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sirdindjarin · 1 year

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The Savior - Din Djarin x f!Reader

The Mandalorian, side-quest extraordinaire, accidentally frees a slave, kills a Senator's son, ends a criminal conspiracy, and falls in love. Just a month in the life of the galaxy's favorite chaotic space cowboy and his son.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

A/N: i fucking love this man. here's the spotify playlist i made while hallucinating being wrecked by him. I accidentally based this fic on Euphoria by Angels & Airwaves.

AO3 Link🤠

TAGS: Fluff, m!falls first, plot with porn, helmet stays on for now, P in V, outdoor activities, protective!Din, soft-ish!Din.

WARNINGS: reader is/was a slave; references to abuse; no curses or slang outside of Star Wars canon (that's a warning if you hate that hahaha)

**************************************************************

"I thought vagrants were barred at the door. How did a Mandalorian get in here?”

The Mandalorian in question does not react to the insult. At the table before him, the taunting Trandoshan guffaws, but his laughter dies when he gets no reaction from the bounty hunter.

"What do you want?" He snaps, his green jaws clicking shut.

Instead of replying, certain the answer is obvious, the beskar-covered man leisurely surveys the colorful, boisterous room, his hands folded in front of him. Having already scouted the upscale casino, he does this for sarcastic effect. He’s also certain that fact is lost on his Trandoshan quarry.

Upon returning his direct attention to the lizard, a small movement in the booth catches his heat sensor. A young woman, likely his quarry’s slave by her frayed appearance, sits with her head bowed behind her master.

“Hey, tin man, you in there?” Your master’s voice sounds more like rocks scraping together than fluid language.

The Mandalorian chucks a bounty puck onto the table, the name and alien visage of Rathos Craaf glowing in a blue cone of projected light.

“Go quietly or don’t - it makes no difference to me.”

“Ahh,” Rathos Craaf hums in his throat and leans back in his seat, making your demure form more visible to the bounty hunter. “What’s the price?”

The Mandalorian again does not dignify a response.

“Can’t be greater than what I’m willing to pay,” Rathos insinuates.

The tense silence eats through your body as the ruthless men stare at each other - the probability of oncoming violence ratcheting up.

“Go prepare my ship,” your master barks suddenly at you, raising his hand.

Flinching, you scoot around the U-shaped booth to obey.

You weren’t always a slave. As a child on Kenari, you had been born into a world of vivid green, rippling blue, and rich, brown soil. Trained in both hunting and fighting from birth, you had been too young to save your village from the brutal relocation program of the Empire.

Dispersed onto harsher worlds, you’d been sold from one slaver to another until finally coming into the collection of one Rathos Craaf. He has been your master for several years by this point, and while not the worst, he was close.

“What will you do about the girl?” A modulated voice asks.

Pausing on the edge of the hard bench, you look between the two antagonists. Me?

“Who cares about the mudscuffing girl? Tell you what, I’ll sell her to you.” The crafty Trandoshan gets an even better idea: “Or - take her in exchange for the bounty. She’s considered top-tier sentient property.”

“Not what I was asking,” a gloved hand thumbs his blaster. “Once you’re in carbonite, wh-”

The Trandoshan lunges up from his seat with a booming yell, launching at the cloaked, beskar-free neck of the Mandalorian. Rathos’ claws reach around the smaller man’s throat, but the Mandalorian is lighter of foot, ducking out of the hold.

Off-balance, Rathos tumbles but rolls back on his feet, his scaly tail acting as a counterweight. Gasps and mutters spill from the crowd as people scramble out of harm’s way.

You remain seated in the booth, frozen and unsure. But then, as the silver bounty hunter aims his blaster, Rathos whips his tail into the Mandalorian’s legs, knocking him with a clang onto his back.

The blaster goes skittering through the crowd, and you’re shocked to find your legs racing after it.

The thunder of a powerful flame roars in the cavernous room as you weave through aliens and humans alike, searching. The blackness of the blaster appears on the gray floor and you dive for it.

Cold steel excites your skin. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, and though you’ve never fired one, your ancient muscle memory remembers the feeling of a bow in your hands; the trajectory, strength, and steadiness necessary.

Sprinting back through the crowd, you find Rathos pinning the Mandalorian’s chest. The solid armor prevents any of Rathos’ blows from truly hurting the bounty hunter, but the weight of the lizard is too awkward and great for him to shove away from this angle.

The fire-throwing vambrace comes up again and, as it billows into the Trandoshan’s face, you fire a blast at the substantial tail that had once been used against you.

Rathos bellows in pain, tumbling to the side, and the Mandalorian takes full advantage. He jumps to his feet, then connects his fist to his quarry's skull, rendering the creature unconscious. Binders clasp around the arms of your master and the successful bounty hunter staggers backward a single step to catch his breath.

You freeze at what you’ve just done, the blaster still pointed at Rathos. People murmur, and the words, “Killed by his slave” can be heard, though he is only unconscious. Your chest heaves, far more out of breath than the Mandalorian walking toward you.

“Thank you,” he says drily, taking his blaster out of your hands.

Unsure what else you should do, you follow your master as he is dragged without dignity along the smooth fogstone floor.

Exiting the casino, snaking down an alley, and traipsing to the outskirts of the city limits, the silhouette of a ship against the orange horizon becomes visible.

Neither you nor the Mandalorian have spoken a single word since he took the blaster from your hands, but as he presses a button on his vambrace to lower the loading ramp, he turns to you now.

“Grab his tail."

An order. That you could do. You immediately grab Rathos’ tail and lift. The Mandalorian half-drags and half-lifts the Trandoshan by his cuffed hands and the lizard is loaded into the ship’s hold.

Standing at the far end of the Mandalorian’s rather busted ship, you’re surprised to see a small, green being. Dressed in what must be a sack, its long ears perk up and its eyes glimmer at the sight of the bounty hunter. A happy coo reverberates in the quiet, metal space.

The child looks at you and makes another, similar noise. It waddles toward you, but before you can react, the Mandalorian scoops the child into his arms and sequesters it behind a thin blast door.

“You are free to go.”

It’s an odd statement. He must be familiar with the underworld. He knows how slaving works.

You’re not sure when you last spoke; you weren’t allowed to speak. But the bounty hunter seems to expect a reply.

“I am not. The law says I am to be returned to the slavers’ coalition for repurchase.” Your voice is scratchy from disuse and the helmeted man tilts his head in curiosity.

“You won't run?”

It seems too monumental a task. Hopes and fears trip over each other in their efforts to be heard. Freedom. Finding a place to call home. Your family was long dead. But… maybe there was hope of a family somewhere.

Where would I even go? No way I could stay ahead of the slavers. They’d send hunters like this Mandalorian after me. I’d be worse off than I am now.

“I do not know if I can,” you whisper honestly.

The Mandalorian looks at you - at least, you think he does - for so long that you begin to squirm under his gaze.

Without warning, the wind is knocked from you. Rathos’ tail slams into the back of your knees, crumpling you to the floor. His claws wrap around your neck, and you yell, plunging two fingers into his lidless eye.

“Traitorous shutta!” Spittle from your master flies onto your cheeks.

As he recoils from your jab, you squirm underneath him, trying to flee, when the weight on your chest vanishes in a rush of air. Coughing and wiping your face, you lie there momentarily until your throbbing pulse abates inside your head. You sit up and widen your eyes to hasten their focus.

The Mandalorian has the Trandoshan by the throat with both hands. Rathos sputters and gags, but you watch as gloved fingers dig harder into the scaly throat. The anonymous man shoves his quarry into the carbon freezing chamber and smashes the button with more force than necessary.

It's over.

When you woke in the dark that morning, never would you have expected to watch your master be frozen in carbonite aboard a bounty hunter's ship.

That bounty hunter turns to you now.

“I have something I need to do. I’ll give you passage if you provide assistance.”

________________________________

Crossing your arms, tucking your legs under your body, and leaning against the hull in your seat, you try to make yourself as small as possible. You wouldn’t have even climbed up here if the Mandalorian hadn’t indicated that you should.

He wanted to keep an eye on you. He did not trust you around the kid - despite (or perhaps because of) its interest in you.

Moments after leaving the planet’s atmosphere, a new emotion bubbles in your chest: elation. The stars flow by in a technicolor kaleidoscope; hues and shapes you have never seen race past your eyes. It’s beyond anything you could have imagined.

“Has it always looked like this?” You wonder to yourself.

You jump when a deep, electronic voice answers, “Yes.”

“Oh,” you murmur, realizing he had been watching you. “I’ve never seen hyperspace. I was kept in the hold,” you state without self-pity.

The Mandalorian lets that terrible fact hang in the air before eventually saying,“I recommend you get some sleep. It will be several hours before we reach Mid Rim.”

He turns away from you and folds his arms. The muffled clang of his helmet tipping back against the headrest tells you that he will be taking his own advice.

Interestingly, you feel safe enough to get some rest. Being constantly attuned to the temperamental wills and whims of others, you've become a great judge of character.

This Mandalorian, though quiet, is clearly capable of kindness to those who deserve it. A rarity for someone in his profession.

___________________________________

The blue cone glows in his hand, projecting the face of one ugly slug. The name at the bottom, written in a language you had been forced to learn, reads: Salaa the Hutt.

Fearful eyes flick up to the veiled Mandalorian, “A Hutt?”

The helmet nods, “You will be my way in.” You make a whimpering noise, but the bounty hunter continues. “You’re a slave on the run. I will be returning you for a small reward.”

Crushing disappointment deflates your body. Believing yourself to have been wavering between freedom and the life you had known, you realize, now that the decision was being made for you, that you’d chosen freedom. Further adding to your pain is your misjudgement of the Mandalorian.

I’d have never made it to freedom - far too naive. Thought a karking bounty hunter was doing something out of the kindness of his heart. Unbelievable.

Still, to your credit, you take several steps back, almost as though you might try to outrun the nimble, strong bounty hunter with a kriffing jetpack, of all things. You’re proud of yourself for even thinking about doing it.

The Mandalorian doesn’t react. He pockets the puck and opens his weapons cache on the hull wall. He lifts a small item from the assortment and shuts the doors. You can’t see what it is, and he doesn’t return to you.

He opens the blast door to the child’s tiny room. The baby snores in his bungalow, and the ever-fascinating Mandalorian rubs the green, fuzzy head before closing the door. He turns and strides toward you.

You take one more step backward, just because you can. Because you should.

He still says nothing. Closer, and closer, the armored man advances on you until you can see your nervous eyes in his breastplate.

“Give me your wrists.”

Is his voice naturally that persuasive or is it the vocoder?

Overriding your fledgling autonomy, you obey him with a preprogrammed respectful nod. He clasps binders around your wrists.

The Mandalorian steps away to retrieve another weapon, then he lifts his chin toward the boarding ramp.

Shouldn't you at least try to gain freedom? Beg him to let you go?

“Please, I can try to pay you,” this is a lie and he knows it. “Or I could work off the debt of transport. Something!”

It’s the loudest your voice has been in living memory, and it both surprises and emboldens you. But the Mandalorian does not seem swayed.

“Walk,” he orders.

You minutely shake your head twice. It means nothing to him, but everything to you.

An electronic sigh, then he takes a single step toward you. Fear switches you back into the subservient girl of the last twenty years. You flinch, your manacled hands blocking your face.

The Mandalorian falters, slightly abashed. “I am not going to hurt you. But you need to start walking.”

Slowly, you lower your hands. His gloved fingers curl around your bicep, and he leads you out into the sunny air.

It’s a hot day on Niamos. The beachside resort that serves as the capital city is teeming with families of all species bathing in the muggy air. The sandstone path that Mando - that’s what everyone calls them, right? - parades you down is packed with beachgoers. Embarrassed by your plight, you try to hide the binders, but it’s impossible with the angle he holds your arm.

Finding another gust of will, you reason, “Surely you could find a way inside without turning me in? You’re good at your job. You could've killed my m-”

“Salaa angered powerful people. There is a bounty on him and it’s higher if he’s dead.

“What does that mean?”

“He's careful. Employs expensive security. Easiest way in is through the front door,” Mando finishes.

Mando’s leathery hold on your arm is soft. Unyielding, of course, but he doesn’t hurt you. It saddens you to realize how different that is from your usual treatment. He had still binded you and planned on turning you in, but hey! At least he wasn’t going to leave a bruise.

Directing you down a narrow alley, the Mandalorian stops in front of a tan-colored, generic shield door. He raps twice on it, standing casually still. If he feels you shaking, he says nothing about it.

A Yaka man is standing behind the door when it opens with a whoosh. His metal implants reflect the sun and you squint. Behind him are another two Yaka and a particularly menacing-looking Zabrak, all armed with pulse rifles.

“We ain't buyin'," he slurs.

“I'm here to claim the slave reward.”

The Yaka stares at the impenetrable, T-shaped slit in the silver helmet, scrutinizing, before stepping aside. Mando guides you ahead of him, then you hear the spur-like sound of his step over the threshold. The close quarters are sweltering, and sweat beads on your temple.

“This way,” the Yaka servant veers to the right and up a steeply inclined hallway. The other members of the security team follow behind you.

The Mandalorian’s thumb slides over your skin. You would give it more thought if a wide, dingy room wasn’t quickly coming into view.

On the second floor, a muted, sparsely furnished area overlooks the residence across the street, and the beach beyond. However, you can’t see the view because the balcony is being taken up by a massive, blob-like shape, and a tall, spiky silhouette.

“Ahh,” the huge shape speaks, and for the first time in your life, you’re thankful you speak Huttese. “What is this?”

Bowing, the Yaka guard explains, “This Mandalorian has returned a loose slave.”

He grabs for your arm, but you lurch when Mando pulls you out of reach, warning, “Careful. She killed her master before fleeing."

The bodyguard recoils as though you personally threatened him. He steps away, waiting for actual instruction from his boss. The green Rodian next to Salaa tuts in his sour voice.

Deciding it was best not to speak, you raise your chin with dignity as Mando drops his hand from your arm.

“Why do you return her here?” Salaa the Hutt inquires. “Surely you know that I have been removed from my associations. Including the slavers.”

“I am here for information,” Mando drops the ruse completely, his voice calm.

“Information,” the Hutt laughs horribly. “I have much of that, pateesa. What do you wish to know?”

“You should ask what I have to trade first.”

“Hmm. You do not wish to trade the girl, I hope. Must be better than that,” the slimy giant slug laughs derisively.

You don’t even bristle. Worse things had been said to you daily.

The green, mohawked Rodian chuckles. Though you do not understand his language, the human bounty hunter does: “She is too sad-looking to be any fun. Pity.” The reptilian-looking male then makes a vile comment about what he can see through your ratty, loose clothing.

The Mandalorian's eyes narrow, and his right hand drifts toward his hip of its own accord.

“Make your offer, Mandalorian.”

“If you provide the information I need, I won’t claim the ten-thousand-credit bounty on your head.”

That horrible, bulging laugh bursts from the ex-crime boss once more, hurting your ears in its pitch and volume.

“Far too aggressive, Mandalorian. I decline.”

Salaa’s stubby arm motions at the armed security who raise their rifles at the two of you.

While you freeze in terror, the Mandalorian stills in focus. Faster than a hyperdrive, he clenches his fist. Miniature rockets whistle through the tense air, eliminating all three bodyguards; the angry Zabrak, the mouthy Rodian, and the blubbery Salaa remain.

The Mandalorian draws his blaster, pushing you behind him, and fires from his hip as the Zabrak guard begins to raise his modified arm. What type of weapon it held, you’ll never know because he falls to the ground, dead, before he can use it.

The Rodian darts away from Salaa, circling the room. To you, it seems as though he is intending to flee, not fight, but the Mandalorian fires a laserblast at his bug-eyed head, dropping him.

Mando calmly swivels his blaster to Salaa.

Resigned, the Hutt slimily states, “Ask what you wish to know, pateesa.”

“I have been told that you have seen another Mandalorian. Where?”

“Ahh, that is all? I have seen one here.”

“On Niamos?” So surprised, Mando forgets to keep the tone from his voice.

“A beskar-covered man does not go unnoticed on a planet filled with water-bathers,” Salaa laughs again. You visibly wince.

“Where?”

“Where else? Water’s Edge.”

Mando twists his head toward the opposite window as if he could see his fellow Mandalorian from here. He holsters his weapon and turns to leave.

“Those Yaka were expensive guards, pateesa,” the Hutt grumbles ominously.

“You paid too much.”

He returns his hold on your arm, pushing you forward. Marching awkwardly down the sloping halfway, you try to make sense of his actions.

Your face screws up in confusion, “You didn’t turn me in or claim the Hutt’s bounty. You're earning no credits.”

That’s the defining feature of a bounty hunter.

The silence lengthens as you reach the ground floor, and hurriedly exit the sandstone building. As you soak in the blistering sunshine, the hand on your arm turns you to face him. The Mandalorian’s quick fingers remove your binders.

“That’s it?” You rub your wrists even though he had left them on the loosest setting.

“Passage for assistance,” he reminds you.

He then nods once and takes his leave. For an interminable length of time, you watch as he calmly walks away, breaking only when he turns down an alley and is lost from sight.

What the hell do I do now?

__________________________________

The new day is growing late. Din Djarin basks in the heat of the single sun. For being one of those odd planets without plural light sources, the strength of the lone sun is incredible. Din much preferred the scorching, arid planets to the ice-covered ones, and Niamos is perfect. The breeze gently carries through his light flight suit, while the sun warms whatever dark material is visible around the beskar.

While Din feels more comfortable in this climate, heat signatures can be a little bit more difficult to read. He had managed to track a faint heat signature around Water’s Edge. The day before, immediately after speaking with Salaa, Din had come to check the place out, but his quarry had left some hours previously and he had lost the trail.

Din enters the establishment for the second time in as many days. Inside is a large, open floor with dining tables set out across the expanse. High society clinks glasses as they wait for the next act to grace the small stage. Din surveys the room, switching between heat sensors and normal vision, before concluding that the Mandalorian he searches for is beyond the far wall.

Heads turn and stare as Din, strutting as if he belongs, makes his way to the unobtrusive doorway next to the stage. A Mandalorian stands out here. This was a place for people who employed bounty hunters, not those whom they hunt. Din slides the door open, and he is greeted by a dark hallway.

Light spills from a room to his right. Din flips on his heat sensor again, and presses his lips together in satisfaction when the heat signature picks up.

Rounding into the room with confidence, Din observes everything at once.

A large mirror, complete with lights, sits above a desk. A rack of clothing stands lonely in the far corner. And on a stool in front of the mirror sits a Mandalorian, their flaky, blue-painted armor having seen better days.

“My name is Din Djarin,” he announces. “I have been tasked with finding other Mandalorians in order t-”

“Oh, my stars!” The Mandalorian squeals. The helmet is removed by purple hands, and a humanoid species stares in awe. “I’ve always wanted to meet a Mandalorian. I- I do this character because I just love your culture so much.”

Blinking behind his helm, Din confirms what he's already becoming sure of, “That armor you wear - it is not real beskar.”

“What? This stuff?” The actor scoffs. “This is expensive paint and cheap wetboard.” He stands up, advancing unwisely on the real Mandalorian. “Can I ask you some questions? I’ve got a real opportunity here to elevate my perfor-”

Din backs out of the room in a single, fluid motion, punching the button for the door.

He sighs.

***

A blaster shot turns the corner of the building Din had just walked past into dust and debris. He spins, drawing his own blaster, expecting to see the Empire itself. Instead, a young human bounty hunter stands there, nervously fumbling with her jammed blaster. The Mandalorian rushes her, pinning her by the collarbone against the alley wall.

"Bounty?”

Terrified, she nods and whispers, “Yes.”

"Who contracted it?"

She wheezes from under Din’s forearm, “Don't know. It's open Rim-wide for now. Just told to kill you and the girl.”

Under his helm, Din’s brow pinches. “The girl?”

The wide-eyed woman shrugs, again in the dark. If this inexperienced bounty hunter managed to track him down already, it's likely another has found you. Din releases the woman roughly and rockets up into the sky.

_______________________________

The sights and sounds of the beach are incredible. The late-daylight is deliciously warm as it touches your skin through the holes in your clothing. You sit on the top step of the tiered beach area, staring out at the water as you try to come up with a plan of action. Having slept on a lounge chair last night, you’re nearly grateful for the decades of poor lodging training your body.

The sky is hazy, but the flash of sunlight glinting off of something tiny flying far above has you twisting your head and squinting. Unable to make out the object, you return your attention to the ocean and ignore it.

From behind you, a voice calls your name and you automatically turn.

As you stare down the barrel of the blaster pointed at you, you remember no one should know your name here.

"Let's go," the bounty hunter tells you.

It's a woman with red skin and long, blue, braided hair. Etches in her cheeks make her bone structure look even sharper.

You frown. What you’d told the Mandalorian had already been proven correct. You weren't able to run.

Resignedly standing to your feet, you take a step, but go stumbling forward as the woman kicks your back.

Your second foreign emotion of the last twenty-four hours sparks in your chest, glowing as hot as the sun above.

"Hey! I was going," you glare.

"Move faster, scum," she orders.

You continue walking, your eyes scanning for something, anything, to get you out of this.

Ahead on the right is a large crowd of vendors and their customers. If you can duck through them, maybe you can lose the blue-haired madwoman behind you.

A cold, circular shape presses between your shoulder blades as you march, and your bravery starts to fail. If you make a single wrong move, you'll be shot before you even get to the crowd.

Just do it - better to die now than live as a slave.

The crowd swells as a school trip pours out from a nearby museum. Your confidence rises at the sight of the increasingly busy, confusing horde.

Closer. So kriffing close.

The female bounty hunter cries out suddenly as a blaster shot scalds her arm. She defensively spins, kicking out powerfully behind her.

A large species you're unfamiliar with, tall and teal, is thrown sideways with the force of the kick. The competing bounty hunter recovers into a crouch and shoots at your captor, hitting her in the chest.

With a violent exhale, she falls. Too busy sprinting into the crowd, you do not hear her final, pathetic breath.

Weaving, keeping ducked and hidden, you whisper a constant stream of 'excuse me.' You don't want to push anyone, knowing a reaction from an offended beach-goer could give away your position.

The unblinking bounty hunter, your newest enemy, stands tall above much of the crowd, and it doesn't take him long to spot your trail.

Thundering forward, happily shoving people you had so politely passed, he roars. Fear ices your stomach.

The sound of a sputtering jetpack drowns out the noise of the people. Never breaking stride, you search for the source of another bounty hunter.

I know I’m a runaway slave who assaulted her master before turning him into a carbonsicle but, banthashit, is the price on my head really that high?

The massive hunter gains on you, and just as you clear the other side of the crowd, you gasp, pained, when he snatches your hair. You whirl, packing all of your strength into your right fist. Your blow lands on the creature’s lower jaw, which seems to be two pink tubes, and it wails grotesquely.

The grip on your hair loosens and you rip away, but the much larger creature lunges for you again. It pulls you upward by your shirt this time, and you scream. Kicking out, your foot knocks a breath from the ugly bounty hunter, but it does not release you.

Staring at you with shallow black eyes, it speaks in a language you don’t understand, but the intonation is clearly a question.

Gasping, you boldly say, “Let go of me and I’ll tell you.”

The creature seems to understand Basic because his three-fingered hand leaves your shirt.

Before you get a chance to make up a lie, the hulking bounty hunter vanishes in a flash of silver. Your head snaps in the direction of travel, and a trail of exhaust follows.

A hundred yards away, the jetpack flares out and the two fall to the ground in a tumble of fighting. A strangled laugh exits your mouth.

From bigger fish to bigger fish. Eventually the biggest fish would win and come after you.

The sound of the ugly creature roaring ends abruptly with a choked grunt. You push your legs hard as you run. The doorway to a cantina catches your eye as an intoxicated human stumbles out, and you rush past him.

Inside the dark, clamorous, smoky business, you slide into the booth furthest from the door, hoping that neither hunter saw you duck in. Panting heavily, you tell the droid waitress you’d like a bit of spotchka. You’ve never had it, but you’ve seen how relaxed and brave it makes people and that sounds wonderful right about now.

The circular cantina door slides open and the silhouette of a tall, broad Mandalorian is outlined by the glaring sun. You can’t tell what color or condition his armor is in, but your stomach clenches all the same. It had been an entire revolution of the planet since your Mandalorian had left, so it can't be him.

Wonder if he found his friend, you think about his ten-thousand-credit question for the Hutt. Must’ve been quite a reunion if it was worth that much.

Shrinking back against the wall of your booth, you shift completely out of sight and pray to whatever Ancient is listening that the stories about their helmets’ capabilities are exaggerations.

The droid waitress sets your pretty blue drink on the table without comment, for which you’re grateful. You don’t think your voice works.

Clinking metal is audible despite the volume of the rowdy bar. The sound gradually grows louder as he approaches your booth.

“What are you doing?” The Mandalorian has his hands on his hips, and though you cannot see his face, you’re certain he looks like a disapproving parent.

“I- what?” You squeak, completely confused by his question. And why he's here.

He moves to sit down across from you, and your nerves flare.

“Why are you still here?” He asks the same question you want to ask him.

“Where was I supposed to go? I have no credits.”

“There is work available on this planet.”

You pause, unhappy to give away just how out of your depth you are, “You mean paid employment? I’m not familiar with the process."

The Mandalorian doesn’t speak, he simply stares at you until you break your stare first.

Looking down at the grimy table, you trace a piece of graffiti with your finger and whisper, “Thank you.”

Mando shifts his head in askance.

“For saving me from the slave hunter.”

“He wasn’t a slave hunter.” Mando’s helmet tips down to where the bright blue liquid sits on the table. “You going to drink that?”

You shake your head, too self-conscious now.

“Good.”

He slides out from the booth and motions for you to walk ahead of him.

________________________________

Standing in the bay of the Mandalorian’s ship once more, you engage in a staring contest with the little green baby as it sits on the floor. Its ears move like he’s listening to Mando speak on his holocall above in the cockpit, but its eyes remain on you.

You’ve always liked children. While they could be blunt, they were kind to you and other slaves because they hadn’t yet learned any differently.

“How old are you?” You ask softly.

In your experience, children prefer to be spoken to as one would an adult, so you refrain from the baby-voice that springs to the surface when you look at the adorable infant.

He tilts his ears toward you.

“You’re pretty cute." The baby coos, then babbles once.

“You really are cute. And you seem highly intelligent. Have you been with the Mandalorian long? He seems to pick up strays easily,” you smile warmly.

The child awkwardly gets to its feet, toddling toward you. Remembering how quickly Mando had taken the child away when it last interacted with you, you slowly move backward toward the ladder. You don’t know if it's dangerous. Maybe the cuteness is a front.

A gurgling noise, as if it’s trying to tell you something, breaks from its little mouth. He raises his hand, pointing, and you whirl.

The Mandalorian is but a few feet away, watching.

How the kark did he get down the ladder so quietly?

“I’m sorry,” you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

Mando strides around you and crouches to pick up the baby, “We're leaving this planet. I won't have enough fuel to get across the galaxy, but there is a job a few systems over."

He cradles the child so gently that it makes your heart ache.

Who is this guy?

The child in his arms makes grabby hands at his helmet, so he tenderly sets it back down. Mando heads back toward the cockpit, indicating you should follow.

Up the ladder, sitting once again in the same seat, you keep your eyes on the Mandalorian as he begins the lengthy takeoff procedures.

“The bounty hunter you encountered was not after the slave reward.”

“But she knew my name?”

“I am referring to the Aqualish you punched.”

“Oh.”

The Mandalorian does not immediately continue, focusing on his tasks for several minutes.

“There is a reward out for you,” he flips another switch. “And a bounty.”

“Both? Why both?”

“The bounty is secondary. Dependant on you giving them m-”

A panicked, childish cry echoes from below, and you’re only a moment behind the Mandalorian as he leaps down the hatch to the hold.

You gasp in horror as you see the long-eared, big-eyed baby squished in the crook of another kriffing bounty hunter’s arm. The loading ramp closes slowly behind him. He must’ve jumped in at the last moment.

Mando raises his hands, indicating his desire to negotiate.

“Do not hurt him,” he says. Instead of coming out as a plea, his vocoded words come out as a warning that makes your hair stand on end.

“Din Djarin, you are wanted for the murder of Senator Nesota’s son. I know your reputation, and therefore do not wish to fight. I’ll release your… this," he nods at the green baby, "when you’re in carbonite. There,” the human bounty hunter nods his head at Din’s own carbon freezer.

He killed a Senator’s kid?

The child frowns, his ears drooping, and he focuses hard on the bounty hunter. His little hand curls, and the man’s ruddy face turns purple. His eyes grow red and glassy.

Din reacts quickly, drawing his blaster and firing at the hunter’s face. The man falls with a clattering thunk, and the child rolls away, unmoving.

“No," you cry. "Is he alright?” You start toward the kid, fear in your voice.

“He’s fine,” the Mandalorian replies, holding his palm up for you to stay back. He reverently lifts the unconscious kid. “He’s just asleep.”

The Mandalorian - Din Djarin - murdered an important person’s child. And his own kid just choked someone without using its hands? I didn’t inhale spice, did I?

“You killed a kid?”

Din believes you’re still thinking of the baby in his arms. “I said he’s sleeping.”

“A Senator’s son?”

“Oh. Yes, the Rodian with Salaa.” Din hadn’t known he was the son of a powerful person, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

Relief floods you once again as your evaluation of the Mandalorian’s character remains intact. After seeing the way he cared for the little green one, how could you have believed he would harm any child?

“Okay." You return to the wildest topic, "What just happened with your kid?”

Din sighs. This was getting more dangerous than negotiating with a Tusken. He places the kid in his hammock and shuts the door.

Turning on you, he threatens, “Never speak of him outside this ship.”

“I- I wouldn’t,” you promise, surprised by the fierceness in his voice.

Din is satisfied. He’d watched you speak to his ward earlier, and the kid seems to like you immensely. But he doesn't solely rely on the kid's opinion.

The experienced, Mandalorian bounty hunter's own character assessment is top-notch, and he finds that he feels strongly about you. He doesn't categorize or identify the specifics, however.

The Mandalorian does not ask for your help in removing the dead bounty hunter from his ship, so you look on in silence as he does it alone. He lowers the landing ramp, drags the body to the edge, and watches it roll down unceremoniously. He turns and stalks past you.

“So, where's that job?”

“The Outer Rim.”

You sigh. “Of course it is.”

__________________________________

The planet blinds you when the Razor Crest launches out of hyperdrive. Brilliantly green, the single sun reflects the vibrant landscape right into your eyes.

Shielding your face, you venture a question. The Mandalorian had not finished explaining.

"Why is there a bounty on me?"

Even through the modulator, you can hear his dry tone: "You aided a bounty hunter in entering the Hutt's hideout through false pretenses which ended in the blasting of a Senator's son."

"Right," you frown, slumping in your seat.

"Don't worry. The bounty on my head is far larger than yours."

You scoff under your breath. So reassuring.

A deep breath, then you postulate, "Is that what the bounty hunter was asking me? About you?"

Din doesn't respond. He didn't hear the Aqualish's question. He was too busy aiming at its body with his own, but his best guess is yes.

"That's the reason you saved me," you mutter, oddly dejected.

A loose end. That's what you are.

Din often - almost constantly, actually - appreciated his helmet for the freedom it gave him to show any emotion at any time. No need to worry about a convincing poker face when no one could see it.

"You could have told them where my ship was."

"Except I thought you'd flown away the day before," you argue, saddened that he thought you would’ve talked.

Of course, he didn't know you, and he had a child to protect, but it still stings.

"Why not just kill me?" You wonder seriously.

You're a liability. Two separate prices on your head? The Mandalorian's easiest solution is obvious. A slave of no importance, no one would put a bounty on his head for your death.

Din Djarin's armor clanks as he spins the chair a quarter-turn toward you and he cocks his head.

"I don't want to die," you read his body language correctly. "But I don't understand you."

The Mandalorian silently returns to his piloting duties as he nears the lush planet. He does his best to shut his thoughts away, but he stumbles over you again and again.

Din had rescued you because he didn’t want to see you harmed for his actions with the Hutt. The idea of protecting himself from prying questions had been an afterthought.

He had flown above the city, looking for your trail. Since you hadn’t moved much, there wasn’t much of a trail to find. Then he spotted the crowd roiling and parting for the violent Aqualish.

When he watched it yank your hair, he felt angry. An emotion he experienced less frequently than many of his friends would believe. Frustration, irritation, sure. But true fury was rare for him.

Not wanting you dead was basic decency, but the anger had been interesting.

On some level, Din knows his emotional responses to you deserve greater scrutiny. But he doesn't have the time nor the energy.

When the Razor Crest lands in a grassy clearing between forest walls, Din rises from his chair and commands, “Stay here. Watch the child.”

“O-okay,” you agree hesitantly. “What do I do when he wakes up?”

The Mandalorian stares, uncomprehending.

“You… you don’t do anything for his… condition?”

“I told you he’s fine.” Din thinks for a moment, and remembers there is actually something you should know: “When he wakes up, he might be hungry. Do not let him eat the metal ball on the thruster.”

With that, he climbs down the ladder, and out of sight.

_________________________________

As the fist flies at you, you subconsciously register that your assailant must be right-handed, because this left hook is much sloppier than the other. Or maybe it's because his left arm is still human.

