist that you don’t want to be a bother, Ben is calling his manager over, and before you know it, you’re face to face with Chelsea’s all-time top scorer.

“Coach, this is Y/N,” Ben says with a smile. “She’s a born and raised Chelsea fan.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Frank says, extending a hand for you to shake.

Holy shit, you’re shaking Frank Lampard’s hand. If you knowing Ben wouldn’t have blown your dad’s mind, this certainly would.

“I remember watching you score the winning goal against Bolton to win the title in ‘05, it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen,” you blurt out. “I was only six at the time, to be fair, but it was incredible.”

“Wow, Y/N, I don’t get to relive that one every day,” Frank laughs and claps Ben on the shoulder. “You’ve got a great girl here, Chilly. Don’t screw it up, yeah?”

As Lampard politely excuses himself to talk to one of the other players, you feel a slight awkwardness creep in between you and Ben. It’s fair enough that people would assume you’re his girlfriend, as the rest of the women down here seem to be with one of the players.

But you’re not. You can’t be.

Thankfully, Mason and Christian Pulisic walk up and begin chatting with you, dissolving any tension fairly quickly as Mason talks excitedly about the match. It’s nice seeing the genuine friendship between Ben and his teammates, bonds that clearly transcend the pitch or the game.

After a few minutes, Ben leans over and whispers to you.

“You feel like coming back to mine?”

You can’t help yourself from immediately nodding, and Ben quickly excuses you both and leads you by the hand toward the car park.

The moment you’re sitting in his obscenely expensive car, he pauses before turning on the engine and looks at you for a moment.

“What is it?” you ask, finding yourself getting lost in his eyes already as you hold the eye contact.

“It was just really nice having you here today,” he says quietly. “It hasn’t been the best season, but seeing your text before the match and knowing you were here, seeing how passionate you were talking to Frank - it just reminded me of why I love this game.”

You’re speechless, your heart swelling with affection. Ben leans in to kiss you, cupping your cheek in his hand, and it’s by far the softest kiss you’ve shared.

You sitting here in his car, kissing him after a win, feels so perfect and natural. It’s like you were meant to be here.

When he pulls back, a wide smile on his face and his beautiful eyes looking right into your soul, you know one thing for certain.

You are falling for him, and you’re falling hard.

thanks for reading!!

next chapter 💙

[russetfoxfur]

so i dont usually do liveblogs because i never show up to streams and also im not very good at reacting to stuff. However. i will make an exception because HGCZ IS OUT!! and i have seen so much hype about it that id be a fool to not at least read it. livereact will be under the cut for spoilers and. stuff.

- ok we arent even on the actual ZINE and the opening dedication?? "Of the arts, storytelling is one of the oldest: humanity weaves an endless tapestry of heart, hope, and home that continues to shape us all to this day. To tell a story is to bridge the gap between yesterday and tomorrow; to tell a story is to inextricably connect us all." THAT OPENING PARAGRAPH DUDE

- interesting premise. im intrigued. though i am a little concerned about the "classist violence" and "body modification" warnings. I suspect this is not all Fun and Games

- "I gotta say, "Hot"Guy, this is pretty disappointing. You can be AverageGuy. MediocreGuy." "Oh! "Guy"!" the best part is this is so in-character for them to do

- the ENTIRE EXPLANATION bit omg. joel trying to interject and comic-style getting talked over, lizzie robbing cats instead of cash... and her backstory...

- i. that sudden style shift is not in fact comical and i am now eyeing the unreality warning at the beginning of the zine with sudden alarm. should i be alarmed by this? maybe this is fine. lets say its fine

- JELLIE! hcing her supername is HotCat. she DEFINITELY needs a matching HotGuy costume. and i am somewhat more reassured!

