#also sorry this chapter has taken almost 2 weeks lol please keep in mind i had covid for the first 3 and was doing literally nothing else

[villa-kulla]

pausing in my finale vibes to climb back into my laloward clown shoes, but yet ANOTHER parallel between them which hadn’t occured to me until now, is how they treat their mentor figures. When Howard and Lalo interact with Chuck and Hector respectively, there’s a certain dignity they afford them in their interactions. Even though the rest of the world eventually writes them off and dismisses Chuck and Hector and doubts their credibility, both Howard and Lalo make them feel like they’re still players in their world. These were both figures who probably groomed them in accordance with their values, and certainly would have been these towering figures to Howard and Lalo when getting started in the business. And then both had to see these heroes become paralyzed and trapped by their conditions, Chuck betrayed by his mind, and Hector betrayed by his body. And while there was some pity there, they still visit them regularly, treat them like they’re relevant, listen to them, and show they still value their advice (and bring them alcohol). They probably both needed the reassurence of these interactions too,  but through their actions they allow these broken figureheads to feel like they still matter, and yeah, there’s just a level of integrity to those interactions that’s kind of touching for both characters.

anyways, started as gravemates but turns out they were soulmates all along, I don’t think i can do this anymore, besties <3

[specialagentsergio]

all we can do is keep breathing || chapter two

summary: Spencer’s doing better, but recovery isn’t linear, and some scars run deeper than either of you knew.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: angst (eventual happy ending)

content warnings: swearing, drug abuse & addiction, substance use disorder, ptsd, descriptions of panic attacks/ptsd episodes, recollection of past bullying, unhealthy coping mechanisms, yelling/fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, body image issues

a/n: i was so taken aback by the response to chapter one--i didn’t think anyone would even read it tbh. thank you all and thanks for being patient with my lack of an upload schedule. i'm so sorry the word count is massive again. you get tummy appreciation, though, because 1) we all love spencer’s tummy, and 2) i personally gained weight when i was in residential treatment and it can be a bit of a mindfuck lol.

a/n 2: repeated disclaimer that i'm not a doctor, psychologist, psychiatrist, etc., just a direct care staff, past rtc patient and trauma recovery enthusiast. the horse therapy is pretty much entirely based on my own personal experience from nearly a decade ago, so don’t expect it to be an accurate portrayal of equine-assisted psychotherapy.

word count: 7.3k

song: you will be found from dear evan hansen

fic masterlist || masterlist

He’s been looking forward to the start of equine therapy since he got a spot in the program. But instead of being excited the morning of, Spencer ends up crying for an hour straight.

The day started off fine. It wasn’t hard to get up with the horses to look forward to, and he was able to get an extra plate at breakfast, so he could keep the pancake syrup from touching the eggs and sausage. Art therapy was a few hours later. He’d started to actually enjoy the pottery project—the recreational therapist had brought him a box of disposable gloves to use so the feeling of drying clay on his hands was no longer a problem.

Everyone’s projects were coming out of the kiln today and the next step was painting them. He’d been planning out the design and colors he wanted to use since the project started and was excited to finally start applying it.

Then he dropped his item, it broke into pieces, and he burst into tears.

He’d fled the room on instinct alone and curled up in a corner of the hallway, pressing his knees to his forehead. He was upset about the pottery, and upset that he was so affected by it breaking. He felt stupid and silly for crying over it, which only made him cry harder.

He heard distant laughter and he clapped his hands over his ears. He was being laughed at again for being a crybaby. He didn’t want to be a crybaby. He wanted to stop crying, he just couldn’t. The goalpost was cold against the bare skin of his back, and his wrists were starting to burn from the ties.

I want to go home. Just let me go home, please, I’ll do anything. Let me go, let me go--

“Spencer, it’s okay. You’re safe here. Can you repeat after me? I’m safe here.”

Safe here. Safe here.

Art therapy was over by the time he came out of it.

He has lunch at his therapist’s office instead of with the group. Lara asks what his flashback had been to.

He picks at his food. “It happened a long time ago. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright. Can you tell me how it felt instead?”

Spencer isn’t really hungry, but bites into his sandwich to stall for time. She doesn’t rush him. Eventually, he asks, “Do you know what alexithymia means?”

“No words for feelings,” she replies.

He nods. “That’s all.”

Lara opens one of her desk drawers and pulls out a composition notebook, which she then hands to him.

“What’s this for?”

“I want you to start trying to notice your feelings and sensations throughout the day. Make some kind of note, even if you don’t exactly have the words to describe it.”

He sighs. “Why?”

“Just noticing what you feel can help you develop emotional regulation,” she explains. She’s always been honest with him about the why of what she wants him to try and do. “It’s going to help you stop ignoring what’s going on inside you.”

I don’t want to do that.

“I know you don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he blurts. “That either. I—god.” He quickly takes another bite of food before he can say more.

“It’s fine. I didn’t expect you to like it,” Lara says with a small smile. “I’m sure the thought of confronting what you’ve been suppressing and avoiding is scary. But getting better requires you to do a lot of scary things.”

Spencer wants to protest. Being strapped to a chair in a shed and dosed against your will is scary. Your mother being diagnosed with Alzheimer's is scary. Being sent to prison for a crime you didn’t commit is scary. Feeling things? That’s not scary.

Isn’t it?

He tries not to think on it too much.

Despite the unpleasant thoughts running through his mind, Spencer finds himself nodding off on the van ride to the horse ranch. His eyes unfocus, his blink rate slows… and then he jerks back awake at the sensation of his head falling forward.

A frustrated noise escapes the back of his throat. He’s sick of feeling tired all the time. He’s getting enough sleep in theory, but still finds himself drowsy at least once a day. It’s to the point that he’s regularly wearing his glasses instead of his contacts to keep his eyes from feeling quite so dry. He pushes them back up now as he tries to tune back in to his surroundings.

“… don’t get how seeing some horse is supposed to make me feel better.” That’s Aiden’s voice. He’s Spencer’s new roommate. He wasn’t happy when he found out he was getting a new one, having much preferred having the room to himself, but it’s been okay so far, mostly because they keep out of each other’s way. Aiden seems uninterested in making friends, and that suits Spencer just fine. Lara’s been encouraging him to talk to fellow patients instead of just the direct care staff, but he’s resisted it. The last time he befriended someone, they ended up--

Spencer’s fine with the two of them keeping to themselves.

Melanie, one of the staff accompanying them, is leaned over the back of the middle seat as she talks to Aiden. “Well, I couldn’t tell you why exactly, but I’ve seen this program help a lot of people in my time here,” she says. “Spencer?”

“What?”

“You’ve been reading a lot about horses, right?” At his nod, she continues, “What have you found out?”

“Equine-assisted psychotherapy lacks the rigorous scientific evidence to demonstrate if it provides benefits in mental health treatment. Horses have been used to aid in psychiatric treatment since the 1990’s, though,” he says. He intends to stop there, but can’t stop himself from continuing. “It doesn’t necessarily involve riding, but may include grooming, feeding, and ground exercises. The goal is to help the client in social, emotional, cognitive, and or behavioral ways.”

He can feel Aiden’s eyes on him and takes a breath before meeting them. He knows all too well that his infodumps aren’t always well received. He doesn’t want to be friends, but would prefer for his roommate to not view him with disdain or annoyance. But Aiden looks interested, and says as much--”that’s interesting.” He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t, and there’s silence between them for the remainder of the drive. It’s not uncomfortable, though.

When the van pulls into a parking spot and everyone starts to get out, Spencer begins to feel nervous. He’s read everything he could get his hands on, but as a relatively new therapy, there’s no standard program; it varies by facility, so he doesn’t know exactly what to expect. He’s been looking forward to this, but what if it turns out to be a bad fit for him? What if the people here don’t like him? What if the horses don’t like him?

He hangs at the back of their group of ten—six patients and two staff—as they’re led to a shaded area. They’re introduced to the program director and assistants, and are given an overview of what they’ll be doing over the next six weeks. They won’t be riding the horses, just doing groundwork (he’s not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed). Then he learns that intention of this specific program isn’t just for the horses to help the clients—the clients are to help the horses as well. The animals all have the gentle temperaments suited for therapy, but also have their own struggles. A lot of them were adopted out of poor situations.

They’re led to a circular corral next and spaced equidistantly around the edge. Spencer’s heart rate picks up as the horses are brought in—the animals will be picking their therapy partner, the director says. As they’re let off their leads a jolt of anxiety runs through his body, making him twitch slightly. This feels uncomfortably familiar to school P.E. when teams were picked. No one wanted him then. What’s gong to happen if none of the horses want him, either? He looks down at his shoes.

But just a few moments later, he hears his name, and looks up to see one of the horses approaching him. “Looks like you and Chance are our first pair,” the director is saying.

First?

Chance is almost entirely black, save for a spot of white between his eyes and above his nose. His size is a little intimidating, but his demeanor is gentle. One of the assistants comes up to Spencer and instructs him to hold out his hand so the horse can sniff it.

His hand trembles slightly as he lifts it. Warm breath hits his fingers as Chance sniffs at it. Then the horse presses his nose completely against his hand. The moistness would usually bother Spencer, but for some reason it doesn’t. Instead, a smile slowly spreads across his face. The assistant tells him he can pet Chance now. He runs his hand up and down the horse’s snout, and despite the slight coarseness of the hair, finds it soothing.

The horse shuffles closer when Spencer is given his lead to hold. A startled laugh escapes him when Chance presses his nose into his neck. He pats his head a few times, then takes a tiny step back. He’s thrilled that at least one of the horses likes him, but feels a little crowded by the large animal. To his surprise, Chance seems to understand, and takes a step back of his own.

He absently pats his horse as he watches the rest of the group pair up. He still can’t believe he was picked first.

The rest of their time with the horses is very simple. They’re taught how to lead them, and after practicing in the corral, they take the horses back to their paddocks. Spencer’s disappointed to say goodbye already, but understands the need to not overwhelm the horses or even themselves. “I’ll see you next week,” he finds himself whispering to Chance.

There’s ten minutes left in the session, and it’s spent with the director telling them more about each horses’ specific background. Chance was poorly treated by his previous owner, mostly kept locked up in a small barn and not properly cared for. He has many talents and abilities, the director says. He needs to learn that he didn’t deserve to be treated the way he was, and be told that he is brave.

Spencer rests his chin in his hand and stares out the window on the drive back to the treatment center. He knows from his reading that horses are emotionally intelligent creatures, but he’s still… well, amazed by how the horses all picked who was most similar to them out of the group instinctively.

He feels more understood by an animal he’s interacted with for twenty minutes than he has by a person for months.

Before bed that night, he chews on the stem of his pen cap, thinking over the events of his day. Slowly, in a manner that could almost be described as cautious, he picks up the empty composition book Lara gave him and opens it. His hand hovers over the blank page for a few moments, then he puts pen on paper and begins to write.

---

You made dinner reservations for his visit this Saturday. You’re getting ready for it when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Spencer calls from the living room.

You return to fixing your hair up. You’re not expecting anyone, so it’s probably just a package or a neighbor. But just a few moments later, you hear Spencer raise his voice.

“No! No, I don’t—don’t touch me, please.”

You’re only half dressed, but hurry out to the living room anyways. When you round the corner, you immediately see what the problem is: JJ has dropped by unexpectedly.

It’s not that Spencer doesn’t want to see his team. They just bring memories with them, and he had decided shortly after his birthday that he wasn’t ready to confront that yet.

He’s standing a little ways back from the door, staring at JJ while she looks back with hurt on her face. “Spence--” she starts before she sees you.

At Spencer’s side, you place a hand on his arm and he takes a step behind you. “JJ, what are you doing here?”

She struggles to keep her eyes off of him as she answers. “(Y/N), I’m sorry, I just—Will and I made cookies with the boys today and we had a lot of extra, so I just wanted to drop some off for you. I—I didn’t know Spence was here. I didn’t mean to--”

You hold up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay, JJ. You couldn’t have known. You were just trying to do something nice.”

She nods, relieved at your understanding. “Yeah. Yeah, I….” She blows out a breath, then holds out a plastic wrapped plate of cookies to you. You take it from her with a quiet thank you. Then she looks back to the man that’s essentially hiding behind you as best as he can, despite how tall he is. “Spence, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t want me to touch you.”

There’s a tug on your clothing as he curls his fingers into the fabric on the small of your back. You tilt your head to look at him, but his gaze is on the floor. “You…” he glances up once, then looks back down. “You should ask next time,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” she replies, just as softly. “I will.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheeks to hold back a smile. Spencer often struggles to advocate for his needs, especially with his friends and colleagues, in fear of being a burden or more of a nuisance than he thinks others already perceive him as. He did it a lot with you when you first started dating. It took a lot of time and reassurance that yes, you really did want to know his wants and needs, for him to open up. Telling JJ to ask before touching him may seem small from the outside, but it’s a big deal for him.

After a rather awkward silence, JJ speaks again. “Well, um, I should get going. Just… let us know if you need anything, okay, Spence? We—the team, we’re all here for you.”

“That’s rich,” Spencer mutters behind you and you freeze. You recognize that edge to his voice. It’s usually accompanied by sharp words and remarks that he’ll regret later.

Please please please tell me JJ didn’t hear that.

“I’m sorry?”

Fuck.

“I hate to rush you out, JJ, but we have dinner reservations, so--” you try to interject but Spencer speaks over you.

“I’m just saying, why should I believe you’re here for me when you weren’t last time?”

JJ’s eyebrows come together. “I… don’t understand, I’ve always--”

“No, you haven’t!” It’s like Spencer can’t get the words out fast enough, the way he keeps interrupting before either of you can finish a sentence. This is clearly something that’s been weighing on him. You just wish he was unloading it onto his therapist rather than poor JJ, his best friend outside of you, who’s just trying to be nice. “Ten years ago I was shooting up in police station bathrooms and Emily is the only one who said a damn thing.”

His grip on your clothes tightens, forcing you to take a step back. You move the plate of cookies to one hand and reach back with the other, circling it around his wrist. “Spencer.”

Realization dawns on JJ’s face and she crosses her arms. “Spence, I couldn’t--”

“You couldn’t.” The little laugh he lets out derisive. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

You don’t know where all this is coming from or what he’s referring to, but JJ does, her expression hardening.

“You know what would have happened if the higher ups found out,” she says. “I was protecting your job. We all were.”

“You shouldn’t have!” he cries, emotions other than anger seeping into the words. “This damn job is one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me! I got anthrax poisoning, I still have issues with my knee from being shot. I nearly died from a shot in the neck, and let’s not forget, I was framed for murder by a psychopath I arrested, who then kidnapped my mother while I was in prison! Oh, and what else? Oh right, this job is the reason I’m a fucking addict in the first place!”

JJ’s clearly trying to hold back tears now, but one slips out and your heart aches for her. You close your eyes briefly and take a deep breath, then speak quietly but firmly. “Spencer, you need to leave the room.”

You can hear him breathing shakily behind you. “(Y/N)--”

“Now.” You squeeze his wrist and he finally lets go of your clothing. He takes a few steps away, stops, turns back and opens his mouth to say something, but at the look you give him, shuts it and continues on his way out.

A sniffle draws your attention back to JJ, who’s looking up at the ceiling and swiping at the tears sliding down. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I shouldn’t have come by without giving you a heads-up. I’ve just made things worse.”

“No, JJ, don’t be sorry. It--” There’s thumping noises from further back in the apartment so you step forward and shut the front door behind you. She has her arms wrapped around herself when you turn back.

“It’s not your fault,” you continue. “You were just trying to be nice. You’re a good friend to him. He’s just… everything is really raw for him right now, if that makes sense?”

She nods, wiping at her eyes again.

“It’s, uh, not an excuse, though,” you clarify. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. You didn’t do anything wrong. That was all him, so please don’t blame yourself.”

JJ is quiet for a bit, staring at the floor. Then she says, “I should get going.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” you agree quietly. Realizing you’re still holding the plate of cookies in one hand, you lift it slightly and add, “Thanks for these. And, um… I’m so sorry about that.”

She shakes her head and glances at the door. “Don’t be. Like you said, it was all him,” she murmurs.

You know she’s right, but you’re still barely able to stop yourself from apologizing again as she descends the stairs. You can’t help but feel like you should have done more, stopped him somehow, even though you don’t know how you could have. The way his behavior changed… it was like he wanted to get it all out, and when Spencer Reid wants to say something, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stop.

The apartment isn’t quiet when you walk back in. There’s the scraping and clatter of a desk drawer, followed by frantic footsteps and the thud of books falling off the shelves. You know what he’s doing, and you know he won’t find anything, so you just lock the front door and continue on to the kitchen to put the cookies away.

You lean on the counter and cover your face with your hands. It doesn’t matter if you mess up your hair or face, or anything, really, because you’re not making it to dinner anymore.

You stay like that for a while, eyes closed, trying to think of a place to even start with Spencer after all of that. When the sounds of him tearing through the apartment stop, you lift you head back up and promptly jump—he’s staring at you from the nearest doorway.

“Jesus, Spencer--”

“Where’s my stuff?” he asks, and the seriousness in his tone of voice makes your anxiety spike. You know exactly what he means by stuff.

“It’s gone. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“Yeah, but it’s…” he trails off and his expression puzzles you. It almost looks like he’s confused. “It’s all gone.”

Ah. “Yeah, well, I know you think you’re sneaky, but you’re very much the opposite when you’re not sober,” you reply. “Finding your hiding spots wasn’t hard.”

He drops his gaze to the floor, frowning. “I don’t like it when you move my things,” he says quietly.

“I don’t like it when you use,” you counter.

He visibly flinches, then his hand tightens on the door frame. “I’m not going to—to take it, I just want to hold it. Where’s my stuff?” he repeats.

“Holding it, right,” you sigh.

“It’s comforting,” he argues.

“Even if I believed that, it wouldn’t matter, Spencer. I threw it all out. There’s none here.”

The humming noise he makes is angry, and he rocks back and forth on his feet in an agitated manner. “You shouldn’t… I don’t….”