Ducking, you escape the jab and slam your palm-sized stick into the quarry's metal shins. He doesn’t react except to kick your thigh. You cry out, knowing it will bruise if you survive this.

The blaster you had taken from the Mandalorian’s cache lies just out of reach. The silver gleam is stark against the rich soil of the forest floor.

Enraged, the cyborg quarry leaps at your hunched form, knocking you flat. Surprised by his speed, you forget to keep hold of the heavy branch you use as a weapon.

The growling man rips the stick from your hands and slams it against your throat like a vise, choking you, “Die, wretch.”

You turn your head to the side, providing yourself with a precious moment of air before the quarry shifts to cut that escape route off, too.

Swinging your leg up, you kick him in the back of the head, pushing him forward. You take the opportunity to headbutt him - thankful that his head is still completely human - and he falls sideways. Right next to your blaster.

You snatch up your wooden weapon, but it's too late.

He laughs mechanically as he grabs the blaster, swinging it at you. “Too late, sweetheart.”

Panting, you don't raise your hands. If he's going to kill you, he'll do it when you charge him.

You take a step and the sound of a laserblast ricochets through the trees.

The creature cries out, dropping the weapon, his arm useless at his side. Wires spark from the elbow joint that had been blown away.

"Found you," the Mandalorian says flatly, his blaster pointed at the machine.

The metal man lunges but Din fires again - hitting the quarry in what should be its gut. It doubles over, groaning, then topples, fighting for labored breath.

He must still have lungs underneath, you shudder.

Still trying to catch your own breath, you gasp, "How-"

"Heard the fight. You were supposed to stay on the ship," his voice turns scolding.

Clenching your jaw, you finally find a steady breath. You had stayed on the ship. This piece of space junk had broken inside through the cockpit window.

As you sat in the hold, dutifully watching the kid, the sound of glass shattering alerted you that it was not Din who was back so soon. You had snatched up the baby, touching him for the first time with no concern about his potential dangers, locked him in the little room, and ripped a small blaster from the Razor Crest’s weapons cache.

You crouched at the far end of the hold, against the closed boarding ramp, waiting, uncomfortably far from the child.

A cyborg, more spidery-droid than man, with a human head and fleshy left arm had come skittering down, bypassing the ladder completely. Unwilling to chance a blaster shot going through the baby’s door, you hit the button on the landing ramp and scrambled out.

The forest. It was your home. Your element. If there was any chance you could kill it, to prove to yourself that you could survive this life - it was then and there.

Of course, you hadn't expected the quarry to get your blaster.

"I tried," you breathe as Din binds the still-groaning quarry.

The helmet turns to face you, understanding. "He entered the ship?”

You nod, and Din stands bolt-upright, his head whipping in the direction of the Razor Crest.

“It’s fine,” you assure him pointedly, walking with your hand outstretched toward the worried Mandalorian. You remember your promise not to speak of the child, “Your ship is fine. Knew you'd hate it if he trashed the thing, so I ran out here.”

The Mandalorian visibly relaxes his broad shoulders, and your heart tugs once again.

"Thank you," Din says with hidden feeling.

His sincerity wedges a lump in your throat.

He really loves that little guy.

Din turns and snatches the connector between the binders, pulling the quarry. Its metal feet dig trenches as it tries to stall, but the Mandalorian is far too strong.

Somehow, it's the first time you've truly noticed. Din is extremely strong. Is it the suit?

Can't be. It's just metal and fabric.

The realization might as well be a thunderbolt to your brain. Your assailant must weigh as much as a land speeder, and here your bounty hunter was carting him along like a sack of starfruit.

An unfamiliar feeling, something like hot, sharp sparks shoot through your stomach. Your eyes follow the Mandalorian as he makes his way back to the Razor Crest.

Is this attraction? You’ve never experienced it. Far too busy surviving, wanting someone in that way is a foreign concept to you. You roll your eyes at yourself. Din Djarin, a kriffing Mandalorian bounty hunter is not going to look twice at a slave, and it's best to kill those feelings before they take root.

***

Across the large clearing, at the ship, the bounty hunter waits patiently while the boarding ramp lowers.

“She yours?” The quarry asks curiously, his voice wheezing. "You orbited me like a karking moon, but as soon as I go after her, you come runnin’.” It laughs.

The cyborg doesn't expect a verbal answer; he wants a reaction.

Din turns his head slowly with a cold warning, “I would advise you to stop speaking.”

“I damaged her pretty good for you. Might wanna che-” his taunting words end in a pained grunt when Din slams his fist into the man’s cruel mouth.

Surprised by the sudden violence, you inhale sharply. Din hadn’t knocked the thing unconscious, so what was the point of that?

The Mandalorian hauls the creature up the ramp and shoves him into the carbon freezer.

“Should’ve killed me,” the cyborg threatens with a laugh as he freezes into a solid mass.

Din turns to face you and asks in a low voice, “Are you injured?”

The rush of adrenaline you had been riding on slowly fades, and you remember the only blow you’d received had been the one to the side of your thigh. Your hand falls to it, feeling the area through your tattered pants.

A small amount of blood comes away on your fingers.

“Oh,” you murmur.

You pull up the ripped, baggy material, exposing your entire leg. The skin had split with the force of the blow, but there’s no serious damage and it would heal on its own.

The cyborg must’ve been trying to unnerve us. Or distract the Mandalorian? Maybe he thought Din would check right away, you almost laugh aloud at the ridiculous idea.

Din, for his part, really wishes you would let your pant leg fall. It’s insane, it makes no sense to him. Millions of people walked around in far, far less clothing than you, and Din never reacted like this.

But here you stand before him, slowly checking out the inch-long cut on your mid-thigh, and the Mandalorian can’t tear his eyes away.

When you look up at the helmet of Din Djarin, he fixes his face as though you could actually see the way his lips had parted. You fleetingly, timidly, smile at him and, miraculously, let go of the flowy pant leg.

Released from the spell, Din exhales and makes his way to the child’s room.

“You can use the refresher to clean that, if you’d like.” He does not look at you as he speaks.

“Is the baby okay?”

Din need not answer as the child himself murmurs in happiness at the sight of the two of you. To Din’s abject shock, the kid lifts his hands toward you.

You laugh once, flattered. “Can I?”

Din simply turns sideways so that you can fit between him and the hull wall. You reach for the child and it snuggles into your arms, touching your chin.

A brilliant smile lights your face.

“Are we friends now?” You whisper to him.

The baby babbles a response you’ll take as an affirmative.

“I’ve not asked. What’s his name?” You turn your still-smiling face up to Din.

Again thanking the Mythosaur for his helmet, he stares, stuck on your glowing expression as you cradle his ward. His brown eyes swim with an emotion he’s never felt.

“I don't know.”

Taken aback, you realize that there is a far deeper story here.

Did he steal this baby?

You move on quickly, “What do you call him?”

Din shrugs. “Kid.”

The child makes a cooing sound, then reaches for the Mandalorian. You hand the baby to his stoic guardian, and your smile changes to a satisfied one.

“He looks like he belongs there,” you laugh. Then your eyebrows pull together as you regret the too-comfortable comment.

He’s a bounty hunter, a killer, and he may or may not have stolen this fuzzy, long-eared infant.

And you’re just a runaway slave.

You back up a step, feeling awkward now. “You said I could use the ‘fresher?”

Din simply nods his head in the direction of the tiny facility.

When you've shut the door, Din's body relaxes.

***

But not for long. He didn't account for the sound of your clothes hitting the floor and the sound of the sonics. You are steps away, unclothed, and some wild instinct inside him awakens. Ashamed, he sets the child back in the hammock and climbs up to the cockpit to relieve himself.

_________________________________

The planet is purple. Dark and cloudy, the yellow, green, and blue street lights cast strange shadows. Neon signs of every shade flash from every corner. You've been to thousands of cities like this one. An underworld.

The Mandalorian landed the Razor Crest on the outskirts despite there being a busy spaceport made for that purpose. He transported the carbonite body of the cyborg to the edge of the city where he was met by some anonymous creature in a cloak. He asked no questions.

Din had entrusted you with the care of the child. He directed you and the kid to go on ahead to one of the less-reputable inns. The worse-looking, the better. People were more likely to mind their business.

You've found the perfect one. Din wanted seedy, he was getting the seediest. After all, most of your tasks as a slave had been spent in this environment since your masters hated to be seen in them.

But seedy didn't always mean crumbling and derelict.

Din, having tracked the child's chain code, returns later that night. His eyebrows rise at the size of the room.

"I said find an inconspicuous place to hide. You got the emperor's suite," he places his hands on his hips.

There are technically three rooms: the main living space, complete with couch, table, and a space to prepare food; and two small bedrooms both on the same side of the building.

"It was their only available room. Trust me, this place is as disreputable as they come. And he didn't upcharge," you rise from the couch. "If that was what you were worried about. I… made a deal with the clerk."

Din advances on you, "A deal?" His voice is tight.

"I didn’t involve you. I promise."

The Mandalorian clenches his teeth. Anything involving you, involves him.

"The kid?"

You tilt your chin across the apartment and laugh, "He wanted the room with all the toys.”

Din disappears into the room, and you chuckle at how long the child had been fascinated by the weird sculptures inside.

A low, rasping voice travels from the open door, "Hey, kid. Missed you, too."

Your smile deepens and your heart swells with emotion toward the two of them. Though they are not your family, it's comforting to watch them be one.

The modulated voice sounds again with a short laugh, "She can't hear you. Do you want her?"

You shake your head fondly, the kid had been babbling and reaching for you every time you set him down.

After a significant pause, Din softly admits, "I agree. I like her, too."

Flushing with shame for eavesdropping, you move to the far side of the apartment, to another large window.

Several minutes later, quiet footsteps get louder as Din leaves the child's room and closes the door.

"He tried to lift one of the sculptures," Din scoffs.

You laugh, picturing the child peacefully sleeping after tiring himself with the effort. It wasn't the first time today. Growing serious, you turn to face the Mandalorian.

"He helped me today. Someone grabbed at me and he… did what he does."

Din takes two huge strides toward you. "Did anyone see? What happened?"

"No one saw. It was in a closed alley. I-" you pause in momentary reluctance, then remember who you're talking to. "I took care of it."

You glance at the blaster on the table that Din had given you earlier that morning.

For the first time in a long time, Din's sigh is one of relief instead of irritation.

"Thank you," he says. "Again."

You wave him off, "It was between a scumsucker and the kid. Wasn't exactly hard," you try to make light of it.

Din shakes his head slightly. "I've seen you use a blaster. I'm glad the kid was there," he deadpans.

You exhale in feigned irritation, pleased by his playfulness.

He comes to stand next to you at the open window, and the peaceful silence is companionable.

As the breeze flutters, you shiver noticeably and his torn, rough cape curls into your ankle. The Mandalorian turns his head to you and reads how low your heat signature is.

Din stalks back to the entryway where he had set down a cloth bag. He snatches it up and brings it over to you.

"I hope they are acceptable."

Hands outstretched, you freeze as you realize you're being given a gift. You blink and look up, desperately trying to read a face you know you can't.

"Um, I've never -" you whisper, needing to tell him why you look like you've been struck. "Never had someone give me something."

Inside his beskar armor, Din grimaces. Had he overstepped? It might get even worse when you see how personal the items are.

He releases his hold on the bag and you open it, pulling out a pair of clothes. They're dark blue, and, while somewhat flowy like your current clothes, these do not have holes, stains, nor bad memories associated.

And they are a gift from Din Djarin.

How do you thank him for these? They certainly weren't cheap. The clothing is sturdy but light, beautiful but practical.

Embarrassingly, tears collect in your eyes.

"Oh, wow," you look up at him, panicking. "I can't take these." It was too much.

Din has an excuse in his arsenal.

"Take it as payment for your help with the kid."

You look back down at the material in your hands, rubbing the soft fabric.

"Thank you, Din. Really. I- I don't know how to thank you. You have been so kind to me."

His cheek pulls upward when you say his name for the first time. How sweet it sounds in your mouth.

"You needed them. These," he waves at the shredded scraps on your frame, "are no longer clothes."

You smile timidly, unused to being treated so well. "I'm going to go take them off and burn them."

The Mandalorian taps his vambrace. "I have the means when you're ready."

"Thank you again," you murmur, escaping to the refresher.

Din steps to the center of the room and places a hologram disk on the low table.

While you're busy, he's going to figure out how to get out of this.

***

After an actual shower, real water loosening the knots in your muscles, you exhale in pleasure at the feeling of the clean, well-made clothing on your skin. You feel like a person.

It's similar to seeing hyperspace for the first time. It scares you with how good it feels, knowing you’ve missed out on so much.

You slide open the refresher door to see Din seated on the couch, facing away from you. He sits reclined, his legs spread wide. The Mandalorian hears the door open, but he does not turn.

Stomach growling, you head to the cold storage near the front door. The box of food you'd bought from a vendor sits on the countertop. You unpack it carefully, still in disbelief you can eat whatever you want.

"Are you hungry?" You call to the Mandalorian as you continue to pull items from the box.

"You are no longer a slave. You do not have to serve me." The deep, rough voice sounds from right behind you, and you jump in surprise.

"Dank farrik, you move quietly."

Din reaches around you for one of the fruits you had purchased with his credits. His nearness has your body tensing, but he backs away almost immediately.

"How do you eat with that on?" You wonder, clearly meaning his helmet.

"I don't," he answers, walking into the other bedroom.

***

A week passes in that calm hotel apartment. The child provided more than enough entertainment for you, attempting to lift different objects of his desire at random.

For Din, so used to the child's antics, you are the object of his attention. You brush it off when he stands near you at the window, when he ensures that you have something to eat, and when he silently takes the couch over the comfortable bed.

But you're unable to ignore his touch.

Just after you wake, the dual suns begin to peek around the tall city buildings. Trying not to wake Din on the couch, you tiptoe to the window in the main room, still enthralled with the city view. You’ve seen cities thousands of times throughout your enslavement, often imagining running away to explore. Now that you have the opportunity, you find that you don’t want to go.

Seated on the bare floor, your arms wrapped around your knees as you watch the suns rise, you're wandering down halls of your own thoughts when a voice drifts into your consciousness.

"I will get your bounty lifted."

Turning your head, Din leans forward on the couch, his forearms on his knees.

"If that's what you are concerned about."

You shake your head, "I'm not concerned. I think I'm happy."

You had just come to that conclusion a moment earlier. It's an emotion you don't remember feeling. It's like your lungs are expanding after twenty years of suffocation.

You look back at the city and smile contentedly, "This is the best my life has been."

The admission is extremely personal, but you can’t keep it to yourself. It’s liberating. You weren't ready to fight for your freedom when the Mandalorian came for your master, but you are now.

Din’s footsteps advance on you until he’s standing off to your right. He says nothing.

After an interminable length of time, wondering what he’s doing, you twist and look up at him. His helmet turns toward the window just as you face him.

His hands are folded behind him, but a sliver of something flesh-toned is visible.

Is that his wrist?

Your stomach drops. His bare skin. It looks warm-toned and soft. You close your eyes and turn away, back toward the window.

“I am glad,” Din says.

“About what?” Since it has been several minutes since either of you have spoken, you’re unsure if he’s responding or making a statement.

He simply looks back down at you as if that answers your question.

“We’ll be leaving today,” Din continues to study you, appreciating the way the orange dawn lights your face. “You’ve almost drained me of credits with this palace of a hotel.”

You deny the accusation with a laugh, “I did not. I told you I made a deal.”

“And you have not told me what that deal was,” he says, a hint of a threat in his tone.

Din is on edge about your ‘deal.’ The night before, he had gone down to the reception desk to intimidate the clerk about it, but the employee you’d dealt with hadn’t been there.

“I promised you already - it has nothing to do with you or him,” you motion toward the child’s room. “It is not worth your attention.”

Din scowls. “You are also under my charge, and if you’ve placed yourself in danger, I need to be aware of it.”

Your face snaps up, uselessly trying to make eye contact with him. His charge? Why does your face feel hot at those words?

Finally taking pity on him, you answer, “He was a gambler. I bet him I could win more rounds of sabacc. And I did.”

The Mandalorian is stock-still. That was all? Din had gotten incredibly worked up over what you could possibly owe this mysterious desk clerk, and all you’d done was a bit of hustling?

“Why would you not tell me that right away?”

“I didn’t want to seem like I was bragging,” you frown. Din had tasked you with something and you had wanted to complete it with as little fanfare as possible.

“What other skills have you been hiding?” Din’s tone is half-mocking, half-serious. He knows next to nothing about you despite the monopoly you’ve had on his thoughts.

You side-eye him, unsure of his intention. “I can do basic ship repairs. I can speak four languages. I know how to fight.”

“I am not convinced of that last one.”

“The cyborg caught me on a bad day,” you protest.

"It was fortunate you were not seriously injured. I wouldn't have the credits for this," he nods his head up at the high ceiling.

For the second time, your head turns to scrutinize him, but he’s as impenetrable as ever.

"Why not?"

Din's silver face snaps down to you. "The quarry would not have made it into the carbon freezer."

And as you open your mouth - to say what, you have no idea - a quiet knock raps on the front door.

Spooked, you whirl so that you face the door, still seated.

“It’s alright,” Din’s deep, rough voice soothes.

When he holds out his hand to help you stand, you take it without second thought.

But it wasn’t just a hint of his wrist that you saw - his gloves are completely off. His rough palm slides into your grasp, and his thick fingers close around your hand.

Eyes widening, you audibly gasp.

Din raises you to your feet with no effort, and you wind up far too close to him. Your breath fogs on his chestplate, and your pulse thrums in your ears.

Too-quickly, his thumb rubs your skin, and then he releases your hand. Do you imagine the sigh he makes as he steps away?

Your eyes are glued to his broad form as he retrieves his gloves from the couch, then heads to answer the door.

“Should I -?” You whisper.

“Stay,” he says simply.

It’s unbelievable how one word could affect you. You swallow hard and clasp your hands together in front of you.

***

“As you are well aware, Mandalorian, my esteemed patron was unhappy to hear about her son’s death. However, you are of concern to us for a different reason. If we are able to reward you for your silence regarding where her son was at the time of his unfortunate, accidental death, this business might be put behind us.”

The slimeball flashes her biggest smile at the bounty hunter.

“What am I being paid to be silent about? The Hutt was banished by the Republic due to his slavery connections. Is the Senator afraid of her choice in friends being known?”

The emissary smiles nastily. “Let us say that the Hutt is also on my list of individuals to speak with.”

“I require explicit terms regarding this agreement. I am a Mandalorian, I can assure you of my discretion.”

“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slavery you overheard between the Senator’s son and Salaa the Hutt, and we shall reward you with twenty-thousand credits to be paid over the course of three months.”

To your horror, Din rises from the couch and nods his head, saying, “I accept your terms.”

“And what about her?” The emissary wrinkles her nose as she indicates you.

“She is a slave,” the Mandalorian says with harsh finality.

You physically shrink next to him. He had insisted you remain while they spoke, but now you’re regretting agreeing to it.

The distaste with which he had uttered the word ‘slave’ makes you feel unclean, unwanted. Tears threaten to spill over, and you keep your head down in a familiar, submissive posture in case they do.

The bounty hunter escorts the Twi’lek emissary to the door while you sit, head bowed, on the couch.

“Senator Nesota will be most appreciative. If you are ever in Coruscant, she would be delighted to have you visit her apartments. They are most grand.” She disapprovingly glances around the hotel room. “I assume you had your slave pick this one.” The emissary briefly places her hand on the Mandalorian’s forearm, “Remember, we are friends now, Din Djarin.”

The helmet saves his entire operation, for Din cannot stop the disgusted scowl that mars his face. This piece of scum uses his name to both threaten and flirt; the difference in his feelings between her saying it and you saying it are blindingly stark.

“I do not have friends. My name is not for your use,” he says evenly as he punches the button for the front door.

The emissary walks away without another word.

When Din closes the door, he turns back to you with a sense of relief for more than one reason.

But something is wrong.

“Do you not feel well?”

You shake your head, “I misunderstood something. That’s all.” Your head remains bowed.

“You will not look at me.”

“I am… embarrassed,” you mutter honestly.

An emotion Din has never experienced or understood, he is at a loss. Instead, he sits across from you and tosses you the recorder.

The small, comm-looking device lands on your lap, and you pick it up, curiously rolling it in your hands. You press the button.

“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slav-”

You stop the device and look up at Din with renewed hope, “You were lying.”

Din leans forward in his seat, “I was not lying. I gave her my word as a Mandalorian. But you didn’t.”

“That’s a stretch and you know it,” you laugh.

Din shrugs. The moral reasoning works for him.

“I am to send this recording to the Republic, correct? Get the senator removed from office?”

“She will no longer have the funds to pay our bounties. They will be considered void.”

Your smile falters. He had done what he promised.

Din tilts his head, “You’re unhappy about that?”

“It’s not your problem, of course. But I have to deal with the slaver’s reward. And… and I am not sure what I should do, where I should go.”

Really, you’re saddened because there is no longer any reason for you to stay. You wish there was.

The Mandalorian is silent, weighing his choice of words carefully.

"There is room on the Razor Crest. The kid is fond of you. I can pay you for your services to him. And, occasionally, the ship needs repairs - you can assist me with those.”

“Is this that ‘legal employment’ you told me I needed?” You grin. “I would like that very much.”

“You will need to learn how to fight, though,” he shakes his head, his tone teasing. “The kid can’t save you every time.”

____________________________________

You sit on the hold floor, the child in your arms. Having left the inn rather early, the child is still asleep.

Jostling as Din lands the Razor Crest on a new planet, you slowly stand and place the little lump in his hammock and shut the door.

The Mandalorian drops down into the hold, passing you and hitting the button for the boarding ramp. Deciding to trust him, you don't ask where you're being taken.

The answer isn't far. Din stops right at the treeline and hands you the same silver blaster from the previous week's fight with the cyborg.

"You need to learn to use it."

"I've done well with a blaster before," you protest. "I shot Rathos."

"But you didn't shoot the cyborg," you can hear the frown in his deep voice. "Pick a tree."

Nervous to be evaluated by a master of the craft, you hesitate briefly before aiming at a massive trunk a few speeders lengths away.

The plate of his armor brushes against your back as the Mandalorian gingerly sets his heavy hands on your shoulders, straightening them. With his boot, he taps the inside of your foot, indicating you should widen your stance.

You blink rapidly. Your face flushes with warmth. Why is your heart thundering? Can he hear it?

He can.

His own heart rate increases when his helmet's display shows your heat signature rising. Din pushes it further: his leather-covered hands slide down to your waist where he turns you a fraction - completely unnecessarily.

Close enough that, were he unveiled, you could feel his breath, he murmurs, "Fire."

Utterly distracted, you squeeze the trigger as a matter of following his command. The blaster shot continues on through the treetops, singeing leaves.

Din straightens, his hands leaving your body, and he huffs.

"You distracted me," you explain. "I can hit it."

You realign the weapon and inhale deeply, releasing on the exhale just as you would with an arrow.

The tree sizzles as you hit it dead-center.

Spinning to face him triumphantly, the smile freezes on your lips.

One of the suns on this planet has begun to drop behind him, and his large frame casts you in shadow. He still hasn't moved away from you. The way his mask is angled toward you makes you believe he's lost in thought.

"What is it?" You whisper in the tense silence.

Din feels dizzy. You're a natural with a weapon you'd fired all of three times. Your words cudgel his mind. He had distracted you enough to miss a huge karking tree.

"Do it again."

You nod and return to the target. Throwing your mind back to your childhood, you once again hit the tree dead-on.

Weighing the blaster in your hand, you turn back to him and say, "I still prefer wooden weapons. Or at least something resembling a spear."

"Why is that?" His voice is rough, and his hands find a home on his hips.

"That's how I grew up," you answer.

"Okay. Grab one."

Your mouth drops open in confusion, but he finally leaves your personal space and picks up a slender, twigless branch.

"You can't be serious," you sputter a laugh, certain he had just found a sense of humor. "I'm not fighting you."

"Why not?"

"Um. Because I can't."

"You can." He holds the stick out toward you.

You stare at him, watchful, as you curl your fingers around it. Din removes a small, cylindrical object from his utility belt. He pumps it once and it unfolds into a thin cane-like weapon.

"It's been twenty years," you frown. "You're going to win."

But, when that makeshift spear is in your hand, it all rushes back. The key to winning is in gaining ground. Whatever you do, push your opponent back. So, you launch at him first.

Only partially surprised by the speed of the typically-timid girl now coming for his throat, Din manages to duck out of the way just in time. But you whirl to the opposite side he expects, and swing your weapon into his helmet. It clangs, and you stand upright.

"I'm sorry!" You react, fearful both from years of mistreatment and not wanting to hurt Din.

He ignores you, swishing his weapon toward your middle, and you jump backward. Hating that you conceded even that little ground, you quickly drop to a crouch and sweep at his knees like Rathos did to you.

Din rockets upward a few feet, then drops back down on your other side. He swings at you and you parry.

Dancing for several steps, you eventually land a blow to his ribs where the beskar does not cover. Din's modulated groan makes you feel a rush of two separate emotions.

You don't want to hurt him, but that sound ignites a heat between your legs.

Din retaliates, kicking his tipless spear into your chest and shoving you backward. He knows your move, now. You don't like giving up ground, so you'll throw yourself at him, arms raised to strike.

When you do exactly as he predicts, he drops his weapon completely, grabbing you around the waist and spinning. He throws you to the ground, coming down on top of you.

You laugh, exhilarated, "Almost."

Something is jabbing your hip, and when you shift to identify it, Din grunts again. Your eyes shoot to his hidden face.

Under the helmet, Din's brown eyes are blown, pained at how aroused he is. He can't handle much more of this. Your wide eyes and galloping heart match his, but underneath him you look so vulnerable that he feels downright predatory. His stiff length twitches.

Din’s voice is raw, barely contained, "Tell me to stop and I will." His gloved thumbs push your bottoms down.

Speechless, your core pulsing, you nod.

Din unfastens the material around his middle, pulls his desperate cock from the flight suit, and hastily positions himself against you. Your slick coats him as he drags himself through your folds. He groans through the modulator.

“Oh,” you gasp when he eases the tip past your entrance.

Unable to wait a moment longer, Din sheaths himself inside you with a determined grunt, his patch of dark curls mingling with yours.

Your hands try to fist in his flight suit, eyes wide at the incredible feeling of him filling you. His right hand cradles your jaw as he starts to rock his hips, cursing as he does so.

For the first time in his life, Din resents his helmet; both for the separation from your soft skin, and the heightened senses it gives him. How is he supposed to last when he can see your heart racing, hear your quiet cries as though they’re inside his own head?

In an insufficient compromise, he rips off his gloves. His tan skin is calloused and scarred.

“Yes,” you plead.

Din intertwines his fingers on both hands with yours, hypnotized for a precious second by the intimacy. Reverently, you press a kiss to his knuckles. He makes a wild sound deep in his chest, then plunges your hands above your head.

Pushing your chest to his, you signal that he can do anything he wants to you. He collects both your wrists in one hand.

Din rhythmically arcs into you, the sound of his body - soaked from your arousal - striking yours nearly driving you insane. When you’d imagined it before, you wondered if looking into the blank face of his helmet might be off-putting, but you find that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because it’s him. If anything, it’s erotic to trust him so blindly.

Din is resolved to know your body better than you do. With his free hand, his fingers nimbly massage your clit until you jerk.

“There?” He confirms.

You nod, unable to speak. His heavy, straining cock dragging through you, and his rough fingers replace the output from all other senses.

When he finds the perfect combination, he doesn’t let up until your eyes screw shut and you shake, incoherent underneath him in ecstasy.

“You can say it,” he hoarsely encourages through the modulator.

It was already on your lips, “Din.”

The hand that acted as a manacle releases you as he places his palm on the ground, giving himself as much leverage to bury himself as deep as possible. The toes of Din’s boots dig up clumps of grass as he thrusts into you, the sound of skin slapping skin lost in the breeze. Your legs curl around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He feels the spark at the base of his spine and knows he doesn’t have much strength left. Your fingers twist into the fabric of his flight suit again, clinging to him for all you’re worth.

Din makes the mistake of looking into your lust-filled eyes as you speak.

“Let go,” you whisper tenderly, feeling his tense body begin to fracture.

Din has no choice but to obey you, pumping himself into you with a long, harsh sigh. He works his release inside you, gradually slowing until his arms shake.

He finally drops to the ground beside you, breathing rapidly.

Suddenly shy, you want nothing more than to reach over and take one of his hands, but you lack the confidence. You also don’t know what to say.

Din doesn’t believe there’s anything to say. He had never been so tempted in all his life, and he had not passed the test. A shred less self-control and his helmet might’ve followed the gloves.

In fact, the temptation is still so strong that he begins to plan for its eventuality.

____________________________________

#din djarin #my fics #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Spotify #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #grogu #baby yoda #my writing

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Flying High…On The Bars 🤸🏽‍♂️ | Top Gun Maverick Imagine (Bob Floyd) Part II-Final

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist

read part 1 here

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Olympic gymnast!reader (romantic), Dagger squad x reader (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of sporting injuries, slight profanity, recounts details of 2012, 2016, & 2020 Olympic Games. Emotional at the end| Female!reader (she/her) | wc: 14k+ (not edited, so sorry if there are few mistakes. I plan to go back and fix them.)

Premise: When one sets their eyes on the Olympic dream, it becomes their life. When one falls in love with a person committed to achieving that dream, it becomes theirs as well. One year after a global pandemic shut down the world and two years after the high-risk uranium mission of the Top Gun special detachment, the Games of the XXXII Olympiad have finally commenced with Bob Floyd and his fellow daggers gathering in Lemoore, California to watch the love of his life step foot on the world’s greatest sporting stage. Prepping for her final Olympic Games, gold medalist Y/n L/n thinks back on her decade long career, with obstacles, trials, and tribulations in its wake……and finding love along with way.

Note: so these Olympic imagines have been dear to my heart, because I was once a little girl doing gymnastics with an olympic dream. unfortunately it did not work out, but I love to imagine what could have been you know. As I disclaimed in part one, I am well aware of the scandal that took place with USA gymnastics (I’m utterly disgusted that it happened for as long as it did and at the people who tried to cover it up plus I wish nothing but cruel and hell to that despicable doctor.) For the sake of not triggering anyone, I have omitted to mention it in this imagine, but I am well aware it did happen and my heart is with the gymnasts who were affected and targeted.

I highly recommend listening to the song linked at the end during the floor routine bit. I lowkey nearly shed a tear cause I was listening to it while writing it and it just fits so bad. The Spotify one is not what I’m referring to, that’s just a song I love that I often think of emotional comeback stories with.

—————————————

2016: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The Games of the XXXI Olympiad

When the day of the qualifications took place on the first night of competition, Y/n was met with a major let down in the results. While thrilled to compete in the team final and have a chance at defending her titles on the bars and beam, Y/n was pushed out of the All-Around competition. As predicted Simone was the top gymnast to qualify, leaving the returning Olympians to compete against one another for the final spot. A mistake on the floor had been the contributing factor when Y/n stepped completely out of bounds on her final tumbling pass. A major deduction, she already had a low start value compared to the others.

That one big step had her chances at All-Around gold disappear.

On the mat Y/n maintained a smile, congratulating Aly and Simone as well as the rest of the team for a great run that had them take the #1 spot for team qualifications. She and Gabby’s hug lingered a little longer, both wearing solemn expressions. Both feeling the same loss, but still happy for their teammates who do get the chance to fight for the honor of All-Around Olympic champion.

“And here are the defending Olympic All-Around, uneven bars, and balance beam champions embracing in what can only be described as a bittersweet gesture. The two have been through so much together as members of the national team, competing in London together and multiple Worlds. They both had stellar Olympic runs four years ago and were so happy at the announcement of the trials to, along with Aly Raisman, represent the US in another Olympic Games. In what could very well be their last Olympic appearance, Gabby Douglas and Y/n L/n. Two world class athletes, who will not get the chance for All-Around gold.”

“I can’t imagine what Y/n must be feeling right now—finishing third overall but because of the two-per-country rule she’s been pushed out by Aly Raisman. It’s deja vu right now in the dome—thinking back to London when the reigning World All-Around Champion, Jordyn Wieber, did not qualify for the finals. Y/n has said time and time again that her motivation for training these past four years was to hopefully qualify for the All-Around competition. She was doing so well tonight, but that step out of bounds on the floor unfortunately was the dealbreaker. It now leaves us to wonder if this will be the last time we see Y/n in an Olympic Games once this week comes to an end.”

That night in her room at the Olympic village, Y/n allowed the emotion to flow freely. She cried in the shower when the realization finally set in. The All-around was now a thing of the past. The Olympian was heartbroken that everything she worked for after London would not be seen by the world. She could only imagine what the commentators had said after the results came in. They’d been talking for days how she was the expected person to qualify after taking the silver at two consecutive World Championships.

But like every gymnast told themselves when competing, anything could happen.

Y/n allowed herself one hour to cry and be depressed, but then she had to get back to work. There was no time to get in her feelings when the gold was on the line. In two nights would be the team final, and then she’d have a few days before competing on bars and finally ending her Olympics on the beam.

Qualifications were done. The finals were up.