- wait hold on. went back to that first hotguy comic to see the warnings (hidden in the title, missed them) and. WAIT WAS THAT REWRITING FUCKIN MIND CONTROL

- UNREALITY MINDCONTROL SCOPOPHOBIA AND INJURY??? WAIT HOLD ON IM REREADING THIS

- wait. WAIT THAT PANEL. THAT ONE WHERE JOEL SEES HOTGUY REWROTE THE ANIMAL CONTROL VAN TO BE A MONEY VAN. WAIT A FUCKING SECOND WE ARENT EVEN TEN PAGES INTO THE ZINE AND HOLY SHIT

- joels the only one who can SEE HES DOING THIS SO HOTGUY WRITES HIM OUT. JESUS FUCKIN CHRIST. HOTGUY??? UFHODQPHFWJPFAP AND THEN HE "GOES BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD" AND FUCKIN REWRITES REALITY TO MAKE HIMSELF SEEM COOLER. BUT REWRITTEN HOTGUY HAS THE SAME PLASTIC EXPRESSION. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THIS IS ONLY ONE COMIC I THINK YOURE LYING ABOUT HIS SUPERPOWER MUTATION WHATEVER

- ALRIGHT SWIFTLY ON. WE WILL EYE HOTGUY WITH CONCERN BUT MOVE ON NONETHELESS

- :0 cuteguy appears! doody did rlly good work on this one!

- CUTEGUY IS AWESOME!!! those WINGS... agh i love comic bubbles they just have so much personality and those icy words... and cuteguy pointing HOTGUYS OWN ARROW back at him..... you could not have made a better introduction holy shit

- and then he just flies off. awesome. we should all aspire to be the same level of cool as cuteguy.

- ren would be able to just say hotguy like that. also sidenote i am hearing all these lines in my head as im reading so writers youve all done fantastically!

- UNIONIZE! UNIONIZE! UNIONIZE!

- is pearl... a journalist? or is this the wrong gal? if she is a journalist then good for her!

- oh :( everyone hates unionizing the vigelantes. sad but realistic :(

- MUMBLR?? DID MUMBO K JUMBO BECOME THE OWNER OF TUMBLR IN THIS AU? DID HE KILL MATT PHOTOSPACE WHOEVER THE CEO OF TUMBLR IS? DID THEY FISTFIGHT TO THE DEATH? THAT HAPPENED RIGHT. THATS THE ONLY THING ILL ACCEPT AS CANON. IN THIS AU MUMBLR IS TRANS-FRIENDLY! 🎉

- sweetferaline (bahm bahm bahhh)

- ok this is incredibly funny. teeth dog ftw

- CHATTER AND M JESUS CHRIST THIS IS NOW THE BEST SEGMENT IN THE ENTIRE ZINE. AMAZING COMEBACK THIS IS SO REALISTIC

- and the reply sections are always a cesspool! glad they got that right

- PIXLRIFFS RUNNING A BLOG ON TUMBLR TO EXPLAIN HERMITOPIA. THIS IS SO IN CHARACTER

- THE MAPLE PRINCE. THE MAPLE PRINCE

- THIS ENTIRE MUMBLR DASH WAS PURE COMEDY GOLD. FIVE OUT OF FIVE STARS & HATS OFF TO THE WRITER

- ARIANA GRIANDE!!!! WOOOOO <3 <3 WE LOVE YOU GRIANDE!!!!!

- and now permit office grian! we are going through so many different iterations of grian... imagine we get poultry man next

- is that GEM??? IS GEM A VILLAIN? also i dont really know who the hippies are... idk its just hard for me to recognize this artstyle ig

- WAIT. HAS GEM BEEN SPYING ON GRIAN'S DETECTIVITY? or am i just reading this all wrong? i might be reading this all wrong

- alright i might have to reread that one-- WAIT MORE MIND CONTROL. AND BODY MODIFICATION??? THE MISSING CUB... guys if this is sculk!cub im gonna maul someone

- AAAA BEHIND YOU HOTGUY (i called it)

- also love how i instantly went "oh a tibbycaps comic!"