I don’t have the energy for this. It’s a thought you feel terrible about as soon as you have it, but it’s the truth. Lara had cautioned you before his first visit that he was going to be hypersensitive to disappointment and frustration until he learned how to cope with the feelings he’d been using the Dilaudid to block out. Unfortunately, the information, while useful, didn’t always make his emotional extremes easier to deal with.

You run a hand down your face. “Spencer…” you start. You’re not sure what to continue with, but you don’t have to—for whatever reason, that sets him off.

He tears his eyes away from the floor to glare at you. “Don’t—don’t touch my things ever again!” Then he turns and all but runs to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

You suck in a breath and drop your head to the counter. The marble is cool and you thump your forehead against it gently a few times, focusing on breathing in and out slowly to calm down. When you’re ready, you walk as quietly as you can to the bedroom door and press your ear against it to hear the unmistakable sound of Spencer sobbing into his pillow.

Part of you wants to go in and comfort him, but you suspect that you’d just make it worse right now since some of his frustration is directed at you. And truth be told, you’re frustrated with him, too. So you retreat to the living room, flopping down on the couch and pulling out your phone to call the restaurant to cancel your reservations. Doing so is more upsetting than you expected; a few tears of your own slide down your face after you hang up. Before you know it, you’re calling Tara.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asks you.

“I…” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Spencer’s… we’re having a bad day. If you’re not busy, can I talk to you about it?”

“Of course,” is her gentle reply, and you pull yourself to your feet, moving to the farthest point away from the bedroom in the apartment so Spencer won’t overhear.

“He got angry when you told him you got rid of everything?” she guesses when you reach that part.

“Yeah. He told me that he doesn’t like it when I move his things. I already knew that; that’s why everything else is where he left it. I think he was mostly just caught off guard that I knew all his hiding places.”

“If he’s having a trauma response to seeing JJ, he’s not going to be thinking clearly, either,” Tara points out. “I wasn’t there, so I could be wrong, but from what you’ve said, it sounds like she was some sort of trigger for him.”

“That’s more than a fair assessment. It’s just… confusing,” you say. “He wasn’t like this with her when he first got home from prison. He actually spent a lot of time at JJ’s house before his relapse. He’d go over and hold Michael when he couldn’t sleep. Why is seeing his best friend suddenly such a bad thing?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t have to make sense to us. It only has to make sense to the traumatized part of the brain,” she explains. “He may not even know why himself.”

“Hmm.” You ponder it for a moment. “I think I’d find that interesting if I wasn’t living it.”

Tara laughs out loud at that. “Yeah, I’ve found that to be rather commonplace sentiment in the field of psychology.”

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling calmer. “Thanks for listening,” you say. “I feel better now.”

“Anytime, (Y/N).”

You exchange goodbyes, making plans to catch up properly over lunch next week. You hang up, then tiptoe back to the bedroom door. It’s quiet now; Spencer seems to have stopped crying. You knock softly. “Honey? Can I come in?”

When he doesn’t respond, you try the door handle. It’s unlocked, which is a good sign—he’s upset, but not upset enough to completely shut you out. You open the door just enough to look in.

Spencer’s on the bed as expected, huddled under his weighted blanket. His back is to the door and you see his shoulders shuddering in the little breaths that follow him crying. In your experience, he usually seeks out comfort before this stage, often having the breakdown itself in your arms or stumbling into them halfway through. This is a bit of uncharted territory. You know that after outbursts of negative emotions, he tends to need reassurance and touch from someone to help him decompress and feel better. You just don’t know if that’s going to hold true for this kind of reaction. A trauma response, Tara called it. You hope it will, because you don’t know what else to do.

“I’m going to come in now,” you tell him before taking a step inside. You leave the door open behind you so he won’t feel trapped, then slowly approach him, looking out for signs that he doesn’t want you near—tensing muscles, slight rocking, shaking his head—but he stays still.

Once you sit down on the edge of the bed you can see his face. His eyes are puffy and his cheeks are red and raw from wiping away tears. A few are still slipping out, sliding sideways down his face and dropping onto the wet patch on his pillowcase as he stares blankly at the wall across the room.

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his arm as lightly as you can. He takes in a deep breath, but does nothing to suggest that he wants you to remove it. After a few moments to ensure that he’s okay with touch, you start running your hand up and down his back. He whimpers a little in response, closing his eyes and titling back into your touch.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

You don’t get a straightforward answer. He chews on his bottom lip for a bit before speaking in a scratchy voice. “Can you…?” he mumbles, lifting his head up slightly from the pillow, then dropping it back down. You don’t know what he’s asking for until you see some of his fingers poking out from under the blanket and the stroking motion they’re making.

You maneuver across the mattress to sit against the headboard, jostling him as little as you can, and he shifts to place his head in your lap. When you start carding your fingers through his hair, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a little sigh.

“What’s going on?” you ask once the tension has faded and his body has settled fully into the mattress. He just shrugs and you press your lips together to hold back a sigh. You’re familiar with him going nonverbal and you know that he can’t help it, but it’s discouraging. One of the main things he’s been working on is being more open about his emotions. It’s been a welcome change to not have to pry things out of him. But he seems to have gone right back to old habits tonight and it’s… well, it’s disappointing.

The silence carries on for a long time as you continue to run your hands through his hair. He’s so still and relaxed that you think he may have fallen asleep until he takes in a deep, shuddering breath and clears his throat. “I… I want to go back,” he whispers.

“Back whe--” you start, then your heart drops as you realize what he means. “Oh.”

Your hands fall to your lap as he sits up and clambers out of bed, muttering, “gonna get changed.” He shuts the bathroom door behind him—for whatever reason, he’s not always comfortable with you seeing him changing or in the shower anymore—and you sit still for a few moments, processing what he just said. After over a month of listening to him express his desire to come home—begging you, even, in the beginning—you were unprepared to hear the opposite.

You shake your head slightly to try and clear it, then follow his lead, leaving the bed and changing out of your fancy clothes, trying not to think about how much you had been looking forward to wearing them to the restaurant.

Spencer remains quiet for the drive back to his treatment center, staring out the passenger side window, legs pulled into his chest. He mumbles a quick “bye” to you when you check him back in—no hug or kiss on the cheek like you’ve grown accustomed to. Instead he turns right back to the nurse and staff member running the process and asks, “Is Matt working tonight? I need to talk to him.”

At least he wants to talk to someone, you tell yourself as you leave, trying to soothe the sting caused by the fact that the someone isn’t you.

---

The next time you see him is six days later, on Friday evening. You’ve only talked once since Saturday, over the phone on Wednesday night, and it wasn’t a long call. He was upset about the horse therapy appointment being canceled that afternoon because of the weather—it had rained hard all day—and didn’t say much else. He ended the call before the ten minute mark, saying that he was tired and wanted to go lie down.

He also didn’t request a visit for the weekend—he either didn’t think his treatment team would approve it or he just didn’t want one. So you’re visiting him at the center today. You’ve brought dinner with you—you cooked one of his favorites yourself—but before you eat, you’re having an appointment with him and his therapist.

Spencer glances up only briefly when you enter the office, quickly looking back down. One of his knees is bouncing.

You sit down on the other side of the couch, looking between him and Lara in the chair across from you. “So, um, what’s going on?” you ask.

Spencer looks to Lara and she gives him an encouraging nod. He takes in a deep breath before speaking. “I… I wanted to talk to you about what ha—happened last week,” he says quietly, keeping his gaze on his lap.

You don’t know why exactly he wants to do it here, with his therapist, but wanting to talk about it at all is a good sign.. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“Right, um. Seeing… seeing JJ, it--” he stops abruptly, and his hands tremble slightly as he runs them down his thighs. “Sorry, doing… doing this is making me really anxious.”

“Take your time,” Lara says and you nod in agreement.

“Okay.” He runs his hands through his hair a few times before continuing. “Se—seeing her brought up emotions and, and memories I wasn’t ready to, um, confront. It… it really tri—triggered me.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” you say quietly.

Spencer grimaces at the words. He lifts his hand, puts it back down, then lifts it again and rubs at one of his eyes. “I…” he starts, then fixes his gaze on the floor and goes silent.

“(Y/N).” You tear your eyes from him and look at Lara. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Spencer about Saturday? Maybe what it was like for you?”

“Oh. Um.” You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. You’ve worried about how what you say could effect him since his relapse—one of your biggest fears is saying something that would drive him to use. But it’s stressful to keep up with, and with his therapist is probably the best place to start ridding yourself of your new habit of… well, of walking on eggshells around him.

“I think it would be good for him to know,” Lara says.

“Alright.” You lace your fingers together in your lap. “I guess it was just… startling to me. JJ’s your best friend and you’ve never acted that way to her. Or anyone, really, other than your father.”

Spencer stays silent, but flinches at the mention of his dad.

“Do you have anything to say to that?” Lara prompts. He shakes his head, so she looks back to you. “How did seeing Spencer like that make you feel?”

You take in a deep breath and let it out slowly; you’re a little scared to say, not wanting to make him feel worse. “It was… distressing. Especially when he got mad at me for getting rid of his Dilaudid. I know he doesn’t like having his things touched without permission but I don’t think it was reasonable to expect that I wouldn’t have done that.”

Lara nods. “That makes sense. But our feelings aren’t always logical.”

“Yeah, I understand. I guess I just wish he would have told me what was wrong instead of being silent--”

Spencer finally speaks up then, in protest. “I couldn’t help it!”

“I—I know that,” you argue back. “I just—I’m just telling you how I felt.”

He looks away, folding his arms and sinking further into the couch.

“Spencer,” Lara says gently. “You wanted to know how (Y/N) felt, remember? And we talked about how you were probably going to hear things you wouldn’t like.”

You blink, taken aback that this was his idea. And with that comes the realization of just how long it’s been since he’s asked how you’re feeling. Thinking back, you realize that the last time you had a conversation that wasn’t only focused on his feelings and well-being was the day you found him asleep and tied to his mother. This… it’s Spencer before prison.

You’re drawn out of your thoughts by him sighing and muttering, “Yeah, I remember.”

“Alright. Anything else?” Lara asks you.

There’s a lot else, you’re discovering, but you’re not sure you can unpack it all right now. “Maybe…” you say. “Maybe he could just tell me what I can do to help when he’s… triggered?”

“I don’t know,” he says dully, and when he catches the small frown on your face, insists, “I don’t.”

“Yet,” Lara adds.

He sighs again. “Yet,” he repeats.

“I know it’s frustrating,” she says. “Your solution to these kinds of feelings before was denial or using. A solution, not just a problem,” she emphasizes. “I want you both to try and think of it like that, and get comfortable with the fact that it’s going to take awhile to overcome those habits.”

A solution, not a problem. It’s… weird to think of his addiction that way, but you can try, so you give her a nod.

“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer mumbles. But behind the defensive body language, he just seems tired.

He seems to relax a little when the meeting wraps up and it’s only the two of you in one of the rooms used for visits. He remains quiet, but when you place the plate of food you dish him across the table from yours, he slides it back and sits in the chair beside you. “Sorry,” he whispers as soon as you take a bite of food.

“For what?” you ask once you’ve swallowed.

“For yelling at you on Saturday,” he says quietly. “I was upset but I shouldn’t have yelled.”

His leg is bouncing under the table; you put your hand on his knee to still it. “Apology accepted,” you say softly.

He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t have to. I was awful to you on Saturday.”

You frown at his skewed interpretation of events. “Spencer, you really weren’t. You yelled at me, yes, but other than that, you were fine.” And you’ve said much worse when you’ve been high.

“I ruined dinner. And don’t say it’s not a big deal,” he adds before you can speak. “You mentioned it every time we spoke in the week leading up to it. You were really excited about it, and I ruined it.”

Spencer’s read you like a book—that was exactly what you were going to say. “Yeah, I was really looking forward to it,” you admit. “And it sucked to have to cancel the reservations. But there will be other dinners, and it’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“But what if I did?” His voice is so quiet that you wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t right next to you.

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean…” he rocks slightly in his seat, which you immediately recognize as one of his self-soothing behaviors. You move your hand from his knee to his hair, lightly running your fingers through the curls covering the nape of his neck to try and help. His head tilts forward a little at your touch and after a brief silence, he continues. “I just mean that self-sabotage wouldn’t exactly be something new for me.”

“Oh.” You take your time considering it; he won’t believe you if you give in to your knee-jerk reaction to protest the negative feelings he harbors towards himself. But he grows agitated at your silence, rocking a bit harder and rubbing at his eye. You tug his hair lightly without really thinking about it in response.

“I’m just thinking,” you assure. “You deserve an honest, thought-out answer.”

After taking a deep breath, he nods. “Okay. I understand. Maybe you could just, uh… to help c--comfort…” He swallows and his voice drops back to a whisper. “Could you do that again?”

“Do what?”

“Um, pull… pull my hair. You did that a few moments ago. Please?”

You almost want to tease him—a year ago, you would have. But he’s been so timid and unsure when asking for any intimate touch other than cuddling since he got back from prison. You don’t want to discourage him from asking any more than he seems to be discouraging himself.

“Of course, baby,” you answer softly, and do just that. He closes his eyes and drops his head onto your shoulder. “As far as the self-sabotaging goes, you’re… not good at lying to me,” you muse. “And after six years with you, I feel like I’m pretty familiar with all the ways Spencer Reid self-sabotages. This never even crossed my mind until you brought it up, so I don’t see that as being what happened.”

You can’t tell if he believes you. A neutral “okay” is all you get from him, but at least he’s not outright disagreeing.

You gently pull his hair a few more times. “You should eat before it gets cold and we have to heat it up again.”

He takes the suggestion, picking his fork up, but you’ve never seen him less enthused about eating one of his favorite foods. He’s only cleared half of his plate when you’re done with all of yours.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

You can’t help but sigh at the habitual response, and consider your next words carefully. “Spencer, I don’t mean to be pushy, but you told me you were working on not dismissing people’s concern for you when they express it.”

“I am,” he mutters, but doesn’t say anything else, just continues to push his food around his plate aimlessly.

“Well, is something wrong with the food?” you ask. “Did I get the texture wrong, or--”

“No, no,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “It’s not the food. The food’s great. It’s… it’s me that’s the problem.”

Your eyebrows come together. “I don’t understand.”

“I…” He starts to blush. “I’m not eating it all because I think I need to lose some weight.”

“Don’t you dare,” you say immediately without thinking. He makes a startled noise at the same time you clap your hand over your mouth. You definitely don’t want him to lose weight, you just hadn’t meant for it to come out like that.

On the day he came home and agreed to treatment, you’d seen just how underweight he’d become as you helped him unbutton his shirt. The stark outline of his ribs against his skin had been scary, and you had no desire to see that again. It was a relief when he started to gain back what he’d lost in prison and afterwards. And you were happy to see him continue to put on even more than that.

You clear your throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. You were just so skinny when you got here. You look good like this.”

“I’ve never weighed this much before,” he says, and the distress in his tone makes you think that this is a fact that has been bothering him for a while. “Some of my clothes are getting too tight.”

“We can buy you new clothes.”

“But we don’t know how much longer the insurance will cover my stay here. Residential treatment is expensive. We don’t need to be spending extra money on clothes when I could just lose the weight instead and not need them.”

“Hey.” You put your hand on his cheek. “I don’t want you to worry about money. The insurance is covering it for now. If they stop, that’s a problem to deal with when we get there. Just focus on getting better.”

He looks away from you, down to his lap. “I should still lose some weight,” he says eventually.

“Have you medical staff told you that?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he admits with a sigh.

“Then you’re not allowed to worry about it,” you say firmly. “Finish your dinner.”

Spencer hesitates, but picks his fork back up. The corners of his mouth turn up just slightly when he starts eating again, telling you that despite his fretting, he’s happy not to stop himself from eating as much as he wants.

He seems to be in a much better mood at the end of the evening than he was when you arrived, though a bit more subdued and quieter than normal. He also appears to be very tired. It’s only 7:30 but he keeps yawning. He denies dozing off with his head on your shoulder while you were talking after dinner, but you’re sure he did.

During your parting hug, he nestles his face into your neck just like he always does when you’re sleeping in bed together. “Try and get some good sleep tonight,” you encourage, smoothing your hands down his back. “And Spencer?”

He pulls back to look at you and you settle your hands lightly on his waist. “I meant it, you know.” You squeeze slightly. “When I said you look good like this.”

It takes him a few moments to catch onto what you’re implying; when he does, his eyebrows shoot up and his breath catches. “Oh. O—okay. I’ll, um…” he glances down shyly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better.” You look over your shoulder as you leave, and the small smile he’s wearing prompts one of your own.

--------------- 

tell me what you thought here!

i'd like to put it out there that i don’t hate jj and i really hope it didn’t come across like that. i hadn’t even planned that scene; it just wrote itself. i promise it’ll be resolved before the end of this fic.

another shoutout to the book The Body Keeps the Score for helping immensely with the planning and writing of this. i literally have pages of notes from it. 

you can also find irl pictures of spencer’s therapy horse here.

all we can do taglist: @thatsonezesty13 , @jhillio , @elitereid

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor

[stubbychaos]

Something I Can Never Have

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4

Chapter 5 of Saviin’ika

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: After days pass without you seeing your blue Mandalorian, you force yourself to make a promise that will ultimately strip you of your happiness, though you find it hard to stay true to your word. In the process, you also meet an unlikely companion that will teach you that not everything on Nevarro is ugly.

Rating: M for darker themes pertaining to abuse, animal neglect/fur trading, unresolved sexual tension.

Word Count: 10,000 (at least there’s finally plot lol)

Warnings: This chapter definitely starts off very dark and has descriptions of intense injuries. There’s pretty graphic descriptions of manipulation and abuse (I tried to keep all actual descriptions of the father actually abusing saviin’ika very non-detailed, but still, please read with caution if such topics make you upset and DM me if you want a safe summary of the chapter <3). There’s also a brief mention of animal neglect, but again, nothing descriptive at all!

A/N will be at end of the chapter!

“You know everything I do is for your own good, right? To make you stronger?”

You force yourself to nod when a crooked finger presses cruelly against the small gash at your hairline and you find yourself desperately missing the much softer touch of your Mandalorian; a few droplets of blood trickle past your brow and into the soft divot of your eyelid.

“Then why do you never learn?”