This time around the USA was paired with China. Russia was #3 coming out of qualifications, but they were gonna be bringing the heat again. Four rotations, three athletes from each country with all three scores counting. There was no room for mistakes. Unlike four years prior in London, Y/n was selected to be part of the first rotation on vault. She was the defending World champion on the apparatus, having performed and successfully landed a triple twisting Yurchenko, making her the first gymnast to pull it off without a fall and therefore it was named after her. It wasn’t her first eponymous skill. At the 2013 World championships a transition from low to high bar was named after her following successful completion, then a quadruple spin on beam and a new uneven bars mount at the 2015 Worlds, all four called the L/n. It was speculated Y/n would unveil a new dismount in Rio.

And that’s exactly what she had planned.

On the first rotation, the vault, Y/n played it safe by performing the Amânar—a Yurchenko 2 ½ twist named after Romanian gymnast, Simona Amânar—rather than go for the full three. They wanted a good lead to start and Y/n was confident she could deliver. After many years she’d become better on vault to the point she was a contender against well known strong vaulters like Simone and Mckayla Maroney. Getting a vault named after her only increased that opinion. Of course every now and then she’d have a little step on the landing but it was never like in juniors where she was well off to the side or nearly out of bounds.

Y/n felt the pressure to the point it was almost nauseating. She was the first to kick off Team USA on the vault. What used to have a start value of 6.5 in London, the Amânar was now a 6.3. Had she done the triple twist it would have been a 7.0 start value, but the coaches urged her to play it safe after taking big steps in training. Y/n drowned out the roar of the crowd when the announcer spoke during her salute to the judge. “Em abóbada, representando os Estados Unidos da América, Y/n L/n.”

“On vault, representing the United States of America, Y/n L/n.”

Pumping out a score of 15.693, it was a spectacular start for team USA. Aly and Simone did great on their turn, soon China was up leaving the team to mentally prepare for the next rotation: bars. After everyone was done they had some time to wait. It was usually like that with the vault since it went so fast compared to full routines. Floor always took the longest of the four apparatuses so Y/n went ahead and got her grips out and ready for bars warmup.

At the end of the rotation they were in the lead, but it was close. There was no doubt after vault the competition would be a heated battle for the crown. Team USA was going for back-to-back gold, Russia was looking for redemption after disaster in London. China was looking to medal after getting fourth four years prior. It was more personal for the gymnasts with the significance of the year. 2016 marked 20 years since the Magnificent Seven won gold in Atlanta.

Then came the uneven bars, Y/n’s favorite. Coming into Rio they were the 4-time World Champion and defending Olympic champion with the highest start value of 7.1–which would increase to an 8.1 for the event finals. Her start value in London was higher than here in Rio, but with the new Code of Points after every Olympic cycle it dropped the values of several skills. She’d be last in the line up, with commentators already buzzing on the excitement for her routing.

“There’s the three-time olympic champion. Y/n L/n of the USA, getting ready for her turn on the uneven bars in this women’s team final. For those of you watching at home who are new to the world of gymnastics, this is a routine you’re going to want to watch. We’re talking world class. Y/n is the four-time World champion—first winning the title first in 2011 and went on to claim it again these last three years on top of being the 2012 Olympic gold medalist. She is a star on this event, jam packed routine with two skills named after her—which we’ll see in just a moment. All year Y/n has been the talk of hoping to repeat her London success—the US is currently going for their second team gold as we’ve mentioned several times—but Y/n is looking to come out on top in the individual bars and beam final we’ll see in a few days. I have no doubt she’ll likely take the gold in the uneven bars, but beam is going to be interesting with Simone Biles as her competition.”

“It should also be noted, Allen, that Y/n is hinting at possibly unveiling a new dismount in the uneven bars final. I heard speculation that after qualifications her coaches had petitioned a start value change for her routine. What we're about to see here is going to be the same one she performed Sunday night with a value of 7.1, but if my sources are true then we could be seeing it change to a record breaking 8.1 this coming Sunday. A whole point increase.”

When Y/n’s feet hit the mat following the end of the routine, her smile shined with the cheers of the crowd. All thoughts of missing out in the All-Around had disappeared. Flying high on the uneven bars was basically therapy for the gymnast. Her teammates were screaming, jumping up and down before racing to embrace her. Mike gave her a high-five and a hug, telling her she was magnificent. The team USA supporters were on their feet. It was a beautiful scene. And it made it all the better with a score of 16.765.

Second on the beam rotation, Y/n came through with a score of 16.046 from a start value of 6.6. It was then time for her teammates to finish the job with Simone ending the beam before they went to floor.

And they didn’t disappoint.

At the end of the competition, USA was on top of the board, with the ‘Final Five’ on top of the podium. History. Actual history.

Then when Sunday night came around, history was once again made when Y/n became the first American gymnast to win back-to-back gold on uneven bars. “She’s going for the 8.1 start value—wow, this could be history in the making folks. The reason it’s so high is because the dismount she is planning to do is rated a J-valued skill—it’s a full point. And if she lands it, feet on the ground and arms up, it will be named after her to become her fifth eponymous skill. She’s already got four to her name including a D-valued mount and transition here on bars. I’m confident we’re already witnessing Olympic history for Y/n L/n. Even if she falls off of the bar—which is a full point of deductions—she’ll still win. It would have to be a catastrophic routine for the gymnast to not take the gold—which I don’t think I’ve ever seen from her in an international competition.”

The last to go as the top qualifier, Y/n waits patiently for her turn until signaled to step on the mat. Mike gives her a routine prep talk, telling her to just do her best like she’s always done with a fatherly kiss to the head. Green light from the judge she salutes, “Representing the United States of America, Y/n L/n!” Two licks to each thumb, one clap and a deep breath, Y/n’s roundoffing onto the springboard and the routine begins.

“Very difficult mount—round off onto the springboard and half turning into a straight position to catch the low bar. Now it’s just greatness from here on out—stellar combinations of pirouettes and transitions with big releases. It just does not slow down—and what makes it so much more complicated for judges to take deductions is Y/n has near perfect form—which is very difficult for gymnasts with skills of this level. Big release combo after these handstand pirouettes on the high bar….gorgeous. Gorgeous, gorgeous form. Moment of truth here, the crowd is already on edge—some already celebrating—Y/n hasn’t had a fall and therefore may get the full 8.1 start value. The dismount she’s been hinting at all Olympic Games—can she land it for her second Olympic gold on the uneven bars—AND SHE’S GOT IT! SHE COMPLETED THE SKILL! HER ARMS ARE UP! HOLY MOLY IT’S HISTORY FOR Y/N L/N OF THE UNITED STATES!!”

Tears were in Y/n’s eyes, lip quivering as she let out a breath of relief. It was like a scene from a movie where there's that brief moment of silence for the main character before it explodes around them. Barely could she make out the sound of her own inner thoughts with the vibration of the packed stadium. Saluting the judges felt like slow-motion, and Y/n could’ve sworn she saw one give a slight nod of respect. Another had their mouth slightly agape, in disbelief the gymnast pulled it off. Shit Y/n was in disbelief herself.

“She took a huge step, stumbling to catch herself, but she got her feet on the mat and arms up for a stunning finish to a phenomenal routine. The crowd here in Rio is unbelievable with Team USA in the stands going crazy as we just witnessed Y/n L/n do what no American gymnast has done before! A J-valued dismount—her third eponymous skill on the uneven bars and a second Olympic gold! That’s going down in the history books as one of the greatest moments in USA gymnastics.” Y/n races off the mat, practically catapulting into the arms of her coach. The cameraman races after her.

“The score hasn’t even come in yet, but it’s already known to every single person here that the medal belongs to Y/n L/n. She did not fall, she had perfect form on those handstands—the only big deduction will come from that stumble on the landing. Even if she had a fall it would’ve still put her at a 7.1 start value—the highest of any gymnast in this competition. But she landed that dismount and got the full 8.1 she was hoping for. Right now the top score on the board is 15.900 but that’s about to change any second now—-IT’S A 17.408!!!! IT’S OFFICIAL—Y/N L/N IS THE TWO-TIME OLYMPIC CHAMPION ON THE UNEVEN BARS!! THE FIRST AMERICAN TO CLAIM BACK-TO-BACK INDIVIDUAL GOLD!!”

Two-time Olympic champion.

Words could not even describe the emotion Y/n was feeling. Their fifth gold medal in the Olympics…which became six two nights later in a stunning twist of events. With a start value of 6.3, Y/n gave her all the moment her hand hit the apparatus. She was just hoping to get on the podium, regardless of the color and add another medal to her collection. The second to last to compete, Y/n cheered Simone from the sides after receiving her score of 15.698–putting her in the top position that guaranteed Y/n the silver. Like everyone else in the arena gasped when the All-Around champion touched the beam to catch herself from falling off. She hated the way her heart started pumping, knowing damn well a mistake like that is a full point deduction because the judges treat it like a fall off the beam. Not wanting to get her hopes high, she rejected the thought of possibly being the winner and continued to support her friend and teammate.

When the score did come for Simone, Y/n was in disbelief. The final results were in. Just like it was London, Gold & bronze for the USA.

Y/n was now a two-time gold medalist on the beam.

She was pretty much frozen when Simone and her coach embraced her. Her arms went around Simone first, the tears escaping after a sob managed to leave her. “Unbelievable! In a stunning turn of events, Simone Biles has taken the bronze medal—Y/n L/n, the defending 2012 Olympic champion has reclaimed the gold! It’s a sweep for America—they have taken the gold in every women’s event final in Rio! Simone Biles for the All-Around, vault and floor, Y/n L/n for the bars and beam, and Team USA returning as the #1 team in the world. Take it all in for you folks watching at home. I don’t think we’ll ever see something like this again.”

“Team USA go 1 & 3 in the women’s balance beam final—It’s Y/n L/n on top of the podium once again just like four years ago, this time with All-Around champion Simone Biles with the bronze. The 20-year-old from Lemoore, California has done the impossible—repeating her London success with three gold medals here at the Olympic Games in Rio. She now has the record of the most Olympic gold medals of any American gymnast.”

Returning to the States, Y/n was met with celebration. Parades were in store, interviews lined up, and appearances on talk shows. Getting the call from James Corden felt like she’d been dreaming. Her second biggest fangirl moment came on the show when Harry Styles and Scarlett Johansson were the other guests. “Y/n, welcome to the show—this is your first appearance since winning gold in Rio. So happy to have you with us.”

“It’s an honor to be here, James,” she grinned, willing her voice to remain steady. Usually she was good with reporters and the press, but talk shows with people she admired was a different ballgame. “You know this almost feels like a full circle moment sitting beside Harry,” a hand motions to the singer, who’s brows raise a bit in confusion but maintains a smile, “It brings me back to the London Games—because I watched you perform with One Direction at the closing ceremonies.”

“Oh wow, that’s right,” he laughed, beaming at the Olympian. “Crazy to think that was already four years ago. Now you’re a repeat champion—which is so amazing.” Y/n blushes as the audience claps and hollars.

James cuts in, “Not only are you a champion, but you have the most gold medals for any American gymnast—what an accomplishment. Member of back-to-back winning teams and defending your title as the uneven bars and balance beam champion. Your bars routine has become one of the most replayed moments in Rio. Let’s actually take a look at it, here is that gold medal moment of the women’s uneven bars final,” everyone turns to the monitor. The footage of Y/n’s routine plays, capturing the moment she successfully landed the dismount and secured the gold. The audience cheered as it came to an end with Y/n smiling shyly. “Now that the Games have passed, people are wondering if that was it for you for the Olympics. Is Tokyo something you have your eyes set on?”

On the couch Harry and Scarlet looked just as curious. All the attention was on the athlete, causing her to become a little flustered as she thought of the best way to respond. It wasn’t the first time she was asked about Tokyo. There were already discussions among commentators—wondering if missing out on the All-Around again would be motivation to train for a third Olympics.

“I really hadn’t made a decision about Tokyo on the basis of what Rio would bring. Just getting to go to another Olympics and actually succeeding in defending my titles is an extreme honor—and I have to give credit to my girls, the team gold wouldn’t have happened without them. Simone, Aly, Gabby, and Laurie. They’re the most incredible gymnasts to ever exist and it’s a blessing I get to share that glory with them,” Y/n pauses at the claps, “I had planned already to compete in next year's Worlds, but Tokyo was not set in stone. But….missing out of the All-Around competition has definitely ignited a fire in me. I didn’t get the chance to compete in the event at London—which pretty much motivated the past four years to make the Rio team. I’ll be 24 in 2020–and of course injuries can occur, but…I think I will try to get a third Olympics—just to hopefully qualify for the All-Around. And then regardless if I make the team or not, I will more than likely retire.”

And so the training for Tokyo 2020 commenced with the athlete returning to her hometown of Lemoore. Y/n’s gym she’d been training since 5 years old had increased in students since her first Games. Many of the students, boys and girls alike, looked up to the gymnast—often sticking around after their classes just to get a glimpse of Y/n. Her coaches had been sought out by athletes across the nation, but Mike and Mary declined offers to put their sole focus on Y/n. There were plenty of other assistant coaches in the gym who could easily take on the role they were desiring. It would be until after Y/n retired that they’d take on another gymnast.

The one thing Y/n could not have predicted that first year after Rio, was running into the adorable Navy officer she’d met at the trials. Lieutenant Junior Grade Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd. While the whole interaction seemed like light years away with everything that happened after the trials, Y/n could never forget the blue-eyed man and his sister. Deep down she was a little sad at not getting a notification on social media he posted their photo. Then she could have followed him and even messaged the guy.

Y/n brushed it off as Bob maybe not having social media. Not everyone was big into it and that was totally fine. He was just a memory at that point. So one could imagine her surprise when Y/n spotted him on the air strip of NAS Lemoore, she had to do a double take.

It was a sunny spring morning on a Tuesday when the two reunited. Y/n’s car was in the shop and wouldn’t be done till the afternoon so her coaches gave her the morning of training off. Though Y/n no longer lived with her parents, having moved to her own place with the money from sponsorships by going pro, she still visited them nearly everyday. That particular day her car was at the base Firestone and so to pass time she was at her dad’s job….which happened to be at the airstrip.

Searching for the lounge to get a snack she passed some of her dad’s coworkers, offering a smile and wave. The area was mostly reserved for civilian workers, but every now and then a serviceman or woman would be seen. Finding the lounge Y/n grabbed a fruit bowl and water, not noticing the man seated at a high table with his headphones in and eyes focused on his laptop screen. Bob didn’t even see her come in, so when Y/n did a quick sweep as she made her way out, Bob was oblivious to her reaction.

“Bob?” The sudden confused tone of someone calling out to him had the man jump. When he snapped his head in its direction, Bob’s eyes went wide, frantically pulling away the headphones and pausing the video. For a moment he thought his eyes were deceiving him. But then her expression turned from shock to delight, “It is you! Oh my goodness—at first I thought, ‘there’s no way that’s him.’ Wow this is crazy. Hi!”

Bob was at a loss for words. The Olympian he met a year ago, who he could not stop thinking about since, was in front of him. “O-oh wow, hi,” he stuttered out, mentally cursing at how he sounded. “Wow, I was not expecting this to happen when I woke up this morning.”

“Same too,” Y/n chuckled, “How are you? Are you.. are you stationed here?” It hit the gymnast that it was mentioned at one point during their interaction he was in the Navy. Noticing the single silver bar, she was able to point out he was a Lieutenant Junior Grade. And judging by his flight suit, he was either a pilot, WSO, or RIO. “You’re a pilot?”

“Weapons system officer,” he politely corrects. “And yeah uh I just got here about a month ago.” Pink appears on his cheeks, “I would ask what you’re doing here….but I sorta already know you’re from here. My sister—Daisy, if you remember her—made her jealousy to me quite clear when I told my family I got orders here. But I promise I‘m not some stalker and was hoping to run into you again—quite frankly I’m shocked it happened here on base of places.”

Y/n couldn’t help but giggle at his embarrassment. “Don’t worry I wouldn’t have thought you to be,” she takes the seat opposite of him, Bob closing his laptop before moving it away to make room on the surface. “Yeah, my dad actually works in the civilian division—he used to be in the Navy back in the 90s. I don’t come on base often, but I had the morning off and my car is in the shop. I’m just waiting for it to finish before heading to the gym.”

“Congratulations by the way,” Bob said with a smile, “on your wins last summer. I caught some of the Team competition, you guys were amazing. Then Daisy had me sit with her to watch the bars and beam final. She was really happy you won—I am too.”

“Thank you,” she grins, “I’m glad I didn’t let you guys down. How is Daisy by the way? Still doing gymnastics?” They fell into a conversation with Bob giving an update on his sister. Before long they were asking each other questions and telling stories about their travels.

Bob also explained that he doesn’t have social media, not really finding it to be his scene. “I do, however, as embarrassing as it is to say aloud, show off the photos when people like to brag about celebrities or athletes they’ve met. They never believe me at first, so it does bring satisfaction to prove them wrong.”

It felt so natural to talk to Bob, and those butterflies Y/n felt a year ago were starting to resurface. This time when she had to leave Y/n made sure to get his number. His surprise was evident, not expecting the request but nonetheless gave it to her.

It was the start of their love story.

Texting occurred almost every night. Then a coffee date turned into dinner and soon Y/n was leaving practice in a hurry to meet up with Bob. It would be at 7 in the evening and Y/n would be exhausted by the time she got into bed, but every second was worth it as the crush on Bob started to progress. They’d go to the beach, check out a new movie, have picnics, and would spend every free moment together. At one point Y/n’s coaches became concerned, especially when the the week Bob was TDY’d her routines were shakier than usual. They were not opposed to her having relationships. Y/n’s entire career she was single save for a few flings—especially in 2016 when she hooked up with an Olympic swimmer from Germany… then a Brazilian soccer player after the closing ceremonies.

They just wanted her to be careful. She was an athlete with a career that took up so many hours of her life she barely had time to do other things. Y/n was looking to be the first gymnast since Dominique Dawes to make the Olympic team for a third consecutive Games. The All-Around was her goal, on top of defending her title on bars and beam. Her coaches didn’t want her giving up all she had worked for if she wasn’t 100% sure of her feelings for Bob.

Y/n was young. She wanted to have fun and make those lifelong bonds. Romance may have not been the priority her entire life, but she desired the day she’d meet a nice person who’d treat her right—who would one day love and she’d love them. Bob was slowly becoming that person she saw a future with. The sweet WSO with gorgeous blue eyes and a kind smile. Who would blush when she flirted with him and bring water bottles and snacks to the gym to make sure she was hydrated and fed. Who’d send her gymnastics memes just to make her laugh—especially the ones with the screenshot of her reaction when a gymnast at a World’s had yelled at a judge because of a score. Who would stick around when she trained—amazement in his gaze at everything she did. He’d ask questions about the sport, wanting to know everything about it because it was her life and passion. When she asked questions, Bob would go into detail and share knowledge about aviation with her. Hearing him be so passionate about his job made Y/n admire him immensely. After weeks of the phone calls, texts, dates, Y/n accepted something she had been scared to say aloud.

Bob was her dream person.

Their first kiss took place four months after reuniting in front of her gym. That same moment Bob finally got the courage to ask her to be his girlfriend, which she wholeheartedly accepted. Once it was official her coaches noticed improvement on her routines that had started to slack. She managed to hide Bob from the media, not confirming the relationship publicly until after their one year. Well…..Y/n confirmed she was in a relationship with a mirror photo of her in Bob’s lap and his back to the mirror so the camera wouldn’t capture his face. They’d had a discussion prior with Y/n raising concerns about him getting possible media attention. Bob had a job that may require top secret missions and to protect him from security clearance issues they both agreed to keep his identity secret.

Y/n made sure though Bob never felt like he was being hidden. She would post snap stories of their interlaced hands, his face tucked in her neck when cuddling, or the back of his head with flirty captions. Bob couldn’t go to every competition of hers, but when he did he was her biggest supporter. His sister was overjoyed to hear the news Bob had met Y/n again, Daisy literally screaming when he drops the bomb Y/n was his girlfriend.

He did, however, expose himself and their relationship in 2019–a complete accident. At the World Championships in Germany, Y/n was the reigning 2018 gold medalist on the beam—her first beam gold since 2013. After winning silver in the All-Around for the fourth time and claiming her seventh consecutive bars title at the competition, her world nearly came to an end when her foot slipped during her tumbling pass in the beam final.

Searing pain shot through her knee, the gymnast falling awkwardly on the mat causing gasps to ring out. A pained groan escaped her followed by a shriek when shifting her leg. “Oh no,” she mumbled, alarms ringing in her head at what area had just been injured. All the agony was in her knee, where the ACL was located…..

Tears sprung in her eyes as her coach and medics swarmed her. “Where does it hurt?”

“My knee,” she hissed, “shit, it’s my knee.” In her head she was screaming, ‘please don’t be the ACL. Please don’t be the ACL.’ They hauled her off the mat, the judges, spectators, and her fellow competitors all looking on with worry. An ambulance was pulled up, rushing the gymnast to the hospital where she was met with the worst news she could get; her ACL was torn and she needed emergency surgery asap. Everything that followed was a blur. All she could remember next was waking up and her coaches were by her bed. They both wore the same expression as Y/n; heartbroken.

7-9 months was the recovery period for an ACL tear. It was currently the middle of October with the trials 9 months away. Was it possibly for Y/n to get back into training and do the trials after only a month post recovery? Ideally. Was it wise? Absolutely not. They usually recommend a full year before deep diving back into a sport with an injury like that. Muscle memory after so many years of gymnastics would be Y/n’s advantage, but she’d be shaky coming into the competition, unlikely to hit her routines like she usually did. Making the Tokyo team would not happen.

Y/n pretty much cried herself to sleep. Her dreams of the Olympic All-Around and a third Games were gone. It depressed her to even think of what sportscenter was saying. When she awoke she had dozens of missed calls from teammates, friends, her parents, and Bob. She dialed Bob immediately, sobbing into the receiver when he answered with a relieved breath, “Baby.” Hearing her in hysterics had Bob nearly book a flight to Germany right there, “I’m coming to get you.”

“No!” Y/n shouted, starting to calm down. “You can’t—you’ve got that detachment. Don’t worry about me.” The same week Y/n was in Germany, Bob was returning to Top Gun for a special detachment he had little details to. He was hesitant to go with her World's so close, but Y/n insisted saying she’d be fine. If the Navy was calling him back it had to have been important.

“Don’t tell me not to worry, Y/n,” he tells her, trying to be calm but worry was laced in his tone. “I watched you fall and not get up. Had it not been for Mike calling me to let me know you were in surgery I would’ve been on the next flight out to Stuggart. And you need me right now.”

“The Navy needs you right now, Bobby. You can’t just waltz out of there—you could literally be court martialed for it,” he was beginning to protest, so Y/n changed the route. “Look, I’m going to be discharged in two days. Instead of flying home I’ll come to you and rent a beach house or something for the remainder of your assignment. How’s that sound?” After several minutes of going back and forth—with Y/n convincing her boyfriend to not risk losing his job—Bob finally relented.

They said their ‘I love you’s’ and goodbyes with Y/n promising to keep him updated on her condition and flight status, they hung up so she could get much needed rest. Unbeknownst to the gymnast, Bob wasn’t alone when she had called him.

During the live feed of the competition, Bob was in the lounge watching it unfold. There was a 9 hour difference between California and Germany, so it was the middle of the afternoon when Y/n was set to compete in the beam final. He had hooked up his laptop to the TV to stream the event since he and the other pilots were on lunch break. It probably was a bad idea, confirmed by the confused and amused looks he received from the squad, but Bob never missed Y/n’s meets even if he couldn’t physically attend.

“Since when did you like gymnastics, baby on board?” Hangman snickered. “Did you do it as a kid?”

Bob glared, turning the volume higher when the screen popped up. “My sister does. She’s who got me into it,” it wasn’t a complete lie. Daisy did introduce Bob to the sport, but it was Y/n who made him more invested. With the two combined giving him knowledge, the aviator knew everything there was. “I took her to watch the Olympic team trials in 2016 for her birthday.”

Phoenix gave an impressed look, moving to sit on the couch. “That was very thoughtful. Did you guys get lucky and meet anyone?”

Bob debated saying, but he opened the door by mentioning it so he bit back a grin and nodded. “Yeah we did. We met her favorite gymnast—it was an amazing moment.”

“Who?” Rooster asked, taking a seat on a stool. Right as he did, Y/n appeared on the screen. Now Bob couldn’t hide his smile, nodding to the TV, “her.”

All heads snapped to the screen, followed by shocked looks and some saying, ‘no way.’ ‘You’re lying.’ ‘That’s literally one of the best gymnasts ever.’ ‘I’d go as far as to call her one of the greatest athletes ever—up there with Simone Biles, Micheal Phelps, and Micheal Jordan.’

Coyote whistled under his breath, the screen showing Y/n’s career statistics. “You’re telling us—if we’re hearing you correctly, you met Y/n fucking L/n? Like actually got to speak and see her up close? I gotta see some proof, Floyd.” Sounds of agreement echoed, causing Bob to blush and take out his phone. He hid the screen away so no one could see his lock screen of Y/n and scrolled through his gallery to find the picture. The one with her and Daisy was pulled up first. “That’s her and my sister after running into her on our way out.”

Phoenix, who was sitting next to him, snatches the phone. The others come around her, all with matching expressions. “Yo, that’s fire.” “That’s so cool.” “What about you, Bob?” He tells Nat to swipe right a few times. She does and they see the selfies of Y/n and Daisy before landing on the one of Bob. “Well I’ll be damned.” “Holy shit that’s amazing.” Then Nat gets to the kiss on the cheek. “Okay, Bob!” Payback claps his back, while Hangman says, “I’m a little jealous, Bob. How’d you convince her to do that?”

“I didn’t. She offered.” Jake scoffs, not believing the WSO. Bob takes the phone before Nat could find the photos of him and Y/n when they started dating. Everyone took their seats, having nothing else to do and decided to watch the meet with him.

“Yo she’s amazing,” Nat said in awe. The screen was showing footage from the 2018 World’s and even some of the 2016 Olympics. Nat was familiar with the renowned gymnast, having tuned in to watch the Games whenever they would come on. The pilot had dabbled in the sport in her young age, but grew out of it to pursue other aspirations. She did continue to lightly follow the careers of the gymnasts she admired, and Y/n was one of them.

“She is,” Bob said in a voice Nat couldn’t describe. It was almost like it was loving. When she faced him, she saw the face of a man in love. Watching his behavior, the pilot picked up signs that he was trying to not let certain things show. Like he was hiding something. Immediately Nat was filled with suspicion—which only grew when the title card beneath Y/n’s image read: Y/n L/n—2012 & 2016 Olympic Champion, 2018 Gold Medalist: Balance Beam Age: 23 Hometown: Lemoore, CA, USA

They all gasped when Y/n fell, wincing at her leg twisting in a nasty angle. Bob leaped from his seat, hands in his hair and eyes full of horror. “Oh my God. Shit, shit, shit.” He sat back down, muttering so low Nat could barely make out, “C’mon, Y/n. Get up. Get up, baby.” She had to hold in her own reaction at the pet name directed at one of the best gymnasts in the world. ‘No fucking way I just heard that.’

Together they witnessed the athlete hauled off the mat, pain coating their entire being. It appeared she was saying, “My knee. It’s my knee.” Payback whistled, shaking his head, “That’s not good. She could’ve easily tore her ACL right there. Shit, that’s literally a career ending injury.” He should know, playing football all through high school and college, Ruben was accustomed to seeing it happen regularly.

No one besides Phoenix picked up on the fact Bob was internally losing his mind. Phone in his hand, he looked like he was wanting to make a call, but couldn’t at that moment. Then he kept tapping it to check for messages that were not coming. Nat wanted to ask what was up, but he was in no state to talk.

Soon their break ended and the competition continued. With shaky hands Bob packed up his laptop and hdmi cord. The tv was switched off and the others left the lounge to get ready for afternoon training. Nat stood at the door waiting for him, expecting Bob to be behind her when she heard his frantic voice. “Mike.” Nat turned to find her WSO speaking into his phone, back turned from her. He was speaking in a hushed voice, but the quiet atmosphere carried his voice. “How is she? Where are you guys at?” There was a pause, the person on the opposite end talking. Bob let out a sigh of relief, hand going to the bridge of his nose. “How long will it take before she’s fully healed?……9 months?—but that’ll be May she’s—….….that’s gonna put her out of the trials……fuck,” water lined his eyes. Bob’s heart was breaking for his girlfriend.

Behind him Nat was in a state of disbelief. Everything Bob said confirmed her suspicions.

He was dating Y/n L/n.

“Okay,” he sniffed, “Thanks for telling me, Mike, I really really appreciate it. When do you think she’ll be discharged?…Okay…..Um, just keep me updated and have her call me when she wakes up. I’ll see you soon…okay, bye.” Bob hangs up, placing the phone in his pocket and freezing when he sees he wasn’t alone. His face goes pale, “N-nat. Shit. U-uh how..how much did you hear.”

Her expression is sympathetic. “Enough.” Bob’s shoulders slump at the answer. “I won’t tell anyone,” she promises, tone apologetic, “I can tell no one was supposed to find out. I’m really sorry for not saying something—I was waiting for you and …well I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Distressed, Bob tries to make a joke but it comes out choked, “guess the cat’s out of the bag.” Checking the time he saw they were about to be late, “We better get going. I-I’ll answer any questions you have later, but please Nat don’t say anything. We—,” he was referring to him and Y/n, “we didn’t want me to be associated with her publicly yet because of this job-in case it compromised me. Only our families and her coaches know we’re together.”

“I promise,” Nat gave her word. “Your secret is safe with me, Bob.”

After training, Bob and Nat met up in the same lounge and basically told her his entire love story with Y/n. Nat couldn’t help but feel so happy for her backseater, seeing the love for Y/n radiate off him. The pilot hoped she’d get the chance to meet her one day. When Bob told Nat of Y/n’s condition, the woman became saddened—silently praying Y/n would have a speedy recovery. Just the way Bob explained it was enough for Phoenix to gather Y/n’s dream of the Tokyo Olympics were over.

It was during their conversation Y/n finally called Bob, the WSO rushing to answer it. Nat stayed silent, waiting patiently though she did raise her brows when he suggested leaving Fightertown. Whatever Y/n was saying must’ve talked some sense into him. After he hung up Nat asked, “Why didn’t you tell her that I know—.”

“I’ll tell her when she gets here,” Bob gently cut her off. “She sounded exhausted and I can tell she’s heartbroken.” His head dropped slightly. “This was her last shot at making the All-Around next year if she qualified. It’s everything to her, Nat—and her injury is gonna put her out of the VISA championships and then it'll be too close for her to even rehabilitate it in time for the trials.” Bob felt his eyes water, a tear threatening to escape. It was a loss for him. Together he shared Y/n’s dreams and aspirations. All he wanted was for them to come true after she’s dedicated years of her life for one moment. It hurt him to know it wouldn’t happen.

“I don’t want to upset her any further than she already is,” he said after a moment. “Wednesday night she’ll land at SAN with her coaches, and I’ll explain to her then—she and I had already discussed introducing each other to our friends, wanting to wait after I finished here, so I’m sure she’s not going to be mad just…surprised.”

Wednesday night Bob raced to the address Y/n sent him. It was a duplex beach house Airbnb so her coaches settled on one side and Y/n on the other. On crutches, Bob was careful when he took her into his arms. After several minutes of consoling Y/n, both grieving the loss of the Tokyo Games, Bob told the gymnast about Nat.

She wasn’t upset, in fact she felt a light weight off her shoulder. It felt nice to have someone other than their families knowing——like they weren’t harboring a dirty secret. Then when the two met the next day, Y/n was instantly drawn to the aviator. They talked for hours, with Nat offering condolences to the gymnast. It was an instant click for the Olympian and pilot, both bonding over dedicating years of their life to their dreams and making them happen. Not to mention Nat was a gymnast at one point so they talked about the sport a bit with Y/n answering questions the woman had.

Y/n didn’t meet the rest of the detachment until after Bob returned from the Uranium mission. When he got picked it was a tearful goodbye the night before he was set to leave. Bob couldn’t go into much detail, but he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it either. He was honest about the seriousness of the mission, which had the Olympian scared to death.

“Promise you’ll come back to me,” she sniffed, head laid on Bob’s chest as they laid on the bed. He was cradling her, running fingers through her hair in comfort. Pressing a kiss to her forehead he whispered, “I promise, baby. I’ll be back before you know it. And together we will get through this—I’ll be there every step of the way,” before kissing her lips.

Neither no longer cared about hiding the relationship when Bob called her days later to say the mission was a success. Y/n was at the docks when the ship returned, on crutches and limping to him as she spotted him.

“Guys…..” Fanboy trailed off, catching the attention of his fellow pilots. “Did I go into G-Loc, or am I right when I say I see Bob kissing that gymnast we were watching with him the other week?” Everyone minus Phoenix jaws dropped.

“What the fuck?” “So he just casually decided to leave out that day Y/n L/n is his girlfriend?” “What a guy—my man pulled an Olympian.”

Hangman let out a whistle, “Whatever game Baby on board has I want some of it.”

The next year and a half was a nutshell. The dagger squad became a little family with Y/n calling them some of her best friends. They were her cheerleaders during her recovery, motivating her to get back into training—for months she was unsure if it was worth it.