- ok i LOVE this panel where they figure out Arson. the way both conclusions are reached in tandem! and also YAY WOOO ARSON THIS BITCH UP 🔥

- OH MY GOD THIS IS HILARIOUS I LOVE HOW THE abrupt cut to disaster WAS DONE IN COMIC FORM

- THAT MERCH DESIGN IN THE NOTES APP ABSOLUTELY FUCKING SENT ME DUDE

- "i use sculk to season my pizza" ah. I see. typical cubfan behavior. carry on

- "None of us are perfect, despite what you say might feel when you look at me" this Bdubs email is SO IN-CHARACTER

- " i replied to some of these but then i kinda got bored and started sending links to cool space facts instead" honestly this is what i would do too. and i would be happy to get cool space facts in return for my hotguy email. i dont see what the issue is here

- oh is cuteguy taking issues with the supernovae. skill issue tbh

- this whole cuteguy-cub email chain is HILARIOUS. scratch that this whole email segment is hilarious jesus christ. grian is being SO BITCHY and im HERE FOR IT

- PEARLIPOP IS A REPORTER! YES! and zedaphs in this au! he isnt even going under wormman??? shocking (< says a zedaph fangirl who is completely fixated on one passing mention of him)

- oh my god this is the best storytelling format ever. the panicked exchanges between cuteguy n cub, pearl reporting as she is wont to do... genuinely i love this so much i am giggling so much im actually gonna stop liveblogging because i just want to read this. ill be with yall in a moment

- actually never mind "if he waits too long to answer it starts to play the whole Lilo and Stitch movie audio" cub i love you so much. hgcz i love you so much i almost forgive you for that very jarring first comic

- it looks like we have seven or so more years before hotguy becomes a reality... new reasons to live. also the chatter discourse is insane from what ive seen doc does just act Like That on twit/chatter

- "sumagram" well i guess we know who owns that now

- :000 HOTCAT APPEARS!!!!! WE LOVE YOU HOTCAT <3333333 EVERYONE GIVE IT UP FOR OUR BELOVED HOTCAT!!!

- THE AWKWARD EXIT. i love it

- I SEE THAT BIG SALMON DONT THINK I DONT

- SHIRTLESS SCAR.... im aroace but like. i can still admire a shirtless man cant i. artist did a good job

- NO YOU DID NOT PUT A LILACS AND POPPIES REFERENCE IN THIS COMIC I AM GNAWING THE ARTIST OF THIS COMIC WITH MY TEETH YOU ARE MAKING ME INSANE DEAR GOD THEY TEAMED UP BUT HOW IS THIS GOING TO END AAAAAA HOTGUY DONT DIE IN THE CACTUS RING PLEASE BUDDY

- CREEPER AW MAN

- horsegirl hotguy... wild stallion cuteguy... someone needs to write this au. i should write this au. actually hold on *scribbles furiously in my "crackfic ideas" notes* carry on

- update: now listening to scheming weasel for atmosphere.

- “Who’s the more foolish: the fool, or the fools who follow him?” stellar line. only a certified HotGuy can produce lines like these

- "after a tick or two" if hermitopians measure time in ticks like minecrafters do then thats such a cool worldbuilding detail

- FOR A MOMENT I THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO BURN DOC AND HIS LACKEYS ALIVE. THANK GODS THEY DIDNT

- testing of new weapons montage! i know hotguy is the star of the show here but god i love cub so much more. can cub be the "protagonist" here instead actually

- i. i have suspicions that cub is not sculk-free. or is this a flutterbat situation where it is all dealt with but its not but actually it is but it also kinda isnt? yknow. im gonna write this off as a flutterbat thing but i will still be keeping a very close eye on cub

- *snort* deep enough to hold twelve pieces of bamboo (i am such a sucker for in-jokes)

- grian is warming up to scar... also hotguy bandaids

- AND I GET THAT REFERENCE TOO!! very clever! grian shut up its two in the morning! "Scar doesn’t seem to know how to react, his mouth falling open and then promptly shutting again." same grian why would you bring up the nose hair incident and to an unsuspecting hotguy no less smh learn sone manners

- you know what if grian can learn first aid from the nose hair incident in alaska then scar can get injured in a volleyball incident (i have never watched scar which yes is a skill issue but also if this is also a reference i would not get it). beloved desertduo who cannot lie to save their fuckin lives

- THAT ENDING COMIC IS HILARIOUS. SUCH A SCAR THING TO DO

- alright im gonna take a break from liveblogging rn! i will be back in (my) morning with scheming weasel and a renewed spirit. goodnight yall! <3

[scotianostra]

On October 15th 1902 Edinburgh's Balmoral Hotel opened its doors for the first time.