“I... I don’t know,” You whisper weakly, your body limp and weak against the uncomfortable cot, “I am sorry.”

“I only hurt you because I care about you--because I want you to be better. Do you understand that? If you just did your fucking job and listened to what I say, I wouldn’t have to hurt you all the time,” Your father informs you, though you’re certain he’s trying to rationalize his own actions so he can sleep at night, rather than actually comforting you, “I don’t want you wasting your time on someone who doesn’t care about you, not when you’re needed here and nowhere else. How long has it been since you’ve seen him? Two or three weeks?”

Your chest aches at his cruel words.

Sixteen days.

It’s been sixteen days since you’ve seen him and you’re certain it’s your own fault he stopped showing up without a word as to why. 

After your companion had taken you to see the waterfalls, your father had been utterly infuriated upon seeing you with the Beskar-clad warrior, lengthening your shifts from easier twelve hour days to shifts that nearly lasted twenty hours. After finally emerging from the infirmary nearly twenty hours after he’d taken you to watch the sunrise, you had been absolutely heartbroken to find that your blue Mandalorian had not been waiting for you in the wee hours of the morning. After nearly half an hour of standing around, you had shrugged it off and slowly made your way home; you honestly wouldn’t expect anyone to wait for you that long and figured you would see him at some point later. 

But then he’s not there the next day when you get off at a somewhat reasonable time--or the night after that.

Thinking that perhaps an emergency had arose in his tribe, you find yourself waiting against his usual spot the following nights when you are finally released from your agonizingly long shifts.

Still, he does not show up and while your faith in the Mandalorian is slightly shaken, it is not completely broken and hope still flickers in your chest like a tiny spark.

“It has been however many fucking days and you think he’s going to come back for an incompetent girl? He’s probably already forgotten about you. Why did the Maker curse me by having you as my last living blood?”

Your eyelids slip shut at the same time a tear trickles along the bridge of your nose and lands somewhere on the stiff cot that you physically cannot lift yourself from; you think you’ve heard him utter those words more times than he’s ever said ‘I love you’ or, ‘I’m proud of you’. You try to think of the last time he’s said something kind or encouraging to you, but your mind is foggy and the room around you is spinning wildly, breaths leaving your lungs in erratic little patterns that you have no control over.

You can’t even remember the last time he attempted a small smile in your direction, let alone a reassuring sentiment.

You’re certain that at least one of your ribs is fractured or broken and you vaguely remember patching up your blue Mandalorian upon your initial meeting, though that moment seems so far away and out of reach. You swear you can still feel how scalding his skin had been underneath your skilled hands and how the muscles in his abdomen had contracted and tensed upon feeling you rubbing that salve against sore ribs. 

Your dry throat constricts and you force a sob away when you remember that night he had carried you home and tenderly treated your wounds while you were in and out of sleep, going so far to even take out your braids and massage your tender scalp.

You ponder what he would say or think upon seeing your current state--curled up on your own medical cot, bruised and battered and unable to work. Even if he found you to be pitiful, you’re certain he would manage to make you feel better and you hate that the ache in your chest is worse than the one in your bruised ribs.

“Look at me when I speak to you,” He furiously demands and you reluctantly crack your eyelids open, your head aching from the fluorescent lighting that assaults your sensitive eyes; you think you must be concussed, “You’re wasting your time with the Mandalorian, you know that deep down, don’t you? Do you even realize what they would do to a weak woman like yourself? His people are known to be ruthless and unforgiving towards outsiders. He’s going to turn his back on you or take advantage of--”

You tune him out after that. 

Partially because you don’t wish to listen to the lies that he spits like venom and also because the ringing in your ears makes it hard to hear much of anything; you don’t want to hear what kind of torture he believes that the Mandalorians would ever inflict upon people like you when you know it to be false. It actually upsets you to the point of nausea--that another man who has hurt you so badly could attempt to convince you that the only man who’s ever shown you kindness and that you are absolutely infatuated with was against you--that he only wishes to harm you in the cruelest way possible.

Your Mandalorian--cruel?

Impossible.

You think you know your selfless, caring Mandalorian better than you know the back of your own hand and the horrific assumptions your father implies causes a terrible ache to form in the pit of your stomach--a disgusting feeling that makes you want to retaliate, though you force yourself to calm down. You truly do not want to intensify his anger; not when your ribs are aching something awful and the pounding in the back of your skull throbs more achingly the more he spews insults.

Ignoring the anger that quells deep in the pit of your belly, you let your eyes slip shut again and think of blue Beskar instead, or how lovely you think his visor looks in the moonlight, despite not being able to see what he truly looks like underneath his helmet. Though he threatened the life of the very man who hurt you so badly that you currently can’t even move, you think him to have the kindest soul you’ve ever known and you pray that he isn’t too upset when you see him again.

If you see him again.

As your father continues to remind you that you don't deserve the little happy moments that the Mandalorian has gifted you with in such a short amount of time, you try to ignore the fact your companion lied to you. You’re almost certain that it’s not his fault--that something complicated must have developed within his beloved tribe and though you worry for him, you also can’t help but to let your father’s venomous words manipulate your mind into briefly thinking that he’s completely abandoned you.

Usually your injuries are easy to hide with the long sleeves of your dress or longer leggings, but you can feel the contusion that's currently forming around your eye, as well as the blood that's starting to dry and grow crusty at your hairline. You’re only slightly grateful he hasn’t been there for you the past few days, knowing he would absolutely loathe to see what’s become of you and how messy and tangled your usually soft mane has become--

How you haven’t even bothered to decorate your messy braids with vibrant flowers because you no longer feel joy upon wearing them.

You think the skin that's visible must resemble your Mandalorian's dark blue armor and you find the irony of the realization sick and cruel; it’s unfair because you’ve always thought his scuffed up armor to be beautiful, but there’s nothing beautiful about your current state. 

If you possessed even a fraction of the Mandalorian’s strength, you would not be in this painful position and you wished you were somewhere so far away where your father's violent nature was nothing more than a distant, faded memory. You think of the planet your Mando had described to you just weeks ago--Felucia--and vibrant flora that towers over the heavy-infantry warrior; you wonder if he had been making the story up to cheer you up, though you know him to be an honest man.

“Maybe one day I will have the chance to take you there, mesh’la.”

The mere thought of traveling among the stars with the warrior is enough to subdue the pain that’s coursing through your bruised body and your lips barely stretch into a tiny smile; you know it’s something that will most likely come to fruition, but perhaps if you get lucky, it will come to you in the form of a lovely dream one night.

“Clean yourself and get up,” Your father grunts upon realizing that you’ve been ignoring his deprecating speech, “You have a long shift today.”

“My head though,” You grimace when his fingers curl into fists, tears burning something fierce in your eyes at the thought of simply moving, let alone working a full shift in your current state, “I--I think I’m concussed.”

“If you have the energy to complain, then you have the energy to work,” He hisses and you let out a pained yelp when he roughly grabs your elbow and yanks you into a sitting position; the room spins around you and bile rises in your esophagus, “You should be thanking me for not breaking anything important, like your hands or legs. You gonna thank me? Or you gonna keep being an ungrateful bitch all the time?”

You clench your jaw and swallow the lump in your throat, feeling absolutely pathetic as you speak through your teeth, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” He spats and you cringe when you smell the alcohol and spice on his breath, “I will not have you disrespecting me when I’ve done so much for you. You’re going to stop seeing the Mandalorian if he shows back up again, okay? I don’t need him filling your head with such foolish fantasies and thoughts, especially when he’s distracting you from your job so much.”

“Father, please,” You beg, no longer caring about sounding so feeble because nothing leaves you feeling more bereft of all hope than the thought of not seeing your kindhearted Mandalorian if he chooses to ever come back “I promise I’ll be better and I’ll stop talking back all the time! Please, don’t make me do this. I’ll be a better daughter if you just--”

“If I just what?” He scoffs, sounding disgusted and you think his next words are probably the most heart-shattering words he’s ever uttered, “There is nothing I could do--nothing you could do--to ever make you be a better daughter.”

Tears trickle down your bruised cheeks as you force yourself not to sob, “Please don’t take him away from me.”

“Your Mandalorian has already given up on you, yet you try to defend him? If he truly cared, he would have been here for you days ago. Your cowardly warrior does not care for you like I do,” Your tears don’t affect him--they never have--and he almost seems amused as he wraps his dirty fingers around your wrist, squeezing until you cry out from the pain, “Don’t make me break your hands, little one,” He warns and you ponder how someone could be so cruel as to rob you of two of the only things that bring you the most joy, “They may bring in a lot of credits for me, but I would not be sad about breaking one or two fingers.”

It hurts to breathe, let alone cry, and you somehow manage to subdue your tears, though you have not felt such devastation in years. The pain in your ribs and the back of your skull is nothing more than a flicker of a thought as you contemplate what it is he wants you to give up. The anger you felt earlier upon hearing him talk so horrifically about your Mandalorian is nothing to the flames that currently dance wildly in your belly, making you feel absolutely feral and resentful towards your only living family.

“Don’t worry,” He coos when you sniffle and struggle to force your sobs away, “It wouldn’t be enough to keep you from doing your job, just enough to get the point across.”

Your body shakes with breathless, silent sobs that cause your ribs burn and throb in absolute agony, though you think your father’s words hurt far worse.

“No, mesh’la,” You remember your companion’s response upon hearing how you insisted that your father was family and didn’t deserve to be harmed, “He is a monster that deserves to feel shame for what he’s done to his own blood.”

“You really are a monster,” You speak the realization out loud, as if all the past abuse hadn’t been a clear indicator of that, “How could you be so cruel to your own daughter?”

He scoffs and finally releases your wrist from his painful grip, “I don’t have a daughter, just an incompetent nurse who can’t properly do her job because she’s too busy daydreaming about a future she’ll never have. Forget the Mandalorian and focus on your job, or else I’ll really make things far more miserable for the two of you and make sure you never help another fucking patient for the rest of your life.”

“You may be able to do this to me, but he would not let you lay a hand on him.”

“I can hurt him in other ways,” The cruel man reassures you, something dark and ruthless glimmering in his dark eyes; you wonder how a man can be filled with so much hatred and disgust towards their only blood, “If he cares for you as much as you think he does, then I think he wouldn’t be too happy if you suddenly disappeared, if he thought you ran away. Shit, perhaps he just wouldn’t care at all.”

You’re certain it’s a threat against your life, but the way he says it so nonchalantly fills you with utter resentment towards him and your chest heaves. You think back to when the infirmary had been robbed a couple months ago and how the bandit threatening your life had held a blaster to your forehead, but that seems like nothing compared to your father’s violent promise. Though you haven’t seen your Mandalorian in over two weeks and there’s a chance that he’s already tired himself of you, the thought of him showing up one night to simply find out that you ‘ran away’--well, you’re certain he wouldn’t believe a word that comes out of your father’s mouth.

He wouldn’t, right?

...Right?

You’re not sure what thought is worse, your Mandalorian feeling betrayed at the thought you would simply take off without a word or his reaction upon finding your lifeless body wherever your father would dump it, should he be the one to discover it.

“He would kill you,” You weakly inform him, though you feel that you have already lost this fight, “He already wants to.”

“I have connections too, little one,” He refutes easily and you know he’s only telling the truth by the way he smirks, “Ones much more powerful than a coward who chooses to live a life hidden in the shadows.”

Your fingers loosely curl into a fist at the insult, but you remain silent when you see his own hands form into much tighter fists.

“Forget him,” The cruel man repeats in a hushed growl and you refuse to meet his angry glare, “Or else you will both regret it.”

The words hurt more than his fists and you loathe that your voice cracks when you speak in a broken whisper, “Yes father.”

“Now, get up and get to work--you look like a damn mess.”

You weakly nod and tiredly wipe a hand down your face as your father leaves your office with the slam of a door, making you flinch at the aggressive action. You wince upon feeling the new bruises splayed across your skin and carefully slide off the medical cot, gripping the metal railing with stiff fingers and pressing your other hand to your aching ribs. Wearily, you make your way to the mirror that sits on your desk and squeeze your eyes shut upon seeing purple and blue bruises covering nearly half of your face, along with your neck and jaw.

You think you look just as bad as you feel.

After washing your hands and retrieving your suture kit, you slowly sink into your chair and begin the painful process of cleaning and stitching the gash at your hairline. The pain that comes with the horrific sensation of a long, hooked needle piercing your skin and tugging bloodied skin back together is pretty intense, it’s nothing compared to the agony that threatens to rip you apart when it dawns on you that your father truly expects you to forget the Mandalorian, as though he’s some sort of toy that you’ve outgrown.

“Why me?” You question nobody in particular, or perhaps the Maker that has cruelly elected you to such a painful life, “Stars... why me?”

Even though your vision blurs with tears and the throbbing pain in the back of your skull is damn near incapacitating, you continue to stitch and treat your own wounds, and you grow bitter upon realizing you’re your own patient. This is not what you envisioned when your mother decided to teach you everything she knew, hoping that someday you would have the same skills she possessed, though she was far more of a talented nurse than you could ever hope to be.

You don’t remember much of your mother, nor her soft voice and kindhearted touch, but as you finish tending to your wounds and force yourself to forget the blue Mandalorian that never truly leaves your mind, you focus on the patients that slowly trickle in and out of the infirmary for the next twenty hours or so. You’re far too injured to be working and even though your vision is doubled and speckled by black dots, you force yourself to focus and do your job. Only a few mention your new wounds, but when you insist that you were simply mugged the night before, they promptly drop the subject and you continue with your day as best as you’re physically able to.

As you find yourself thinking of your Mandalorian’s deep baritone and how he would hold you like it was pure instinct, you realize now what the warrior truly meant when he spoke of you feeling homesick for a home you had never even known.

You think the warmth and safety of the blue Mandalorian’s arms are the closest you’ll ever know to having a home and it is the only think that gets you through the most painful shift of your life.

When your shift ends eighteen hours later, black spots dot your vision and you can barely breathe with the intense, agonizing pain in your side. 

You only make it a few buildings past the infirmary, nearly passing the dirty cantina you’ve known a few of your scummy regulars to frequent when you hear it.

It starts off as a high-pitched whine that eventually dissolves into pained whimpers that wrack your heart and pique your undying curiosity.

Despite the exhaustion that bleeds into every single one of your senses, the painfully heart wrenching noises of a creature beckoning for you to help it overpowers any other rational thought that your concussed mind can possibly conjure.

You know how absolutely dangerous the village is at this hour, but something about the hopeless whimpers combined with the fluorescent red eyes that seem to reflect underneath the moonlight absolutely haunts you. Though it’s difficult to make out anything in the dark, you’re very much aware of how desperate the strange creature sounds like it’s being tortured and despite the traumatizing events of the day you’ve just experienced, your natural instincts have you making your way to the helpless animal.

As you get closer, it reluctantly emerges from the safety of the dark corner it has been hiding in and you gasp out loud at the strange, yet astonishing sight in front of you.

The ethereal moonlight seems to reflect off of the creature’s gorgeous crystalline coat and you press the back of your hand to your mouth when you realize the poor animal is tied up to a kriffing dumpster on the outside of a disgusting cantina.

How could anyone tether something so absolutely beautiful to something so dirty?

You nearly sob and your heart aches something fierce as you cautiously make your way over to the whimpering creature, it’s bright crimson eyes seeming to glow in the darkness of the night and you hesitate when it lets out a shrill noise as it moves in a way that must cause intense pain. 

The tiny cub shakes its beautiful coat and you startle a little when you hear the soft clinking of crystals jangling against one another, its coat seeming to be clad with some sort of stunning, reflective mineral. You’ve never seen something so ghostly or intangible and you raise your brows when the creature politely sits on its hind legs and stares up at you, its front paw lifted off the ground and you realize it must be injured if it refuses to support any weight on the wounded appendage.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” You coo, utterly entranced, but determined to help what seems to be such an innocent, beautiful creature; despite the horrific pain in your own ribs, you slowly sink to your knees and hold a soft hand out for the cute cub to sniff, “I only want to help you.”

The cub tilts its head to the side and you nearly giggle at how big its ears seem compared to its little head; the peaks of the crystalline ears look dangerously sharp and you remind yourself that this is a feral animal that could easily deal some serious damage upon feeling threatened. Keeping that in mind, you slowly reach into the pouch at your hip where you think you still have some sort of sustenance left over from your meek lunch.

Clumsily, the beautiful creature hobbles forward and eagerly accepts the piece of jerky you’re offering. For the first time since parting ways with your Mandalorian sixteen days ago, you find yourself grinning when the fox-like creature makes a hacking noise, as if it expects some sort of luxurious cuisine, rather than dried out meat.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” You murmur, earning a curious tilt of the head from the clearly neglected animal, and your grin melts into a sad frown as you move to untie the thick rope that’s wrapped like a vice around its neck; it flinches severely and you think you understand its fear all too well, “It’s okay, I’m going to get you back to the infirmary and fix up that leg. I only wish to help, I promise.”

Something about the soft determination laced in your quiet voice must resonate with the creature, because it’s soulful, crimson eyes blink slowly up at youas it plops down and heaves a tired sigh. Using the vibroblade the blue Mandalorian had given you over a month ago, you carefully cut through the thick rope and your heart breaks when you realize the pale flesh underneath is absolutely rubbed raw and slightly bloody. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” You coo when it lets out a little whine as you inspect the extent of its injuries, though they seem fairly minor, “I’m going to take care of you, I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You smile sympathetically and lean forward to carefully pick up the cub, marveling at how tiny the creature is and loathing that you can feel its ribs, even underneath its rocky coat. Slowly, you rise with the strange animal cradled cozily in your arms and ignore the pain in your ribs as you gently scratch its rocky chin. You’re met with the pleasant sound of a happy little shriek and you can’t stop yourself from giggling, not even noticing the sound of shuffling from behind you, nor the soft click of a weapon pointed in your direction.

“Drop the vulptex right now.”

You turn around so fast that you nearly knock yourself off balance, gasping when you realize the source of the voice belongs to a Trandoshan that towers over you by more than a foot; you tremble at how terrifying the reptilian species is. He’s pointing a rusty blaster right between your brows and you think that this day can’t possibly get any worse, what with your injuries, your father’s haunting words, and your Mandalorian’s continuous absence.