It was an emotional moment when she finally did decide. It was March 2020, the world was in a crisis. And it was likely to be announced that the Olympic Games would not take place that year. Instead, they would commence in 2021, giving Y/n a whole year to prepare. There were still stories being written about her—commentators counting down the days she would announce her retirement. Opinions of her supporters were mixed, some hoping she’d come back while others didn’t believe Y/n had it in her to go for a third Olympic team. Every comment, every opinion, every expectation, was starting to take a toll on the gymnast. The confidence was slipping.

Bob had cupped her face in his hands, tears streaming down her cheeks as he said with absolute love in his voice, “Look at me. You are the most dedicated, hardworking, driven and inspiring person I’ve ever met. Screw what everyone is saying—You are one of the greatest gymnasts to exist. The best there ever is on the uneven bars. Baby you’ve made history. And anything you set your mind to can be done. You did in 2016, when everyone thought it wasn’t possible, and you can do it again, Y/n. You can make this team. You can get to the All-Around. You can get the gold. I believe in you, your supporters believe in you, your parents, your coaches. We all believe you can do it. You have to believe in yourself, Y/n. Tokyo is in your grasp, you just have to take it.”

Everyday during lockdown Y/n was in the gym with only her coaches and sometimes Bob. Classes & training for gymnasts were put on hiatus until the end of summer. From 6am to 11am and 1pm to sometimes 9pm Y/n was nonstop running routines and conditioning until the sweat dripped from her forehead and her body ached. At least once a week she’d end practice just crying to feel a release of stress. Her ACL was healed, her personal trainer focusing on getting the muscle back into competitive ability. They were taking it day by day. The last thing they needed was to be back at square one.

Some days were hard. Those were the ones that had Y/n questioning everything. But with Bob and her support system by her side, Y/n was determined. It was a long and harsh battle with many obstacles, but it was all worth it when Y/n’s was one of fifteen gymnasts competing at the U.S Olympic Team Trials in June 2021. One year after a global pandemic shut down the world and pushed back the world’s sporting greatest stage, Y/n was back again at the place that started it all. The only difference now was she was older, a highly decorated athlete…..and a married woman.

Bob had popped the question on their three-year anniversary, the two officially tying the knot at the beginning of 2021 before a small group of close friends and family. Coming into the trials, her name on the roster and title card for commentators now read Y/n L/n-Floyd, but most people still referred to her as just Y/n L/n. Her ring was often tucked away in her bag or worn around Bob’s neck whenever she competed. It sucked to not wear it, but the only jewelry allowed in competition were simple stud earrings.

He wasn’t alone in the stands. With him were not only Y/n’s parents and coach Mary Taylor, but his parents, Daisy, and the dagger squad. It was quite the sight when Y/n was performing. They were the loudest in their section, sitting between the bars and floor to get a good view of the whole arena. What made it more amusing, was the cameraman loved to capture their reactions.

“Y/n L/n, the ‘Queen of the Uneven Bars’—or should I say Y/n L/n-Floyd now, the two-time Olympian got married to her longtime boyfriend, naval aviator, Lieutenant Robert Floyd this past January—is set to go on bars in the second rotation of today’s trials. It’s a full circle moment for husband and wife. The two met five years ago at the 2016 U.S team trials for the Rio de Janeiro Games. Then nearly one year later they ran into each other in her hometown of Lemoore. Lemoore is the home of Naval Air Station Lemoore where Robert became stationed at, and the two hit it off. They kept the relationship hidden for a year but Robert’s identity was discreet until roughly the beginning of 2020 when they officially went public.”

“It’s so surreal to think we’ve pretty much watched Y/n grow up. She was 14 when we first met her in 2010 on the junior national team, going on to become a two-time Olympian with the most gold medals of any American gymnast. Now she’s a grown woman and married—the trials have been the sight of big milestones for the athlete. She met her future husband here and accomplished a lifelong dream twice. This past January the two got married, and Y/n has said her husband has been her #1 motivator on her journey back into gymnastics after the injury that could have very well been career ending……oh! It looks like Y/n’s got the green light from the judge, and we’re gonna switch our coverage now to a split screen—we got a mic on Robert Floyd, let’s hear how he reacts to this routine.” For anyone watching at home, their screen showed Y/n saluting the judge on one side, and Bob rubbing his hands on the other.

He sat between Nat and Rooster, his and Y/n’s families right behind them. Fanboy, Payback, Hangman, and Coyote were placed beside Nat and Rooster, leaving Bob directly in the middle of their entire group. They all cheered when the announcer introduced the gymnast—the crowd around them louder than ever, “On the uneven bars, from Taylor’s Elite Gymnastics in Lemoore, California, Y/n L/n!” All were on the edge of their seats as Y/n began the routine. With a microphone attached to his shirt, viewers of the live feed got to hear them up close and personal. Especially Bob.

“C’mon, Y/n. C’mon. Nice….steady now, don’t rush it…..good good,” Bob held his breath on her big release combo, practically leaning into Rooster. “Yeah! Okay now hit those handstands…..perfect. C’mon, Y/n, you got this. Don’t think just do,” he clapped his hands, now leaning more toward Nat. “You own this dismount, Y/n, show ‘em how it’s done. Let’s go. Stick it—stick it!” Rooster held his shoulder, Bob doing the same to him, both hovering over their seats. When Y/n stuck the landing they all launched up, “YEAHHHH!!!!”

It was absolutely dreamlike when at the end of day two, Y/n’s name was called among the three other gymnasts selected to represent Team USA at the Tokyo Olympics. Never had she reacted the way she did at previous trials. A scream had actually escaped her, “OH MY GOD!”

Mike rushed to embrace her and the two jumped up and down while crying. At the end of her floor routine, Y/n was standing at #3 in the ranks… but unlike in the 90s where whoever took the top positions in the standings were the ones selected, only the top gymnast overall was automatically part of the team. The other spots would be determined by several members of the board. One could be in the top five, but not be selected because someone was stronger in certain apparatus that they were confident would bring a medal. It was how Y/n made it to London. She was ranked #6 out of 15 when the London team trials had finished. Her vaults and floor were weak but it was the fact she was a world champion on bars with very valued bars and beam routines that had the selection committee choose her.

Now 9 years later, Yn had the most difficult bars routine in the whole damn world, a high valued beam routine and even a high valued, very difficult, vault named after her. But her floor was still weak, with a start value of 4.9. If she were to mess up on all the other events horribly, one mistake on floor would cost her medal contention. Her fate was up to the committee once again.

The entire section with her friends and family exploded when the team selections were announced by none other than USA gymnastics hall of famer and member of the 1996 Magnificent Seven, Shannon Miller. Bob jumped from his seat, as did the squad with Y/n’s mother collapsing into her fathers arms. Mary was in hysterics, Daisy screaming at the top of her lungs, and the dagger squad just going crazy. As Y/n ran up the stairs onto the floor to wave to the crowd, the guys were whistling and hollering, meanwhile Bob and Nat were wiping away tears. Bob was an actual mess, not caring to show his emotion. He was absolutely over the moon.

Y/n was going to Tokyo.

“Well there you have it folks. Your Tokyo Olympics women’s U.S gymnastics team. A combination of new and old faces: Jordan Chiles and Sunisa Lee making their Olympic debut, with veterans Simone Biles and Y/n L/n returning to the stage again. The defending All-Around champion aiming to make history as the first American to win the title in back-to-back Games, and the first gymnast since Dominique Dawes to qualify for a third consecutive Olympic team. An exciting Games is ahead of us. Simone Biles, the greatest of all time, looking to repeat her Rio glory. And Y/n L/n, the queen of the uneven bars, could very well become the first gymnast in history to win the gold three times in a row in the individual event finals.

After the celebration, Y/n ran past security to climb up the railing where her loved ones were seated. Bob took the bouquet of flowers she was holding, passing it to Nat before hauling Y/n over the railing. Everyone around her cheered, whistled and beamed at the sight of husband and wife.

“You did it,” Bob praised, tone filled with emotion. The gymnast was crying into his neck. “I knew you could do it, Y/n. I’m so fucking proud of you—you were incredible, darlin’. Beyond incredible.”

Unfortunately, unlike the trials Bob and the team plus their families would not be able to travel with Y/n to Tokyo. Strict regulations were in place for the Games, with only coaches and athletes permitted to attend. No spectators would be allowed in arenas except for the media, volunteers, and medics. Bob kissed Y/n passionately when he dropped her off at the airport.

“I wish you could come with me,” she mumbled with teary eyes, Bob caressing her cheek with his thumb. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, baby,” he told her, kissing her forehead. “I hate that I can’t be there with you. But remember, I’m gonna be cheering you on from here every second you’re on that mat and even after you’ve stepped off. I’ll be up every morning to watch it live—yes I know that’ll be three in the morning but I don’t care. I’m watching every minute. Before you know it, that gold medal will be in your hands and you’ll be coming home an Olympic champion.”

Y/n nuzzled her face in Bob’s neck, tightening her arms around him. They remained that way until she had to check into TSA. It was a tearful goodbye, the two kissing one last time saying, “I love you,” and Y/n promising to call him when she lands. He watched her go, blowing a kiss to her when she got to the end of the line and was out of his sight. Bob would’ve left the airport, but Phoenix and Rooster would be landing within the next hour so he ended up waiting for them. Payback, Fanboy, Hangman and Coyote would be coming in either that night or the next morning. Maverick was even planning to travel to Lemoore, driving up from San Diego Friday night to make it time for opening ceremonies.

Like previous Games Y/n and the gymnasts were not at the opening ceremonies. Unfortunately it was always like that because gymnastics took place the first week of the Olympics with podium training in the days leading up to the opening ceremonies. The night after the celebration of the Games beginning were qualifications and therefore the gymnasts were in bed early to get a good night's rest before competition. It saddened Y/n a bit to be missing her last opening ceremonies, but she looked forward to the closing in two weeks—there was already talk she would be chosen as the USA’s closing flag bearer.

When comparing her nerves coming into qualifications, Y/n would rank it higher than in London and Rio combined. This was it. This was the moment she had been working her ass off the last year for. When everyone thought she would be retired, here she was. Back on the Olympic stage for one last shot at making the All-Around finals.

She could not mess up, not again. Four years and the floor routine still haunted her. It was her weakest event. She needed to hit every skill, stay in bounds, and remain focused.

But she also had a job to do, and that was to do her part on the team and get them to the final. She was captain. The other girls looked to her for advice and support as it was difficult without friends and family in the arena. Only Mike Taylor, Y/n’s lifelong coach, was with them during the qualifications and would be for the finals. During the event finals, for whoever qualified, they would have their personal coach with them. Mental health was a big priority in these Games, and Y/n made it her mission to have a one-on-one with everyone before each competition. This was a sport where one had to be at their best mental state. If not, it could lead to mistakes and injuries—-they’d been so many gymnasts over the decades who got career ending injuries, became paralyzed, and even died because they were not mentally or physically in shape. She be damned if she allowed one of her girls to get on the mat when she knows something was wrong.

As the #1 team in the world coming in after the 2019 World Championships, USA was to start their Olympics once again on the vault. Every Olympic Games was different in some way. In London and Rio the teams were a five-woman squad, but in Tokyo they were four. The Code of Points had changed again following Rio, an example was the Amânar now held a start value of 5.8. Back when Y/n was in London, it was 6.5 before dropping to 6.3 in Rio.

The triple twisting Yurchenko, named the L/n, held a start value of 6.4 along with the Produnova. Y/n was the only one attempting her own vault in the qualifications, but it was decided she would do the Amânar in the final. It was the safer option.

It was an odd feeling saluting the judge without the full audience of spectators. The only sounds that could be heard were the other girls cheering from the side. Like every routine she did her ritual: two licks to each thumb, a single clap and a deep breath. Y/n didn’t think as she hauled ass down the runway, just let her body do the work. Trusting it wouldn’t let her down.

That was all she thought of the entire competition. Trusting her body that put blood, sweat, and tears for one moment in time. She knew Bob and their families were watching from home, motivating her even more to not let them down. Picturing them in the stands pushed her to give it her all each rotation.

And if fucking paid off.

When her eyes landed on the board following the end of rotation four, Y/n spun around, eyes shutting as she screamed before sinking to her knees. Mike shouted in excitement, literally running down the side and pumping his fist in the air. The cameraman chased after him, before closing in on Y/n as she cried into her hands. Qualifications were done, the results were in.

Y/n was through to the Women's All-Around Final. Her name was beside the #2 ranking beneath Simone.

“Wow, wow, wow. Redemption has been earned for Y/n L/n of the United States. Look at that reaction, the gold medalist is on the ground—overcome with emotion no doubt. Two years ago her dreams of these Games were nearly shattered when she tore her ACL at the 2019 World Championships. It would’ve put her out of the trials, but the Covid-19 pandemic pushed the Olympics back one year giving the athlete time to fully recover and train for this moment right here. She must be over the moon—her teammates are coming around to congratulate her and Simone Biles. Coach Mike Taylor is absolute joy— *chuckles*—I think he’s even more excited than Y/n honestly. Four years ago Y/n was the #3 overall ranking in the All-Around qualifications, but due to the two-per-country rule she was pushed out of contention —Aly Raisman going on to take the silver medal next to Simone Biles. Not here in Tokyo.”

“Unfortunately for Suni Lee and Jade Carey they will not get the chance at All-Around gold despite being in the top 10 overall—as the two-per-country rule we know pushes them out. Their Tokyo Games will not be over, however, Lee has qualified for the individual beam and bars final, Carey on the floor exercise. Along with the All-Around, Simone Biles has qualified for individual beam, floor, and vault. And it’s uneven bars again for Y/n L/n. Unfortunately she will not get the chance at a third gold for the balance beam, but I feel she’s okay with that. For the first time the three-time Olympian, four-time World All-Around silver medalist will get to compete Thursday night in the Olympic All-Around event for women’s artistic gymnastics. And Simone Biles will be going for the gold once again.”

Back home in Lemoore the scene was insane. It was pushing 3 am, the sun not even out yet, but the friends, families, and former teammates of Y/n had gathered in Taylor’s Elite Gymnastics to watch the live coverage of Team USA’s qualification round. Y/n’s dad was kind enough to bring his 70 inch flat screen TV to hook up right next to the floor. There was a coffee bar set out, some breakfast food and tucked away were bottles of champagne for if celebrations were in order. It was mostly adults watching the qualifications, save for Bob’s sister Daisy, however it was expected for the final competitions that residents and their children would come out to watch the coverage.

When the competition ended the screen was focused on Y/n the moment it captured her reaction. Everyone was at first worried but then the title card appeared: #2– L/N-FLOYD, Y/n (USA) Overall Total: 57.491

Everyone went wild, Bob nearly falling from his chair while the guys all jumped up and down, “LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO!!!” “SHE DID IT!!” “OH MY GOD!!” Y/n’s mom and coach Mary collapsed in each other’s arms while her dad celebrated with Bob and his dad. Daisy was crying, overwhelmed with happiness for her sister-in-law and idol. Y/n’s former teammates from her years on the national team were also in tears. Her sweet husband Bob had his face in his hands, consumed with emotion while his friends all patted his back and celebrated around him. The love of his life had fulfilled her dream. She was going to the All-Around competition for the first time in her final Olympic Games.

But before that could happen they had the team final. Team USA were #2 coming into the competition, just short of the ROC by a couple points after a few errors during the qualifications. Three gymnasts of the four would compete, all three scores counting to the overall. Just like in Rio the captain kicked off the USA on vault, bringing in a score of 14.328 after taking a big hop on the landing. Jordan came through with their highest at 14.666, and then Simone had a huge error when she not only squated, but went forward in a huge step, receiving a 13.766. Her expression was enough for Y/n and the team to see she was not doing good, the captain and coach bringing her over for a one-on-one talk while they waited for the first rotation to end.

In the end, Simone made the wise decision to withdraw from the competition. Safety and her mental well being were the priority. After errors in the qualifications it was the concern of everyone how she was and they were grateful nothing disastrous had taken place. Performing when you're not at your best was dangerous, it was the right decision for Simone to pull out to prevent from hurting herself.

The team all supported the Olympian, giving hugs and promises to get the job done on her behalf. They were going to bring their A-game these last three rotations and hopefully bring a medal regardless of the color.

It was a silver lining moment for Team USA. After a good run on bars Y/n nearly fell off the beam—catching herself in an amazing save without touching the apparatus but enough to throw her off the rest of the routine. It was the lowest score she’d ever received on beam in an Olympics at 14.096 from a start value of 6.1. Then on floor Jordan stepped out of bounds and fell on her third pass resulting in a 11.700. Their total overall was 166.096, the ROC at 169.528.

Despite what commentators were saying, Y/n was not totally heartbroken by the loss. Of course she was for Jordan and Suni not being able to call themselves gold medalists, but she was so proud of them. They had a huge weight on their shoulders by having to do more than what they expected. Jordan competed in every event and Suni had to do floor when she planned only for bars and beam. They’d given it their all and still brought the pressure, making the USA the #2 team in the world. A damn huge accomplishment.

It was a bittersweet moment on the podium. Y/n was now the first American gymnast since Dominique Dawes to medal in three consecutive Olympics. It was odd having to medal themselves due to covid regulations, whereas they would’ve been presented and medaled by members of the IOC and President of the International Gymnastics Committee. They took pictures with the gold and bronze teams before post-podium ceremony interviews. Y/n was pulled over by a reporter she’d recognized since the London Games, a barrier separating them, “Hi! Oh my goodness it’s you again!”

The reporter was just as excited, “Hello, Y/n! Lovely to see you again in these Olympic Games—your third and final, gosh I already know it’s going to be a sad loss to the sport when this competition concludes.” Y/n has to place a hand on her chest to keep it together, heart slightly breaking. “You’ve now added a silver medal to your Olympic collection and you got two more events ahead of you—including the All-Around competition. What’s going through your mind right now?”

Y/n let’s out a shaky breath under her mask, “Well, it’s definitely hard to put into words. I’m so proud of the girls tonight—they gave it their best with what was handed to them. I’m so proud of Simone especially, taking a step back is a very hard thing to do when you got a gold medal on the line for a team competition, but one has to do what is best for them—and I’m so happy she did put herself first. This is a sport where it’s dangerous to not be at your best mental state. She’s got my full support on whatever she plans to do regarding the other events she’s qualified for, and I hope people watching at home can respect her decision as well.” The athlete pauses before commenting on the All-Around.

“The All-Around…..I’m just beyond words. This was something I have spent my entire career training for. London I didn’t even do the qualifications for it and then missed out by a small margin in Rio, so this is a really big accomplishment for me. I really thought this would never happen after the 2019 World Championships—I really was on the verge of retiring in 2020. It’s crazy to think that had these Games taken place when they should have, I would not be standing in front of you,” Y/n smiled beneath her mask, eyes crinkling, “My family and friends pretty much are the ones responsible for getting me here. My husband, Bob, has been my rock—pushing me to get out in the gym, knowing how much this moment would mean to me. My parents and coaches have been there since the beginning—I owe this all to them. I’m….I’m just so excited and honored to have this opportunity. It’s been a long and hard couple years so the fact it paid off is amazing.”

The reporter beams, “Well all your supporters feel the same and we will be cheering you on Thursday night as well as Sunday when you make your final Olympic appearance for the uneven bars final. Congratulations to you and the girls on winning the silver, and we’ll see you back here in the arena Thursday night.”

That night Y/n had a quick phone call with Bob, the aviator gushing to his wife of how proud he was of her. God how she wished he could be there with her. Cheering from the stands before hitting the streets of Tokyo to explore. Celebrating the win of the team silver medal and her All-Around qualification. Bob wished it too, but unfortunately a global virus had to ruin their experience. Still, Bob made his love and admiration for Y/n known and told her he’d be up at the ass crack of dawn to watch the All-Around live with their entire squad.

Thursday July 29th, 2021–Tokyo, Japan, 8:45 pm — 6:45 EST/ 3:45 am PST

Women’s Artistic Gymnastics All-Around Final

Rotation One: Vault

“Good morning folks at home, welcome back to our live coverage of the Women’s All-Around final in artistic gymnastics. We took a short break and now we’re wrapping up the warm up for rotation one. Americans Y/n L/n and Suni Lee, the #1 and 3 qualifiers after Simone Biles withdrew from the competition, are starting off their competition on the vault.” A thumbs up from Mike and Y/n was speeding down the runway for her final warmup. She did two twists purposefully catapulting backward to stop the momentum before landing and walking off the mat.

“I’ll tell ya, Andrea, we got quite the final ahead of us. Simone Biles, the reigning Olympic Champion in this event officially withdrew this morning, allowing Suni Lee to take her place. I know we’ve mentioned it several times already but this is the moment veteran Y/n L/n has waited for. She almost didn’t make it to these Games after an injury during the beam final at the World championships in 2019. Now she’ll be the last gymnast to go in the rotation, planning to perform the skill named after her—a triple twisting Yurchenko. Since unveiling it in 2015, Y/n has only ever performed it a handful of times—in team competitions she’s usually doing the popular Amânar. With this vault she does tend to take a hop on the landing, but pulls out a big score and that’s something she’s gonna want to get a good lead ahead of everyone else.”

The warm up ended and Y/n took a seat beside her bag doing what she normally did, keeping her eyes away from her competitors. She did cheer on Suni, and then it was her turn to go. Mike patted her shoulder, pep talk brief and Y/n was on the mat saluting the judge. Her heart was pumping, but she took a deep breath after her pre-routine ritual and sped down the runway. Next thing she knew she was spinning in the air, landing with her arms raised and muttering a ‘holy shit’.

“It’s now time for American Y/n L/n. 2015 World Champion in the vault and you’re about to see why. The fan favorite to win tonight—it’s been a long journey to get to this moment. She’s got the green light…..here we go—big, big vault—named after her and gave her a World title in 2015—triple twisting Yurchenko called the L/n……..AND SHE STICKS IT! Holy mackerel that was amazing!! Wonderful start for Y/n L/n—that is going to be a big score. Her chest was low which will be a slight deduction but wow that landing.”

What a landing indeed. Y/n was grinning wide, completely blown away she stuck the vault for the first time ever. Back home the entire gym was on their feet, the cheers becoming louder when the score came back a 15.902. That score alone would likely be the highest for vault in the whole competition, putting Y/n at a great lead at the end of rotation one. NBC had sent a news crew to attend the watch party, hoping to catch the reactions of Y/n’s friends and family during the duration of the meet.

Rotation Two: Uneven Bars

“Coming into the second rotation of this All-Around final, American Y/n L/n is at the top of the leaderboard with Brazil’s Rebeca Andrade not too far behind. Suni Lee is sitting in fourth, but that could very well change at the end of this event; the uneven bars.”

With a start value of 7.5, Y/n’s routine was the most difficult of any other gymnast. The Code of Points had changed the values of a lot of skills after Rio, just like it did with London, but Y/n still made sure to have the highest valued bar routine. This was her event. The one that brought her seven consecutive World titles, two Olympic gold medals, and named her the ‘Queen of the Uneven Bars.’ Even with a fall she could very well medal.

Placed in the middle of the lineup, Y/n waited roughly 15 minutes after warm up had ended to get on the mat. Saluting the judge she got straight to the routine, doing her ritual of course. It was a long routine but it seemed to go quickly. Y/n, however, was shaky and didn’t hit the handstands as great and slightly stumbled backward on the landing of her J-valued dismount. Each little step would be deductions, but at least she didn’t fall on her ass.

“16.200 for Y/n L/n. Not her best routine on the bars with that high of a start value—she didn’t hit the handstands like she usually did, but still a big score thanks to that start value of 7.5. She stumbled quite a bit on that landing, which no one can really blame her for. It's a very hard dismount—the one she created and got named after herself at the Games in Rio. She’ll likely still be in the lead following this the end of the rotation, but let’s not get too ahead of ourselves there’s still the beam and floor.”

Y/n was really feeling the pressure, slightly disappointed with her bars routine. It wasn’t her best at all, her qualification score higher than what she had just received. But the gymnast couldn’t let her head start doubting her now. Two events were left and one of them was her weakest, the other her second strongest.

Rotation Three: Balance Beam

With a start value of 6.1, Y/n and Suni both held the highest valued beam routines in the competition. The apparatus that Y/n had two Olympic gold medals and two World titles to had been given her trouble in Tokyo. She didn’t qualify for the beam final, stumbling on her landing and missing a turn which lessened her start value. Then in the team final she nearly lost footing and fell off, catching herself without touching the beam. Flashbacks to the 2019 World’s had flashed through her mind. It scared her shitless at the possibility of retearing her ACL. Which is probably what spooked Y/n and made her stumble.

Something in Y/n’s gut told her it was going to be the same here. Anxiety was starting to rise, the gymnast battling her inner thought to focus.

“As you can see Y/n L/n is deep in her thoughts, waiting for her turn on balance beam. I wouldn’t be surprised if she's thinking about Tuesday night’s team final or the 2019 World championships. This is the event that nearly ended her career, despite it being one of her strongest apparatuses—two Olympic and two Worlds gold medals for the gymnast in the past decade.”

Unfortunately, Y/n’s intuition was right and beam was a disaster. Not only did she take a fall, but her hand touched the apparatus as well. Both worth a whole point in deductions. The whole reason she touched it was to prevent the same thing from 2019 happening, not doing so would have likely destroyed her knee. Y/n tightened her lips, not showing a reaction and simply got back up.

Her heart was pounding, but she only had a few more jumps, a spin, and a back tuck before dismounting. When she did dismount another big deduction would come at the hop and step to catch herself. Now that her routine was over the gymnast couldn’t do anything besides exhale and let it go to prep for floor. Mike embraced her, mumbling words of encouragement and patting Y/n on the back. She didn’t look at the scoreboard and ignored the clicking of the photographers as she downed a water bottle. Suni came over and gave her a hug, Y/n smiling at wishing her luck on her routine.

“Gosh that was not good for Y/n L/n. Major deductions are to be expected from that routine. You know she had been having trouble on the balance beam the entire Games—even in podium training she wasn’t as sharp as she normally was. I can’t imagine what was running through her mind. It looked like it was the same skill that nearly ended her career two years ago, and she was trying to prevent her leg from twisting into the mat upon landing and that’s why she let her hands hit the beam to catch herself. Such an unfortunate mistake for the three-time Olympian…..and oof 12.331. That’s the lowest score I’ve ever seen from Y/n—not counting the 2019 Worlds.”

“Not sure if that’s gonna keep her lead at the end of this rotation, Allen. She had an amazing start on vault, did great on the bars, but the floor is her weakest. Her start value is the lowest compared to the other gymnasts at a 4.9–there’s no room for error going further in this event. Had Y/n pulled out a big score here on beam, the gold medal would’ve been hers without a doubt. Now we really have a competition going into the final rotation.”

It felt like the world had stopped for Bob when his wife fell off the beam. The feelings he had from 2019 resurfaced, literally making his hands shake. A sigh of relief escaped him when Y/n immediately got back up and finished the routine, but he could tell in her expression she was shaken. The gymnast was doing her best to not let it show how it was affecting her, but Bob knew her better than that.

“Goddamn, that was close,” Coyote shook his head, remembering the first time he watched Y/n on the beam. It was like deja vu. “What a hell of a save.”

“I think I almost shit my pants just now,” Rooster commented, causing Nat to give him a, ‘wtf,’ look, but then Bob voiced the same and she had to hold back from rolling her eyes—although deep down she nearly had a heart attack.

When the score came back a lot of people made sounds of distress. Bob was seen scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, pressing numbers on his phone calculator. After a moment he rubbed a hand over his face, “her total so far is 44.433.”

“How much does she need to win?” Fanboy asked him.

“We won’t know until everyone else has gone. Suni’s got a start value of 5.6 on floor, the Brazilian gymnast a 5.9. Y/n’s is low at 4.9. She can’t make a single mistake otherwise she could likely get out of medal contention.”

Rotation Four: Floor Exercise

The nerves were starting to become nauseating. As the #1 qualifier coming into the All-Around after Simone’s withdrawal, Y/n would be the final gymnast to compete. Floor exercise. The final event and Y/n’s weakest for as long as she could remember. She was a powerful tumbler, but had trouble controlling the power and often would fall, step out of bounds, or take big hops on landings.

“It is the final rotation in the Women’s All-Around Final at the Tokyo Olympic Games. The Americans, Suni Lee and Y/n L/n will be ending the competition on floor exercise. Boy it’s going to be interesting folks, after the third rotation on the balance beam Y/n is now in second position behind Brazil’s Rebeca Andrade and Suni Lee in third. Anything can happen now.”

It was a long wait.

The last of eight gymnasts to compete, Y/n paced on the floor back and forth to pass time and fight the battle in her head. She didn’t want to know her standings nor did she want to know how much she needed to win. When it came to be her turn, Y/n would go out there, perform the best she could, and wait for the judges to decide her fate. Even when there was a light gasp from the few spectators in the crowd when Rebeca Andrade was up, Y/n didn’t turn around.

Part of her wondered what Bob and their friends were thinking. They’d know what she needed before she did. All she could do was pray and trust her body to get the job done. Like she always did.

“Fuck,” Bob cursed, surprising many of his colleagues. His eyes were on the pencil scribbled numbers he had just written down on the notepad. “She needs higher than a 13 to win.” After Brazil’s Rebeca Andrade, the standings were as followed:

Suni Lee at #1 with an overall total of 57.433

Rebeca Andrade at #2 with an overall total of 57.298

And Angelina Melkinova of the ROC at #3 with an overall total of 57.199.

Regardless of the score Y/n pulls out, Suni and Rebeca were guaranteed a spot on the podium. What color? That was about to be determined.

“There was a slight delay in scoring for floor, vault had already completed their rotation, bars and beam finished up just a moment ago. Everyone’s focused on the gymnast about to do the last floor routine of her gymnastics career. All eyes on Y/n L/n.” With the camera panned on Y/n, the title card read: Needs at least a 13.001 to take the gold. The entire gym held their breath when the at the sound of a beep, signaling the beginning of her floor music.

Moment of truth for the three-time Olympic gymnast. It would all come down to the 90 seconds ahead of her.

For her last Olympic Games, Y/n wanted to go out with an emotional goodbye when it came to her floor music. When she found the music piece on YouTube, it brought to tears and Y/n thought ‘it’s perfect’. Crying at the end of her routine was expected. It was only fitting to do so knowing it would be the last time she stepped on the floor.

Y/n thought back to that memory of her sitting in front of the tv in 2004. A little girl with a dream.

‘Don’t think,’ Bob’s voice sounded in her mind, ‘just do.’

The music started and Y/n did what she did best. She trusted herself.

Memories of her career flashed before her with every spin, every pirouette, every tumble pass. The first mommy and me class when she was 5 years old. Her first time balancing on the beam, the first time she pulled herself up on the bar. Dancing to each corner, Y/n could remember the excitement each time she stepped on the mat. How nervous she was at her first meet. Happiness at winning her first junior national title.

Making the junior national team at 14.

Making the senior international team at 15.

Competing at her first World Championships. Winning the gold on the bars. Her first of seven.

Making the London Olympic team at 16. Being part of the gold medal winning team. Becoming the Olympic Champion of the bars and beam.

Becoming World Champion of the beam at 17. Claiming the World All-Around silver at 18 & 19. Becoming World Champion of the vault and having the triple twisting Yurchenko named after her at 19.

Making the Rio de Janeiro team at 20. Meeting the man who would become her husband at the trials.

Winning the team gold for a second consecutive time. Making history as the first American woman to win back-to-back individual gold on the bars and beam.

Reclaiming the World beam gold at 21 and the World All-Around Silver at 21 & 23. Becoming a seven-time World champion of the uneven bars at 23.

Came close to retiring after a near career-ending injury at 23. Made a comeback at 25 and qualified for her third consecutive Olympic Games.

Reuniting with Bob at 21. Falling in love with him at 22. Marrying him at 24 to become his life partner.

Qualifying for the All-Around final in her last Olympic Games.

Y/n L/n would go down in history regardless of the outcome of this floor routine. So what better way than to finish the last All-Around competition of her life by having fun. Even if she didn’t make the podium, it would be okay.

She did the impossible when not many thought she could.

When the music ended and Y/n exhaled, she felt the lone tear slip from her eye. The sight in front her was every athlete, coach, and spectator on their feet clapping for her. Even some of the floor judges gave nods of respect when she saluted, in the distance the judges from the beam clapped with soft smiles. And when Y/n looked to the floor below, she spotted some of her competitors, including Suni, wiping away tears.

“And so Y/n L/n takes her final bow on the floor. The last time we will ever see her in an All-Around competition—what a beautiful way to go out. It’s hard to say if it will be enough for the gold. But regardless, the 25-year-old from Lemoore, California has embedded her legacy in Tokyo as one of the greatest gymnasts in the history of the sport.”

Coming down from the mat, Y/n waved to the small group of spectators including Team USA who were still whistling and cheering before she was met with the open embrace of her coach since childhood, Mike Taylor. His eyes were rimmed, indicating he’d been crying causing Y/n’s lip to quiver. “That was the most beautiful floor routine you’ve ever done, my little powerhouse. Beautiful.” Suni came over, Y/n immediately going to hug her as they waited for the score to come. The veteran gymnast told Suni how proud she was of her, letting her know it was an honor to compete alongside and against her. They’d known each other since Suni’s debut on the national team, and Y/n had immense respect for her as an athlete.

Several other gymnasts and their coaches came over to offer kind words. Many of them had been watching Y/n on the international level since 2011 before they had come onto the stage.