Look out for my own connections to this grand old hotel, both in a personal sense and through my home town of Loanhead.

Back then it was called The North British and in Edinburgh a lot of people, myself included, still refer to it by the initials NB.

On Wednesday 15 October, 1902, on the front page of The Scotsman newspaper, a small advert appeared: “North British Station Hotel. This hotel in direct communication with Waverley Station is now open F.T. Burcher, hotel manager.”

According to the hotel’s official history, the North British was “a vanguard for the railway company which built it, a surrogate for the grand station they had never been permitted to erect in the sensitive site between Old and New Town.” The architecture, executed in golden sandstone, features towers and balconies galore. It’s a glorious mash-up of influences from across northern Europe. Expensive to build as well as to run – it gobbled upwards of 200 tons of coal every month – the hotel was seen as a “sign of the future heralded by the railways, the newly opened Forth Bridge and the electric lights switched on in Princes Street just seven years earlier”.

Nevertheless, some believed the Caledonian, which opened a year later, boasted the more advantageous location. And some detractors found the sheer size of the hotel gauche, complaining “it is coarse and obstructive at once”.

The hotel – working name “Waverley Station Hotel” – was the brainchild of George Wieland, a former NBR company secretary who retired to its board in 1890. Having toured some of the most lavish hotels in the world – where he realised the importance of having a banqueting hall to bring in business – he hired W Hamilton Beattie to draw up plans for Edinburgh. The hotel would have 300 bedrooms, 52 bathrooms, and 70 lavatories, and was designed to encourage the circulation of fresh air. Lifts shot people straight from the station into the hotel’s foyer, and beyond that, to rooms furnished with mahogany, leather and crimson moquette. It’s said that the bill for plants and flowers exceeded the bill for gas, and there was even a special machine to burnish the silver. Weiland made sure the new hotel’s cellars were full of the finest champagnes, hocks, ports, and whisky, the better to entice his ideal customers – wealthy, landed families moving between their multiple residences.

In 1922, the hotel became part of the London and North Eastern Railway Company and by all accounts the hotel sparkled from top to bottom, but after the Second World War, when the railways were nationalised, and Prestwick airport began getting transatlantic traffic, things began a slow downward trajectory. Even so, the hotel remained the destination for Edinburgh society events, be they corporate or personal. In 1983, British Rail sold off its rather faded North British Hotel. In 1988, it closed for refurbishment, it was in dire need of this, some of the rooms were looking a wee bit shabby, the wooden window frames unable to open fully, and how do I know this? Well I used to be the window cleaner in the hotel and the windows that didn't open meant I had to find one close by and edge along the crumbling sandstone ledges, the worst affected, and highest were on the south of the hotel and there was a six storey drop down to the train station below.

At the start of the 1990s, Balmoral International Hotels, an Edinburgh based company, bought the venue. In 1997, the Balmoral became the first hotel bought by Sir Rocco Forte as he assembled his portfolio of hotels. It currently boasts Scotland’s only Bollinger Bar, as well as the Michelin-starred Number One restaurant run by executive chef Jeff Bland, a spa, and ten function rooms accommodating up to 450 people.

Famous guests over the years have included Elizabeth Taylor, Michael Palin, Beyoncé and JK Rowling, who finished the last Harry Potter novel here, on 11 January, 2007, and then daubed her signature on a bust in her room.

A second wee link with the hotel, is Charles Forte, Grandfather of the present owner began his working life in my home town of Loanhead when he moved to Scotland from Italy.