As if it senses your fear and sadness, along with the severity of the situation, the creature in your arms--the vulptex--whines a little and tucks its wet snout against the crook of your neck.

“Drop the mutt,” The Trandoshan hisses, his Basic a little choppy and slurred as he staggers closer until the cold barrel of his weapon is pressed firmly against your forehead; you’re shocked that you manage to not tear up from fear alone as you stare into his emotionless yellow eyes.

“I would not surrender this abused creature so easily--not when your intentions are cruel,” You whisper, grunting a little when he shoves the blaster against you and urges you backwards into the stone wall, the back of your already aching skull colliding against the unforgiving surface, “Why would you own such a beautiful animal, only to harm it?”

“You think I actually care about the damn noisy thing?” He scoffs, eyes darting down to the shaking creature that you hold so protectively to your chest, “Her coat right now could easily earn me over two thousand credits; I don’t give a shit if she’s hurt or not, I only care about the pretty reward she will bring me.”

You glare fiercely at him, hating that your eyes fill with tears simply from the thought of the precious creature being bred and born for no other purpose than the cruel intentions of a sick man. Unconsciously, you hold the vulptex tighter against you, hating the little squeaks and whimpers she lets out, as though she’s aware of the torture she will endure if she ends up in the hands of this monster.

“Hand it over and I won’t hurt you,” He steps closer until his scaly body is pressed against yours and it all feels wrong and gross and you force your mind to go anywhere else than the wall of a dirty cantina, “Though I don’t think I would mind seeing you with more bruises, little one--seems like I’m not the first one you’ve manage to piss off today.”

For the umpteenth time that day, anger swells like a grave wound in the pit of your stomach and you hate that it only makes your tears burn hotter in your eyes, leaving a trail of scorching fire down your cheek. You cringe when the Trandoshan reaches forward to grab your bruised face and you’re hasty and panicked as you speak up before he can do anymore damage to your already wounded skin.

“Put the blaster down and I’ll give her back, I swear!”

He makes a strange hissing noise and grips your bruised cheeks harder, making you cry out in pain, “This is not a negotiation, little one. Just hand over the fucking mutt and I might let you leave in one piece.”

Though your voice shakes, you somehow steel your nerves and stand your ground, “I will give you your animal once you put down the blaster. How do I know you won’t just shoot me dead as soon as I hand her over?” You question, realizing that the confusion in your voice must affect him severely and when you speak up again, your voice is filled with fury. 

“Put. It. Down.”

“Only because your anger is amusing.”

The Trandoshan clicks his tongue angrily at you and lets out the most vicious growl you’ve ever heard, though you must be convincing enough because he finally eases his body off of your much smaller one. Your heart pounds frantically in your chest as you watch him bend down a little to holster the unforgiving weapon and you remember what your Mandalorian had once told you in regards to defending yourself against enemies larger than you.

Without really thinking of the consequences, you promptly bring your knee up into the enormous Trandoshan’s groin, cringing at the loud yelp the man lets out and you further the damage by swinging your calf upwards when he nearly collapses, your ankle colliding with what you’re sure is his most sensitive appendage. 

The fox-like creature in your arms whines and squeaks profusely as you take advantage of the situation by sprinting to the end of the alleyway where you know you can make a quick escape into the infirmary that’s just a few buildings away from your current location.

Your feet move before your mind even registers your actions and all that you know is that your cruel attacker is bent down at the waist, nearly on his knees and crying out in pain as you quickly sprint as fast as your aching legs will allow you to. Pain is radiating throughout your entire body, but you ignore it as you focus your entire being on getting out of a dangerous situation in one piece. 

You think you’re safe and in the clear when a massive arm wraps tightly around your waist and tugs you close to them, causing you to cry out in pain and desperation as you angrily kick your legs about. In a furious rage, you shriek and thrash against the impossibly tight grasp your new attacker has on you and it fills you with utter fury; it’s the third time today that someone’s hurt you and something about the realization fills you with resentment and grief.

Barely registering the familiar baritone that attempts to calm you in a softer, exasperated tone, you thrash wildly against the arm that holds you to an unyielding chest. It’s familiar, but you’re certain that your mind is playing cruel tricks on you and you are not willing to give in so easily to your captor.

“Let me go!” You shriek, absolutely blinded by fear and terror to register that the one holding you to his chest is your only other companion--the only man you’ve ever trusted. His arm is wrapped around the worst of your bruising and you feel as though you're being crushed so heavily by the weight of your own consequences, more so than his armor.

"Shh, It's me," The familiar voice shushes you and you feel shame that you didn't recognize it earlier, that you didn’t even realize it was Beskar digging into your broken body, "I've got you--you're safe. Please don’t… don’t cry, mesh’la. Shit, please don’t cry--it’s just me."

‘It’s just me.’

He says it like you haven’t been waiting for him every night for weeks and you nearly sob at how unconcerned he sounds when you spent so much time terrified that he had simply abandoned you or had gotten gravely injured.

Before you can even think about weakly asking him why he didn't show up all those nights ago, another voice--a much angrier one--echoes from down the sidewalk. You're not sure whether your shakiness is from fear or adrenaline, but the warrior doesn't lessen his grip and holds your back tightly to his Beskar-clad chest. You’re grateful when he removes his arm from around your tender ribs, deciding that just above your chest seems like a better option and if you weren’t so shaken up, you’d blush upon feeling his fingers gently squeeze your shoulder in a comforting way.

"You fucking little--"

Immediately, your attacker’s angry tone dies down as he realizes that someone new has entered the altercation, immediately spotting the irritated Mandalorian that’s holding you and the ethereal creature securely with one arm, his other stretched past your head as he steadily aims a long blaster in the Trandoshan's direction. Though the intimidating criminal stands just as tall as the blue heavy-infantry warrior, you're certain that he's not nearly as broad or as intimidating.

Definitely not as skilled in his drunken stupor.

Your attacker's eyes widen just a fraction upon realizing who's currently holding you and your breath catches in your throat when he refuses to lower his blaster--would he really be so foolish to challenge someone who was trained from childhood to be a skilled warrior? You feel the Mandalorian fist the material of your dress that covers your shoulder and if you weren't so focused on the tense situation, you would have complained about the burning pain that shoots through your side at how closely he holds you to him to his Beskar chest. Swiftly and not unkindly in the slightest, the warrior gently urges you behind him and you’re quick to let out a deep exhale that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in since he initially grabbed you.

"I don't want any trouble, Mando," The Trandoshan's voice drops, as though he can sense the anger rolling off of your Mandalorian's Beskar, "I just want the vulptex back--the girl is a thief and I want my reward."

“Thief, huh?” The blue warrior cocks his head to the side, like he's amused by the thought of you committing any sort of crime, "Seems to me like you're the thief. Vulptices only reside on Crait and are protected by law, even in the Outer Rim. I’m sure you already know that though."

“Since when do Mandalorians have morals?”

Your Mandalorian doesn’t say anything in response and you think that his silence is far more fearful than whatever else he could have said in retaliation. His leather-clad hand slowly reaches behind him and your cheeks burn something painfully fierce when you realize he’s reaching out for you, as though he’s worried that you’ve somehow vanished or that your visible injuries are because of the Trandoshan.

Despite the promise you made to your father earlier, you’re unable to resist the urge to reach out for him as well. As your fingers intertwine with his and you give them a gentle squeeze, your father’s words haunt you and tears fill your eyes when you remember you’re going to have to break off the tender relationship you’ve somehow formed with him in such a short amount of time. You thought that nothing would hurt worse than convincing your father that you would simply focus on work, rather than your Mandalorian, but now that he’s actually there and holding your hand like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held?

You’re absolutely terrified that your heart is going to break into hundreds of piercing shards and somehow hurt him, even with the protection of his precious Beskar armor.

Upon realizing that the heavy-infantry Mandalorian isn’t going to relent, your attacker seems to falter and finally lowers his blaster upon hearing the warrior’s next words.

“I’m sure a fur-trader like yourself would have a pretty big bounty on their head,” A squeeze of your own hand fills you with warmth and reassurance as he argues with the cruel man that holds such ill intentions for such a beautiful creature, "I would not mind handing you over to a bounty hunter and seeing how much I could make off of someone like yourself."

“You really don’t want to do this, Mando,” The Trandoshan hisses and you realize that he’s trying to convince your Mandalorian to hand you and your newest companion over, “They’re not worth it--I promise.”

Thick fingers curl tightly around yours and you hate that your heart skips a little when you realize he’s silently reassuring you that you are worth all this trouble, a notion that’s difficult for you to truly believe after the past few weeks. You want to be upset with him for disappearing without a word, but you’re certain that he must have a reasonable explanation and fear churns in the pit of your belly when you remind yourself of the promise you’d made to your father earlier.

“I think he wouldn’t be too happy if you suddenly disappeared, if he thought you ran away…”

Tears burn painfully in your eyes as the Trandoshan relents with a furious growl, sending you one last glare as he angrily makes his way back into the cantina. The Mandalorian stands deathly still as he continues to stare at the spot where your attacker had previously occupied and you think that he must be collecting his thoughts before he speaks out loud. You’re certain that this isn’t how he expected your reunion to go--you pissing off a Trandoshan that rivals his own strength and having to yank you out of a bad situation--but as he slowly turns to regard you and the creature you cradle so closely to your chest, you think he’s not angry with you.

“Seems like you’ve had quite the day, saviin’ika,” He observes with a cocked helmet, his hand slowly moving to the underside of your jaw so he can tilt your head back to get a better view of your newest injuries; judging by the tension laced in his baritone, along with the way his chest heaves, you must appear as awful as you feel, “Not a good one, at that.”

The weight of his grave words fill your eyes with tears and you squeeze your eyes shut when the cold leather covering his calloused thumb ghosts along the apple of your bruised cheek; it brings you back to when he carried you to your hut and tended to your wounds. Somehow, his touch seems far gentler right now than it had that night, despite him wearing his gloves and it only makes you want to cry harder for the tender warrior.

“Y-You weren’t...” You force yourself not to sob, as you feel you’ve cried far too much for one day, “Where did you go? I-I waited, just like I promised. I know it was so late the first day, but after that I kept waiting and y-you never showed up and I thought you--”

Your voice cracks and you think from the way he slumps forward a little he must feel the pain that’s so prevalent in your broken words; he raises his hands in a pleading gesture as your tears burst like a kriffing dam. You’re certain it’s just the events of the day, combined with being concussed and absolutely exhausted that’’s making you so emotional, but you don’t care anymore and let it all out.

“I… I am sorry I have not been here for you,” He sounds ashamed as he leans down to tenderly press his Beskar-clad forehead against your bare one, taking great care to not bump into your stitches, “There were problems in the tribe that needed to be taken care of. I did not intend for it to last this long.”

You hesitate to open your eyes and peer up at him, though when you do, you find that the sight of his scuffed up helmet and visor bring you more comfort than what you’ve felt since his absence, “Are your people okay? I could help if someone is injured or--”

“No, mesh’la,” He still sounds pained as his fingers graze the edges of the bandage that covers the stitches at your hairline, “Everyone is okay, but thank you for your concern. It was just a dangerous mission that our bounty hunter needed help with and some negotiating with the tribe that I needed to be there for. I did not want to be away from you for this long--it was not my intentions--but I know that one day soon you will understand. Please don’t cry, I’m sorry.”

“No, I just... there is nothing to forgive. Your tribe should always come first,” You shake your head as you viciously wipe the tears from your cheeks, “It’s been a long day and I’m just being... I’m just tired--I’m exhausted and hurt.”

“Then let me take care of you, little nurse.”

“You… you should not be here; you should be with your own people,” You force out in a tiny whisper, though he does not seem afraid by your words in the slightest, “This is--what we have..” You hate that your expression crumbles and your voice breaks, because he immediately tilts his helmet, as though he already sees right through your lies, “It is wrong.”

He scoffs and you’re barely aware of the way he gently curls his fingers around your hip, pushing you up against the infirmary you had somehow made it to in your hysteria. Judging by the way he shakes his helmet at you and easily backs you up until you're pressed to the brick wall of the broken down place you work at, you think he must not believe your words at all. You feel as though you do not have the strength to explain what is going on as he cockily rests a forearm right next to your cheek against the brick wall of the infirmary that he’s successfully trapped you against.

“This is wrong, mesh’la?” He questions softly--desperately--and you think your heart might combust at how gentle his modulated baritone is, “Is it so wrong that I couldn’t stop thinking of your eyes and smile every night I was away from you? Is it wrong that I dream of how soft your hair feels when I take off my gloves or that I only wish to hold you when I am alone in my bed at night? Would you really be so cruel to me after I traveled so long just to see your pretty face?"

“Was it not cruel of you to be away for so long without me knowing why? I thought you might have...” Your gaze lowers to his cuirass in embarrassment and shame, “I thought you were injured or that maybe you just didn’t... you didn’t want me anymore.”

He tenses, back straightening as he makes a strange choking noise, “I always want you--I always will. It pained me to not be able to see you in person, but you were in my dreams whenever I actually managed to get sleep. Do you really not want this anymore? Did I hurt you that badly?” He suddenly sounds fearful and your heart absolutely aches in your chest, “I would get on my knees and ask for forgiveness if that is what you wished for.”

“I would not allow your big ego to take that big of a hit,” You jokingly whisper--a poor attempt to lighten the situation, though it stops him right before he can fall to his knees, “This is--it’s just something that cannot go on any longer.”

“You are making no sense to me, mesh’la.”

You release a small sigh when his fingers drift up to the remnants of dried blood that have crusted into your roots, “I am not a cruel woman, Mandalorian, I am tired and I would not let you feel the same pain I have felt,” You whisper the last part as he gently nudges his forehead against yours, “I would not wish it upon anyone, especially you.”

“You think your father could hurt me?” The Mandalorian’s thumb is rubbing soothing circles into your hip as he tilts his helmet, forehead still pressed to yours and you force your expression not to crumble when you remember your father’s words from earlier, “He wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on me--he wouldn’t be able to even think about it before I’d have him in ashes at your feet.”

“Must you make everything so difficult?” You inquire lips trembling because he does not realize the true extent of the kind of pain your father it able to inflict on the fearless warrior without even laying a finger on him, “You should leave. P-Please, you do not understand what he is--what he can do to you.”

“What did he say to you? Please tell me he did not get inside that pretty head of yours,” He taps the underside of your chin and urges you to peer up at his visor and you fear that he’ll see the despair and agony burning something fierce in your shimmering eyes, “Is that really what you wish for, mesh’la? You gonna break my heart like this?”

“You know what I wish for, yet it is something I can never have, Mandalorian.”

“Don’t do this to me, to us,” He sounds just as devastated as you feel and it only complicates the situation more than you could ever hope to anticipate as he continues to speak in the same tone, “Don’t take this away from me--not when it’s the only good thing we’ve both had in so long and I... please let me help you.”

He sounds so despondent and the graveness of it causes your heart to ache terribly as you shake your head frantically, tears streaming down your cheeks and into the leather covering his fingers.

“Let me take you away from here.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and rest the back of your head against the wall he has you trapped to; all confidence you had in your attempts to break things off with the Mandalorian dissipates the very moment you feel the cool leather of his thumb kiss the corner of your mouth. He cocks his helmet to the side when you turn your head further against his hand and slowly let your eyelids slip shut when your lips meet the palm of his black glove; you long for the warmth of his rough skin instead. 

You simultaneously loathe and love that he has this effect on you--that he holds your heart so protectively in his palm--and you know you're playing a dangerous game as your free hand comes up to press against his much bigger one. You trap the cold leather close to your face and don’t care when you force him to apply the tiniest pressure to the blue and purple bruises covering half of your face.

You’re barely aware of the way he raises his fingers, so he causes you no pain.

He lets out a deep, dreamy sigh when you press a firm kiss to his palm and all thoughts pertaining to the promise you’d previously made to your father disappear as he tenderly strokes your cheek with his thumb.

“I have to tend to her wounds, Mandalorian,” You murmur when the vulptex cub lets out an irritated whine and you feel emptier when he reluctantly pulls his hand away from your face, though he keeps your hand trapped firmly in his.

“Then I will tend to yours after, mesh’la.”

“They really aren’t that bad,” You insist, though the ache in your ribs and the throbbing in the back of your skull reminds you otherwise, “They look a lot worse than they feel.”

“You are a terrible liar,” He sighs again and gently squeezes your hand as you lead him into the infirmary, taking great caution to lock the entrance behind you, “I can tell by the way you are breathing that your ribs are injured. Let me--just, please let me take care of you."

You should tell him to leave, your father's threat lingering in the back of your mind, but the temptation of your Mandalorian's bare touch outweighs any rational thought you might have had. So, you relent with hardly any fuss, giving the stubborn man a small nod as you tiredly guide him into your office and turn on the lights.

"I do not want you to see my body like this," You warn him as you tenderly lay the wounded creature in the center of your medical cot, "I am ashamed of my bruises and scars."

You barely glance at the warrior as he lazily removes his heavy cannon, as well as the jetpack that's attached to the huge weapon. He freezes upon hearing your meek words and shakes his helmet as you begin to disinfect your tiny patient’s minor wounds, earning you soft squeaks and whines in the process.

"That shame belongs to him, mesh'la," Your Mandalorian reassures you in a firm tone that makes you think he's upset, "Never feel ashamed for the cruelty of others, especially when you did nothing to deserve any of this. As for the scars, there is nothing embarrassing about the stories that tell your survival."

“Do you have many?” You question, not able to meet his emotionless visor, though something about how terse he sounds makes you think he’s not as stoic as he always tries to appear to be, “I know when I stitched you up a couple of months ago you, I just didn’t see many scars.”

“The armor doesn’t always hold up,” He quietly admits and you finally turn your head to peer up at the dents in his helmet; dread pumps through your veins when you realize the scars on his Beskar must have been a result of a powerful blaster shot and you wonder if the bare skin beneath is scarred as well, “I have many scars as well. Some I’ve gotten from fights I’m not so proud of, but they are still a part of me and tell the story of who I am today.”