It was a bittersweet scene. Not only in the Tokyo dome, but also in Lemoore. There was not a dry eye in sight when Y/n landed her final tumbling pass. Several people, including Nat, Daisy, Y/n’s parents and former teammates and Bob were pretty much sobbing. There was a camera crew from NBC there to capture their reactions—no doubt going to have it shown on live tv when the competition ended.

No one could predict what would happen next.

The camera had paned to Y/n and Suni talking after several of the other competitors had exchanged words with the gymnast. A moment later a woman, one of the floor judges, was rushing up to them.

“Turn it up!” Payback yelled and the person closest to the TV increased the volume. They all watched as the woman pulled the two athletes and their coaches away from the group, cameraman getting close to hear the details.

“It appears one floor judges has some news for both Americans, let’s listen in to see what’s happening,” the commentator's voice was just as confused.

“We wanted to let you both know before the score goes up,” she spoke with an accent, likely Greek or Italian they weren’t exactly sure. “But the score for Mrs. L/n-Floyd looks to be a flat 13.000.” Bob snapped his gaze to the notebook, where the number 13.000 would result in a tie.

Y/n’s expression indicated she realized it too. A shaky hand came up to her chin, eyes in disbelief though she was beginning to grin, “Are you saying we get to share the gold?” Suni’s hands clapped her mouth as she gasped, flicking her attention to Y/n and the judge. Behind them their coaches looked so stressed they were about to become bald.

“Oh my god,” Bob lifted from his chair the same time the commentator said, “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. We could be looking at history right here.”

The judge gave a slight nod, saying, “If you two have no problem with it—,” both gymnasts were nodding, tears in their eyes threatening to escape. “We want to remain fair as you know.”

“Of course,” Y/n looked at Suni, who mirrored her expression. “History, Suni. We’re Olympic Champions.” The gymnast catapulted in Y/n’s arms the two screaming in delight while their coaches did the same next to them. The judge smiled at the scene, moving to relay the news to the rest as Suni and Y/n sunk to the ground.

The entire gym in Lemoore exploded as the title card appeared on the screen the same time it did on the leaderboard: #1 LEE, Sunisa & L/N-FLOYD, Y/n (USA) TOTAL OVERALL: 57.433

Bob collapsed to the ground, Nat coming over to place her hands on his back in a comforting way while she too was a mess. Maverick came over to the two, patting Bob’s shoulder as he brought Nat into a hug. The commentator's voice could barely be heard with the noise happening in the gym. “I CANNOT BELIEVE IT OH MY GOD—BOTH AMERICANS HAVE TAKEN THE GOLD—FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THE HISTORY OF THIS EVENT, THERE HAS BEEN A TIE FOR GOLD IN THE WOMEN’S ALL-AROUND FINAL. SUNI LEE AND Y/N L/N SHARE THE TOP OF THE LEADERBOARD WITH AN OVERALL SCORE OF 57.433. IT IS OLYMPIC HISTORY FOR TEAM USA!!! Y/N L/N IS THE OLYMPIC CHAMPION IN HER FINAL OLYMPIC APPEARANCE! SUNI LEE IN HER OLYMPIC DEBUT IS COMING HOME WITH ALL-AROUND GOLD!”

“OH MY GOD!!” Daisy screamed, jumping up and down with several of the local gymnasts. “She did it! Y/n did it!” The teenager pushed through to embrace her brother, who was still an emotional mess on the floor. Next to the dagger squad Bob and Y/n’s parents were all embraced with coach Mary, mirroring the expression of everyone else. It was a surreal moment as the camera showed Suni and Y/n raising their interlaced hands in the air.

Olympic Champions of the women’s All-Around.

Y/n’s seventh Olympic gold medal.

Before the podium ceremony the live NBC coverage released the reaction of Bob and the gym—which already started to go viral on Twitter, TikTok, and instagram on the NBCOlympics accounts. Bob had fell to his knees, hiding his face, so he missed out on Coyote tripping into Fanboy as they celebrated and fell to the ground. In the corner one could see Y/n’s dad run to the balance beam like he was on ‘The Price is Right,’ before sweeping Y/n’s mom off her feet.

At the podium ceremony, Y/n and Suni held hands, stepping on the platform together with their hands raised as the announcer spoke to the world, “Gold medalists and Olympic Champions, from the United States of America, Y/n L/n-Floyd and Sunisa Lee!” Members of Team USA who showed up to watch the competition were going crazy, the gymnasts in a heap of tears.

When the gold medals were presented to them, Y/n and Suni medaled each other. Y/n took the first gold, placing it around her friend and teammate before Suni did the same to her with the second gold. “Wow what a sight, folks. Truly beautiful to see two people who are not only teammates and competitors, but also friends crown each other as the Olympic Champion of the All-Around. I don’t think we’ll ever see something like this again in an Olympic Games. This is truly history we are witnessing.” The two hugged, muttering congratulations into each other’s ears and beaming beneath the mask when they pulled away to face the flags.

The tears flowed freely for Y/n, the weight of the medal and the sound of the National anthem a reminder that she wasn’t dreaming. She was standing on top of the podium. The gold medalist of the Olympic All-Around.

A dream nearly 20 years in the making since she first watched the Games in Athens at age 8.

In the post-ceremony interview, Y/n was emotional again when the NBC correspondent for the All-Around final showed her the reaction of her loved ones at home. When Bob fell to his knees she had to cover her mouth. “I wish they were here,” she choked, “Ugh it sucks not having them but I love that they were able to watch from home. They are the reason I’m standing here and get to call myself an Olympic champion. It’s their support that’s fueled me the last couple years.”

The reporter gave a sympathetic look, “We actually have a team there with them right now. We’re patching them through right now.”

“Oh my God, really?” Y/n gasped before sobbing when the image on the screen appeared to show her friends and family. They all hollered and cheered, waving frantically at the camera. The gymnast sobbed, waving to the camera, “Oh my God! Mom, dad—Oh Bobby!”

“Oh honey,” he sniffed, the camera focusing on him. “I’m so so proud of you. We’re the moon here—you were so incredible, Y/n. I just can’t put into words how happy I am for you. I love you so much, baby—I can’t say that enough.”

“I love you too! I miss you so much, Bobby. Thank you for being rock and helping everyday in and out of the gym. This gold medal is for you.”

Her parents move to the front. “Sweetheart, your mom and I—I don’t think she can really talk right now,” Y/n laughed at her dad, seeing her mom was still a mess. “We just want to say that we love you so much. You’ve inspired us since you were a little girl and it’s an honor to be your parents.” He had to pause, getting worked up, “We’re so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. I know that you’ve got plans after this and just know we’re going to support you every step of the way.”

Y/n said words of thanks and love to her parents before thanking everyone who showed up to support her. After the call ended the reporter had one last question, “Y/n, you have one last event coming up, the uneven bars final. You’re no doubt the favorite to win—people want to see you make history one last time by becoming the first gymnast from any nation ever to win the title three times in a row. Now you said back in 2016 that whether or not you made this team you’d be retiring. That floor performance tonight definitely felt like a farewell to the sport.” Y/n was slowly nodding with each word, confirming the suspicion. The reporter finally asks, “Once you’ve taken your final step onto the mat Sunday night, will that be the last we see of Y/n L/n in the women’s gymnastics?”

Letting out a shaky breath, feeling the emotion swirl in her chest, Y/n replies, “I am fortunate to say that I have been a part of team USA since I debuted at 15 for my first World’s. Ten years with seven World championships and three Olympic Games—each time coming home with a title, not a lot of people can say that. It’s been an extreme honor……..I crap I knew this was going to be hard,” her vision blurs, “Two years ago I was on the verge of retirement and then got my second chance. I will forever be grateful that I got it and achieved this goal I set out to do after London. It’s been a hard decision, but it’s the right decision so to answer your question, yes Sunday night will be my last routine in gymnastics. I love this sport, I love what it has given me. I have so much love and appreciation for those who have supported me this past decade including my coaches, friends, family, and former teammates. It’s hard to say goodbye, but all great things must come to an end. And I hope to end on a golden note Sunday night, but if that doesn’t happen I’m okay with that. I’m just truly happy—t-that's the best way to put it all into one word. Happy.”

The last gymnast to step on the mat in the uneven bars final, Y/n saluted the judge, did her ritual one final time, and let the bars take her high in the sky. Just like on floor, it wasn’t about the medal. It wasn’t about being the greatest bars gymnast to ever exist.

It was about having fun. It was about that little girl who tumbled on the mat and swung on the bars with a smile on her face. Remembering the love that grew from every minute she was in class and how it made her feel free.

Once again tears coated Y/n’s eyes when she landed the dismount, saluting the judge one last time to the roar of applause of those around her. Mike fell to his knees, Y/n glancing up to the ceiling muttering, ‘Thank you,’ to whoever stood above.

Deep down, she knew.

The night the NBC live coverage reported, “It was a golden farewell for Y/n L/n-Floyd of the United States. The Queen of the Uneven Bars received a groundbreaking score of 17.045 in tonight’s women’s uneven bars final, making her the first gymnast in history from any nation to win the gold medal in its individual event final three consecutive Olympics—L/n-Floyd adding a third medal to her Tokyo collection, her second gold after making history Thursday night with other American gymnast Suni Lee by becoming co-Olympic Champions of the women’s All-Around. Tonight marked Y/n’s eighth Olympic gold medal, her ninth total—she now holds the record of most gold medals won by an American gymnast in the Olympics, as well as the title of most decorated Olympic gymnast in the history of Team USA—overtaking that of Shannon Miller’s seven total medals. The captain of this Tokyo team, Y/n L/n-Floyd has announced her retirement from gymnastics following these Olympic Games. It truly is a sad day for the sport to say goodbye to one of the greatest athletes it’s ever produced, but fear not, tonight was not the last we will see of Y/n in Tokyo. She’s been selected by the members of Team USA to hold the American flag in next Sunday’s closing ceremonies, and if my sources are correct there’s already talk of Y/n being a future inductee of the Olympic Hall of Fame. Until then, on behalf of America and those of us in the studio we’d like to congratulate Y/n L/n-Floyd on an magnificent career, representing Team USA for more than a decade in several international stages, and wish her luck on her future endeavors. Thank you.” As the camera panned away from the broadcaster, the Olympic Fanfare & Theme by John Williams sounded while footage highlights of Y/n’s Olympic career played before the viewers. London. Rio. Tokyo.

Bob met her at the airport, sweeping her off her feet and spinning her around in circles to the joy of her laughter. When he sat her down he held her in his arms for several minutes pressing little kisses all over her face, “I am so so proud of you. I love you so so much,” he said between each kiss.

“I love you too,” she kissed him back before taking her ring from around his neck. Bob grabbed it from her, securing it on her finger before gently kissing the knuckle beneath it. “So I was thinking,” her arms went around his neck, running her fingers along the hair at the nape. “Even though my journey as an athlete has ended……maybe it could be the start of someone else’s?”

Bob looked confused at first, but then slowly his eyes widened, “Are…are you saying you want to…have a baby?” Y/n nodded, eyes glossy as she replied, “if that’s something you’d want. You’re the best husband a girl could ask for, and I know you’d be an amazing father, Bobby.”

Instead of answering, Bob kissed her, pouring every ounce of love from his soul into it. “Yes,” he broke the kiss only to give her another. “Yes. Yes. Yes. I would love nothing more than to raise children with you, Y/n. Let’s do it.” A squeal left her as he dragged her to the car on a mission. “Let’s start as soon as we get home.”

Y/n’s life was one that could be written in the history books. And though she no longer stepped on the mat as a competitor, a new chapter had opened after Tokyo. One with her legacy continuing many years after her debut.

Stepping on the mat as both coach and mother to her not only her sister-in law who strived to be like her idol, but her own little girl who loved to fly high on the bars.

………………………..

Tag list (& those who commented on P.1): @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13

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lchufflepuffcorn · 1 year

Text

Meeting you Ch 6.

(Not my gif, credits go to its owner/creator)

Author's note: Sorry this took so long, creativity was dead for a while.

Words: 2533

Warning: Description of depressive mood (feelings only). Description of graphic emotions. Jasper. Bad accent writing.

Masterlist OGW Masterlist

Serie Masterlist

Part one Part two, Part three, Part four, part five, part six.

Spotify link

Meeting you

Can't help falling in love- Beck

↺͏͏ ◁◁͏͏ ll ▷▷ ⋮≡

1948

Dear Esther and Thade,

Philadelphia is the most unhelpful town for vegetarian vampires. There is no free space for wild animals big enough to stratify one's thirst. Alice says that we are here for a good reason, that we will meet him -Jasper- soon, but I digress. If you were planning on coming to Philadelphia, I recommend against it. You will only find suffering and despair as the closest (animal-filled) forest is kilometers away. Yet, even if we only need to feed a few times a month, the sent of human blood is too much. The vapes from the city do not make things any better, and people are always saluting you.

I never thought that one day I would chastise people for being polite. Breathing is hard, even for me, I dare not imagine how difficult it is for Alice.

Forever yours,

(Y/N) E.

All morning, Alice insisted on stopping at a small coffee shop on their way back to the small apartment they shared, and (Y/N) found it weird because they, like vampires, didn't need to eat. They still could, of course, but everything would taste like dirt in their mouth, and the process of getting rid of the food afterward was not the most pleasant.

''Don't worry about it!'' Had said the small brunette while skipping on the sidewalk happily. It earned them weird looks from the human passerby, and (Y/N) only offered them a small smile for her friend's action.

The two girls had been shopping all day, renewing their wardrobes for the next three years or so to go, when Alice's eyes got lost in the chaos of her visions. She was getting better at not falling over when the visions hit her by surprise. Sometimes the red-eyed vampire still tumbled a little, but (Y/N) couldn't help her with a small pressure of her hand under her arm, or on her back. After her vision, Alice was adamant about going to a specific coffee shop.

And all (Y/N) could do was follow.

When Alice was set on something, it was nearly impossible to bring her out of it. (Y/N) did try often. Like that one-time Alice wanted to do a lap to New York City for an outside fashion show on one of the sunniest days there was. (Y/N) did everything in her power trying to convince Alice not to go, yet, she only managed to make them attend in the shadows.

''What did you see, Alice.'' Whispered (Y/N) in her friend's ears as they walked closer and closer to the coffee's door. The buzzing she was feeling in the bottom of her stomach, mixing with the butterflies frolicking near her heart, was making her nauseous. (Y/N) had never thought before that Vampire could feel like that.

''You'll see soon enough!'' She answered, a knowing smile playing on her lips. ''You'll love it!''

Throughout the burning excitement, she was feeling, (Y/N) was skeptical. It had to be something about that Jasper man again. Alice was anything but secretive about her visions, just when it came to him. She said she preferred not to tell her because of what would occur if she did. (Y/N) was now stuck to following the small girl around town to a specific coffee shop to meet someone -or find something- whichever Alice had stuck her mind on at the moment. (Y/N) only sighed but let her friend pull her through the city without contesting it any longer.

Alice quickly found the coffee shop she searched for because she stopped in front of a fashionably cute-ish building. She didn't wait for the other vampire to take a good look at it before entering thought. The pixie-sized girl let out a giggle as (Y/N) tried to make her slow down.

''He's here!'' She whispered frantically, happy to the taller girl, making her practically freeze.

Jasper.

The realization hit (Y/N) like a train as she was pulled deeper inside the coffee shop by the arm. There were things she still had to learn from Alice, the woman found. Even after all this time, she'd spent with Alice, (Y/N) didn't know what he was supposed to do with both of them. Taking a look around her, being filed by Alice's buzzing and bubbling happy anxiety, (Y/N) took in the place's particular stylish look. It looks like it came right out of a movie. Flowers were filling it, and the signs disclaiming the different drinks and food choices were written in careful and elegant penmanship. There weren't many people inside, maybe two young couples and a lone man, sitting near the window. He only had a glass of water, untouched, in front of him. Yet, it seemed like he had been sitting there for a while. (Y/N) could tell because of all the water there was beside the drink from the condensation.

The small vampire pulled her in the direction of the lone blond man.

''Alice...'' (Y/N) tried to protest in a low voice.

It did nothing to stop her.

''Hi!' She said in a high-pitched voice to the man. ''I'm Alice. Do you mind if we sit here?''

She had taken the blond man by surprise. (Y/N) could feel it inside, with the awkwardness Alice had created around them and the girl's buzzing happiness, she could feel the sudden drop of heart her voice brought when she surprised you. An uncomfortable warmth just under her sternum overtook the sparkling bubbles she knew of Alice, the nausea of nervousness and fear holding her hostage.

The man, Jasper, raised to them his blood-red eyes, eyebrows raised, nearly touching the first of his hair. He looked around himself as if he was wondering if the brunette was really talking to him. But before he could answer, Alice sat by his side, leaving the booth in front of them free for (Y/N) to use. The woman sighed and smiled toward the tuned head, looking at the trio.

''F'course, ma'am...'' finally said Jasper, eyeing both girls. (Y/N) took place before the two, shaking her head at her friend.

''My apologies.'' She said to him in a small voice. His eyes met hers for a second, but that was enough. (Y/N) could see everything in brighter colours; the odours were richer, and the emotions she felt clearer, in a way. Something was tugging at her chest to get her closer to something. (Y/N) wasn't sure what. She wasn't even sure she was the one feeling the pull.

On top of that, the golden -eyed vampire felt weird. Like something was bothering her. She felt her throat ache and the desperate need to hunt. She took a deep breath. There were also the emotions she felt. The young woman took another look at the people present in the coffee shop. Nobody was looking at them anymore, preferring their own lives to theirs. (Y/N) counted the heads she could see. Four, six humans inside the shop, two in the back, eight, if she excluded herself, being with emotions inside those walls. Then why did she feel like there were at least double the number of people present?

She looked at Alice and Jasper. The smaller vampire started a conversation with the man a little earlier, as the other girl was engrossed in her surroundings. She concentrated on what they were saying, swallowing the venom that was in her mouth. When the dry feeling didn't leave her, (Y/N) cleared her throat.

''Jasper's an empath too.'' Said Alice in a whisper, cutting through the small conversation the table was installed in. The man's eyebrows shot up again as he looked at the small girl sitting next to him. His mouth opened, and his anxiety augmented. He felt trapped. The lump in (Y/N)'s throat that lingered there since she came inside seemed to grow bigger. She took another calming breath through her nostrils. She felt the pressure in her head diminish. Only to feel the warmth in her sternum grow bigger.

''How d'yer know that, Miss Alice?'' He asked in an equally low tone, still nervous.

Alice giggled and looked at (Y/N), then back at Jasper.

''I've seen you. In my visions.'' She answered, still whispering.

A couple walked close to their table as they left, giving Alice and Jasper a weird look as they did. (Y/N) shot them a gentle smile. She felt their fright as they saw her eyes. She turned her attention back to the two other vampires before her.

''Is this really the right moment to discuss such matters?'' She asked finally, trying to get Alice's attention. One of her hands tried to subtly hide part of her face from the rest of the coffee shop without making it seem like she was. (Y/N) couldn't care less about Jasper at the moment. He was feeling thirsty, and it was making her feel it too. There were also too many ears in the coffee shop for (Y/N) to feel at ease. No, because only four humans could be the reason her true death could find her.

She wasn’t willing to take that chance.

''Oh, I completely forgot you two didn't know each other!'' Alice clapped her hands together. The butterflies came back into (Y/N)'s stomach, and her eyes grew big. The two humans sitting farther away from their group turned their heads in their direction again. (Y/N) dropped her eyes so as not to meet theirs.

You don't know him either. (Y/N) wanted to say. Instead, she cleared her throat once more. It was as if Alice's motto was: Aut viam inveniam aut faciam... (I shall either find a way or make one).

''That's not... Alice, listen to m-'' Alice stopped her before she could continue, waving her frantic hands away from her. (Y/N) buried her face into her gloved hands with a sigh. She really needed to get them out of the coffee shop before the thirst she felt became too much to tolerate.

''This is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Jasper Whitlock.'' She was feeling proud of herself now.

'''Nored to meet'cheh, ma'am,'' said the man.

More to appease her concern about following principles than to be polite, (Y/N) removed her hands from obstructing her face to meet his eyes again. She felt her heart clench when her golden eyes met his blood-red ones once more. It was as if she ached to be closer to him. His eyes were the same colour as Alice's yet, they held something else, something more. A spark in her lower abdomen suddenly made her realize what was happening, and she lowered her gaze.

''The honour is mine, sir.'' She answered. ''I suggest we take this take in a more... private setting, do you mind, Alice?'' (Y/N) asked Alice in a colder tone.

The smaller vampire smiled in her direction, nodding. She wasn't taken aback by (Y/N)'s lack of politeness. Alice knew that the other girl didn't speak openly about their condition, so it was no surprise at all that she wasn't over the moon with their current predicament.

''You'll come with us; we have tons of things to talk about.'' Alice directed to Jasper.

The man smiled, and, looking at (Y/N), he nodded.

⁂

''But what do I have to do with anythin'?'' Jasper's drawled question was directed to Alice.

They'd managed to come back to the small apartment Alice and (Y/N) shared. He was standing in the middle of the living room as both girls shared the couch. Legs crossed, one elbow resting on the pillow on her knees, (Y/N) turned her head to stare at the pixie-like girl.

''Both of you have something to do with my future, I'm sure of it.'' Started Alice, her red gaze alternated from the blond man to her friend. ''I just don't see how just yet.''

(Y/N) raised a brow. She was tied to Alice's future? More like Alice had attached herself to her life on her very own first. She said nothing to discredit her friend's words though she wasn't agreeing nor understanding her words. Alice never really spoke about her visions with her. All (Y/N) could understand of it at the moment was that they showed flashes of images and were directly tied to someone's decision. However, she couldn't see both sides of the decisions of a vision happening to two people.

The three of them had stopped before coming to the apartment building to feed Alice and Jasper. (Y/N) had declined his invitation to take half the blood of his human. The other vampire girl had then told Jasper that (Y/N) was one of the few vegetarian vampires. Plus, they were already planning to leave in the following days. She would hunt then. After all, she wasn't that thirsty now that they'd left the coffee shop.

''Also,'' continued Alice, ''I couldn't not take care of the two of you.'' This time she looked at (Y/N). ''We would have met Jasper much sooner had we stayed with the Carrolls to meet their friends.''

The burning of disapproval the small vampire felt was burning down (Y/N)'s throat to her chest like lava as her words slowly started to make sense in the woman's head. She straightened her shoulder in a fast -too fast to be human- movement.

''He's Peter and Charlotte's friend Thade was talking about in his letters?''

Alice looked at her with a smirk. (Y/N)'s face darkened as a frown distorted her sculpture-like face. She could feel the pinch of proud satisfaction swelling in her. Jasper's frowning face lightened as hers contorted.

''Don't thank me for matching you up with your mate. I do that for fun!'' Teased Alice, getting up from the couch to leave both of them alone.

Silence met the closing sound of the door. Neither of the remaining vampires talked for a moment. (Y/N) was cursing herself. Mate? He was her mate, what next? Would Alice find them a family? This was utterly ridiculous. She didn't need a mate; she was doing fine on her own. Even if having someone for herself too would be nice, she did not need a matchmaker. So, what if she'd escaped their meeting the first time? Her mate. How could Alice know for sure? Her vision changed more often than she shopped.

''It's nice to meet'cheh, ma'am.'' Said Jasper after clearing his throat.

''(Y/N), please.'' She said bitterly. The man nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. (Y/N) felt the tingling under the skin of the shoulder that brought amusement. Was he laughing at her?

The woman patted the free seat next to her, inviting the blond man to sit. He obliged, walking with his hands behind his back like a soldier, his back straight, a smile dancing on his mouth.

''Let's talk.'' Said the golden-eyed vampire in her habitual soft tone.

#jasper hale imagine #jasper x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper whitlock #jasper cullen imagine #jasper cullen x reader #cullen family imagine #Twilight #Twilight x reader #twilight saga #Vampire x reader #Meeting you serie #x reader #x reader imagine #romance

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whispers-soundtrack-project · 5 months

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Mike / Oyuki

Fanmix Part One

Link to the Spotify Playlist is at the bottom of the post

Okay, I am sure that I am literally the only person in the world that ships Michelangelo & Oyuki, and so I am going to make myself a gratuitous fanmix for them. But I'm okay with that... I can and will sail this ship alone…

BUT if you are interested in learning about Oyuki, you can check out the post I made here!

Mad About You (Belinda Carlisle)

Pushing the night into the daytime * Watching the sky's first light * While the city sleeps

Lucky (Jason Mraz & Colbie Caillat)

Lucky I'm in love with my best friend * Lucky to have been where I have been * Lucky to be coming home again

Leave a Tender Moment Alone (Billy Joel)

I know the moment isn't right * To tell the girl a comical line * To keep the conversation light * I guess I'm just frightened out of my mind

In Time (Robbie Robb)

One heart, one soul, one mind, * Our eyes will not be blind * We'll see this rain come down without this sound, * We can all, we can all break free

Glory Of Love (Peter Cetera)

I am a man who will fight for your honor *I'll be the hero you're dreaming of * We'll live forever * Knowing together * That we did it all for the glory of love

My Love Is For (Jill Andrews)

I never thought that we'd be more than friends * But you've been more than a friend to me * You were someone I could hold onto * Always had a hold on you it seems

Doing It All For My Baby (Huey Lewis & The News)

Later in the evening, it's been a busy day * She lays her head upon my weary shoulder * Listen to her laughing, snuggle up and say * Now I'm with you baby, the loneliness is over

Unbreakable (Jamie Scott)

But I can't, I can't stop thinking about you everyday, * And you can't, you can't, you can't listen to what people say * They don't know you baby, * Don't know that you're amazing, * But I'm here to stay

I Think We're Alone Now (Tiffany)

And so we're running just as fast as we can * Holdin' on to one another's hand * Tryin' to get away into the night * And then you put your arms around me * And we tumble to the ground * And then you say * I think we're alone now

Never Knew I Needed (Ne-Yo)

My accidental happily ever after * The way you smile and how you comfort me with your laughter * I must admit you were not a part of my book * But now if you open it up and take a look * You're the beginning and the end of every chapter

#playlist #fanmix #tmnt #tmnt michelangelo #michelangelo #oyuki mamisha #Spotify #tmnt oyuki #oyukiangelo

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hey-have-you-heard · 4 months

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Hey, Have You Heard These 50 Tracks from 2023?

Another year comes to a close and the music lover pulls up their trusty spotify playlist to document the high points of their year in music. You know the drill by now but in case you're new here... Songs are in alphabetical order (there is no internal rating to the 51) but if I had to choose a single song for everyone to listen to, it would be "Why Am I Alive Now", please listen to that track if nothing else. A Spotify playlist of the included songs is linked below for your listening pleasure

Fontaines DC - ' Cello Song Kicking things off with the only cover song on the list, Grian Chatten and band spin Nick Drake's song into something entirely their own, paying homage to Nick Drake's songwriting whilst pulling in the intricacies of their own unique sound and appeal.

Boygenius - $20 Screw star-signs and wizard school houses, which member of Boygenius do you align yourself with? I'm a Julien Baker stan but I adore them all, especially when their voices and styles are weaving in out of each-other in rapturous noise like this.

XL Life - Baby Steps Hardcore and punk has had a great year, a really great year, and XL Life have been a standout part of that. Backed up by a guest verse by Bob Vylan's own Bobby Vylan, Baby Steps is bursting with soul and emotion, driven by breakneck drums and heart-on-sleeve positivity

100 Gecs - Billy Knows Jamie 10,000 Gecs (the much anticipated follow up to 2019's 1000 Gecs) truly gave us the as-promised 10 times as many gecs, if a Gec is a unit of measurement for what can only be referred to as wild-genre-fuckery. Billy Knows Jamie gives us full on Bizkitesque nu-metal, including record scratches, a bass line Fieldy would be proud of and a rapid descent into utter chaos.

Algiers, Billy Woods, Backxwash - Bite Back Bite back is a masterpiece of ever-building tension, Carpenterian synths weave the track together as one musical idea gives way to another. With every new phrase and trade-off between vocalist, the threads pull tauter and tauter. The switch up at 3:10 still gives me chills every time I hear it.

Glass Beach - the CIA My favourite theatre kid emo's are back and doing what they do best, which is whatever the hell they feel like. You know when all the 70s prog rock bands fell into the 80s and needed to get radio-play so they fell into this weird sort of choppy watered down down art-pop sound (e.g. Yes)? This feels like that, but there's no actual need to conform, so Glass Beach are still free to get as weird with it as they want, whenever they want.

Blood Command - Decades Deccades is a very bad representation of Blood Command as a band (at this point I'm unsure if a good representation of the band exists), but it's a very good song. Hardcore and "Death pop" is out, R&B is in. Reverb soaked synths and horns, skittery hi-hats, layered vocals and lyrics about lost love and the Heavens Gate cult.

Liturgy - Djennaration I'll be the first to admit that Liturgy are an acquired taste (the first time I saw them live it made me feel physically ill), but if you can put on some headphones, turn up the volume and lose yourself in Liturgy's "Transcendental Black Metal" there is no other feeling quite like it in music.

Kesha - The Drama The continual evolution of Kesha's sound has been a fascinating thing to watch ever since Tik Tok put her on the brat pop map back in 2009, each album cycle has seen her stripping back elements of character, delivering ever rawer and more honest depictions of self. The Drama pulls away from pop almost entirely, what starts as a Lorde-like slow ballad tumbles into a nightmare-collage of upbeat synths, a circus show of theatrical excess as Kesha's desparately laments on a loss of faith in humanity and self. The song ends on an absurd mix of housecats and Ramones, oh the drama of it all.

Fever Ray - Even It Out Even It Out may not be the technically best song on Radical Romantics, but the idea of Karin Dreijer teaming up with Trent Reznor to make a gleefully unhinged song about violently attacking a child is just too funny to me. The rest of the album is also incredible and well worth a listen.

Follow You - Saint Agnes Oh, hey, speaking of Trent Reznor, Saint Agnes channel Nine Inch Nails on the massive distortion drenched choruses of this stand out track from Bloodsuckers. Lead singer Kitty's vocals soar over wailing guitars and crunching bass, this is the sound of a band triumphing through adversity.

Johnny Booth - Full Tilt I remember seeing a comment when this first released that summed up how ifelt about it perfectly. "This has slap fucks". Yes, selppin2, I couldn't of put it better myself. Johnny Booth have been consistently hitting it out the park for the past few years and this is no exception, absolutely brutal stuff.

Creeper - Further Than Forever Creeper's Sanguivore is an album to be devoured in it's entirety, I couldn't choose a single song so this is merely a goth-punk-opera overture. A nine minute long homage to the theatrical tendencies of Jim Steinman. If you enjoy any part of this, Sanguivore is a must listen for you.

Crosses - Ghost Ride Chino Moreno swaps out the rumbling wall of guitars of Deftones for pulsing bass synths and sparse electronic drums with the second album from his side project with Far's Shaun Lopez. Ghost Ride is a sultry slow build that crashes into industrial-pop(?) choruses.

Idles - Grace Idles (to my surprise) were my most listened to band of last year, and if Grace is a sign of things to come on Tangk, they're in with a shot for 2024 as well. Grace finds Joe Talbot swapping out the political battering ram of a growl he's employed previously for a soulful tone, a message of peace and love, and its hauntingly beautiful to behold. No God, no king, love is the thing.

BENEE - Green Honda You may remember BENEE from tiktok's 2019 supahit Supalonely, she's still writing bops. Two middle fingers up, leave you in the rearview, bops.

Free Refills - Grounded What can I say, I'm a sucker for a good bassline, and this is a great bassline.

Pendulum, Bullet For My Valentine - Halo (Matt Tuck Rework) On his rework of Halo, Matt Tuck keeps all the energy of the original mix but ups the aggression. This is the sound of Pendulum at their heaviest and best.

Tokky Horror, Scottish Gabber Punk - HAMMER 2 THE FACE (Scottish Gabber Punk Remix) Speaking of energy and aggression... it doesn't get much more energy and aggression than this, hammer 2 the face is a fitting title for the brutality of this track.

MSPAINT - Hardwired MSPAINT are a hardcore punk band with a notable lack of guitar, the instrumentation instead filled out with colourful synths. The result is a unique and engaging sound unlike anything else in the genre.

Empire State Bastard - Harvest ESB are my kind of supergroup, formed of Biffy Clyro's Simon Neil, Oceansize's Mike Vennart and Slayer's Dave Lombardo (yes, you read that right). Simon Neil is delivering career best vocal performances, Mike Vennart is stirring up unholy hell on guitar and Dave Lombardo is doing what Dave Lombardo does best.

Alice Longyu Gao - Hëłłœ Kįttÿ I didn't think we could get more unhinged than last years MONK, with it's thrash metal guitar and vib ribbon solo, but here we are in the year of our lord 2023 and I'm listening to car clown horns. BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.

Bob Vylan - He's a Man Do y'all remember the Lindsay Lohan Freaky Friday movie? There was a great song in it called Take Me Away... anyway, I forget why I mentioned that, but this song is really fun.Great cheeky lyrics and love that guitar riff.

Fall Out Boy - Hold Me Like A Grudge This may just be a nostalgia pull, but that intro transported me back to hearing Dance, Dance for the first time. Hold Me Like A Grudge does a masterful job of pulling together elements of FOBs classic sound and their more recent poop sensibilities that has had me enjoying their sound in a way I haven't since Infinity On High

Evie Enby - Homies Oops, how did this get in here? Please appreciate the one note guitar solo.