You contemplate his words carefully, observing all the scuffs and dents in his dull blue armor before collecting your thoughts, “I am not a warrior like you and I did not get these scars from fighting in battles. There is no honor behind my story--behind learning how to take beatings and keeping my mouth shut so I won’t be hurt worse. This is not a battle, it’s just learning to live with it.”

You turn away from him when you fear that you won’t be able to hold your composure any longer, tensing a little when the Mandalorian speaks in a low, deeper baritone, “Maybe it is not a battle you’re fighting, but that doesn’t make you any less of a warrior, mesh’la. You’re far braver than anyone in this damn village and I’ll keep telling you that until you finally believe it.”

“And what if I never believe it? What will you do then?”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until the day I die.”

You smile sadly and not knowing how to respond, you simply fall into a thoughtful silence as you check the cub for any broken bones or wounds that might not be visible; after confirming nothing is broken, you spin around in your chair to face the Mandalorian. He’s leaning against your desk, wood creaking underneath the weight of his body as he stares right back at you with his bare hands resting on his hips. Just the way he stands when he’s in a relaxed environment screams confidence and power and you think it to be amazing that someone can consistently exude that kind of energy, even to someone like you--someone who’s seen him grow shy and even sometimes vulnerable.

“Would you please hand me the antibacterial cream?” You politely ask as you situate yourself in the most comfortable position that your bruised ribs will allow you to sit, offering him a tiny smile when he nods and turns around to reach up to the top shelf bolted to the wall, “Thank you.”

“Sure,” He hums as he makes his way over to you in two wide strides, seeming to be unbothered by you ordering him around, “All this trouble over a vulptex that looks like a little runt?”

“All creatures matter the same to me, Mandalorian,” You gratefully accept the little jar he holds out for you to take and you scoop out the white cream on two fingers, “No matter how big or small they are, they all deserve basic medical attention.”

“You’re something else, saviin’ika,” He informs you, sounding amused as he holds a hand out for the cub to sniff, though the ethereal creature merely turns its nose away and blinks slowly at you; the Mandalorian shakes his helmet with a grunt and turns his attention to you as he leans against the back of your chair.

“Do you know much of this species?”

The Mandalorian hums as he lazily wraps his fingers around the top of the backrest of your chair, seeming entirely comfortable to be this close to you, “I know they’re native to the planet of Crait, but other than that, I don’t know much else outside of the fur trade and them being smuggled and slaughtered for their crystal coats.”

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach and you hate that tears immediately burn your eyes as you stare at the precious little creature and her soulful crimson eyes, “S-Slaughtered?”

“It is best not to think about it, little nurse, especially when your heart is so soft compared to everyone else’s,” He sighs and he must be mentally kicking himself in the back of his scuffed up blue helmet for exposing you to such terrible news, “You did a good thing--saving this little runt. Her fate would have been… unfavorable, to say the least.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as he gently thumbs your braids that lack their usual vibrant flowers; they had all fallen out upon the beating you’d taken earlier and it felt so wrong to be without them, “Do you think her family--her mother--?”

“I don’t know,” He answers honestly, dutifully stroking the unruly baby hairs away from your forehead as you continue to wonder what kind of trauma this beautiful creature must have gone through, “Like I said, it is best to not think about it.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop thinking about what that man would have done to this poor animal,” You confess in a meek whisper as he smooths a calloused hand over your braids in a comforting manner, “How can people be so…?”

Your question hangs heavily in the air like a dark gray cloud and the Mandalorian makes a small noise in response, wordlessly answering that he doesn’t know why people are capable of acting so cruelly to those who don’t deserve it.

“That Trandoshan… did he do anything to you? I could go back and--”

“Always so ready to fight,” You smile sadly, watching as the cub slowly falls asleep underneath your tender hands and the soothing sensation that your homemade cream bestows upon its burning wounds, “He did not hurt me. If anything, I hurt him.” 

You continue when he makes a questioning hum from the back of his throat, “I kind of uh, kicked him between his legs… twice?”

You blush fiercely when he makes a choked sound and reaches out to gently squeeze your nape, he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh when he speaks, “You kicked a man in the balls? A Trandoshan?”

“I was left with no other choice and did what I needed to.”

“You are much braver than you believe,” You think you hear a twinge of admiration in his cool baritone and shake your head a little at the sentiment, refusing to believe his words “I mean it. Not many with no fighting experience would have the courage to take on someone so much bigger to protect something so little, especially when you’re already hurt. You should feel proud.”

“Th-Thank you,” You whisper, shuddering when his hand slowly travels down your neck and settles on the space between your shoulder blades, rubbing the tension away from your aching muscle; your fingers fumble with the roll of gauze as you slowly finish wrapping it around the cub’s raw neck, “You are… you’re distracting me from my work, Mandalorian.”

“I would prefer to distract you in other ways, mesh’la,” That slight cockiness is back in his modulated voice and when you try so desperately to think of some sort of witty comeback, you find that your mind is full of thoughts of what other distractions he could possibly mean. His hand slowly trails up your back and around the slope of your shoulder, eventually stopping at the base of your throat and urging your head backwards so the back of your skull is gently pressed against his armored-clad abdomen and you’re peering up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. He barely uses any pressure to control you and it’s then that you realize it’s not dominance he seeks, but more so your trust in him, and knowing that he would never harm you with ill intent.

“I have a patient to treat.”

“So do I.”

“I’m still upset with you.”

He releases the gentle, barely-there grip on your throat at your weak words and you exhale a long, deep sigh as you finish wrapping up the vulptex’s sprained paw with a small splint and a tight layer of gauze to keep the bones from shifting. Grabbing the thin pillow from the top of the medical cot, you slowly rise from your chair, fully aware of your Mandalorian’s attention on you as you place the pillow in a safe corner of the room before retrieving a small, metal dish that you would typically use to discard debris into upon treating injured patients. Instead, you fill it with water before placing some dried meat into a smaller dish, just in case your newest companion becomes hungry at some point throughout the night.

Once you settle the healing creature near its water and food bowls, you hesitantly turn to the Mandalorian that now occupies your chair, legs splayed wide, as though he doesn’t give a damn about how much space he takes up in your little office. As you approach him after making sure the cub is sound asleep and comfortable in her cozy corner, you find that you don't mind his hulking stature in the slightest and place a gentle hand on the spot between his pauldron and the lip of his helmet.

“Mesh’la,” He greets you in a quiet huff as you slowly lower yourself onto the cot with a pained expression etched upon your features; his hand moves to your thigh and carefully tugs you closer to him, “Your wounds?"

"I've done all that I can already," You inform him weakly, putting up no fight when he gently guides you into a laying position on your side by placing a firm hand on your shoulder, "I don't have anything for fractured ribs."

"I do," He begins to pull a familiar jar from the pouch at his hip and you shake your head a little upon realizing it's the bacta salve you gave him two months ago, "Please, let me take care of you the same way you take care of everyone else."

“I’m not used to--”You swallow the lump in your throat and eventually nod your consent, melting into the stiff cot when he gently wraps his fingers around your bare calf and you speak in a weak whisper, "Okay, just please be careful, the bruising is--it's pretty bad."

"I would never--" His chest heaves and his head tilts as his visor lands on your face, "I'll always be gentle with you, mesh'la."

You nod and fully relax against the mattress, peering at his scuffed up helmet as his fingers curl into the hem of your dress; you think his hesitation is endearing because most men would not have the same reaction, "It is okay, I'm wearing shorts."

"How unfortunate."

So much for hesitation.

Your face grows so hot that you feel it spread to your earlobes and you shake your head at the man who's determined to be your own nurse. You think it’s ironic that you’re in the same position he had once been in during your initial meeting and you now understand why he had become so tense upon touching his warm skin. He’s barely touched you and your heart is beating harder than a war drum before battle; you briefly wonder if this is what he had in mind when he inquired about treating your wounds and you think he must enjoy watching you squirm a little.

Yet, you know his intentions are pure and he only wishes to help you.

"Do you flirt this way with everyone?"

"No," He sounds utterly amused by your exasperation and shy disposition, "Just pretty nurses who go around picking fights with Trandoshans."

You scoff at that, fully aware of what kind of game he’s playing with you, “It seems as though you are the nurse and I am your patient now, though.”

“I... uh, yes, it does seem that way, mesh’la.”

You roll your eyes at him, though a small smile threatens to break your stoic features, "It is not professional to flirt with your patients, Mandalorian."

He huffs a little, risking a cursory glance at your face before carefully sliding your dress up your thighs and stomach so he can get a good look at your ribs. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his calloused knuckles graze the outside of your bare thigh and you force your mind out of the gutter, reminding yourself that he’s doing this to tend to your wounds.

"Oh, saviin'ika," You hear him sigh gravely as he lightly drapes your dress just underneath your bust, exposing your severely bruised skin to him, "He… he did all of this to you? Wh-Why? Maker--how could anyone--?"

You flinch a little when he cautiously lays a warm hand near the darkest of the bruises and he’s astoundingly quick to yank his hand away, as though you’re the one that’s caused him such pain and you shake your head a little. You reach out to grab his warm hand in your colder one and guide it back to your bruised skin, longing to feel any sort of tender touch after the rough, violent week you’ve had.

"He caught me daydreaming instead of working. I should have--"

"Don't you dare blame yourself for this," He breathes, a twinge of devastation clear as day in his crackly voice, "Nobody deserves this kind of torture except for him and him only. I wish you would--" He sounds like he's in even more pain than you and your heart shatters upon realizing you've unintentionally reduced him to such a state, "I wish you would let me kill him for you. I could even make it fast so you wouldn't think me to be as cruel as him. Please, mesh--"

"I want to continue to be a nurse, Mandalorian," You weakly remind him, remembering your father’s threat as your own nurse glides a cautious thumb along your tender skin, remaining diligent in not applying any pressure, “I could not keep helping others if you killed him--the infirmary would close down and I would be left without a job.”

The Mandalorian shakes his head and you watch as his rough fingers collect a generous scoop out of the jar that looks just as filled as the night he’d carried you home and tended to your wounds then. You wonder if it’s simply an instinct for him to take care of others and you give him an encouraging smile when he begins to rub the warm gel against the worst of your bruises with far more tenderness than you’ve ever experienced. You can tell he’s utterly afraid of causing you further pain and you watch as he keeps his visor trained on his massive hand that’s currently soothing your wounds.

“What if you could though? What if there was a way you could continue to help others and not have to fear him?”

You force yourself not to ponder his words too much, knowing such wistful thinking will only end in more pain.

“I would think it to be a fairytale,” You finally murmur, eyes slipping shut as he continues to slowly and carefully soothe your bruises with a ghost of a touch; the bacta salve is pleasantly numbing and you’re suddenly grateful for the unexpected medical attention, “And I have never believed in fairytales, Mandalorian.”

He simply hums and doesn’t say anything else as he finishes rubbing the numbing salve against your tender skin; though the dull ache still lingers, you’re certain the pain will be minimal come morning. You think he’s finished when he kindly fixes your gray dress so the hem is settled against just above your knees once again, but then he’s standing up and you barely lift your head when you hear water running from the small sink that’s adjacent from where you lay. The Mandalorian seems like a man on a mission as he keeps his back to you and goes through a few drawers and cupboards before finding what it is he’s searching for.

You make a small questioning hum as he makes his way over to a little sink that you'd normally wash your hands in, "What are you doing?"

He barely turns his head to you as he harshly wrings out a soaking rag in the sink, "I am cleaning you up. You have blood in your hair."

"You don't--" Your heart swells at the gesture; you hadn't really had much time earlier to thoroughly clean yourself up and had felt the dried up blood crusted into your hairline all day, "Th-Thank you. That's really sweet of you."

He merely grunts as he shuts off the water and makes his way back to the cot you currently occupy and you blink in surprise when he gently slides a hand underneath your head and urges you to sit up just a little. It takes you a second to realize what he's doing and you carefully lean up on an elbow so he can carefully shift himself behind you on the cot and your face grows warm at the thought of him yearning to be so close to you. 

As he settles behind you and moves you up into more of a seated position between his splayed thighs, carefully wrapping his thick fingers around your biceps to pull you up further against his chest, you completely forget your father's foreboding threat. Now, you're focused solely on the way he curls himself around you to get a better look at the dried blood matted to your scalp.

"Nurses don't typically treat their patients like this, Mandalorian."

He lets out another grunt and firmly keeps his hand cupped to the underside of your jaw so he can tilt your head backwards, “I just wanted to be close to you after not seeing you for so long. Besides, I don’t hear you complaining at all, mesh’la,” He lowers his helmet a little as he gently dabs at the small section of matted, crusty hair, “Are you going to tell me the real reason why you tried to get me to leave you tonight?”

Your eyelids slip shut as he soothingly rubs your jaw with his thumb and you wish he wasn’t wearing his cuirass so you could melt against him easier, “This is dangerous for both of us."

The scratchy material of the cloth tugs at your skin a little, but it's nowhere near painful as he continues to dutifully clean the blood from your scalp, "What did he say to you?"

Tiredly, you rest your hands on top of his armor-clad thighs and lean further against his chest as you force yourself to lie to the only man you’ve ever admired, “Only the truth--that I need to stop getting distracted so much. I-I have a job to do.”

“That does not mean you shouldn’t be allowed to be happy,” He breathes and you keep your eyes closed when he moves to tend to the bruises; you don’t have the heart to tell him that your happiness would end with your demise, “You can still help people and... and be with me.”

Your brows furrow and your chest heaves as he affectionately rubs the soothing salve against your cheek before dutifully moving to the black and blue skin around your eye. You think of earlier when he spoke of your strength and scars and how you insisted you were no warrior, but as the Mandalorian drops his helmet until the chin of it is resting on your shoulder, you realize you are at war with yourself.

How could you possibly deny this man anything?

Even when the bacta is absorbed into your pleasantly numbed skin, he keeps caressing your cheeks, nose, and lips and you slowly turn your head until your nose bumps against his visor; if he weren’t so close to you, his next words would have been inaudible.

“I wish I could kiss you right now, mesh’la.”

His thumb barely parts your lips and you feel his other hand come up to feel the frenzied pulse at the hollow of your throat, seeming all too content to touch you anywhere you’d allow him to. You feel utterly warm and helpless when his thumb gently pulls at your bottom lip and a desperate noise somehow passes through his modulator.

“The things I would do for you,” He groans upon feeling the warm saliva on the inside of your lip, “The things you do to me...”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you speak, your words a weak promise that he doesn’t realize to be true in that moment, his mind only focused on the way your tongue barely grazes the rough pad of his thumb to register the weight of your statement.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Mandalorian.”

Saviin’ika= Little Violet

Mesh’la= Beautiful

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild  @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst​  (as always, please let me know if I missed anyone!!)

Author’s note: SO I literally say it every single chapter, but you guys are absolutely amazing and I’m so grateful for all the sweet words and support y’all have given me. When I started writing the first chapter, I only intended on it being 3-5 chapters at the most, but I literally adore these two lovebirds and now I’m over here planning out a whole ass novel for them lmao. 

Also if I take a long time to reply to your kind replies/reblogs/asks, please forgive me!! My dumb self gets so overwhelmed in such a good way and I never know how to respond :( I definitely see every like, every reply and reblog and ask you guys send me and I adore all of you <3

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 12: Final Home Exercise Program

Characters: Captain Syverson x OFC (Shane Dawson)

Summary: Our lovers spend one last night together and the next morning have a serious discussion about their future after more new information comes to light about Sy’s upcoming training. Can the new relationship sustain the stress? Are Shane’s feelings justified, or can they overcome what lies before them?

Spoilers suck! Start from the top or wherever you left off HERE!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, smut, angst…well, near angst. As angsty as I get.

Author’s Note: Sorry this has taken so long, my darling dears! I’m currently on vacation and although I was hoping to be inspired by new surroundings, it’s given me WICKED writer’s block! I have a pretty solid plan for more chapters, though, so, buckle up!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags: 

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland (apparently deactivated, idk what’s up with that)

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

@radkesgirl83

@wheretheriversrunintothesea

@heartfelt-pen

@auds24

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Sy's last two PT appointments could not have gone better. On paper, anyway. He was at full strength in his injured knee, his range of motion was better than it was in the so-called good knee, and he hadn't complained of pain above a 2/10 in the last five sessions. He'd even been using the treadmill properly the last two weeks, working up to his own goal of running again. Her goals for him were met…they could have probably stopped a session short, but she'd wanted to give him a few more handouts to finalize his HEP…and well, she'd be in major trouble for saying so, but…she couldn't stand the thought of cancelling that last visit. It felt like quitting, even though it would have been justified.

In practice, however, there was a tension between them that had never existed before. Something creating awkward energy that they couldn't seem to shake. They hadn't seen each other much outside of therapy this week, either. Not since the night of their argument. Sy had to do a lot of prep for his trip to Virginia, and Shane's caseload this week had been ridiculous. Dozens of evaluations and updates and calls to various companies on different kinds of splints and orthotics she was hoping to get for a few of her patients. A lot of time spent on the phone meant a lot of after-hours documentation. She needed a break. Even if it meant she'd have to do some work over the weekend. Sy was leaving tomorrow to get settled in Charlottesville before the big training course began. She didn't want them to be apart on his last night home for a month.

"Hey, as a celebration of your discharge from PT and your new career trajectory, how about dinner on me tonight?"

"But…you don't really want me to leave town…or to be done with therapy. Not that I, myself, won't miss you feeling me up in public." he smirked as she took his last set of range of motion measurements, her hands gently holding one arm of her goniometer to the side of his thigh…suddenly too aware of him.

"Not entirely true. I'm glad you're better, I'll just miss seeing you through the day. It breaks up the…" she sighed "the monotony of my daily life. Also, why would I want you to leave town? What would that say about me as your girlfriend?" she explained.

"S'pose you're right."

"In this case, yes. Yes I am." She winked at him.

They finished up and she gave him a few more exercises to keep in his arsenal to maintain strength and range in both knees.

"Okay, now, I won't be around to harass you about these, but keep doing them regularly, and just modify them as I've notated if they get too easy. Try to just do more reps, though. I wouldn't try to bulk it up just yet, and that's what you'll do with more weight added."