FIZZ - I Just Died My general lack of enthusiasm for The Beatles is fairly well documented by this point, but one of the best things they did for pop music was use the clarinet on When I'm Sixty Four. Well good news, I no longer have to listen to The Beatles to get my clarinet fix. Now that the Beatles reference for this year's list is done.. I just died is a song about an absolutely mortifying experience delivered with great mirth. It's a fantastic, sing-along-in-the-shower bop, and have I mentioned the clarinet solo?

CLT DRP - I Put My Baby To Sleep (It's pronounced Clit Drip) What can I say, another explosive, genre defying, track by one of the best bands in the world. Now go listen to the entirety of Nothing Clever, Just Feelings.

Orla Gartland - Kiss Ur Face Forever Joyous, peppy and "let's play a game of emotional monopoly, in the name of monogamy" may be the best couplet I've heard this year. It's just fun, so much fun.

Bring Me The Horizon - LosT When LosT first dropped, I referred to it as the geccification of BMTH, I meant that in the best possible way. I really enjoy how the hyper-pop elements lift this track up. "The next time that I open up to someone will be my autopsy" is one of the finest Oli Sykes-isms we've had in a long time.

Swans - No More Of This Okay, so the actual Swans track that should be on this list is The Beggar Lover (Three) but apparently putting an uncompromising, nigh impenetrable, 43 minute long epic in the middle of a playlist is terrible for retention, and I'm a coward. But if you have a spare 50 minutes, go give it a listen.

Pupil Slicer - No Temple Pupil Slicer continue to prove themselves to be one of the most exciting bands in Mathcore. Pushing against the boundaries of genre in a genre where pushing against boundaries is a core philosophy, No Temple is, according to the band, the heaviest song they've ever written. The bass guitar work is an exceptional standout for me here as it pushes against the rest of the song.

Carly Rae Jepsen - Psychedelic Switch With every CRJ album project comes a B-sides album, and with every B-sides album comes an absolute banger. Psychedelic Switch is undoubtedly this for the Loneliest Time/Loveliest Time project. You'd be forgiven for thinking Daft Punk themselves reunited to produce this french disco flavoured bop.

Soft Play - Punk's Dead Who the fuck are Soft Play? Sound like a bunch of lefty snowflakes. I've missed these boys, doing this kind of thing. The Robbie Williams feature is inspired.

Chappell Roan - Red Wine Supernova Red Wine Supernova is sexy, self-assured, feel-good, sapphic fun. It's a testament to how good a song is that lyrics like "I heard you like magic, I've got a wand and a rabbit" doesn't detract from it, but actually elevates it's effortless charm.

JAAW - Rot JAAW are an industrial metal "supergroup" formed of members of Therapy, Three Trapped Tigers, Sex Swing and Biglad. That is likely mostly gibberish to the average music listener, but to a niche few, it's a very exciting prospect. What it sounds like is swelling, tumultuous walls of noise, tortured screams, screeching guitars and pulsing distorted bass. Catharsis through noise.

Better Lovers - Sacrificial Participant More supergroup! Greg Puciato teams up with ex-members of Every Time I Die and Will Putney (of Fit For an Autopsy). I was devastated by the split of ETID, (off the back of the phenomenal Radical adn jsut before I was due to see them live), but Better Lovers is one hell of a silver lining. Puciato's energetic vocals bounce wildly off of the erratic musicianship that was the cornerstone of ETID's sound. It's a perfect match on record and is even better live.

Architects - Seeing Red Bless Architects. They're a band that are truly a victim of their own success, as they've tried to pull their sound and ethos in new directions it's been met with a huge amount of negativity from their own fanbase. Seeing Red is a reaction to this. "You want heavy? Here's heavy. Are you happy now?". Blegh.

Teen Mortgage - Sick Day Sick Day is a 2 minute punk blitz about how you are worth so much more than your labour and how having a cute cat you want to look at is a perfectly valid reason to stay at home. Capitalism 0 - Cats 1.

Purity Ring, Black Dresses - Shines Purity Ring and Black Dresses are both Canadian electronic duos and that's about where the similarities stop, but that just makes this collaboration all the more interesting. There's so much going on here, the chaotic harsh frenetic noise of Black Dresses, Ada Rook's screams, the twinkling synths of Purity Ring and sing-song melodies of Megan James. Somehow it pulls together to create something of true beauty in its own weird way.

Dream Nails - Sometimes I Do Get Lonely, Yeah Dream Nails take on the rising issue of incel culture and red-pill ideology, with grace and empathy. Pointing fingers not at individuals but at the systems and powers that enable and create these pipelines to hatred and bigotry. It's a bold and challenging idea, executed superbly.

Baby Dave - Sounds Good When a fan sends you an unhinged voice message out of the blue offering you a bite suit and dogs to shoot a music video, obviously the thing to do is make a song out of it, then take them up on their offer and use it as the video for that song. There's a great OPM era The Streets vibe to this track that plays off nicely of the grounded reality of its subject.

Sleep Token - The Summoning Sleep Token do the impossible, they make prog-metal (the unsexiest of all genres) , undeniably sexy. Nowhere is this clearer than on The Summoning, a 6-and-a-half minute epic of a track with multiple time signature changes and tonal flips, that somehow still oozes with a swaggering sexuality throughout it's runtime. The out-of-nowhere funk switch up on the end of this track is perfection.

Lambrini Girls - Terf Wars Love those Lambrini Girls, they say what I'm thinking, and they say it loud.

Ezra Furman - Tether This one had me in floods of tears from the first listen. A classic string-laden piano ballad about inescapable pasts and the desire to cut yourself free from who and where you've been.

The St. Pierre Snake Invasion - That There's Fighting Talk This track does two things it builds and it STOMPS, like real "put on your heaviest boots and then strap lead weights to them because they need to be heavier" stomps. An industrial-mathcore floor-filler, the song crescendoes then continues to crescendo into ever greater insanity. Get Stomping.

Calva Louise - Third Class Citizen Calva Louise's sound has evolved so much since I first fell in love with the band listening to their 2017 debut single Getting Closer. Third Class Citizen has elements of Muse in it's bass-lines, stadium-sized guitar riffs and fizzing production. The vocals and lyrical content make it something altogether its own though, the palpable fury in vocalist Jess' voice as she demands "Respect, motherfucker" is real and visceral.

HEALTH - Unloved Off the back of their genre spanning, multi-release collaboration project, DISCO4, RAT WARS sees HEALTH back in a focused mode and delivering their heaviest album to date. Unloved is a moment of relative respite on the album though, a Depeche Mode tinged track, soaked in 80's reverb and ready for the goth club. HEALTH pull you into their world of misery and beauty with catchy hooks and pulsing bass.

Anohni and the Johnsons - Why Am I Alive Now This year saw the release of "My Back Was A Bridge For You To Cross", Anohni's first studio album with her band since 2010's Swanlights. The abrasive electronics of her solo albums are traded in for warm soulful tones and a raw almost live-feeling instrumentation. It's a beautiful, deeply emotive, and incredibly present sounding album. Feeling as if you are being drawn into the recording process itself, Why Am I Alive Now? is an existential lament on finding purpose in a purposeless world, in navigating through suffering to find hope and love. On learning why to be, when it feels like the world is set on stopping you from being.

HMLTD - Wyrmlands THE WORM IS HERE! Wyrmlands is an example of one track on an album that should be listened to in its entirety. The Worm is a concept album at its most conceptual, eschewing genre and at times structure entirely in favour of narrative and ~vibes~. It's a dizzying disorientating listen, that will leave you' with more questions than answers, but thankful for making an attempt 're mind awash with unanswered questions and fresh ideas.

Billy Woods, Kenny Segal, Danny Brown - Year Zero Year Zero refers to an apocalyptic cultural reset. Society has reached a breaking point and we must start from scratch, everything before was for nothing. Billy Woods and Danny Brown play two different sides of the same coin. Woods, stony faced and deadly serious "My taxes pay police brutality settlements" is the herald of the end "Burn it down with us inside". Danny Brown, the manic joker, revelling in the freedom of a new world, rhyming Good Will Hunting with Cool Runnings and dropping bars about ice cream machines. It's a compelling way to deliver a narrative.

#music #2023 #Spotify

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bzedan · 1 year

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February! This is a short playlist because I saw I it was almost at 2 hours and 28 minutes long and then got it to 2 hours and 28 minutes and then couldn't change it. Because how cool is that?!

There are a lot of what could be construed as romantic or pseudo-romantic songs on here but I think actually a lot of songs are about big feels in general so it's more of an accident. There are also a couple of songs on here ('Do You Want To Touch Me' and 'Tumbling Down') that I will only ever associate with Velvet Goldmine, which is honestly one of my favourite movies ever.

I could have sworn 'To Be Rich - Should Be A Crime' has shown up on monthly playlists before, but looking back at spreadsheets I guess not. I first heard it as the cover by Cola Boyy, which absolutely bops. I think about this song a lot.

Anyway here's a link to February's playlist on Spotify, with the track list below the cut.

Maybe I will also try embedding it?

Tracklist is still below the cut tho.

'Creep' - Hildegard von Blingin'

'To Be Rich - Should Be A Crime' - Jeb Loy Nichols

'Hey Girl' - Norma Tanega

'The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)' - Simon & Garfunkel

'A Sign of Life' - Bart Graft

'Too Much Music' - Jake Shears

'The Dance' - Tangerine Dream

'Rapunzel' - Let's Eat Grandma

'Head Above Water (feat. We The Kings)' - Avril Lavigne

'Bastards' - Kesha

'Do You Want To Touch Me' - Gary Glitter

'With a Little Love' - Book Of Love

'Rush' - Big Audio Dynamite

'Ciencia Ficción' - Zemmoa

'Jynweythek' - Aphex Twin

'Pink Pony Club' - Chappell Roan

'Who's Johnny' - El DeBarge

'Don't Touch Me There' - The Tubes

'Chick Habit - April March' - Bound

'Rhythm Of The Night' - DeBarge

'Only After Dark' - Mick Ronson

'Never Gonna Give You Up - R&B Version' - Jay Diggs

'When Love Takes Over - Disco Culture Remix' - Scotty

'Tiger' - ABBA

'Simping For The Villain' - Boy Jr.

'Goon Gumpas' - Aphex Twin

'The Nowhere King' - The Centaurworld Cast

'Clara Clairvoyant' - Donovan

'The Swan (For Liang)' - Chris Bear

'Tumbling Down - 2012 Remaster' - Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel

'A Lit Soundcloud Banger From Twenty Nineteen - Cal's Version' - Boy Jr.

'If You're Gonna Be Dumb, You Gotta Be Tough (From "Jackass 4.5")' - Starcrawler

'Borderline' - Tove Lo

'Sensation' - Roger Daltrey

'True Romance' - Tove Lo

'I Want You' - Savage Garden

'I Think We're Alone Now' - Billie Joe Armstrong

'Waited' - Supreme Beings of Leisure

'Trio No. 2 'Reveille': IV. Introduction & Lute Song, “Fear No More the Heat o’ the Sun”' - Stanley Silverman

'All Is Full of Love' - Björk

'Ojitos Lindos' - Bad Bunny

'Hollow Days' - Twin Shadow

'Liquid Spear Waltz' - Michael Andrews

'The Look Of Love, Pt.4' - ABC

Crossposted to Comradery and Patreon

#meche makes playlists #syndicated from subscription sites #playlists #I made this Garf edit of an old valentine btw #I'm rather proud of it #Spotify

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the-laridian · 11 months

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WIP Music Tag

I was tagged by @kyber-infinitygems and I think @galaxycunt and possibly also @the-lastcall, to share a song that inspired/is connected to/captures the vibe of a current WIP. I don't use Spotify so y'all get a Youtube link instead.

So for Viva New Vegas (sequel to A Gun for Barns) I have Postmodern Jukebox "Pompeii" 1969/Mad Men style:

youtube

I can picture this band playing in the Tops :D

And the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love Grey clouds roll over the hills, bringing darkness from above But if you close your eyes Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all? And if you close your eyes Does it almost feel like you've been here before? How am I gonna be an optimist about this? How am I gonna be an optimist about this? Oh, where do we begin, the rubble or our sins?

Then for Willow Ironwood / Fallout 76, Oingo Boingo "Just Another Day":

youtube

I had a dream last night: The world was set on fire And everywhere I ran There wasn't any water The temperature increased The sky was crimson red The clouds turned into smoke And everyone was dead

I'm dreaming again Of life underground It doesn't ever move It doesn't make a sound And just when I think That things are in their place The heavens are secure The whole thing explodes in my face

While these next two are listed as "Enter Scientist" and "Nuclear Launch Detected", the overall menace in them works well for the various Legion AUs (particularly Legion AU: A Sporting Chance). They're each instrumental and only about a minute long:

youtube

#wip whenever #wip music #fallout new vegas #fallout 76 #gunnar volk #willow ironwood #legion au #video #music #Youtube

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ma-lark-ey · 5 months

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Summarizing the Foxhole Court cast as artists I follow on Spotify and why (and with links to the artists/songs);

Neil;

Set It Off, thinks he’s so cool and edgy and for the most part he is but also there’s too much time where’s he’s a silly goose. Specifically, he’s Cinematics Era because yeah they have some emo bangers like Partners in Crime and I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead but also Dad’s Song is on that album as is Dream Catcher

Andrew;

Chase Petra. Intense, overwhelming, takes awhile to understand, either is super mellow and chill or the pop punk anthems are GOING. Particularly, Andrew reaks of Monet Issues and Soapy Water, but I also believe he could jive with Reliable Narrator, not to mention In An Emergency Such As The End Of The World

Kevin;

Noah Kahan. It's abut the complex relationship with where you grew up and having a deep, inescapable loving and loathing for that environment. You're Gonna Go Far is just so Kevin coded, and also recognizing you are simultaneously your problem and your solution, like Dial Drunk. And All My Love is just sooo Riko and Kevin (I mean, 'No winter coat could keep out the cold of your atmosphere // We once sang Retrograde, we'd shake the frame of your car // Now I know your name but now who you are')

Aaron;

Alec Benjamin. A lot of people find him unassuming and whatnot, but honestly he'd kind of devastating and we should be cautious. Particularly, Boy In The Bubble & Outrunning Karma I feel have a very fitting energy. My Mother's Eyes (Unreleased) also has something distinctly Aaron about it, as does The Knife In My Back (Unreleased)

Nicky;

The Moondivers. Similar genre feel to Chase Petra but has a more lo-fi undertones. Stays at a pretty level sixty but can go either direction pretty fast. Particularly, Lovely has very Nicky energy to, lacking commitment but also not lacking the love and the need for the person.

Wymack;

Fall Out Boy. Very gruff and rough and tumble on the surface and has that iconic emo energy, but under all of that harsh exterior there’s an underlying message of community and healing and acknowledging the depression and the darkness but also learning to heal. Things like Save Rock & Roll as well as The Kids Aren't All Right show that distinct want to improve and move on with life while we also have songs like My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark and So Much (For) Stardust keep us in that depressive state.

Dan;

Sabrina Carpenter. It took me awhile to figure this one out, but I think this is the one. Pretty much everyone knows who she is but doesn't realise just how much she's done. The energy of this low-level A-lister who everyone knows and respects at least a little bit, but doesn't have the public in the palm of her hand the way other women like Beyonce or Swift do. Also the vibes are entirely correct, she's in the car karaokeing this shit with Matt tell me I'm wrong. She's jamming out to Feather and Sue Me and Thumbs like it's nobody's business. The entire summary of emails i can't send just feels so Dan I can't explain it.

Renee;

Julian Moon. Has this softcore vibe about her, but it powerful and doesn't put up with a lot. Particularly, Siren Song I think fits Renee really well, and Pomegranate Seeds feels like something that'd be on her playlist. Savior matches her role amongst the Foxes (also the intense religious imagery in this song and this EP as a whole needed to be referenced).

Matt;

Placebo. It's glam rock but also not. It's kind of undefinable. You're not really sure what's going on with the music, but you know it's slaps. It's been around a long time and has it's own respect. tbch I don't know massive amounts of Placebo's stuff, mostly only know one album right now because I feel the need to completely dissect an album from an artist before I move on to the next one, but their cover of Running Up That Hill is fantastic. From their actual discography, I think Matt has the vibes/would enjoy Brick Shithouse, Pure Morning, and Burger Queen

Seth;

Eminem (YES I listen to Eminem unironically). He doesn't give a fuck what you think about him, he says a lot of shit he probably shouldn't say, but he's also got points sometimes. Without Me is playing in the background when he comes back in book one. Love The Way You Lie is him and Allison core. Just Lose It is just funny and something he'd listen too all the time. He'd also think he was cool and different for listening to him.

Allison;

Maisie Peters. As much feral crazy ex-girlfriend music as there is sad depression bops. Unpredictable in every measure. Is here for a good time not a long time. BSC is very Allison core, and I think History of Man as well. Boy also reeks of her and Seth's relationship, and Blonde is what she blasts in her bedroom to get ready in the morning.

Abby;

Kesha. She's got a history to her, she fits with the Foxes. She's one of this insane pack, but also she's working on helping fix this insane group. She cares abut their wellbeing, she wants the best. She's got the energy of Resentment, Learn To Let Go, but also she knows these are kids who are gonna do insane things, so let's through in Hymn and Raise Hell. She knows her role in the group, but also she'll stray out of it and test new things. Also, she has to be a bit crazy to be able to manage Andrew's lot.

okay thanks for coming to my tedtalk

#lark says

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kotonas · 2 years

Audio

Track 3 from Lucid Fall’s 2021 ambient EP ‘Dancing With Water’

#lucid fall #루시드 폴 #moment in love #dancing with water #korean indie #AudioPosting #once again there's a spotify link to this ep in the source #since i had to compress the file to fit into the 10mbs that tumble allows ;-;#truly a transcendental experience listening to this #wish i was able to upload the entire ep in one track.. sadly it's impossible..

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pressedink · 3 months

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sitting in a cafe listening to

#i will fuck you like nothing matters #ooooooh so good #new music friday #love a spotify link on tumble #pres listens #the last dinner party #Spotify

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years

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Build Me Up Buttercup

So I won’t lie, @madpanda75 “Road Trip With Barba” totally gave the idea for this one. But it’s entirely different, I swear. This can be a one shot or if people want more I can keep going.

Summary: You’re an SVU detective, the entire squad is all driving to Hartford Connecticut in your car to interview a victim's family. ROAD TRIP!!!!

PS- If you have not heard the song “Build Me Up Buttercup” I highly suggest listening to it before or after reading this. Actually even if you HAVE heard the song, listen to it anyway.

ETA: This turned into a series and I don't know how to fix this link, but follow it to a full list! <3

“...So tell me again why we can’t just take an Uber to the suburbs?” Rafael sighed, as he and the rest of the squad followed you to the parking garage of the station.

“Because that would be INSANELY expensive, Barba. And if I put that on an expense report Dodds would lose it,” Olivia reminded the ADA as they approached your car.

“Wait, does this mean I’m not getting reimbursed for gas? Because I’d kinda like to eat this week, Liv,” You half laughed, knowing you were being completely serious but trying to play it off.

Olivia assured you gas money was more expensable than a rideshare, as you watched Rafael eyeing your mini cooper.

“There’s no way we are all fitting in that clown car,” He scoffed.

“Um, excuse you counselor this ‘clown car’ was big enough to carry my entire family of 5 AND our dog all the way to the beach,” You defended your car; although you conveniently left out the fact that your dog was a Yorkie, and your sister had to ride on your lap the whole time which made her car sick and she vomited all over you on the way home. You had gotten the stain out, and the smell. You were sure of it.

“Whatever. I need to ride in the front seat or I get car sick,” He rolled his eyes as he grabbed the shotgun seat up front. Amanda and Sonny shook their heads, Fin held the door open for Olivia as she got in. Amanda did end up having to sit on Sonny’s lap, but you were almost positive neither of them minded.

“Ok princess,” you giggled, circling around the hood and getting in the driver’s seat. “Everybody comfy?”

“Oh yeah, we’re good back here.” Sonny grinned, playing with Amanda’s hair; She playfully hit him back.

“Cool, let me just….” you trailed off as you programmed the address of your destination into your GPS.

“OK! Hartford here we come!” You beamed proudly, pulling out of the garage into the dead locked New York City streets. “....Or not,” you added with a frustrated sigh.

“It should only be congested up until we exit the city, Y/N,” Fin assured you.

“Yeah, and who knows how long that’ll take,” Rafael grumbled under his breath.

“You know what, we need some tunes!” Olivia jumped in, always being the mother and trying to diffuse every situation.

“Awesome idea Liv!” You grabbed your phone and opened your Spotify. Soon enough, an upbeat song started.

“Oh my god….is that the Jonas Brothers?” Sonny asked with a laugh; Everyone looked at him in shock.

“What? I have nieces,” He defended himself.

“Ok well I refuse to listen to teen girl pop music for 2 hours,” Barba started going for your phone but you quickly swiped it.

“Uh uh uh! My car, my music counselor,” you gave him an evil grin.

“You cannot be serious, Y/N,” Barba scowled back.

“Oh ok ok I’m sorry, let me play some music you’ll like,” you flipped through your phone and landed on a song.

“Hello darkness my old friend….” the music filled the car, causing the group to burst out laughing.

“Ha ha ha. You know you have a green light, detective,” Raul motioned, refusing to acknowledge your joke.

“I was only teasing Barba, take a joke grumpy cat,” You playfully hit his shoulder, but his scowl remained. He seemed to really take that to heart, maybe you should go easy on him. It can’t be easy being the odd one out of your group. The rest of you spent 24/7 together, and he was only around when you needed warrants or if you were in court.

“Ok, Ok I have a suggestion, this song always gets me and Noah pumped in the morning. May I?” Olivia motioned towards you as you handed her your phone.

“Oh SHE can touch your phone?” Rafael scoffed.

“SHE asked,” you stuck your tongue out at the ADA with a playful smile this time, to which he countered with a perplexed look.

Were you...joking around with him? Usually you barely talked to him, which if he was being honest hurt his feelings somehow. He knew he shouldn’t really care what a young detective should think of him, but with you somehow he did. Like he wanted your approval; which is why the darkness joke hit him the wrong way. He didn’t like being the dark cloud of the group, but as the representative of New York, he had to be. That didn’t mean he wanted you to think he was a debbie downer 24/7.

Soon a song began pouring out of your phone once again, knocking you both from your thoughts.

“Everybody! Let’s go!” Olivia yelled while the intro played. If Barba started singing this song, you’d seriously have to reconsider your judgement of him. You could see the slightest little head bob from him as the rest of you belted lyrics.

Why do you build me up?

Buttercup baby, just to let me down (let me down)

And mess me around and then worst of all (worst of all)

“Come on Rafael, you know you want to!!” Olivia hit him with a laugh, he rolled his eyes but looked over at you with half a smile. Before you could say anything else, he belted out the next words louder than anyone else in the car.

You never call baby when you say you will (say you will)

But I love you still, I need you (I need you)

More than anyone, darlin'

You know that I have from the start

So build me up (build me up)

Buttercup, don't break my heart

Applause erupted from the back with cheers and laughs as they all continued with the song, but you had taken serious pause. You could have sworn on your dead dog’s grave he looked RIGHT at you when he sang that chorus. Well, sure obviously why wouldn’t he? You're the one who was giving him shit about being a grumpy bugger; he was probably just trying to make a point.

But still, his gaze lingered after he had stopped singing.

“Wow counselor, you never cease to surprise me,” you gave him a genuine smile and to your surprise, he smiled right back at you. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him smile before, because if you had you’d remember it. His smile was big and beautiful, it made you blush just looking at him. His face quickly went back to panic as you heard him yelling at you.

“RED LIGHT!!!!”

**SKKKKKRRRRRTTTTT*

You had never been so happy that you had remembered to replace the brake pads in this car. The car screeched to a halt, barely a centimeter from the red Tahoe in front of you.

“Jesus Y/N, you sure you know how to drive?” Sonny rubbed his neck from the whiplash.

“Y-Yeah, sorry Son. Everyone ok?” You checked around the backseat as the group nodded with annoyed looks.

“You should probably pay attention to the road instead of staring at me, detective,” Rafael smirked at you.

“Oh shut up, grumpy cat,” you hit him playfully as the light turned green and you gently started moving again.

Well, this would sure be an interesting two hours!

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #Raul Esparza #svu #law and order svu #build me up buttercup

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peeterparkr · 4 years

Text

perfidy;tom holland|21

chapter 21: the film.

enemies to lovers au/enemies with benefits

chapter summary: The puzzle, and not being able to pretend anymore

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: angst, fluffy angst, angst and more angst.

word count: 10.2 k

playlist(1: with song names)

playlist 2 (Spotify link)

Playlist: perf1Dy (one direction+solo songs)

social media before you read : Behind the scenes.

previous chapter Perennial-Prologue series masterlist

Hi :) thanks to @peachybloomss for being my beta reader.

Yes, this is the last chapter. No worries, Perennial is coming soon. (Next Friday!) But Here we go, anyways. Thanks for everyone who read this and for all the support. I hope you are as excited as I am for perennial, and well. Yes, I’m emotional you’ll be too. Cry with me.

Tom has cried with movies before. Most of us have. That unexplainable feeling that comes when watching their emotions, while rooting for the main character and seeing how it all tumbled down right before their eyes. You know, that cramp on your chest when the last hope dies, or that feeling when you don’t get a happy ending. But you know you couldn’t get one, and the bittersweet ending is the best you can hope for.

Yes, he’s cried with movies, not with movies like Titanic. No, no. Sure, it was sad. But not really the feeling they’d understand. He and y/n had talked about it, once, how neither of them had cried with that one. Even if they were so different, when it came to their emotions, they were very much alike.

And with movies, even if y/n could sometimes be one of those pretentious film students, if she enjoyed a movie, no matter how cinematically wrong it could be, she didn’t mind, she would cry. But Tom knew y/n was brilliant with emotions, she perfectly knew how to crush hearts with one sentence, with one idea for a scene. He’d seen her do it.

And that’s what led him there. Built-up scenes made to hurt him.

Tom had never felt this wrong. Like a dagger going through his chest. Dry mouth. Swollen lips. He’d swallowed his words. As if saying anything would rip off his throat.

He guessed it was his fault. Life paying off for crushing and loving his brother’s crush. It was a very complicated situation which he had yet to address with Harry. Yes, he had apologized. To his parents, to Harry, to Emma, well he had tried to, she hadn’t listened to him, and Emma’s parents. To Sam. Apologies for some sober thoughts that had accidentally transformed into drunken words.

He felt selfish, and he felt conflicted. If he’d done this to help Harry out, then why the hell did he feel so wrong?

But at least he had apologized. He had meant that apology. He was sorry, and he had said it.

Not to y/n, though. Not to y/n.

Did he have to? He probably did. Because he felt guilty because he knew that her words hadn’t been written in vain. She meant them.

He was too proud to admit that he missed her. That he’d gotten so used to waking up to her that now waking up alone made his stomach tie up in a knot. He had wanted to kiss her so badly his lips ached. He was too proud to admit that the nights were too long and that they arrived earlier, that the sun wasn’t coming out. Because he’d shown her his weakness and strengths. But it was just another story for her. A scene.

A movie he was crying with.

That’s the worst thing about heartbreak, the aftermath. Having to deal with the fact that she wasn’t there. Having to deal with the fact that no matter how angry, he still loved her. That’s the hard thing about heartbreaks. They hurt, but it’s harder to accept the fact that it probably won’t come back to what it used to be. The worst thing about heartbreak is that not even the pain can be able to take away your feelings; to think that he had the world and it vanished right in front of him, and think he had arrived at war with no weapons and she still had shot fire.

But he missed her.

And he felt it. And he was amazed by how well she knew the feeling. The heartbreak. A chest pain. An intermittent pressure in his chest. As if he couldn’t breathe. A void.

And it made him think. How she had gone through this kind of pain. How had she gotten up? How did she manage to get back around? How can you mend a broken heart? It’s impossible.

Because he remembered seeing her coming back slowly, and maybe it did make sense why when she was back on their family lunches and dinners, she’d have to excuse herself and her nose would be red when she came back. Or how she’d zone out. How she’d stay quiet, very very quiet.

Because words didn’t want to come out of his mouth. Because it had been a heartbreak caused by her. And caused by him. Now he regretted it. The damn morality speaking after drinking too much. And he shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have.

He’d heal. Not right now.

He couldn’t. He would, eventually. But not now. Or maybe he would if he saw her again. There was still that hopeful thought roaming around his mind. That they’d be able to work this out.

He wanted to.

He wanted to heal this, heal his sorrow. He wanted to live again, not like this. Not with this pain. How the hell had she done it? Live with the rain.

And maybe he wanted to forgive her. Because after all, she’d forgiven him.

But had she? If she’d done that, had she really forgiven him?

He needed answers.

God, not that, not even that. He just needed to see her, at least from afar. Or maybe he’d look out for her, kiss her one last time. Kiss her goodbye. Wake up from this nightmare.

He wanted this film to end already, he didn’t like it. He had cried with this one, even if he didn’t want to admit it out loud. Loving hurts.

This story was not the love story he thought he’d have with her. He needed another chance, even if they’d run out of them. What would he do if he never saw her again? What if they never had the chance to give explanations. Did she have one?

It wouldn't matter, she was home. And even if she’d hurt him, and even if he was bleeding, he knew he loved her, and he didn’t want to let her go.

And it seemed like fate had listened to his thoughts. He saw her car. And that old vintage car gave him hope, and it gave him memories, too. From their first breakfast together to when he believed it could lead somewhere. Loving can heal.

Was she in the same park as him? Was he looking for him? Maybe she was feeling the same. Maybe she too wanted to pause this for a little bit. He knew he did.

He was sitting down on a bench, Tessa running around, and back to him. He barely had any emotions and he wasn’t as cheerful to play with her. He felt numb. Yes, that’s it. Numb.

But he’d seen her car. She probably was nearby. Was she alone?

And what would he even say to her? Because he needed to apologize too. What kind of apology, he didn’t know, but he needed to apologize.

But he needed to see her, one last time. Even if it would hurt him, his last memory of her couldn’t be a picture of her on his phone. That’s not what he needed.

With pain, excitement, confusion and barely any hope of finding her, he started to look out. And he was expecting the worst. But he knew that she could mend his broken heart, and maybe it wouldn’t stop raining, but he’d enjoy it.

And maybe if someone had told him he’d regret it, he … probably wouldn’t, no, he would’ve searched for her anyway. Because maybe that was the only explanation he needed. As if he’d walked directly into a hurricane as if he was hit with a train.

He’d seen her, arms crossed as Harry was anxiously tapping his foot, avoiding her gaze. And maybe he should’ve run out right there, but he kept watching, because Tom was, beyond many things, stupidly stubborn.

She looked terrible, and that wasn’t normal of her. She looked grey, broken, weak. But she’d looked out for Harry, not for Tom. For Harry, maybe that was the explanation Tom needed. She wouldn’t look for him. And it hurt, because how many times had he not tried to call her these days, how many nights had he not craved the taste of her lips.

And she hadn’t looked up for him.

He couldn’t hear the conversation. He wasn’t close enough.

Harry was holding something, a bunch of papers. What was it?

They were angry, Tom could tell. Probably yelling at each other, their hands going up in the air, finger-pointing, fists, hands to the face. Harry stood back up, crossing his arms, Tom could tell his brother was angry, that his brother was exasperated. Holding his head, as y/n watched him and seemed stressed.

They were arguing.

But it seemed like a weird argument as if Harry didn’t want to hear what she was saying. Harry sat on the bench again as y/n moved her hands quickly, she didn’t know how to explain it.

And eventually, they both went quiet as they were both on the bench, Harry staring at the bunch of papers he was holding.

And then Harry was about to leave, and Tom saw y/n still had a lot to say so she followed after Harry.

But then, he saw it.

His world shattered.

Have you ever felt like the world is sinking? Have you ever felt the world spinning? And suddenly, he could hear every single noise. As if the city had suddenly decided to be loud, he heard car horns, children playing, couples arguing, alarms going off, every single noise getting louder as if someone was setting the fire, shooting. Too loud. The weather around him was getting so warm but he was only getting colder. His chest was shrinking, not leaving any more space for his heart, as it was pressed into a knot.

Tom was pretty sure he was about to faint.

Harry had his hands on her face and his lips on her. Harry had kissed y/n.

Harry was kissing y/n.

Harry and y/n kissed.

And he didn’t know how long it had been, but Tom felt like time had stopped for them and Tom, while the whole world was going too quickly. As if everything around kept going except for them.

Tom was sure he was hearing his heartbeat, a loud thud, his ears were buzzing.

He didn’t even notice he’d let go off Tessa’s leash, and he hadn’t even seen how Tessa had run to Harry, to interrupt the kiss. Harry’s hands had moved to her arms.

Y/N was terrified, she hadn’t moved, she had only frozen, didn’t even notice Tessa. Had she kissed him back? Tom hadn’t seen it. He couldn’t see anything. It was blurry.

She hadn’t kissed him again. And he hadn’t kissed her again. She was in shock, even… Shaking a bit. She didn’t even turn to see Tess.

Harry did, he turned to see Tessa, begging to be pet.she jumped to them.

Y/N shook her head, and turned back into reality, Tom could see she was breathing again. Both Harry and Y/N were in shock seeing the pup. It was going all in slow motion as if y/n and Harry both got the hint as they saw Tess. Y/N slowly looked up, and her eyes found Tom instantly, standing there. Weakly, he had just been shot and his knees were getting weaker by the minute, almost about to fall to the ground.

Y/N with Harry’s hands still on her arms tried to back away as she stared at Tom. She couldn’t map her emotions, that was clear.

Tom urged to rush, to leave. He couldn’t—get in their way.

He saw y/n opening her mouth to say something but he couldn’t hear about it. Everything kept going fast, and slow. Tom was going too slow.

But y/n walked out of Harry’s grip. Tom thought she would rush to him, she didn’t. She walked away from both of them, Harry stayed with Tessa.

Tom didn’t know how he managed to get back home, he didn’t know how he got there, he didn’t remember crossing any streets.

He had lost control, his heart was beating so fast, so loudly, it was going to burst out. He was barely breathing. He had to leave it all behind, that was the only answer he needed to any of the questions he’d asked in the darkness throughout these days and nights.

He probably shouldn’t have to live with it tomorrow, not with all this sorrow. Because that’s how it was supposed to be, right? Harry and her.

Though it hurt, he had to deal with it.

But had y/n kissed Harry back? Did y/n love Harry? Because y/n was an impossible case, and she probably didn’t even know it herself. That’s the problem with y/n, she never knows what she feels. She was never certain, she never did anything for the sake of doing it. She did it because she had a million reasons behind everything she did, she wasn’t spontaneous, she always loved to be premeditated. She always thinks about what she does, so that’s probably why she’d searched for Harry. Because she probably wanted to be with him. It had been her choice.

Tom got to his room, still blurry, he’d ignored Harrison, not because he wanted to but because he really couldn’t hear anything, his buzzing ears were not letting him. A headache was growing and he was slowly catching back his breath as he sat down on his bed. and when all his senses were coming back he saw an envelope.

The story had come alive. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Hadn’t he wanted all that his whole life? For his brother to be happy.

Then why the hell did he not want this? How selfish of Tom to be brokenhearted when he had no rights to. This was the way it was meant to be.

It would take him a few days, or months, or years even. He really didn’t want to see it. He needed to get used to the idea that Harry had kissed y/n. And he needed to get used to the idea of that. He knew he needed to get used to the idea that this was how it was supposed to be, the way it led there.

He saw his tv, paused on something. Maybe he had learned the wrong lesson. To fall into the shallow. But it didn’t make any sense. Harrison had told him she had been there before, had she been there to tell Tom how she was choosing Harry?

He shouldn’t have tried anything. Because his brother still loved y/n, if Harry had kissed y/n it had to mean that he still had feelings for him.

Nothing mattered, not even his heartbreak now. Because it hadn’t been Tom, y/n wasn’t supposed to love Tom. That’s a tragedy.

It’s clear they deserved each other, they were perfect together. Not Tom and y/n, no. That’s why throughout these years, they hadn’t worked out. Because they had always been at war, and they weren’t meant to be.

They deserved each other.

He stared at the envelope, ‘Tom’. That’s all it read. Her handwriting. He didn’t want to read it. A box, with his name.

The same box he’d seen in her room, the one box that he had wanted to open. But now he only wanted to throw it away.

How long had it been since their last kiss? It should’ve lasted longer, at least he would’ve made it worth it. It had been 16 hours, and three weeks, that’s how long it had been. But now it didn’t matter. Now he could be free knowing that she’d chosen him. Now he could ignore her, and now he didn’t need all the information she had from her.

He could stop pretending that he loved The Rolling Stones, and he could have dates that didn’t involve ‘a movie moment’, he could go out and have fun. He didn’t have to carry that stupid polaroid everywhere. He could go back to fancy restaurants, and not have to pretend he loved street hot dogs. And he could go back to not try and over analyse props on films, and he could go back to have it all simple. He didn’t have to remember the perfect pancake recipe, and he didn’t have to buy any more 80’s like clothes.

He didn’t have to pretend he cared anymore.

But he had to pretend he didn’t. Because he cared, and he did love all that stuff.

He looked up to his nightstand, yellow flowers and lavenders. And he thought about the ashes in his drawer.

He turned the TV off and opened the box. The first thing he saw was a bunch of papers. The script, printed. He picked it up and then opened his window, would he throw it all away? He gave it a second thought and then slammed it to the floor.

He sighed, took the flowers and then the script, he headed to the kitchen. He searched for a lighter and stared at the flowers and the papers, this probably was an inefficient way of accepting an apology. Maybe he was being cynical but he really didn’t want to see the flowers, and he knew that her apology wasn’t even real. He didn’t want to know what they meant.

He hated this. Because he shouldn’t be feeling this way, and though he wanted to be happy for his brother, Tom really wished it had been him. And he had believed it, that it would be them. And all he had to treasure now was New York.

And Rome. Rome.

Stupid to think that.

He wouldn’t do that again, because Tom was well aware of why he’d gone to Rome. Maybe he had been jealous, and selfish, and stupid. Yes, stupid. Because he had gone to Rome with a stupid excuse, a photoshoot. It wasn’t true. He had gone to search for her because she had been right, he couldn’t stand it, because he was arrogant and selfish and envious, and he loved her too much.

Rome had been a fairytale, even prettier than New York. So intimate, that’s probably when it should’ve started, it could’ve been prettier. Because somehow he had known that New York would be their downfall. In New York, they had touched their bodies, but in Rome, they had touched their souls. And they hadn’t even kissed. That’s how pretty it had been.

And it had all started as a dream.

Rome and New York were so different. New York was them trying to make up for all the times they could’ve kissed, and Rome felt like a summer breeze. And he still remembered that it was the time he knew he’d love her his whole life. With that pretty dress as she was holding her wine glass up, the sun hitting her face perfectly, with those red lips of her. Her laugh still echoed in his mind now and then.

A picture-perfect day. He knew that a polaroid of that day probably was hanging around her bedroom. In that alley, walls covered with plants build up until the roof with the chairs that never. A little restaurant, best pasta he’d ever had. The prettiest laugh he’d ever heard. But it had never been his.

He had been so selfish. Taking her away from Harry. And he wouldn’t do it again. No. Not again.

He needed to set it all on fire, the flowers and the script. He ignored Harrison again as he walked outside, ready to burn them. To erase the story, this was Tom burning their story. He didn’t want to read it ever again.

And he knew that it would leave a scar, and he knew that the ashes would stain, but they’d fade away with the wind. He’d had to wake up alone for a while. Did he have to do it now? Did he have to wait until he wasn’t as angry?

He sat in his garden, not ready to do it. He wasn’t ready to erase her. He didn’t want to.

But he picked up the first page, and he started to light it up in fire, seeing how it was dwindling.

“She didn’t kiss me back,” a voice said.

And Tom swore he had felt like a knife had been stabbed right on his back. He knew whose voice it was. He didn’t want to acknowledge he was there.

“Tom.”

Tom stayed quiet and then picked up the second page, but he didn’t light this one up. He saw Tess had approached him, she was back. And that only confirmed it.

“She loves you. You know?” Harry pushed again.

Tom pursed his lips, as he stared at the lighter. He kept quiet.

“Don’t burn it.”

Tom turned to his brother. How stupid it was they were fighting for a girl.

“And do you love her?” Tom asked.

Harry sat across him. “I don’t know.”

That was the answer he didn’t need to hear.

Tom looked up. He hadn’t really talked to Harry. They’ve said ‘sorry’, and then ignored each other. He knew his relationship with his brother was bruised forever. How would Harry forgive him? He probably wouldn’t. And could he forgive him for kissing y/n? But Harry didn’t have to apologize to him.

“I don’t know,” Harry repeated. “I thought….” He sighed. “All my life I thought it would feel different.”

Tom stayed quiet.

“Dunno why I did that,” Harry gulped her. “The worst thing that could happen to me was losing her and now I pushed her out.

Tom watched him.

“Now she’ll be a stranger, huh, we can’t fix this,” Harry gulped. “She gave this to me,” he said showing the same bunch of papers that Tom had received this morning. Harry took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“What?”

“Kissing her. I guess I thought I would lose nothing. I knew I’d lost her already and I lost Emma.”

“You haven’t lost Emma.”

Harry smiled sadly. “She gave the ring back,” he shook his head. “I don’t blame her. I was still confused.” Harry scowled. “Well, I dunno. I guess Emma realized it, and I blame myself, I always did give it to Y/N. I know I always moved mountains for her, and I can’t blame Emma. And I can’t believe I made Emma feel less important, and I wouldn’t blame her. No, I can’t believe I let the love of my life go for something that I knew would never grow. And I didn’t… I didn’t do it for that, you know?”

Tom looked down at the script he was about to burn.

“But after years of loving someone knowing that at some point they loved you… It’s scary, and stupid and you hate timing, of course, I’d be confused. And It wasn’t like I wanted to be with her, you know? And I can’t believe I did that, because I want her to be happy, and I wanted you to be happy, hell we shouldn’t even have… I dunno, Tom.”

“I shouldn’t have dated her,” Tom said.

“No, that’s where you’re fucking wrong, Tom, when you love someone you do something about it,” Harry said. “You don’t--You don’t have to wait, look at the mess that comes when you don’t say what you really mean.”

“How do you really feel about her?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I always wondered how she felt about me. She always felt guilty, I know that, I could see it, how any time I tried to make a move, she’d feel guilty. Just like she did today as if she felt bad that she can’t reciprocate. I think she forced herself back before Rome, as if she was trying to accept it, it didn’t feel… natural. Not even for me, even today, when I kissed her it felt… Weird.”

Tom frowned.

“And we’ve made a mess, and… I don’t know.”

“How did it feel weird?” asked Tom.

Harry was sad, Tom could tell his brother was probably trying to hide away the fact that he probably was broken-hearted too. Somehow, he felt that his brother was lying. Tom knew his brother, and Tom knew that Harry didn’t mean what he was saying.

“It was gross,” Harry said after a while, probably trying to word it outright. Because he had seen Harry’s stress fade away when his lips had landed on y/n’s. Harry hid his hands in his pockets.

“What?” Tom frowned.

“I kissed her and it was gross,” Harry snapped, clenched his jaw. He fidgeted with his hand. “She didn’t kiss back and I have no…. Feelings for her. I know that. And she doesn’t love me.”

Harry was lying. Clearly.

Tom watched him and pointed at the script. “Read that.”

Harry shrugged. “I only read the ending,” He explained. “And judging by your reaction it’s exactly what you didn’t read.”

Tom crossed his arms. “She wanted it to be you.”

Harry shook his head. “But it isn’t.”

“And do you want to be?” Tom asked.

Harry shook his head looking down. “I know she wants it to be you,” He explained.

“But do you still love her?”

“I think I’m never going to stop loving her, really,” Harry said. “It’s been years for me, don’t know how long it’s been for you, but feelings never really fade away. They transform. I think… I don’t know, I’ve made a fool out of myself for her and I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go. I don’t know. I’ve spent my whole life crushing on her eyes, and her smile, memorizing every single thing about her, her favorite songs, her favorite films. Knowing how to make her laugh, and knowing who made her cry. If she likes silver earrings or gold ones, it depends on her dress. The way that she drinks coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon, two cups if it’s raining. I know which song I can play to make her dance and I know that she is so stubborn, that even if she won’t like an ice cream, she’ll try it anyway the very next day.” Harry nodded slowly, to himself. “I know that she still sleeps with that plush frog and if she travels or forgets it, she’ll end up hugging a pillow.”

Tom didn’t know what to say. His brother knew y/n, perfectly. And he was right, he’d seen y/n lookout for a pillow in her sleep to hug, a small pillow even if she was holding Tom, she’d always unconsciously search for a small pillow.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about her, Tom,” Harry gulped. “How many poems she’s written about you, and how many times she’s cancelled plans for you. I know why she didn’t show up to the premiere that one time. I know her first kiss wasn’t that Nicholas guy, and I know she always ends up buying the same shade of red lipstick every now in a while, and that she always ends up boxing them.” Harry bit his lip. “I know that her most sincere smile came the day you took her to prom, and I know that she really did love you and she’ll keep choosing you.”

Tom looked away.

“Do I love her? I don’t know. But if you’re asking if the kiss could lead to anything more, no, it wouldn’t from me and it wouldn’t from her. Because we both know she’ll end up choosing you.”

Harry walked away Leaving Tom confused. This wasn’t his brother’s fault. Maybe y/n’s. Probably y/n’s.

“But yes,” Harry sighed. “I still love her, always will.”

“You fucking lied you know?” Tom said. “To me, to y/n, to Emma. Especially to Emma. You still love y/n. “

Harry stopped as if he was going to turn and say something, he didn’t, he kept walking.

Tom didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t want to know it, he was not going to do anything. What was there to do?

But she hadn’t kissed Harry back. Tom watched Harry leave, and then stared at the script. He didn’t want to think about it. Had Harry given him his blessing? And did he even want it? Did he want to go back to that place with y/n?

He didn’t want to read the script, though. Not even if the ending changed everything. He really didn’t want to go there, not right now at least.

He needed time. So he’d take even more days. She didn’t reach out for him. He didn’t reach out for her.

Both of them were quiet. Very, very quiet. He didn’t know if it hurt him more that she hadn’t told him anything about it. Or if he understood it, did she have to tell him anything?

Maybe she didn’t want to.

Because Harry had spoken for himself, but Harry didn’t know if nothing had been awakened on y/n. Maybe y/n had had her own explanation.

Tom had his, though. Maybe Harry hadn’t done much because he knew y/n was in love with Tom. But Harry didn’t know how y/n had wanted it to be y/n.

Y/N eventually called him.

He didn’t answer.

And she called again.

He didn’t answer.

And again.

Maybe she gave up.

But she left a voicemail. Tom didn’t listen to it. Because why the hell should he?

He had let the flowers die. He hadn’t burned them. He had ignored it. A dvd, a box and an envelope.

And he had purposefully avoided them, because he still had something to look up for. It wasn’t a memory, it was something he could still look forward to. But he was curious. Very, very curious. Why had y/n bothered to bring her box to him.

And it bothered him. He had asked Haz when she’d brought it. And it made sense that she had closed the door to Tom. But what the hell was on it?

He couldn’t help himself, he opened it, but then he closed it again. He was furious, defeated.

He opened it again. And it hurt, opening it. Polaroids, from their dates in New York, from Rome, and the first polaroid from two months ago, with Tom smiling as he was eating a pancake, another one from the time Tom asked her out, lipsticks,a beer bottle from that lunch with their parents, a napkin that had ‘NY hot dogs’ written on it, the plane ticket from their first date, a baseball she’d bought after that other one, a dried out yellow flower, pebbles, more pictures,, a drawing, movie tickets, a spiderman toy, a broken teacup from that time they were kids and Tom had accidentally stepped on it, an xbox broken controller, he remembered it, perfectly the controller that had stopped working right after their first kiss.

A lego piece, a Barbie-- he remembered that one, he’d cut her hair and y/n had cried. And many, many more things that were only tokens… For what?

Tokens of their… relationship. As he was taking out each and every object he was reminded of every single thing. As if every time he touched an object, a memory flooded his brain. The yellow flowered dress she’d worn to Harry's party was the one that hurt the most. A wine bottle, a beer cap . Lipsticks, many lipsticks. An old lighter. The Sour Patch empty bag from that same night at the hotdogs….

Maybe Tom was wrong, maybe their story wasn’t New York and maybe their story wasn’t only Rome. For how long had she built this?

He kept going through it, toys from their childhood, a package of cigarettes, a hair comb and…

A pregnancy test?

A pregnancy test.

A pregnancy test!

Tom suddenly felt cold as he saw it laying down on that corner of the box, waiting for it to be seen. He didn’t want to see it. Was she pregnant?

Was this… Was he going to be a dad? He had to take care of her, and the baby. Was this her way of telling him? And how would it work? Did they have to make it work? What the hell was he going to do?

But it couldn’t be.

No, but it could.

“Fuck.”

It didn’t make any sense. But it could make sense. They hadn’t really stopped… New York had been fun. But had it been?

But fuck, this couldn’t… It could be. But why hadn’t she told him before? How the hell… When had she found out? He had been an idiot for waiting so long. Maybe he should call her. What was he even going to tell her? He was sweating cold. He would take care of them, but fuck, how complicated would it be? And poor baby, the whole story their parents had. Fuck, this was going to be difficult.

He blinked as he slowly reached out for it. He felt it. That fear. But… a baby could solve their problems, but what king of bloody thinning was that?

And he finally reached for it, snatching it quickly and bringing it up to his sight.

One lined. It was negative.

And Tom felt a relief. Not because he didn’t want to be a father, but because his relationship with her was too complicated and adding a baby would ruin everything, or would it? Was he really thinking about that?

He couldn’t have a baby, for god’s sake. No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t, though. He didn’t have to worry about that.

He laughed, slightly. He knew y/n, she probably had done this exactly to get that reaction. But it hurt, to think she was giving all of this back. Because that meant she didn’t want to have them anymore.

He looked up for the DVD next. He decided to play it.

It felt weird.

“Hello! This is y/n!” An old video started. With barely any resolution, as a young, probably 4 year old y/n was speaking to the camera, her face too close, and her lips purple stained.

Tom sat on his bed, staring at the video in front of him.

She lifted up the almost finished purple popsicle, and pointed behind her. “There’s Tom, ugly Tom,” she said as she moved to her hand to angle just slightly right to show Tom sucking on a blue popsicle. “There’s—Jamesy!” She said as she pointed the camera to her brother, too busy away kicking a football. “He’s playing! And I’m here—So I stole my mum’s new—campera—camra, camera, and we’re gonna—“

“Bloooooooooooop!” Tom has snatched the camera from her as he recorded his face just as he ran away.

“Tooom, no, give it back, it’s mine!” Y/N could be seen running after him.

“It’s not, it’s not!” Tom laughed. “Too slow, y/n!”

Y/N was already tearing up. “Tom!”

“It’s mine!” Tom laughed.

“Tom give it back!” She continued, and the young innocent voice faded away and grew into a deeper voice.

“Tom give it back—“an older y/n appeared on the screen now, from a few weeks ago. Back in New York, on set, as Tom was running away with her phone. “give me my phone back.”

This had been just weeks before, when her smile still made him smile. When he wasn’t a fool.

“No,” he lifted the phone out of her reach. The sight of Tom watching her, as she walked over.

“Thomas,” she laughed. “Can you give it back?”

“What for? you were already recording my pretty face, I’m only helping you!” He laughed as he scrunched his nose to the camera. “I don’t even know what kind of vid you want here, so I’ll just—“

“Baby!” She complained as she tried to reach for it.

He smirked as he turned to her. “Baby? Oh, so I’m baby now,” he grinned. “You’ve never called me baby.”

She blushed, instantly. “Give it back, dumbass.”

“That sounds more like you.”

“Can I have my phone back?” She asked, Tom grinned as he walked to her.

“Yeah,” he smirked. “I’ll only just—“he pointed the camera at her face, she tried to snatch it away. “Can you wait? A second?”

She laughed and crossed her arms. Tom only pointed the camera at them before placing a long kiss to her lips.

“oh—shit, oh shit, shit, shit, y/n and Tom are kissing. Fucking hell!” A voice said over their kiss, before switching to the video it belonged to.

The prom kiss, a Snapchat video from someone who had been coincidentally recording the part. Y/N and Tom in a little corner as they kept kissing.

“It’s y/n and Tom, right? Yessss bloody hell!” “Bloody hell!” “Tom—and y/n—“

“Tom and y/n!” The voice said as it turned yet into a different video. “They’re dancing—“ Elaine’s voice was speaking now.

“They’re adorable,” Nikki's voice said on camera.

“They’re not fighting!”

It had been at that wedding, when y/n looked adorable with that pink dress.

Tom remembered that night. It was the night he finally admitted it out loud to himself. “I like y/n.” Shortly after the first yellow flowers.

And they were dancing. Children being silly, holding hands but throwing them up in the air.

“But they’re dancing!” Elaine commented again.

And as Tom twirled y/n, another video appeared. A most recent one, too. When they had been sillying around at Tom’s dance rehearsal. After their Dirty Dancing moment.

“Okay, y/n,” the choreographer said. “Come here, Tom, pretend she’s Maddie.”

“Why would I do that?” Tom laughed, as he brought her close to him. “And how would I? Y/N here is a terrible dancer.”

She chuckled. “Shut up!”

“Unless she’s drunk,” Tom pointed out.

Tom kept watching the video, videos of them transitioning from children, to teenage years, to Rome, to New York, to everything. As if the videos proved how they hadn’t changed, just transformed.

Feelings never fade away.

Tom wasn’t even watching it. What was the point of that? Why did he… feel like this? He finally opened the envelope. A few pages. At first, Tom thought it was a script. It wasn’t. It was… a letter.

Dear Tom, Hello, To you,

Tom.

Yes, I’m sticking with that one. Sorry if I scratch things. Sorry for the bad orthography, grammar or the unfinished thoughts. No, that’s not the thing I should be apologizing for, but it’s a beginning. I’m writing this from my heart and I am trying to write this as sincerely as possible. It’s what you deserve. I initially wanted to think all of this through but I realized that if I let the pen flow, I’ll get to say everything I want to say. I also thought I would try and tell all of this in person but I’m afraid you won’t listen to everything I want to say. This is easier.

You know me. I always have second thoughts and I never do anything that isn’t premeditated. This was the most spontaneous thing I could do, I just picked up the first paper I saw, so yes, it’s stained with coffee.

How does one even begin to write a letter? This is not the kind of stuff I like doing. I’m not good at this. Hell, I don’t know if you’ll even read this. I don’t know if you watched it. That DVD. Hope you did. I really hope you’re watching it.

Though it might be stupid and cheesy and probably not really the romantic gesture you’d expect from me, I have no choice. Because I’m really trying to prove a point here.

I initially thought I would write a script, you know, write a story to make you understand my point of view, but now I barely want to, a script ruined the best thing I ever had. But I guess, it also started it.

I wish I’d told you sooner and I really wish it hadn’t started that way, but it made it start.

You see, that script is the biggest con I’ve ever tricked myself into, making myself believe I would be doing it for a stupid script, when in reality, I guess it’s all I wanted, for you to fall in love with me. I shielded myself saying I would break your heart, I shielded myself saying it was only for the sake of my job. When it really wasn’t. It was me trying to give it another chance. I blew it all up.

And yes. I did write I wanted to break your heart. I don’t even know why. Why did I have to break what I love so much?

Want to know a secret? I never knew how I would do that. My “plan” went as far as to make you fall in love with me, no further shenanigans, because, really, that’s all I really wanted. I didn’t know how I’d break your heart. I didn’t have any plans because I knew I really didn’t want to. I only wanted you to love me.

Hope you did.

Hope you didn’t, too. Because if you didn’t, then I will at least pretend I didn’t hurt you as much.

I know I did. And it’s fucked up, very fucked up.

I’ve been struggling to find the right words to tell you. I know sorry won’t cut it. It’s not enough.

And since I know you don’t read until the end, I am really doubting if I’ll give this to you. It’s not on you, I wouldn’t have read it. Maybe I’m just writing for myself, probably. But it helps. I’ve never been good with words, which is ironic, I’m a screenwriter, or I pretended to be one, I guess. You know me, I’m more about moments. I’m more about little details.

I did send you the script, though. It’s in that box. It’s yours. Keep it. Burn it. Rip it off. Do whatever you want with it. I don’t blame you.

It’s yours.

But it’s there. With a lot of other things. Things that finally explained something I haven’t understood for a while. Until now.

I think that among these years, I’ve found myself in a predicament. You’ve seen it. You’ve heard it. And I’m pretty sure you’ve said it.

I don’t love who I’m supposed to love.

That’s the reason behind it right? I’d like to think so.

That’s what they said, right? I don’t love who I’m supposed to. Not the perfect guy, not the guy who’s been there all along.

And everyone said it, you should date him, that guy it’s your endgame. But I didn’t—feel it.

Maybe for a bit, I did. But I ended up coming back to you.

I didn’t love who I was supposed to love. And that’s what the script said, too. I don’t love the guy who has danced with me under the rain, or the guy who’s taken the best picture of me under the rain too.

No. I love the guy who’s probably the worst thing that could ever happen to me, and who’ll probably be away most of the time. I love the guy who was the storm.

But I still love him. So dearly. And so much. And I miss him. I really miss you.

And I’m sorry.

Really sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am. I can’t believe I fucked up that much.

I am the monster. Not you. I fucked up. And I can’t blame you if you don’t ever want to see me again, I understand it. And I won’t blame you if you burn this. I can’t blame you, I’d probably do the same.

But I’m sorry.

I can’t believe I did this to you, the love of my life.

But it all comes to that. Doesn’t it?

I don’t love who I’m supposed to love.

Except, Tom. I do. That’s what we’ve both got wrong. I do love who I’m supposed to love.

Searching through our memories, I wanted to build up the puzzle, understand every situation that’s led us to where we are now. To two very broken hearts. To lost battles. To understand why I loved someone who has crushed my heart into tiny little pieces, throw it into the ground and then step on it.

You read it, how I described you. How I described what I was doing. How I said you were a monster. How you hurt me. How you were only my…

Perfidy.

1: the quality or state of being faithless or disloyal: TREACHERY.

2: an act or an instance of disloyalty

3: deceitfulness; untrustworthiness.

It’s a war concept, it was used to refer to someone who won someone’s trust only to betray them. Must like us.

We don’t make sense, do we?

I tried to understand a lot about us, and I think I’ve found the answer. It’s complicated, bare with me, and please, this time, keep reading. I can’t afford losing you to another unfinished story. I already lost you, I know.

I know where we went wrong.

We thought of each other as a war, a game, a prank, an apology. And we didn’t have to, that’s where we went wrong. I guess we really were blinded by the idea of a sworn enemy that we walked in thinking this was a war and waiting for the other one to shoot first, when nobody should’ve shot.

All is fair in love and war. But don’t get those two mixed up, because then, it’ll be all unfair.

That’s our problem, you even said it, a war song reminded you of me, I used to describe you with a war concept.

We thought this was war Tom. And it shouldn’t have been. It didn’t feel like one.

And I don’t even know what to tell you now. This wasn’t a war zone. We were wrong. We didn’t have to be careful, we didn’t have to. And I shouldn’t have pulled the perfect perfidy.

But after years of battles, did we expect not to?

The fact that you love me, if you do, and I really hope you do, doesn't change the fact that you hurt me. I think that’s the best thing we can do for now, accept the fact that we’ve both hurt each other so much.

I did write you were a monster. And yes, most things in the script are true. I guess I have to acknowledge it. I own it, I wrote it.

Yes. I love you.

But I can’t pretend I didn’t cry for months, I can’t pretend that night at the club I felt like the whole world tumbled upon me. Because it did. And you know it. I can’t pretend I wasn’t diagnosed with a broken heart and I can’t pretend that I really started this thinking you’ll do it again.

I can’t pretend I was alright, and that your name didn’t feel like a dagger for a while.

It would be stupid for me if I said you never hurt me. And I know, I know, I fucked up this time. This time was on me, but Tom, really. How many times did I not cry for you?

How many times did I not trash my room because it had you all over the place? I can’t pretend that didn’t happen.

Yes, the script narrated that. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.

But I also can’t pretend that I won’t come back to you. I can't pretend I don’t love you. Because I do, and I loved every single kiss. I can’t pretend all those good times didn’t happen.

And yet, even after every battle. I come back to you. Because I am supposed to love you.

And I tried to build it up. And you know what? It makes sense.

I don’t know if you’ve seen the DVD, in my stupid mind, because you know me, everything is for the story, the aesthetic, but in my mind the DVD is playing right as you read this, in the background. Maybe you look up a little, smile at something and turn back. You probably aren’t. You probably won’t.

He was, actually. The video stayed in the background. He looked up to see it,

“So we’re here at y/n’s 18th birthday party. She’s currently sober. As your biggest enemy y/n I need to have on record on how you’ll get wasted.”

“Shut up dumbass.”

“You shut up idiot!”Tom said.

“Shut up!” Another Tom appeared on camera, turning to a different video, of her dorm room in Rome, Tom was by the window.

“No no, sing again I want to hear you sing,” y/n said behind the camera. She approached him, and opened the window.

“I’m not going to sing,” Tom warned again.

“Come on, everyone in Rome wants to listen to you,” she laughed as she stuck her phone out from the window, recording the beautiful afternoon in the italian city.

“No.”

“Ah, come on, maybe go downstairs and serenade me,” she suggested.

We haven’t changed Tom. Or maybe we have, for the better. But I hope you see it, I am supposed to love you.

And I know you probably want me to go fuck myself, I get it. Maybe this letter will be burned.

I’d do it.

Like those yellow flowers you gave me. I shouldn’t have burnt all of them. Should’ve kept one.

But that DVD, it shows it. You are the guy I was supposed to fall in love with, we’ve built it upon our whole lives. Or maybe we were destined to tumble down. You choose.

I really like to think we are both so stupid that we are meant to be. Maybe that’s toxic.

Probably, yes.

But we have to change it, don’t we? Maybe not.

But we did change it. It just took me a few minutes to realize we transformed all the bad things into good things.

And hell, they were very nice, while it lasted, weren’t they?

We’re the same stupid kids, Tom.

Either we’ve hated each other our whole lives and we fucked up by falling in love. Or we were madly in love and fucked up by hating each other.

Either way, we fucked up.

I also gave you a box, yes that same box you saw in my bedroom, it has your name and it’s scratched and ripped, a little. You don’t know how many times I’ve had to hide that box. And I’ve kicked it and I’ve repaired it.

Inside you will find more of the puzzle I solved. Polaroids, picture-perfect memories, an empty box of pasta, lipsticks, a beer cap, that yellow-flowered dress I wore that day. Everything that’s led us here. Memories that I used to either remind myself that you were stupid, or that I was stupidly in love with you.

I hope you remember most of the stories. I know I do. They’ve built us up to who we were. Like that broken teacup, that teacup was around the time I was about 5, maybe 6. It was kind of the first time you made me cry, ugly cry.

There’s that Xbox controller that stopped working before our first kiss. Do you remember it? That’s why you were the only one playing.

It’s weird now that I think about it. And stupid, how I’ve been in love with the guy who gave me my first kiss for my whole life. Sounds pathetic out of context. Maybe even more with context.

Don’t know if you found the pregnancy test. If not, there’s one in there. Yes, I was scared, it was a few days ago, I was so bloody scared, a baby? Having a baby? At first, I thought, it doesn’t make any sense but it would, considering our… routine in New York. But it was negative. Hurray, I guess.

And yes, a dried out yellow flower. No, you didn’t give me that one. You know it, I’ve never kept any yellow flowers you’ve given me, ones I threw them away, the second ones I gave them back and we know what happened to the third one. So no, you didn’t give me the yellow flower on that box. That one. It’s got a story. After Rome, yes. I once stared at that box, and I promised myself I wouldn’t fall in love with you. I broke my promise. I never fell out of love.

And I remember one day, I was with Timothée, actually. We were on a date, and I remember the day was so bright, the sun was shining again. After all those grey storms, the sun had come out again. I was smiling, I was laughing again.

Don’t know if I’ll ever be able to again. I’m sure of this, I’m never going to New York again.

But I was with Timmy that day, we were in that café I used to go with him, outside. I had noticed from the early beginning of the date that we were sitting by near a kid with a spiderman t-shirt. I didn’t really think of you at that time, I kept on with my date. I did… feel something, maybe a little jump inside of me. I remember I ignored it.

Because... I was so happy, genuinely happy. I thought I had come out of the tunnel. Didn’t want to ruin it. And I remember as I saw the vase on our table, full of yellow flowers. I cried instantly. Couldn’t explain it to Timmy at the time, but I did take it out and kept it.

Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? The power the flowers have. I cried while I got the ones I sent you.

I guess that’s why I used that yellow-flowered dress. I don’t know. I was trying to tell you I wanted to turn it into something beautiful.

You know, Tom. Whenever I used to think of you initially I thought into frogs, yellow flowers and my hair being pulled. Broken tea cups, and stupid games that would get me full of dirt.

Then it changed, to a first kiss, dancing to an 80’s song and late night with videogames.

Then again it was prom night, with that pink dress I used, the first lipstick I had to box in here because I didn’t want to wear it anymore because you had kissed my lips while I was wearing it, and you guessed it, yellow flowers.

For a while, it was a mix of all of that, you bothering me, a kiss, unusable lipsticks, yellow flowers, dancing, frogs. Endless discussions, broken bones. Stupid, silly things.

For a while to think of you, it meant pain, yellow flowers, a nightclub and Rome.

I thought that would never change anymore.

But look at me now, whenever I think of you I think of pancakes, yes my favorite food, Of an elevator, dirty dancing, again an 80’s song, and laughing, and kissing, and other stuffing.

Sometimes what you expect never comes, but it’s the unexpected that changes your life. All I knew the day after we said you loved me was that I needed to be there forever. And I already know your worst, but hell, I wish I can still learn your best. You feel like home, Tom. You feel like it’s raining outside, and you feel like a crowded buzzing city, with people rushing, but you feel like coming back home to a warm pair of arms.

And I really hate that you had to see my worst when I should’ve given you my very best.

And now I won’t have that box, and I’ll give back every polaroid because I don't want them haunting them, and because I don’t need anything to remind me that I fucked up, because I know I won’t have you anymore.