"Yes, ma'am." he said for old time's sake. She shook her head and smirked.

"And listen, please. This is your physical therapist talking right now. Be careful and mindful during … your cross country training." she wanted to call it "Survivor-Virginia," but refrained. She knew it would get his hackles up. And she was taking enough of a chance insisting that he be careful. "Nature has perils for the perfectly fit. The already injured are at a disadvantage from the gate. Mind your footing. And try not to run unless you have to. Uneven surfaces are not your friend just yet. You still need to work up to that. If you want, I'll help you with it when you get back. Just…don't undo all this work we've done together."

He seemed to see his woman peeking out from behind the mask of his therapist. Concern coloring the neutral and clinical advice she was giving him.

"I'll do my best, sunshine." he held her by the arms and kissed her forehead. It felt too intimate for the setting, but they had done worse. "I'll see ya tonight then?"

"Yeah, I'll bring some food by your place after work. What do you want?"

"Hmmm…I'll let you know." he kissed her cheek and left.

The next hour was her lunch, so she had time to contemplate what seeing him walk out for the last time had made her feel. She sighed, and started to well up, getting out her lunch bag to begin eating and documenting when a knock came at the door frame.

It was Sy, looking forlorn and manic and altogether a mess. Very unlike himself.

"I got out to the truck and something just felt wrong about the way I left today. As if it was any other day. Not our last session. You were trying to get that to land…I'm a little slow. But I finally got it." he walked to her, grabbing her up from her chair in a hug that mended all of the broken parts of her. Squeezed her back together when she'd been damn near falling apart. "Shane, you…you did more than just make me better. You've…made me better. Happier. Whole. I'll never be able to thank you properly for all of this, but…I intend to try for as long as you'll let me."

He held her while her tears fell softly onto his Def Leppard shirt. This was what she needed. For him to simply hold her, complete her, love her.

"Also, I think I'd like Chinese food tonight." she laughed into his neck.

"You idiot."

"You still like me."

"I do. And you don't need to worry about thanking me, Sy. You return the favor daily by just…being you…and being mine." She pulled him in to a ferociously sexy kiss, her hands in his hair, still too short for her liking, but getting there.

He broke away, neither wanting it to end, but both knowing it must, all the same.

"I thought we couldn't do this at your work?" he inquired, slightly out of breath.

"We couldn't do this while you were a patient. You're officially discharged. Last appointment over. All I have to do is sign your note and it's a done deal. But now…if you wanted to drop by for lunch sometime when you get back from training for your fancy job…we could…make it a regular occurrence." she smiled up into his entrancing blue eyes, sparkling with promise.

"I like the sound of that, sunshine." he gave her one more chaste kiss before his official goodbye. "See ya tonight."

As she watched him leave, she remembered thinking to herself one day how he probably used to take very confident strides…that hardly did his walk justice.

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

She ordered their favorites, four entrees total, so they had options, crab rangoon, egg rolls, dumplings, the works. She would be happy to eat off the leftovers all weekend. She wasn't fussy. She loved leftover Chinese takeout.

He met her at the door, having advance warning of her arrival from the canine burglar alarm, Aika.

"You got her. Good girl." he said sweetly thanking the pup for sounding off the Twilight Bark throughout the neighborhood.

"Hello!" She handed off the food to Sy and scratched at the German Shepherd's ears the way she liked, her tail wagging with joyous speed.  

"I thought we could set up a buffet on the coffee table downstairs while we watch TV?"

"Sounds great!" She said, with an enthusiasm that sounded almost forced. She wasn't able to fully shake this foreboding she felt saying goodbye to him, no matter how long they'd be apart.

Sy grabbed plates and silverware while Shane got them some beverages, and they headed downstairs, Aika knowing her boundaries did not extend to the basement except by invitation, whined at their descent. Sy wasn't having it.

"Oh, don't give us that sob story, ya brat." he rolled his eyes at Shane.

"Aww, can't she come down with us?"

"No way. I want you all to myself." a devilish smirk twitched up the corners of his mouth making him even more handsome.

"Aika has nothin' on you. You're the real dog." she teased.

"I make no excuses or arguments. I'm gonna be selfish with you tonight." they put the food and supplies on the coffee table and he caught her up into his arms. He seemed to want to inhale her into his lungs.

"Mmmm, as endearing as I've always found generosity, I really like the sound of that." She let out a huff of amusement.

They spent an uncharacteristically short amount of time choosing something to watch. They'd already started a miniseries together, and they wanted to finish it before Sy left. It was a British political thriller with a lot of intrigue and quite a bit of sex. They only had two hours left, so they finished it quickly as they ate.

They decided to put on something familiar afterward. Die Hard. Which they both quoted with ridiculous precision. They were cuddled into each other on the big sectional, lulled into comfort by the familiar security of the dialogue and the warmth of the other.

Soon, Sy's hand found its way to Shane's thigh. It inched its way inside and up. She felt like he could hear her heart rate quicken, just as she knew he could hear her breaths come with more effort due to his touch.

She looked at him, and despite her apprehension about his decision to leave her so early in their relationship, she wanted him. She'd known for so long now. It felt like forever, for longer than they'd even known one another. A ridiculous notion. But with that same gaze, she begged him to continue. The signal was not lost on the captain. His mouth punished hers in a kiss so deliciously violent and needy she thought there was no way he couldn't feel the same for her. She pushed to the back of her busy mind all of the negative emotions the kiss brought up, the confusion as to how and why he was going to leave her when he clearly needed her just as badly as she needed him, and just let this beautiful moment become what it would.

As hard as that was to do.

The way he touched her was a pretty effective distraction. One hand held her firmly against his mouth by the nape while the other built friction in her over her jeans. She felt her body's primal responses of the building pressure and her hands gripping at his shirt. His guttural moan at her answering touch only fueled the inferno in her. She needed more of him. She thrust up into his hand wantonly. He took himself away from her, cruelly, but to be so very kind, she would soon see. He undid her jeans and tugged them down, along with her panties. In the process, he repositioned her conveniently at the edge of the sofa. He scooted the coffee table out of the way enough to kneel before her. He tortured her with kisses from her knee up her inner thigh on both sides before continuing those kisses where she really needed them.

His warm breath hit her first and she arched, aching in anticipation for the corporeal. He looked up at her with his dervish's grin, seeing the desire on her face and feeling it course through her body, and although he was a better man than her previous lovers, and a better man than most, no man was so good that making his woman feel like this didn't make him feel like a god.

"Darlin', you're so gorgeous like this." he said as he teased her with his mouth. Her words failed. She had only unintelligible syllables for him. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed thoroughly amused by her speechlessness. Amused and encouraged. She'd never felt like this before. His lips and tongue worked over her trembling flesh, both as familiar paths and brand new territory. Discovering the new and remembering the familiar, all at once.

"Sy." she whispered, so close to her peak, and needing him to continue, but unable to do more than moan his name.

"I know, sugar. I know it won't be long. Whenever you're ready, sweetheart."

And she fell apart under his expert touch. He soothed her body down from the climax and asked her if she was ready for bed.

"I think not!" she replied. "The movie isn't over." and she pulled him up to her by the cheeks into another crushing kiss and guided him to the couch. She kicked her bottoms off her ankles to avoid tripping and repositioned herself between his legs as he'd done with her.

"You don't have to, sunshine." he caressed her jaw.

"I know, babe. I want to. Let me do this for you." He was always eager to taste her but she'd yet to return the favor at his own request. She was done letting him decline. She didn't want him leaving without giving him this small parting gift.

It wasn't as if she was unfamiliar with how big he was. She'd touched him, and had him inside her…but seeing him this close was different. She fully appreciated what a feat it was to take him.

She started in with her own tricks, which made him moan, just as planned. His hands laced gently and lovingly in her hair as she worked her mouth and hands over him. She looked up at him after a few moments to gauge his reaction and couldn't have been more pleased. His expression was one of pure, tortured bliss. She felt so powerful.

"Angel, I'm not gonna last much longer." she took that as her cue to get on top of him.

She joined their bodies with a groan of ecstasy that he echoed. She gripped his shoulders as she moved against him, slow and measured at first, but becoming more frantic and erratic as she chased her climax. One hand remaining on her hip, the other came to her chin and directed her gaze to him. Her eyes, blazing with desire, met his, full of tears. She fell against his lips, as she climbed higher, needing that final push to send her over. Which it did, tumbling into that familiar bliss, that she'd have to savor for…well, too long. She didn't want to think too hard about that. This would be their last night together for several weeks. And she wanted to make the most of it. She looked at him, nodded, and after a few more thrusts, he came to his own pinnacle with a shudder beneath her, clutching at her back, resting his head on her sternum. She held him there, and took a few cleansing breaths with her own cheek pressed against his lengthening hair. She stroked the ones at the back of his neck for a moment as they came down from their impossible high.

"Shall we continue this upstairs?" she asked as the cheery, festive, and entirely out-of-season notes of "Let It Snow" played on the TV with the rolling credits of Die Hard. He grinned.

"Yeah, if I still have bones in my legs." he kissed her neck, just above the collar of her tee. "And I'll come down later and clear all this up. We'll just have to close the door so Aika doesn't come down and have herself a party. She's a good dog, but I'm not about to tempt her."

Shane carefully slid off of Sy's lap, attempting not to make too much of a mess, grabbed her panties and slipped them on for the walk to Sy's room.

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

The musical chiming of Sy's phone alarm came too damned early. They'd barely slept, not wanting to waste a moment together. When they finally nodded off after their last round of fervent love-making, they wrapped themselves around one another and were both out like lights in no time. Now he was untangling himself from her to turn the noise off and presumably begin the process of getting ready to leave for the airport. He only snoozed it, though, and pulled her more tightly against his bare, hairy chest.

"What time is it?" She asked, bleary from lack of sleep and extreme fatigue. Not that she was complaining.

"Seven. But my flight doesn't leave until 10, and it's just from the base. There's a flight leaving there for  Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport and I'm hitchin' a ride with them."

"Oh good. I had anticipated we'd have to drive to Springfield, or even St. Louis this morning." She would do it for Sy, of course, but she wasn't looking forward to a six hour minimum round trip, half of which she would have to make alone.

"Nah, and I'm hoping to work something out for the return trip, too, but I'll let you know about that, then. I've made those open ended, though, because I don't know about the return date."

"Sure. God, that's so…crazy. Not in a bad way, just, I can't imagine leaving home without a clear plan on when I'd be back. Of course, knowing it won't be more than a month helps, I guess."

"Yeah."

"And really, a part of me has dreamed of living a sort of nomadic existence since I was very young, so I definitely see the romance in it."

"Totally agree. Hey, I'm hungry. How about we get ready and I'll buy ya breakfast?" He seemed evasive, but she was hungry, too, so she let it go.

"Sounds great!"

They got up and showered together, keeping the sexy time to a minimum given the current time constraints they'd now placed upon themselves. If they didn't hurry, they'd never get out of Cracker Barrell in time to get him to the base.

He loaded his bag in her cargo space and they headed off to the restaurant, which was hopping with traffic on a Saturday morning, as was expected. But since there were only two of them, they got a table without waiting.

They ordered coffees, and Cokes, not super healthy, but hey, this wasn't a daily occurrence. It was a splurge.

Sy ordered some massive and meaty breakfast spread that sounded like a heart attack waiting to happen, while Shane kept it simple with biscuits and gravy and a side of fruit…also, she stole a strip of Sy's bacon. Again…she was a weak woman.

The conversation was light and friendly and lovey…until the time came to leave. Sy picked up the check and took it to the counter to pay and then led her out the double doors back to her vehicle.

"You'll be able to FaceTime me on evenings you haven't gone walkabout in the wilderness, right?"

"I'm not sure they call it that outside of Australia, or even the Crocodile Dundee movies, but yeah, we'll plan on that, for sure."

"Good. I'll miss you so much. But at least I have a pretty good idea of when you'll be back." she was spouting excitedly, but he was being rather cagey again. He piped up with three words that never start off a good sentence.

"Yeah, about that…" she looked at him as they closed the doors to her Explorer, waiting for him to continue…hoping for good news, but expecting bad.

"I got an email last night…late…that I…that the training…might take longer than they told me at first." he winced for the impact of her reception of the anticipated bad news.

"Longer…uh-huh. How much longer?" she asked, backing out of her parking space.

"Ya know if you back into these spaces you don't have to worry about--"

"Really? This is the moment you want to man-splain the concepts of parking to me, Sy? I'll save you the trouble. My dad couldn't get me to do it, and I don't see you having any success, either. Now, how much longer?"

"I don't…they didn't give a concrete--"

"Give me your best guess based on what you know. Give me a range. A ballpark, if you will."

"Uhh…two or three more…weeks…than planned." he winced as she drove toward Fort Leonard Wood Army Base from the peaceful breakfast joint. It was rather poetic, really, since the conversation had turned from relaxed to militant. And they were driving from civilian territory into a land of combatants. Not a war zone, but a zone of warriors, perhaps. And she was ready for battle, herself.

"Sy. That's more than six weeks."

"I know." he said, his eyes downcast in some combination of shame, fear, and sadness.

"And you're…fine with it?" she prodded, prompting him to consider her.

"Of course I don't like it. I'm gonna hate being away from my sunshine for even a week. But this is…it's about who I am. Who I'm meant to be from now on. I have to find my way from here, Shane."

"I guess my only question is…where do I fit into this…path. This life you're making for yourself? We're brand new. But we've worked really hard already to get where we are. And I've worked really hard to get to where I am, professionally. In my dream job. No, the circumstances aren't ideal, but the work makes me think, and gives me purpose. What am I suppose to do? Either I give that up, or I give up…the only man I've ever been with who's made me actually happy."

"I don't want that. I don't want to lose you, and I don't want you to give anything up for me, darlin.' That'll just lead to you resentin' me down the road, and I don't want that, neither." He stopped a moment and just looked at her, face holding back frustrated and angry tears…but also very sad ones. "What about this? Let's just, talk about all this moving forward stuff when I'm back from training. At that point, I'll know more about what to expect about jobs and assignments. And…if it would make you feel more comfortable…we can call ourselves…unexclusive. That way, if you meet someone while I'm gone--"

"Have you lost your mind?" She interrupted his ridiculous attempt to be selfless. She was secure enough in his feelings for her that he wasn't making the suggestion for himself.

"I'm serious. If you meet someone, and he sweeps you off your feet, don't resist. I want you to be happy, Shane."

"Then come back and teach gym at the local high school. Better yet, don't go, at all."

"You remember all that stuff you said about having your dream job and a purpose?" Shane nodded. "You want me to find all that too, don'tcha?"

"No. I'm a selfish bitch who wants you here with me no matter the cost. And I don't care if you resent me in the long run. At least I'll have you." she laughed at her sarcasm and only slightly true self-deprecation.

"You'll be fine. You managed so far without me." he reminded her as she pulled up to the gate, guarded by about four men, who's rank she couldn't tell, but one of whom Sy called a sergeant.

"I'll get out here and they'll take me to the hangar in a cart. No civilian vehicles allowed today. Apparently they're doing maneuvers." he shrugged and got out to grab his bag.

"I put the rest of the takeout in here too. It's in one of my nice coolers on ice."

"Thanks." she told her shoes as they stood under the shade of her rear access hatch. She couldn't look at him right now. He made her, though.

"This ain't quite like the airport, but I still don't have a lot of time, sunshine." he kissed her hard, and it really felt like a goodbye, which almost hurt more than his leaving. Almost. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, and she knew she'd feel that embrace all evening. She hoped it would last for weeks.

"I love you, Sy." she sobbed to him. Trying like hell to keep it together.

"I love you, darlin.' Now don't you forget that when some other handsome fella gives you the eye. Make sure he's worth it, if you're gonna write me a dear john letter." he winked at her. She laughed and nodded, but didn't feel it was that funny, and didn't intend to adhere to his parameters of their relationship. He ducked under the arm that was preventing her from driving through. Although, legs as long as his, he almost could have stepped over it. She watched him walk away for as long as she could before she was given the signal that she must leave and let other traffic through…although, she resented this. There were two lanes, after all. Couldn't these men see what a mess she was? She'd just had to say goodbye to the love of her life…and she didn't know when…or indeed, if…she'd see him again. She had hope…but that didn't stop her from crying all the way home and the rest of the afternoon as the ghost of Sy's parting hug faded from her skin.

Up Next: Chapter 13: SNAFU

[cotncandyboifics]

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 8

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 2,407

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: food, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: alternate title: Virgil's very subtle epiphany. also Patton has a gay panic moment lol

...

Slam.

Monday morning. Mr. Berry was slapping a small poster on each student's desk like a stamp, one-by-one and painfully slowly.

"This," he began, "Is the official welcome to the schoolyear; audition posters for the Fall Talent Show." His bloated belly hardly fit between the desk rows, and students made futile attempts to scoot away from him before they were bombarded by his tyrannical tummy. "As a retired thespian and a life long supporter of theatre and the arts," he continued, bringing his pile of posters to his chest in his passion, "I highly recommend you at least consider looking into auditions. Everyone has a passion, or at least a hobby, and the talent show is a perfect freelance opportunity to show off your skills."

Roman rolled his eyes too dramatically. This was upsetting him more than he thought it would, and his eyes shot daggers up at his large superior as he slammed the next poster onto Roman's desk.

"Auditions will be held next week, on the specified dates. The show itself will be two weeks later, I believe on Friday night. Be there, and I will award you some extra credit points. All you must do is present me with your ticket, which must have your name on it," he eyed a few mischievous students in the room, "With a stamp on it from the Talent Show admissions booth, on the following Monday." As soon as Mr. Berry had given a poster to Virgil and moved on, Virgil quietly crumpled it and shoved it into a random part of his backpack, proceeding to fold his arms on his desk and put his head down. This caught Roman's attention, and his subconscious latched onto formulating a teasing remark for after class as a distraction from his own feelings about the Talent Show.

After class, the usual place where Roman and Virgil were shortly alone and had a short interaction - most often consisting of some insufferable tease from Roman or occasionally a debate spurred by Virgil making a witty side comment - the two met once again. After their first class of the day was usually the only time they were both at their lockers at the same time, as it happened, and Virgil was always thankful that it was the only time. Since their assignment to the Biology project, however, Roman had taken to walking with Virgil from their English class to their lockers and beginning his bouts of banter prematurely.

"Not a fan of the infamous talent show, are we?" Roman paced quickly over to Virgil, who had just made it outside the classroom door as they'd been dismissed. Virgil huffed in defeat as his attempt to escape before Roman could catch him had been fruitless.

"It's ridiculous," Virgil didn't slow his pace for Roman, and began essentially speedwalking down the hall. Roman was slightly taller than him and was able to keep up, but still got a little out of breath doing it. "Hey everyone, come and show everyone in the school something you really enjoy so they can all collectively judge you and make you self conscious about your interests and - oh no! you don't wanna do it anymore because you feel horribly inadequate? shoooot. Sorry man, no one could have seen that coming. Oh well, better luck next year when you'll just ruin a different passion for yourself!" Virgil flailed his hands at the end of his mini-rant.

"How can you stay that sarcastic for that long consecutively? I'm honestly impressed," Roman said, huffing as they arrived at their lockers. Virgil's permanent frown seemed to somehow deepen. "Though, I guess I really can't argue, Count Woe-laf. I see your point. The pressures of an impromptu performance are... undeniable." Roman focused his attention on the padlock hanging from the latch of his locker, while Virgil looked to him with widened eyes.

"Really?" He didn't look away from Roman until he would look back.

"What?" Roman defended.

"It's just..." Virgil focused on his own padlock now, "You never agree with what I say. It always becomes a debate," he pulled his locker open lazily, pulling his backpack off his shoulders and putting it on backwards so that he could more easily exchange things. When Roman didn't reply, he continued, "like... I don't know. Why is it any different now?"

Roman was exchanging things as well, and didn't have an immediate answer. Well, he knew the answer (or in this case, answers), but it wasn't one he was even ready to admit to himself, let alone anyone else, and especially let alone Virgil. He just eventually shrugged.

This reaction only further alarmed Virgil. He opened his mouth to continue his flabbergasted interrogation, but the bell rang right at that moment. Roman slammed his locker shut suddenly.

"Well, that's our queue I suppose. See you tonight, Incredible Sulk." Roman elbowed Virgil in the shoulder a bit awkwardly and began skipping down the hall to his next class. That left a dumbfounded and nearly-panicking Virgil standing in front of his open locker in an almost completely empty hall.

He wished Roman would stop leaving him like that.

...

Roman had texted the Biology Project group chat that weekend, saying he had an important football practice on Monday that went until 5. they'd have to have their meet-up at Roman's a bit later in the evening. Logan simply waited it out by heading to the school library to get his other homework done, while Patton and Virgil shot the breeze, walking down random hallways of the school.

The two of them were grabbing a snack from a vending machine when Virgil checked his phone. It was 4:50. They got their respective snacks - Patton got a strawberry Pop tart and Virgil got a Sunny D - and made their way to the designated meeting place. It was a concrete bench at the front of the school. They expected to find Logan there, but he wasn't. The two of them simply sat on the cold bench and exchanged bits of each other's snacks, and continued talking until Virgil noticed someone approaching.

He figured it would be Logan, but this person was shorter and more filled out than Logan. He trained his eyes better and realized that it was Roman. Roman, who happened to have a towel around his neck and sopping-wet crimson curly hair unabashedly on display. A drip of water rolled down his cheek and along his jawline, and Virgil realized he was staring. Roman finally got within conversation distance.

"Like what you see, Charlie Frown?" He teased. Patton looked to Virgil, noticing his awe, and giggled.

"Hah, in your dreams, Meta Knight," Virgil deflected half-heartedly, still finding it hard to pull his eyes away from Roman's unfortunate perfection. It was only worse that Roman knew just how attractive he was.

"Why's your hair all wet, silly?" Patton asked, standing energetically to greet him.

"We rinse off after practice. I considered leaving my shirt off so i could just get a clean one when i got home, but i knew that might be a bit too much to handle for some of us," Roman elbow-nudged Patton, who just giggled again and pushed his glasses up. Virgil knew that was extremely forced, especially after their conversation on Friday.

"Well," Roman checked his wristwatch, "Where would my nerdy Wolverine happen to be? It's ten past, and if there's anything Logan certainly is, it's punctual."

"Quite right you are," a stern voice came from behind them, to reveal Logan's lengthy form approaching casually. "My apologies for my tardiness. I got quite engaged in a particular Physics problem." Roman turned to him smiling, and pecked him on the cheek. Virgil didn't need to look at Patton to feel his friend's heart sink through the floor.

"Shall we then?" Roman turned to lead the way on the five-block journey to his house.

...

"hmm, that reminds me," Roman said from his sprawled position on his bed, "what are all your sexualities?"

That sure caught everyone's attention. The clock beside Roman's bed read 6:28 PM. Logan was studying their plants and taking notes, Patton had been cooing quietly to Roman's pet turtle, and Virgil was sitting in Roman's spinning desk chair scrolling on his phone. They all looked at Roman at once, and then at each other.

"Heh," Roman sat up, "My apologies for blurting such an intrusive question, I was just looking up at my-" he gestured toward his ceiling- "glorious flag, and it made me wonder. No man must answer that which he does not desire to." Roman was blatantly referring to the Bisexual flag that was pinned to the ceiling above his bed. They all looked at it, and back at him. "I suppose it's obvious now, but yes, I am undeniably bisexual," He faux bowed.

The silence wasn't doing anyone good, so Patton broke it before it got too much more awkward. "I, I'm gay," he said sheepishly, continuing to observe the turtle. Virgil gave him a soft smile, and decided to offer himself up next.

"I'm pan," he seemed to recoil further into his hoodie, if that were even possible. Logan turned to the other three, adjusting his necktie.

"I'm not usually one to admit this to many people, but since you have all been so transparent and calm about such personal information," He started, "I am comfortable telling you that I am Asexual."

No one regarded this with much surprise, except for Roman. "Oh really?" He said, seemingly surprised and embarrassed. Virgil scoff-laughed at him.

"What, upset you can't make your sexual fantasies a reality?" Virgil teased. Roman gasped, bringing a hand to his chest in an offended gesture.

"Excuse me!" He exclaimed, a look of disgust contorting his face.

Before a classic Roman-Virgil debate could ensue, Patton decided to share his thoughts.

"Well, I, I mean, I'm not ace but I, I guess sex isn't really so important to me," he was fiddling with his ring yet again.

"W-well, it should never be the centerpiece of any relationship!" Roman declared. They all looked at him skeptically. "what? I mean, personally, I prefer grand gestures." As he spoke, he stood and walked to Logan. "In my opinion," he produced a pristine bouquet of deep red roses that none of the others had noticed anywhere in the room before, "they are the key to any person's heart."

Logan seemed tame, Patton thought. As if he were performing. If he were being his normal self, he would have been very confused by where Roman had hidden the bouquet, and how it looked so perfect after being concealed. Instead, he just took it with a very gentle sweet smile, and thanked him quietly. Instead of Logan, Patton was now the one confused.

Virgil's face was red, and his neck a blotchy pink; thankfully he was mostly hidden under his purple bangs and hood. He huffed and excused himself to use the restroom. Patton noticed this time, and grabbed his arm before he made it out of the room.

"You okay?" he whispered gently to Virgil. Virgil just looked at him, mustered a small smile and a nod. Patton knew exactly what that meant. Virgil was okay, he just needed a moment. He returned the smile, and released his gentle paternal grip on Virgil's arm, allowing him to leave.

There was the sound of someone calling Roman's name from another part of the house, and Roman excused himself, rushing off to find its source.

Logan slipped his phone into the pocket of his navy slacks. "Well, I must be going now," He began. Instead of reaching to gather his things, he trained his acute attention directly on Patton, who was startled by the sudden focus on him. "Patton, do you have a ride home today?"

"I, uh, well," He tried blurting out an excuse but none came to his mind. "No, not exactly..."

Logan was slowly approaching, and Patton tried to back up but hit the terrarium containing Roman's turtle after just one small step. "Would you like a ride? My parents would be more than happy to assist in your safe transport home."

"Well, well I really don't want to intrude, or-" He stopped dead when Logan placed a slender hand gently on his shoulder.

"I insist. It's no intrusion or burden to them. They appreciate being able to help others when they can, especially people whose company I enjoy." Logan didn't feel as though he was figuratively lying through his teeth, but he knew that his parents didn't exactly feel that way. The nature of the situation was more that they took kindly to those that Logan worked well with on academically related subjects, such as people from his study group or the like.

Patton caught himself before letting the thought "you enjoy my company?" escape his lips. He just smiled. He knew there was no way he could get himself to deny Logan's offer when his heart was taking the reins.

"I would.. really appreciate, a ride home, yeah," He said quietly. Logan was just looking into his eyes with a tenderness Patton hadn't seen before. He pushed away any thoughts that Logan may have looked at Roman the exact same way during their date. He hoped he hadn't, and cursed himself for hoping it.

"Wonderful," Logan pulled himself out of their shared momentary trance. "I will let them know. I'm sure they will find it a pleasure to become acquainted with you. They should be here in less than five minutes, so I suggest gathering your belongings." Logan's thumbs padded across is illuminated phone screen as he spoke, until he once again slid it into his pocket and began collecting his things along with Patton.

Virgil entered once again, hood off and face slightly red and wet. it was clear that he hadn't been crying due to the sporadic nature of the droplets of water across his face; it looked more like he'd just haphazardly washed his face in the sink and hadn't bothered to wipe the remnants away. Patton smiled at him brightly.

"Ah, Virgil," Logan addressed as he slung his bag over his shoulder, "It was pleasant to see you again. We are on our way out now. Are you ready, Patton?" He looked to Patton, who also slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Yep! Logan's giving me a ride," Patton blatantly could barely contain his excitement in his ever-growing grin, so Virgil only returned it with a small thumbs up.

"Alright, ill see you guys in class tomorrow," He hugged Patton tightly, and half-heartedly saluted to Logan without making eye contact. Logan simply nodded to him, and the two left shortly, leaving Virgil alone in Roman's room.

[damienthepious]

okay so this went up at 11:51pm on ao3 but tumblr formatting is a nightmare so uh. happy LKT to timezones that are are still in Tuesday Time? whatever, I made it, somehow. it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine.

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 15)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [ao3] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol), Mutual Pining, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: The humans take a very truncated tour.

Chapter Notes: BOY I'M CUTTIN IT CLOSE THIS WEEK. WORLD GOT ME DOWN, SORRY FAM. I'm RUSHING through to post please forgive any formatting weirdness or typos and also forgive the fact that this chapter is a bit shorter than the last few have been. haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

~

The Keep releases the humans, and it settles Arum back on his feet as well, warbling a song that blends confusion and warmth and a number of other feelings that bleed through their link, almost overwhelming after Arum has spent so long with only his own emotions to process.

Damien rubs his wrists with a strange, unreadable look on his face, but Amaryllis is still holding one of the vines, gently pulling it close enough to examine, her eyes wide. Neither reaction sets Arum at ease, but he supposes that this was not the warmest of welcomes for them, all things considered.

He-

Arum does not know what to do, now that he is home, and they are here with him.

“So,” Amaryllis says, releasing the vine as he draws closer to them. “This is your… Keep?”

“I… it… yes, yes, this is the Keep,” he says, and the moss is soft and familiar between his clawed toes. “My Keep is… I told you we are meant to protect each other. It thought- it did not know you were not a threat, and it has not seen- it has been without-”

“You’ve been away for a long time,” she says gently, and Arum hates the way his heart lurches for her easy words. “Must be nice to be home.”

“I imagine that is quite the understatement,” Damien says softly, though he is not looking at either of them, and Arum laughs, very lightly.

“Indeed. Keep, I-”

He feels the Keep observing, feels the way it is parsing his own emotions and the way it is observing the humans as well, and it is somewhat like seeing the pair of them again, for the first time. It is distracting, though not unpleasant.

The Keep sings, and Arum watches the way that Amaryllis’ eyes light up with curiosity.

“So, I get that it’s alive, but- you can talk to it?”

It hums around them, answering for itself, and Arum can’t help his smile.

“We speak, yes.”

Amaryllis opens her mouth, clearly to ask another question, to continue to chase this new mystery, but she pauses. Her eyes narrow, and then she tilts her head.

“You- huh. You’re standing more easily. Are you- hang on.” She reaches a hand towards him and Arum tilts his head, and when her fingers brush the edge of his frill he clenches his teeth together to keep from making some noise at the contact. “That looks- the tissue is- is the Keep healing you?” she asks, sounding both impressed and a little- irritated, perhaps?

“What?” Damien says, finally looking towards them again, and Arum stiffens at their combined scrutiny, standing a little straighter. “What do you- oh.”

“Oh?” Arum echoes.

“You look- Rilla, have his scales taken on- more color?”

“I think so, actually. Arum-”

“I told you,” he growls. “Our connection is difficult to explain.”

“But it’s healing you. You’re already better than you were a few minutes ago.”

“Of course I am. We- we help each other. We protect each other.”

Rilla, strangely, looks furious now. “If you told me it could make you better in minutes , we would have tried to bring you home a hell of a lot faster, Arum!”

“It- it is not instantaneous, and it did not seem like something you would believe, Amaryllis.”

“Maybe not at first, Arum, but you’ve been healing like a damned glacier and you could have been better so much faster if you just told me-”

Arum finds that he is smiling. He is reminded with a pang that he will miss this, miss her arguments and her fire, miss the soft tension of passing time with Sir Damien as well, and the smile abruptly flickers off. He swallows, looking away.

“I apologize, then,” he says, and Rilla’s argument comes to a halt. “Believe that if there was any way I thought I could have come back to my Keep any faster, I certainly would have.”

She opens her mouth, then sighs and smiles wryly.

“I suppose this accounts for the escape attempts, then,” Damien murmurs, and Arum chokes on a laugh.

“Quite. Not, I now admit, that I could possibly have gotten here on my own in that state.”

“Stubborn,” Rilla mutters, and when Damien raises a pointed eyebrow at her she scowls harder.

Damien tilts his head away, burying his smile before he laughs at her irritation, and then he meets Arum’s eyes. He looks- wary, still.

“So… we have delivered you back to where you belong,” he says, tone deceptively light. He pauses for a moment, but neither Arum nor Amaryllis interrupt him. It is too clear that his thought is unfinished. “What… what happens now, Lord Arum?”

Arum’s body tenses, his stance going entirely stiff. He glances towards Amaryllis, who appears precisely as unsure about the question as Arum feels. What happens now, as if Arum had ever truly expected to return home, as if he had planned for this. He had not expected, in his heart, to ever return to the Keep, let alone to do so with these strange, strange humans in tow. Or- with them towing him.

"I…" Arum swallows, feels his tail curling anxiously, and the Keep drifts vines out to touch his shoulders, to steady him. "I suppose… I am- certain that the both of you must be… eager to return home, as well," he murmurs, turning his face away. "But- but it is… late in the day, now. It would make little sense for you to set out again without rest, only to make camp in an hour or so." He pauses for a moment, still not looking at them as he flicks his tongue, and he can practically taste tension hanging in the air, theirs and his own. "I would… it would be wisest for the both of you to stay the night. If you will."

"You… you wouldn't mind letting us stay?" Amaryllis asks quietly, and Arum scoffs.

"I have been imposing on your hospitality for so long a time now that I've entirely lost track, Amaryllis," he growls. "One night at the very least will not make the slightest impact on my own." He pauses. "If you can stand to sleep within a monster structure, of course."

"Your… your Keep will not mind our presence, either?"

This next question from Damien, and Arum glances their way again, raising an eyebrow as the Keep sings its answer, decisively closing the portal behind them at last. Arum notes with no small measure of surprise that neither of the humans appear unsettled, that their escape route has vanished.

"Its sense of hospitality is far more developed than my own," he mutters. "I doubt very much it could be convinced to allow you to leave without at least providing you a meal."

Amaryllis smiles. "Does the Keep cook, then, or do I finally get to see your theoretical culinary skills?"

Arum shoots the doctor a glare, puffing up his chest as he growls. "I assure you, Amaryllis, that you will see that my culinary skills are completely and entirely," he pauses, "adequate."

Amaryllis blinks, and then bursts into laughter, her entire body jolting with it as she leans against Damien, who is pursing his lips together tight, his eyes sparkling with his own barely suppressed mirth.

Arum is glad that they are too caught in the amusement to look at him, for only a few moments. He does not like to think what they will see on his face, if they look at him right now. Their joy, bubbling bright within his home-

It is overwhelming.

"Keep," he says before they've entirely recovered, looking away. "Open the way, if you would."

Amaryllis stops laughing as the doorway opens again, the noises of chiming and insects and life drifting lazily through the passage, and her eyes light with curiosity, as Arum had hoped they would.

"It seems… appropriate, that I should show you my home, as you showed me yours, does it not?"

"A tour?" she says, raising an eyebrow, and Arum snorts. "Sure, sounds fun, actually."

"What… what is through there?" Sir Damien asks, his own curiosity mitigated rather obviously by his nerves.

"The room I believe Amaryllis will take the greatest interest in," he says with a shrug. "I did not think the impatient creature should like to wait."

"Okay, fair," Rilla says with a grin. "But now you have to tell me."

Arum barely manages to suppress another laugh. "Come, then, you ridiculous creature. Let me show you my greenhouse."

~

There's just so much, is the thing. So much life, so many plants and fungi that Rilla has either needed to pay out the nose for, scrabble tooth and nail to find on her own, has only seen in sketches, or didn't even believe existed at all, before. It's like a dream, honestly. If Arum hadn't already told her about the Hermit (a bittersweet sting, that memory- she can't help but be disappointed that the flower was destroyed, but the fact that he trusted her enough to tell her is- interesting evidence), she would have it in the back of her mind anyway, half expecting it to be hidden here, among so many other impossible specimens.

The space is enormous- the Keep itself must be huge, the size of a town, maybe, and it would probably take her weeks to see everything that Arum has in his collection.

Longer, actually, because his collection is exactly as organized as the swamp outside. She's beginning to see where he was coming from, exactly, with his complaints about her own organizational systems.