How am I supposed to deal with this?

I don’t know if I can live with this, knowing you’ve touched and kissed spots the sun has yet to see, and it probably won’t ever see them. You’re a fast learner, you know? You knew every single beauty spot, even the ones I didn't know I had, you’ve learned them. The most sensible and subtle touch, the sensitive cardinal points. Underneath our clothes, under the sheets, you learned my story how am I supposed to live with this? Knowing that my body will now remind me of you? How stupid does that sound? You know it now Tom. I’ll never go to war again, I’ll never shoot again. I promise.

If it’s not clear yet...

It’s you. It’s always been you. No matter how cheesy it sounds, it’s you and I don’t want to hide it. Because you own it, you know? the place where my thoughts hide. My thoughts, my heart, fuck, even my body now. It should’ve been an endless story, and maybe it is. And now I know I’ll keep seeing you everywhere, because I’ll be able to smell your skin in some of my clothes. And I know I’ll see your shadow in the moonlight, and I know I won’t be able to sleep now that I can’t hear your heartbeat next to mine.

And I won’t pretend I’m alright this time. I don’t think I’ll be able to.

And I’m sorry, and I will never forgive myself for hurting you. I shouldn’t have. I should’ve explained it to you sooner. But right now, I doubt there’s anything I can say now. I think all apologies are worn out. We’ve been good at apologies. But we are gone, aren’t we?

And though I still want to fight for this, I still would go to war for you, I don’t want to stay in a narrative that includes hurting. I don’t want to stay in a narrative where I’m fighting for an ending that won’t be read. I’m choosing to stay away, maybe we’ll write a different ending next time, not right now, because I can’t afford living knowing I ruined the amazing relationship the love of my life and my best friend have. And though I know I’m losing you both, I’d rather stick with more good memories than bad ones.

I don’t even know what I wrote here, I don't know if it’s too much or maybe it’s not enough, I just wrote for the first time something spontaneous.

I don’t want to promise I’ll stay away, I’m not good at keeping promises. I just want you to know that I really liked our film, I’m just going to pretend it never ended. In my mind, we will be infinite, everlasting. And maybe in another story, in another script, I’ll find a way to make you stay this time, and we will find a way to get out of the warzone.

With love,

y/n.

Tom finished the letter as he hunched his shoulders, the DVD had kept on playing and he looked up just to get the last stone to hit him.

“The princess?” A younger y/n asked, to yet another video, this one seemed different. Not recorded by their parents. “Alright, so the princess is going to…save the prince!” Y/n explained to Tom. “Because she is in love with him!”

“Why does it have to be a princess?” Tom frowned. “Why not be a superhero! Besides, it should be me who saves the damsel!” Tom pushed.

“This is my movie, Thomas,” y/n complained. She was wearing her yellow princess dress.

“This is my movie, Thomas,” he mimicked. He groaned. “Why can’t I be the dragon? Why does Sam get to be the dragon?”

“Because you’re the prince!” Y/n said with a bright smile.

He took the script off her hands. “What does it even say?” He asked as he read it. “This is stupid!”

“No, it’s not!”

Tom frowned. “Why would we kiss?” He wrinkled his nose as he stuck his tongue out.

“Because we like each other.”

And then it faded out. It had all been so quickly. And Tom had to think about it. If they loved each other. Why the hell wouldn't they kiss? Why the hell couldn’t they be together? It didn’t take him more than two minutes to stand up and decidedly go and look out for her. He had made one quick stop, but then he had rushed to her building. He had used the stairs, the elevator had taken too long. He couldn’t wait to see her.

And when it hadn’t been her, the one who had opened the door, Tom didn’t know how he was feeling.

“Oh, another one with flowers, great,” The girl said, she had a clearly not british accent. She looked very similar to y/n though.

“What?” Tom asked. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Yes, first one brought peonies, second one daisies and you… what are these?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Tom gulped. “I’m… Where’s y/n?”

“Seems like we have… Chamomile, primroses, evening primroses that is, and… Heleniums,” The girl pointed out as he stared at the flowers Tom was holding. “Huh, what’s up with y/n having three hot guys bringing her flowers, girl is lucky.”

“Who--who are you?”

“I’m y/n’s cousin, Cherry, nice to meet you, Tom I presume.”

Tom blinked, in shock. “Where’s y/n?”

“She’s gone now, buddy. Left London this morning.”

The end?

previous chapter Perennial-Prologue series masterlist

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tag list @spidxrparkxr @mukesnugget @anxiousdesignerdancerbandlover @organicpurplepants @happywolves81 @nedthegay @skylar-mendes @sentimentalquackson @savannah0111 @spidermansmj14 @soccerstud004 @marinaabernardii @applenter @silver-winter-wolf @dark-infernal-instruments @claredolphinbear24 @bookgirlunicorn @tomshufflepuff @avengersgirllorianna @nevertoofarfromivar @saintlavrents @herofiennestiffinashardinscott. @tomzfrog @tohollandback @morganhoran1671 @awkwardfangirl2014 @spideysimpossiblegirl @everythingbooknerd @xapham @xapham @xapham @tomhollandisagod @danicarosaline @laurfangirl424 @vintageroses1014516 @cinnamon-roll-peter @the-lost-fairy-tale @lala-florez @fufaation15 @healthyassdonut @ilcveyou3000 @xxtomxo @socorroann @muffinmari25 @cassindeansass @rogers-obsessed-barnes-curious @southsidespideyy @nathaliabakes @nathaliabakes @marvelstuck @embrace-themagic @bradfordbantams @sanniegirl1214 @softholand @softholand @fairytaleparker @underooling @griff1ndor @griff1ndor @thatweirdomimic @avengersgirllorianna @reginalaufeyson-holmes @better-daisy @yeahimcrying @allmonstersxarehuman @spider-manholland @itstaskeen @itstaskeen @georiaang @sebxstianbarnes @kissingtrutharchives @snoopy3000 @prettymessygurl @spideyparkerstark @fanfic-4-you @lexshead @officiallyunofficialperson @mannien @whitewolfandthefox @melodiclovesong @bizzlepotter @localfangirlx @localfangirlx @acceptance07 @witchythingscore @witchythingscore @swaggyspiderman @localfangirlx @queengemsworld @liberty0123 @stiles-banshees @itsjusttor @stretchkingblog97 @annathesillyfriend @dangerousluv1 @tomshufflepuff @thewayilookatbacon @petersdiaries @emjaywrites @swaggyspiderman @infamousmany @jungeunave @forevermore-euphoria @ispiderdudei @calhtlland @literalfsngirltrash @quacksonhq @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @desir-ae @desir-ae @unbelievableholland @peterporkpie @justanotherusername80 @smolpeachees @thenoddingbunny-blog @quackeroos @spideyyeet @astoldbydanid @astoldbydanid @hollandcreep @milly7110 @milly7110 @laurieteddy @rubberducky-jrr @rebekkah4766 @farfromtom @seaveyheartful @oh-whatabeautiful-parker @coveredinthemessimade @shameless-self-promo-of-a-shrub @sweetiesangster @thatdamjoke @annathesillyfriend @l0ove-sick-blues @witchythingscore @witchythingscore @bookworm06 @sandtopearl @lala-florez @ohfudgeiamgorgeous @chaoticpete @shezzalocked @ @lowkey-love-loki @harrysleftchelseaboot @cosmicholland @frenchfrostpudding @badbitchydecisions @w4ybefor3nir4na @americaswritings @ilovepeterparker13 @lukesbabylon @iamaunicorn4704 @iamaunicorn4704 @simple-things @oh-annaa @sip-portteam @herondale-snow-carstairs @t-holland2080 @tony-starks-ego @quaksonhehe0 @stargazerholland @marvelslut-musicalnerd @hotrubycrab @sovereignparker @peter-parker-tony-stank-trash @belleknows @mysticalinsomniac @nycparkers @nycparkers @anythingthaticareabout @spn-assemble-seven @tanyalooovesyou @somethingchaotic @heartofholland @peachybloomss @youcompletemesk @emyla3305 @emyla3305–butt @hollandstanevans @farfromtom @farfromtom @southbeachfeeling @eridanuswave @tonguetiedholland @wolvesofthewinter @quacksonobrien @dcnerd98 @ifntelyinspirit @electraheart-3174 @julialucena5 @itsmilamawson @harryssuckz @unabashedlyhardkitty @xstarbae @xstarbae @tiredfeels @peterbparkerrwrites @averyfosterthoughts @darethedragonknights @hannahholland1811 @justanamesstuff @emyla3305 @abbiefangirls247 @onewithnomightypowers @itscaminow @youllbemineandillbeyours @hotrubycrab @spidey-holland-96 @awkwardnesshabitat @chloecreatesfictions @primadonnasdream @slytherinambitious @maybecharming @where-art-thau-romeo @viagracex @viagracex @sspidermanss @pcterparxer @whatevshollandarchive @aleyabee @applenter @lovewolfspirit @viagracex @xallyouneedislovexx @panicattheeverywherekid @pcterparxer @getthatfireexitdoor @redhoodparker @scarlet-mind @cakepopcriss @allthisfortommy @aleyabee @perspectiveparker @let-me-luve-you @xxpeachyxo @m-a-r-i-n-t-p @superstarchick @notjustpenandpaper @morbiddanvers

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merlins-thoughts · 3 years

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I WILL WRITE YOU A MERLIN FANFIC OF YOUR CHOICE (literally anything you want) AROUND 1000 WORDS IF YOU LISTEN TO ONE (1) PODCAST EPISODE

This is not a contest, if you listen to the episode and message me about it you will receive a fic. If you’re interested, keep reading!

Is there any fic you just wish existed? Something you’ve been thinking about but can’t find? Are you just looking to see more fic content in this fandom? Well I have a *~*super easy*~* way to make that happen for you!

@channelstupidity is a new queer D&D real play podcast that I’m doing marketing for. A whole bunch of my colleagues created this podcast a few months ago and I offered to do marketing because I think it is so good.

I’ve been running this blog for almost 7 years now and in all that time I don’t think I’ve ever posted anything that was not about BBC Merlin. I've never asked for money or plugged my personal socials or anything because I wanted to keep this blog one of the few on this site that are Merlin exclusive. However, I know people who follow this blog will vibe with Channel Stupidity. It’s the same slightly goofy, slightly serious fantasy as Merlin but add more gay and make it explicit rated on iTunes.

SO, if you want a fic of your choice written, just go listen to any episode of Channel Stupidity

(here’s the spotify link: https://open.spotify.com/show/6vttPqjnNsQZ7CZo9dR4Np?si=6Vy42ptdRzOXoWNxWXSATw&dl_branch=1 )

and either send me an ask or a message with

1. The Episode you listened to and your favorite part of that episode

2. A prompt/vibe/vision/genre/whatever for the fic you want. In order to keep on brand for this blog, I’ll only be writing fics for BBC Merlin, but beyond that, any rating, any style, anything goes, just ask for whatever your heart desires. You can also say “surprise me” and I’ll write whatever comes to mind.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask! Thank you all for sticking with me for this post and through all the years on this hellsite. It truly means the world. The show can’t really die until all of us idiot tumblings are gone amiright.

Anyway, much love and gratitude!

Love,

Your faithful Merlin stan

#channel stupidity #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #podcast #d&d podcast #d&d #Arthur Pendragon

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greenygreenland · 3 years

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If I Were You Pt. 3: Fives x Reader

‘-Uhmmm yes and thank you for the request??? -Of kriffing COURSE I’ll do a pt 3! -I love asks, they make my day so thank you so much!! -the beginning is inspired by something that actually happened to me today (but it’s greatly exaggerated in this. promise.)

PREVIOUS PART

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF DEATH, ABUSE, HOSPITALIZATION.

The first thing that hits your nose is a sharp scent, like toast that’s been overcooked. You frown to yourself, dropping your pencil on the dining table as Fives follows your gaze. “What’s that smell?” you inquire. He shoots up from the couch, darting into the kitchen with a low hiss. “Maker!”

You frown. That can’t be good. “Fives, did you put something in the toaster?” You don’t get an answer straight away, and maybe it’s better that way. When it’s silent for too long, you get up from your seat, ignoring the screeching of your chair against the wooden floorboards. “Fives, don’t tell me you--”

Everything you assumed you’d see would have been so much better. Burnt toast. Water boiling over the sides of a pot. Overcooked ramen that’s too soggy to swallow. The bright flames licking at your stove and overflowing to the L-shaped counters is so much worse. How did this happen?, you wonder to yourself. Just what had Fives been up to while you were studying for an exam?

He’s suddenly shouting at you to do something as he fans the fire. It grows in size and he’s screaming, but it’s hard to hear him over pounding in your head. That’s when you hear the smoke detector. That familiar beep beep beep beep sound that always went off unconventionally. You never guessed it could have been right, not until now.

The words finally fall from your mouth: “Call 911!”

“What’s the number?!” Fives cries. You speed past him, whipping out your phone and turning on the sink. The numbers displayed on the screen flash before your eyes, and as Fives dumps water over the hot flames, you calmly speak into your phone. It’s as if you’ve been trained for this, for a life-or-death situation that would most definitely break you in the long run.

You were already broke as it was, paying for bills on your own and the college debt that left you waist-deep in nothing. After your mum had been hospitalised due to her condition, you’ve been on your own, with only Fives as that little bit of domestic support. He couldn’t work, not when he didn’t have a passport, proof of his citizenship, or really of his existence as a whole.

After all, he was technically still a ‘fictional character’.

When the fire department arrive, you and Fives already have the fire out. It was a miracle that the fire hadn’t spread to the rest of your home, but still a complete loss for your poor stove and toaster.

“I’m sorry...”

You turn to Fives and cup his cheek. His eyes are downcast as you run your fingers against his smooth skin. He feels guilty, that much you can tell, but you can’t blame him. You simply don’t have the strength to when you are oh so tired. “I bet it was a malfunction in the machinery.” you quietly answer. “It’s not your fault, love.”

He meets your gaze with doe-like eyes that remind you just how young he is on the inside. “But I--”

You shut him down with a peck on the lips and link your hands in his. When the firemen are done inspecting the house for any possible flames you might’ve missed, you walk back inside and give your mum a ring. She doesn’t care much about the house. It’s all you and Fives that matters, just as any parent should think. You’re grateful she isn’t angry, and more so that she tells you insurance will cover everything just fine.

The next week go smoothly. You pass your test with flying colours, your mum’s health is as stable as ever, and the house recovers with the help of insurance. The only issue you have left is the aching pain in your chest.

Whenever you pass that stupid TV, all broken with the cracks and dark memories, it hurts. You know it shouldn’t when your father is locked away in jail, but it does, for what could have been. If your father weren’t such a jerk, then maybe you could have what you see on TV. The family where the father comes home with the mother after work, and they greet their children with smiles and hugs and kisses and ‘I love you’s that you’ll never be able to hear.

Fives isn’t blind to the pain you carry. He sees it as clear as day, yet it’s almost impossible for him to make it go away. The most he can ever do is ease it, no matter how hard he tries.

Today you’re wrapped in his arms on the couch with a Spotify playlist in the background blaring through a small speaker. It’s quiet, save for the faint melody of a song you never cared to learn the name of.

“I’m sorry,” you suddenly say. Fives perks up at the solemn tone in your voice and brings you closer to his chest. “What are you sorry for?” You glance at the broken TV, then the empty house with a long sigh. “This.” You say it as if ‘this’ explains everything. It doesn’t, and Fives knits his brows together.

“If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.” he says. “I can’t work, I don’t have an education. It’s not like I can join the military either when I’m not even supposed to exist here.” He rests his head on top of yours and your shoulders slump. “I wish I could help you more.” By ‘more’ you know he means ‘soothe the pain in your heart’. You don’t say anything though, and that’s because you’re still tired.

You lean against his chest and close your eyes. His heartbeat is your bacta today. It helps to ease your mind knowing that he’s here every step of the way. He won’t leave you. Never.

Beep! Beep!

Your eyes snap open and you sit up. Fives hands you your vibrating phone, his secure arm still around your shoulders. You tap on the screen and place the speaker to your ear. “Hello?”

“Is this (Y/f/n)?”

“Yes.”

“You were the only contact on the list, so I thought it would be fitting to call. I’m really sorry, but (M/f/n) has passed at eleven fifty-two P.M. I’m sorry for your--”

The phone slips out of your hands. You can’t bear to hear the rest because it hurts too much. After being on your own with the bills, the money, college--everything, it’s like a smack to the face, the final breaking point that sends you over the edge.

Fives doesn’t need to hear your voice to know what happened. He’s seen that face too many times to count that it’s ingrained in his mind like the very tattoo on his forehead. Your eyes well and you practically throw your arms around him. “Fives...Fives...”

“It’s okay.” he gently says. “I’m still here.” He is all you have left with your parents gone. You’ve been thrown into this wayside world, where nothing is perfect and nothing goes right, but Fives is here. He’s still here.

You don’t remember closing your eyes, or falling asleep against Fives’s chest, but when you open your eyes, all that sticks is fear. The staple screeches of blaster fire and charges blare in your ears as you rake yourself off the dark ground. You aren’t wearing your PJs, but a nice pair of Jedi robes you were sure you hadn’t ever seen in your life.

The bodies at your feet make you feel sick, and not because the lifeless corpses aren’t moving, but because you can practically feel the absence of warmth they were supposed to exude.

“GET DOWN!”

Arms are around you again, and as dirt and grass and branches of odd plants fly past by, you tumble to the ground in a heap. It’s hard to see through the dark haze the planet provided, but you know it's Fives who saved you. That much you can tell by the pressure of his grip and the shake of his breath. He hauls you somewhere off to the side, a little further away from the front lines as his brothers barrel past him.

“(Y/n).” He grips your shoulders. Hard. You stare up at his frantic eyes, bewildered, and frankly, scared. You could have died, or worse, ended up a mangled mess as you died a slow, painful death. “Where--what--we were just--?”

“I don’t know.” he says. “But I guess you’re a Jedi.” His gaze falls on the lightsaber swinging from your belt. “Can you...?” You unclip the cool metal that feels so right in your hands. It’s not too light, and not too heavy, as if it were tailored for you and only you.

The mesmerising (colour) light of your saber shines upon your face as you thumb it on. Fives sends you a reassuring nod as he throws on his bucket and whips out a blaster. “You’re a fast learner, you can do this Cyar’ika." You take one glance at the explosions to your left and nearly freeze. You’re a fast learner? You can do this cyar’ika? What kind of nonsense was Fives spewing?

Learning how to cook was different from fighting for your kriffing life.

Fives doesn’t give you much time to think as you swing around you lightsaber. You’re running on pure muscle memory now, from all the times you had to run in gym, all the times you played around with your plastic lightsaber. Who knew any of that would come in handy?

It’s a miracle you’re even able to block the incoming blaster bolts, as if you had done this for years and not five seconds.

“(Y/n)!”

Your shoulders tense. That wasn’t Fives, it was Anakin Skywalker. He blocks a few blaster bolts and motions for you to come to him. You do, slicing a droid down its middle like it were warm butter. “(Y/n),” Anakin says again, “where were you? I’ve been looking for you for the past fifteen minutes!”

“Uh...I...”

Anakin glances at the confused look on your face and you feel like you’ve just disappointed him. A frown bursts onto his face like he’s just seen the galaxy’s worst disappointment: you. “What’s wrong? Did you hit your head?” He doesn’t give you time to answer. He already knows you have no idea what’s going on, as if an invisible tie connected your thoughts to his.

But of course he knew, he was a Jedi.

Suddenly, his eyes widen. He nearly drops his lightsaber as he tackles you to the ground, panting, silently begging for time to be on his side. At first, you can’t feel anything, but as soon as your arm twitches, it’s there: a burn and sharp pain like you’ve never felt before. Anakin’s lips move, but you can’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth.

You want to cry, to gasp out in pain, but it’s too much, and you black out.

Pain. That’s the first thing you feel as you sit up with a low hiss. “Glad you’re awake Commander.” Your eyes are wide as you meet Kix’s comforting smile. Although you sense a flicker of joy, there’s a heavy weight on his shoulders you understand. He’s stressed, but not just about your condition, but his brothers’ and everyone else his heart could reach. He was a healer, just as you were supposed to be.

“You took a nasty hit there, but you’ll be good as new.” he said. “Give it a few weeks or so.” You ripped your gaze from his and took in the sights of the hazy planet. After being thrust into the mayhem, you finally realise just where in the galaxy you were. “Kix, this is Umbara, right?” you inquire. He knits his brows together and you just know he’s beyond concerned for your health.

“Yeah,” he slowly replies, “why?” You shrug, but he clearly doesn’t want to let you off the hook. Not when you’re needed on the battlefield for a campaign you know will go south. “No reason.”

“I swear if you have amnesia...” He trails off and meets your eyes, as if searching for a sign to reassure him that he wouldn’t have another thing thrown on his plate. “Commander, if I may ask, do you remember what our mission is?”

“To...capture the Umbaran base not too far from here?”

Kix frowns. He’s disturbed, as if you told a gory horror story. For a second, you wonder why, but then it hits you like a rock in the face. Anakin saved you, and the orders you relayed just now hadn’t been announced until after his departure, when Krell arrived right after. “Wait, no--I mean--Kix, I can explain. Fives and I, we’re--” You try to sit up, but he forces you to sit back against a tree trunk.

“I think you should sit down for a little.” he said. “Just...give it a minute Commander. Maybe you’re in shock.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, where’s Fives?” Your open-ness with Kix surprises you, but you blame it on how many times you’ve re-watched the Clone Wars on Disney Plus as a distraction from your piling college debt. He frowns again just like before. “Fives? I haven’t seen him since--”

“(Y/n)!”

Oh that voice. You could spot that even among his own brothers. “Fives!” you exclaim. He’s already at your side, staring at the bandage covering the wound on your shoulder. “How is it?” he inquires. You shrug. “I thought it would be worse, but it’s okay.” You’re fighting hard to keep from wincing and Fives can see it. “Kix did an outstanding job.” You nod towards the medic, who remains in his spot wide-eyed.

Kix knows something is wrong. Since when were you and Fives so close? Let alone so...touchy?

“Cyar’ika, you’re really bad at hiding that you’re in pain. I can see it.”

Kix’s jaw goes slack. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. He doesn’t say anything as Fives grasps your hand in his because he’s still processing everything. When had you both been in a relationship? When had this even happened? What did he have for breakfast this morning? His memory is all hazy and he knows something isn’t right.

“Fives,” he slowly begins, “when...” Kix can’t bear to finish the sentence. If anyone found out, he could be court-martialled or even wiped of his memory or executed. He couldn’t let that happen to his brother. Not after Echo. Not after all the suffering he endured.

Fives suddenly releases your hand. His expression goes blank as he meets Kix’s gaze. “Please, you can’t tell anyone.” There’s a graveness in his voice that matches the solemn tone of the planet, as if he’s expecting a lurking enemy around the bend. Kix wants to say more. He wants to lecture Fives and his Commander about how dangerous this predicament was, but he can’t.

Not when they were looking at him like that. Like their lives depended on it.

“Alright.” he finally says. “I promise.”

When Kix gives the ‘okay’ sign for (Y/n) to get up, she follows Fives out from behind the cover of the trees. Kix eyes the closeness of their hands, the way their shoulders seem to brush every now and then, and the whispers lost to the wind.

“I can’t believe this...” he mumbles to himself. He rips his gaze away from his friends and walks over to check on the wounded.

You aren’t sure what to do as you pass a few members of the 501st. Some salute you while others continue their tasks. Everything you thought you knew about this arc suddenly goes down the drain. What was going on? Did Anakin already leave? Who were you to these men? To this world?

“(Y/n)!”

Anakin jogs over to your side, placing a hand on your uninjured shoulder comfortingly. He furrows his brows as you knit your own as a subtle sign of confusion. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he says. “Kix told me you’d be fine. He said it was just a graze.” Anakin pauses for a moment and frowns. “What’s wrong? I sense your confusion.”

Wonderful. He senses your confusion.

“I...” You glance at Fives, but he’s just as clueless as you. Anakin’s hand leaves your shoulder and wraps around a lightsaber on his belt. He hands the beautiful hilt to you, that frown still plastered on his lips. “You know, if anything is wrong, you can always tell me. I’m your master, I’m supposed to help you.”

Wait, what?

“It’s kind of my job.”

You almost have the urge to smile, but that last bit about him being your master just hits you in the wrong way. Did that mean you stole Ahsoka’s role? It’s suddenly hard to look Anakin in the eye. Even though he was trying to make you feel better, it only made you feel worse.

Anakin’s lips twitch upward into a reassuring smile and he breaks from your side. “By the way, we move out in the next fifteen minutes.”

The next hour is a complete hell of blaster fire, grenades, and death. You’ve never fought one day in your life, and a part of you wishes you hadn’t. What you know will haunt you forever are the screams of those who fight a war they never had a say in.

After a group of Y-wing bombers swoop in as assistance, Krell comes planetside. He’s taller in real life and much more intimidating than the screen could ever capture. A lingering coldness seems to sink in your bones as he waltzes out of the gunship. You glance at Anakin, but he’s already greeting Krell with a grateful look on his face you just want to slap away.

“Master Krell,” he says. “Thanks for the air support.” Krell inclines his head respectfully. “Indeed General. The locals have proven to be more resourceful than we anticipated.” Something inside you tells you to stay alert. It might have been the Force, but you can’t tell. Krell’s very presence seemed to cloud your mind and you could only assume this was the power of the Dark Side.

It was so much worse than described in the books or movies and shows. The sensation left you feeling cold and overwhelmed with fear you’ve never felt before. It seemed today, you were learning more than your puny brain could handle.

Anakin raises a brow at Krell. “But that’s not the reason for your visit.” Krell shakes his head. “No. The Council has ordered you back to Coruscant, effective immediately.” Anakin’s brows shoot upward. You can feel the surprise and blatant worry without having to see his face. “What?” he exclaims. “Wh-why?”

Krell crosses his arms across his chest. “I’m afraid a request has been made by the Supreme Chancellor and the council obliged. That is all they would tell me.” You purse your lips together and glance at Anakin, who in turn glances at you. “Well I can’t just leave my men and my padawan.”

“I’ll be taking over in the interim.” answers Krell. His tone comes out rather pushy, like he’s practically itching to take charge and put the 501st to death. The mere thought of what would happen after Anakin’s leave makes you shrink back. It’s a silent plea to your master not to go, but as everyone around here knows, orders are orders, even if they’re questionable.

Rex glances at you and then Anakin’s troubled expression. “Don’t worry about a thing, Sir.” he dutifully says. “We’ll have the city under Republic control by the time you’re back.” Anakin takes it upon himself to introduce the Captain to Krell, who in turn gives a simple ‘good to hear that’ and wishes Skywalker well.

Anakin turns to you and offers a comforting smile. For a moment, it makes the cold recede into warmth and love and light. “I know you’ll do fine.” He pats your shoulder in a silent telling to relax. “Master Krell, know that my padawan is more than capable both on and off the battlefield.”

“Of course.” You can’t tell if he’s sneering or not. His face is practically glued in a never ending scowl. “I will keep that in mind.” Anakin gives you one last nod and marches off to the gunship. You watch as it soars away, further and further until it’s hidden beneath the thick fog of the planet.

Rex makes his way over to Krell’s side. He says something, but you aren’t paying attention--well, until Krell speaks.

“I find it very interesting, Captain,” he begins, “that you are able to recognise the value of honour for a clone.” Your eyes widen. Oh the nerve.

“Stand at attention when I address you.” Krell adds. Rex’s shoulders stiffen and it takes all your willpower not to scream. You glance at the other boys silently watching the exchange with bated breath. They followed Rex’s display, keeping their shoulders back and heads tilted at a perfect ninety-degree angle. You frown to yourself as Krell looks down upon your men. “With all due respect Master Krell--”

He glances at you like you’re nothing more than the dirt beneath his feet. “No respect is due when you are interrupting me, Padawan (L/n). It would do you well to know where your place stands.” You open your mouth to say something, but Krell is already talking again. “Have all platoons ready to move out immediately.” He marches somewhere far from your sights and you really don’t care where in the galaxy he’s going as long as it’s away from you. “That is all.”

Fives sends you a look that you can’t even begin to explain. You sigh and it takes all your willpower not to say something snarky. Krell’s appearance was expected along with his terrible display of violence, but it wouldn’t have ever occurred to either of you that you’d be here to see it.

“He’s more of a jerk than I thought...” you whisper to yourself. Rex knits how brows together. He looks like he wants to chime in, but the swift flash of conflict in his heart tells him otherwise. It just wasn’t what a soldier was supposed to do. You were no soldier though, much less a Jedi Padawan at that.

Why should that matter? If you were here, on Umbara where all the wrongs could never be fixed by the rights, then you couldn’t think about not knowing what to do. Here, you were someone, not a nobody struggling through college or scraping by with whatever dollars you could spare. Here, you had people who relied on you to lead them to victory. To another day.

These men, these boys--they were bound to suffer a fate they had no say in because of the chips, because of Palpatine, because of all the corruption you saw on screen. Now, all this was more than a show. You were in it with living, breathing people. You wouldn’t let them down.

“Rex.” You turn to face him and lower your voice. Even if you’ve never spoke to him, interacted with him, or even looked him in the eyes like you do now, you speak to him like a friend, as if you’ve known him for all the years the war raged on.

“I don’t trust Master Krell.” you quietly begin. “I know you’ve heard good things about his...accomplishments, but that doesn’t mean we can follow him blindly into battle. If something’s up with his tactics, I won’t hesitate to change them. I’m not very good at that though, so I’m relying on you to help me.”

He doesn’t even hesitate to nod. “Yes, Sir. You have my word.” His trust and loyalty to you outranks the amount he’d give to Krell on every single level possible. It’s something you thought you’d never see--devotion to a single cause, a single person, in the face of battle. The only other person you had seen such loyalty in is Fives, but now, you’re beginning to understand the pattern, or rather, culture.

You heave in a deep breath and break from his intense gaze. “Thank you Rex, I really...I really appreciate it.” He seems to understand your unease and puts it upon himself to round up the platoons. “Alright boys!” he shouts. “You heard the Commander! Come on, let’s get a move on!”

Good man, that Rex.

---

Marching. That is what you’ve been doing for the past five hours, and if you remember correctly, you’ll be at it for another ten. It was a miracle you weren’t as worn as you could have been, but you guessed it was because of Fives’s energy. It kept you in step, in line with the rest of your men.

“So I say to her, baby you--”

Cue a long line of sighs and groans. “What is with you vod?” inquires Jesse. “You’re not charming Hardcase.” Kix bumps shoulders with Jesse. “Neither are you. Your cheesy jokes scare people away.” Hardcase sends Kix a funny look. “Not like you’re any better Mr. Pretty Boy, you don’t even carry lotion on you.”

Hardcase, Jesse and Fives burst into a tough fit of giggles. Kix goes silent for a moment, heaving in a sharp breath before actually laughing. You gape at him. It’s impossible to even begin imagining the stress he’s under after seeing so many of his brothers die in his arms. He’s a medic, but with that comes a responsibility greater than holding up the sky.

“You’re right about that.” Kix admits with another chuckle. “But at least I can read five textbooks in my spare time without getting bored.” Fives rolls his eyes and you almost smile. “Like that’s anything to brag about. Our Commander here can probably read ten.” You glance at Fives, who you can just tell is grinning madly under that bucket. “No I can’t.”

“Uh, yeah you can.” he sassily replies. “Throw a few reports on top of it and a due date, too. She’s amazing.” You glance at Kix, sensing his curiosity that seems to bloom as soon as your eyes meet his. Hardcase and Jesse are quick to catch on, glancing between you and Fives like it were a tennis match.

“Hmm... Something’s not right here.” Jesse comments, peering at Fives. You want to glare at your boyfriend, but how can you stay mad at him? He’s absolutely right about you and you know it.

Kix sends you both a look that clearly says, ‘are you gonna tell them?’. Now you glance at Fives, who then glances at you, which finally makes you turn to Kix and then the two curious boys. Jesse suddenly stumbles over a rock, not because he’s clumsy, but because he’s shocked.

Oh no.

“Not to be intrusive, but are you...?” Jesse tapped the air, as if connecting the dots. “No way. No way. Does anyone, you know, know?” Everyone eyes Rex, who’s only a couple meters up front. As if written in a book, Rex turns to look over his shoulder, his gaze so happening to zero on you and Fives.

“Why are you such a loud mouth Jesse?!” Fives whisper-screamed. You face-palm. “That wouldn’t have happened in the first place if we had, I don’t know, whispered?”

“How was I supposed to know? I didn’t think I was actually--”

“Quiet back there.” Rex’s steady voice orders. He slows his pace to match your own, tilting his line of view towards the group of rigid boys. “If you keep that up, you’ll find out a lot faster that not everyone is good at keeping secrets.” And with that, he nods your way, picking up the pace to settle back in his old spot.

Hardcase looks between his brothers and you. “I still don’t get it.”

You smile at him weakly. It’s all you can muster. Fives’s hand brushes yours; a silent sign of comfort. You look up at him, and even with that bucket, you know he’s smiling like you put all the stars up in the sky. All you know in that moment is if you were him, and he were you, neither of you would survive.

The galaxy is big, but the universe is wide.

DON’T FORGET TO REBLOG (so this can reach more people!) TIP JAR

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