"So that's the pond you were talking about, for keeping the Jungle Flame from causing trouble?"

Arum and Damien have been drifting behind her, Arum tapping a surprising degree of patience as she bolts from wonder to wonder, and now he nods, his lip turning wryly.

"I may still, despite the strategy you shared. One cannot be too cautious with fire, within a structure such as this."

"No, that makes sense," she says, tilting her head at the pond, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "And the Keep can just- grow an island, there?"

"The Keep is the entirety of this place. It shifts and changes as it is needed."

"That… sounds really cool, actually. Huh."

There is so much, so much to see, to investigate. She could get lost in here, metaphorically speaking. She could just keep finding more and more fascinating things to ask Arum about, more answers to questions she's had penned into the margins of countless journals.

And it's good, she thinks, to have something here to focus on, besides Arum himself. He's so vibrant, now. She didn't realize, all this time, how washed out his injuries had made him, how much he had been muted by pain and recovery. Here, with the Keep performing whatever magic it needs to help him stand easy again, he gleams as glossy as the plants he keeps, he practically thrums with relief and joy, and Rilla-

Rilla's throat hurts, just a bit, because she knows that she won't have any excuse not to leave, when morning comes.

She sinks to kneel, feeling the soft dirt and moss beneath her knees, cool and real and distracting, and she pulls out her recorder.

One more little mystery. Just one more little problem to solve, before she admits to herself that she still doesn't have an answer to the problems that really matter.

~

Amaryllis is deeply, deeply engrossed with her recorder beside a pair of symbiotically growing plants when Arum realizes that Sir Damien is staring at him, now, instead of at the doctor.

"I apologize, honeysuckle," he says, raising his eyebrow.

Damien blinks. "Apologize? For- for what, precisely?"

"This has been a rather single-minded tour, as Amaryllis put it. We have indulged her curiosities, but I cannot imagine that you share the depth of her interest in my collection of flora."

"Ah," he says, his lip pulling into a surprised smile. "Perhaps not, but- you need not apologize." He turns his gaze towards Amaryllis, then, his smile going gentle. "Her delight is precisely as my own. And besides, it is not as if I expected that we should arrive to your home and you would entertain me, Lord Arum. I did not expect serenades."

Arum chokes a laugh, his tail curling behind him, and-

A thought.

"Not… not serenades, of course," Arum murmurs, and Damien's attention flicks back towards him, curious. "But- perhaps there is something that may interest you." He pauses, and after a moment Damien gestures for him to continue. "I do have a small library. Nothing particularly impressive, and the majority of my volumes will be unreadable to you, but- would you like- rather, I could show you. If you would like."

Damien stares at him for a moment, lips parted, and then he smiles and Arum bites down the rattle that wants to shake in his chest.

"That- yes, that would be- I would be delighted."

"Excellent," Arum says, and then he looks away, his eyes returning helplessly towards Amaryllis for a moment. "Though- she does not seem keen to be pulled away, just yet."

Damien's smile goes soft again, and he shakes his head. "Perhaps not. Just a moment, Arum."

Damien steps closer to his- to Amaryllis, leaning down to murmur something by her ear as she kneels by the flora, and she does not look up from the plant, though Arum sees her mouth move in response, and the focus on her face softens for only a moment when Damien leans the last inch closer to place a kiss at her temple before he straightens and returns to join Arum.

"I told her we would not be long," he explains, and then he makes a rather unnecessarily elegant gesture with his hand.

Rather trusting, Arum thinks, to be so willing to leave Amaryllis alone and unprotected in Arum's Keep. If they meant her harm-

"Right. Right, then." Arum clears his throat. "Keep, the scroll room, if you would?"

Damien watches the vines grow to create the portal with that same mixed trepidation and fascination, but he does not hesitate to step through after Arum, and his eyes widen slightly as he takes in the room.

Amaryllis would call it disorganized, certainly, but such chaos does not trouble Arum. As he said, his library is not impressive by any standards. Literature is not among his more passionate interests, but former Keep-Lords have certainly gathered enough over the Keep's long, long life to amass a decent collection.

"There- oh, so many of these look- positively ancient, Arum," Damien murmurs, lifting a hand but not daring to touch the case of one of the more rare scrolls.

"They are ancient," Arum drawls. "Most of them, anyway. I have added very little to the proceedings, so most of the texts predate my own lifespan. Hence the age. The Keep maintains the air in this space in such a way that it preserves the more delicate parchment. You may examine whatever you like on the shelf on the far wall, however. Those volumes are newer, more sturdy, and if I remember correctly there should be one or two that are written in the human script."

Damien looks bemused for a moment. "You have texts written by humans?"

"Information is information, honeysuckle," Arum says with a shrug, and Damien purses his lips in consideration before he nods, stepping towards the indicated shelf to peruse.

While he is so engrossed, Arum need not force himself to avert his gaze. Damien's focus is… intense. Distracting. It is difficult for Arum, to pull his eyes away. For the moment he does not bother.

"Ah-" Damien laughs very lightly. "It seems you already had a primer in human poetry before we met, Lord Arum," Damien says, running his fingers lightly across the spine of a book and slipping it from the shelf. "I know this poet. She wrote of the Saints, primarily."

Arum clenches his teeth, feeling his frill flutter. "There is little coherency to the collection, little songbird. I could not possibly say how such a work made its way into my hands." He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at the book as Damien opens it and flips through. "I remember that one, yes." He sneers. "I should apologize, I think, that I cannot provide you more stimulating material to peruse."

"What?" Damien lifts his head. "What do you- mean?"

Arum shrugs, a little aggressively. "I am aware that my collection is limited, honeysuckle. I may have a collection of poetry or two, but I do not possess any volumes of the quality that our doctor shared with me."

"The- the quality?"

"The tome you are holding is rather dry by comparison, I should say," he inhales, hisses a breath, looks away, mutters, "it does not compare. It will not stick in your mind like … like…" he trails off, and- well. The words come almost too easily. "The paper of the lantern will not rise without the flame," he breathes, pretending not to feel his frill rising higher at his neck, "And so ascended I, alight and burning when you came." Arum pauses a long moment, then, feeling the odd way those words curl on his tongue, the way they make him feel, the sympathetic heat they kindle behind the cage of his ribs, and then he exhales again. "Yes. I do not think I shall forget those words, as I have forgotten so many of the dusty poems I have been storing here."

He pauses again, and Sir Damien does not speak. Arum notices, then, that the knight's heart is beating rather quickly, and when he looks to Damien again he presses the book tight against his chest, his lips parting in clear surprise.

"What?" Arum grumbles, thrown by the sudden intensity in Damien's expression, by the heavy tension he can taste on the air. "What, honeysuckle? I have already admitted that your species is… somewhat skilled, in such arts. I will not say so again."

"N-no, I- it is simply that- I- well, you- you read- you read-" he stammers off, losing words entirely for a long moment.

"I read nearly everything Amaryllis provided me in that little basket of hers. Why? What does it matter?" He projects a sneer. "Again, I already told you. Human poetry is not- it is not entirely disagreeable."

"But you read- you read my poe-"

Arum blinks, and stares down at Damien as the poet swallows his words, and Arum's stomach drops in something like panic.

"Those- that- those were… your words?"

"I, ah- yes, I-"

"She stuck them in the basket with the rest," Arum barks, tail thrashing. "She did not mention that- that they were- that they were private-"

"Not-" Damien bursts into a breath of uncomfortable laughter, and Arum barely resists an urge to either bolt from the room or- or to sway closer to the human, instead. "They are not private, not precisely, but- that was from a… a collection, verses written for my- for Rilla. Poetry that my flower inspired, with her brilliance and beauty."

Damien's dark cheeks are darker, now, flushed, and he is looking at the shelf of volumes, away from Arum, and Arum-

More words drift back to him. More phrases, warm and fond, enraptured- sensual, at times, and-

It is no wonder, then, that every line of verse on those pages reminded Arum of her. Of the pair of them. It is no wonder at all, that he had not even noticed Amaryllis enter the room as he read, because her presence was in the room before her, in the words themselves.

Unconsumed, enlightened, and by your heat unfurled

Together, hand in hand, we rose, and made more gold the world.

Arum clenches his own hands, his palms tingling. He should have known, that those words were meant for the love between these two humans. He thinks of their hands, intertwined with such ease. He things of the invitation of Amaryllis' palm, and her gentle invocation of we . He thinks of his little songbird, grasping unseeing in the night, how he settled when Arum took his hand in claws.

He feels what Damien penned. He feels himself a paper lantern. Fragile, and untethered, and close to burning.

"I… I should have… I should have known," He murmurs, and Damien glances towards him again. "Should have recognized your voice upon the page, I think."

"They- many were not-" he pauses, bites his lip, and smiles very cautiously. "You… you enjoyed them? Truly?"

Arum breathes a helpless laugh. "You are a beautiful poet, honeysuckle," he says, and when Damien flushes darker he- winces, glancing away. "Rather- I meant, of course, that your poetry is- not that-"

"It is… it is quite alright, Lord Arum," Damien says. "I thank you for the compliment."

Damien tucks the book of less relevant poetry back onto the shelf, his cheeks still dark as he scans his eyes across the various monster scripts, and Arum clenches his hands.

Beautiful, he thinks again, and there is something almost vicious about it.

"If there is nothing else here that interests you, honeysuckle, we should return to the greenhouse," he mutters.

Damien looks towards him, his eyes flicking oddly across Arum's face for a moment before he looks aside. "Yes," he says softly. "I suppose we should do our best to draw Rilla back to us from her newest puzzle."

Back to us.

He did not mean that.

Arum clenches his hands again, pushes the desire down inside of himself, and summons the way back to the greenhouse.

~

Arum leaves them briefly, before dinner, so they can finally change out of their travel clothes and scrub off the dust of the road in the Keep's large, strange washroom, and after Damien lowers a hand to help Rilla lift herself out from the large tub (or, perhaps, small indoor pond) made from one enormous waxy leaf, she keeps hold of his hand, pulling him in close so she can throw her arms around his shoulders.

"R-Rilla-"

"Just-" she squeezes him, pressing her face into his neck and sighing there. "One sec. Need- need something that feels normal and real just for- one second."

"Oh… oh Rilla," he strokes a hand down her braid, holding her in return, feeling her breathe softly against his skin. "You know I will always, always hold you, if you ask." He smiles very gently, a laugh in his tone as he continues, "If we were not required to bother ourselves with such mundanities as food and work and rest, I would never let you go."

"That too," she mumbles. "The talking, I mean."

"I suppose I speak at such length that my voice must be as familiar and ordinary as-"

"I love you, Damien," she murmurs, clinging more tightly. "Th-thank you."

Damien's breath catches, his center burning with the sweet shock of it, the way he is never quite used to hearing her say those words. He presses his lips to her hair, to her temple, and he rocks gently on his heels, swaying them together.

"I love you, Amaryllis. I am grateful that I could be at your side along this journey, as I wish to be for the rest of our lives."

"We got him home," she says, her tone a worrying waver.

"So we did," he answers gently. "You've done so much, my love. You saved him. Now all you need do is rest."

"No-" she shakes her head, pulling back slightly so she can meet his eye with a grimace. "No, I can't because I still- Damien, I thought we would get here and I would know what I should do, but- but he's home, we brought him home and he's safe and he's going to really, really heal and I still don't know what to-"

"Rilla…"

"And he thinks we're just desperate to get away from him, doesn't he? He'll let us stay the night and then- and then what, Damien? We just- leave and go back home and pretend like- like none of this happened? Pretend like I can go back to thinking about monsters the way I used to? Pretend I never- pretend that I'm not going to- to miss him, that I don't-"

She cuts off, inhales sharply, closes her eyes and clenches her teeth.

"Rilla," Damien murmurs, and he cups her cheek as she shudders out another breath. "It's alright."

"It's not-"

"It is, my love." Damien manages a smile when she opens her eyes again, scowling at him, and it feels bittersweet on his lips. "You said our feelings could not be part of this discussion until Arum was safe again. He is. He is safe, now, and I think you need to speak your own heart, my Rilla. I think you need to say it."

She stares at him, and fear looks so very strange on his beloved. He brushes his thumb across her cheek, his other hand resting at her waist, and he waits. He is more patient than his love; she may take however long she needs.

"I… Damien, I love him," she says. "I do, I love the way he always seems surprised when he laughs, I love his stupid sense of pride and the way he always gestures with his hands even if it hurts his wrist, I love how clever he is and how he cares so much even if he pretends not to, and I love the way he- he mutters in his sleep and- and when he actually smiles I just want to- to-"

"To take him in your arms," Damien murmurs, and Rilla laughs.

"Yeah. Yeah. Exactly. And- and I don't know how I … I don't know how it happened, Damien, and I didn't- I didn't mean to, but- but I do." She looks down, looks away, wincing again. "I love him."

Damien cannot tear his eyes away from her. He would not be capable of the feat if this place collapsed around him entirely. She is-

Fear does not suit his beloved. Love, however, she wears with such beauty and ease that Damien can hardly breathe for the sight of it.

He lifts his other hand, cupping her face, rising to brush his lips over hers, as delicately as he is able.

"I know," he says. "I know, and I know how, as well. It is … rather obvious, in retrospect. You spent every day with him for months, my love. I am unsurprised that you would see the beauty in each other, that you would learn each other, know each other. You are… the both of you are so entirely brilliant, so clever and stubborn and lovely and fierce…"

Rilla exhales half a laugh. "Damien."

"You fell for him slowly, my darling flower. I told you- I believe you grew together. And I … well. I was not beside the both of you for all of that time. I was distant, in the beginning, both in truth and in feeling, and it took time for me to understand that when I looked at him, I saw… someone, rather than some thing. I imagined so much evil in him, and- I could laugh, now, at my stubbornness, the way I twisted him in my mind, to suit my expectations…" he trails off, shakes his head. "What I mean to say, Rilla, is that I was slower to join you, yes. I was slower to follow you, but-" he thinks his smile has gone sheepish, now. Not quite embarrassment, but the awareness of his own nature making him feel wry. "I think we both know that when I fall, it is a rather quick plunge, my love."

Her eyes flick between his own, not quite disbelieving. "You… you said, before, you said feelings, Damien, but- really?"

"Rilla… my darling, my forever-flower, I know that I told you I would- defer to your choices, that I would allow you to set the pace, allow you to choose what would remain said and what would remain unsaid, between the three of us." He swallows, drops his hands from her cheeks to her shoulders. "But- but I am not built to keep feelings within, my Rilla. Every time he looks at me- every time he smiles I feel the waves crashing within me- the damn has nearly broken so many times already- so many moments I looked at him and longed to say…"

He closes his eyes, feeling helpless and awash, but he inhales slowly and the emotion settles, still swelling large within him, but easier, now. Softer.

"He makes me feel… he makes me feel like you do, Rilla. I look at him… his eyes, so sharp and clever, his strong tail, his claws- his hands, so shockingly gentle …" he breathes something like a laugh. "Loving you, my Rilla, is always so overwhelming. Merely being in your presence is enough to make my heart swell, and race, and beg, and your absence causes me such aching that I feel I could die from it. Already I felt so deeply- so powerfully-" He pauses, laughs again. "I felt so full of love … how could I possibly have anticipated that I was capable of further depth of feeling? My heart, full to bursting already- I did not realize that my heart is not a cup, is not some fragile thing wherein I hold my love for you, that jitters and sloshes when I am overwhelmed, when I falter in my tranquility and take, again, to thrashing. Rilla, my heart is not a cup, it does not merely hold. My heart is a spring, is a source, is ever-flowing, without limit. I love you, my Amaryllis, my flower. I love you forever."

Rilla stares, her cheeks flushed dark, her eyes shining. "And you love him, too."

"I do," he says, gentle and certain.

"And he…" she inhales, exhales, and her brow furrows. "I know he feels something for us, too," she says quietly. "I can't say for sure that it's- it's that, but I know he feels something. I didn't want to think about it, I didn't want to make it all even more complicated, but- but I'm not stupid and- and honestly he's not exactly subtle."

Damien laughs, in surprise more than humor. "That, he is not," he says, and then he pulls his lip into a wry smile. "Rilla… I will still hold my tongue, if you truly think it is best, but … I think- I think, my love, that we could find a way, if we tried. That we could all, perhaps, be happy. That we could have what we wanted." He pauses, bites his lip. "What… what, exactly, do you want, my Rilla? I know how you feel, but what do you want?"

"I…" she laughs, presses a hand over her mouth. "I want- I don't want him out of our lives, at least. I don't want- I can't stand the thought that we'll leave tomorrow and never see him again, I just can't-"

"Rilla, my heart… I did not ask what you are afraid of." He strokes a hand across her hair, soft, soothing. "Please. Tell me what you want."

"I want… I want to know," she admits, leaning into his arms. "I do. I want to know if he feels the same. If- if he loves us too. And-" she laughs, "and I want to kiss him, if he'll let me."

"Yes," Damien says through his own laughter. "Quite." He tightens his embrace for a moment, crowding close against Rilla until she laughs again. "I suppose it is good to know that we feel the same in that, as well."

[->]

[coyotesongwriting]

Free Falling - Chapter 3

Avengers - Clint Barton/Reader

Chapter 3 - Baby Birds

Chapter Summary: Time stops for no one, and you face a pregnancy scare that leads you with no choice but to contact the team.

Author’s Note: I wrote Chapter 2 last night before bed, and now this chapter as soon as I woke up LOL. [Y/F/N] means your fake name, I didn’t want to pick one in case it turns out to be a reader’s actual name haha. A lot of time passes in this chapter!

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters so don’t sue me please. I just really like them haha

Tag List (if you want to be added or removed let me know!):   @rorynne @proudhufflepuff77 @rhymesmenagerie @redfoxwritesstuff @darthhayber @alwaysadreamingoptimist @samsgoddess @kaelyn-lobrutto24

Previous Chapter

The team sat in silence for a moment, no one knew what to say. There’d been no signs this was coming, no hints that they saw. Everyone was scouring their memories, searching the last months for any sign that you were unhappy here enough to leave. 

The silence was broken by Thor, grabbing Clint by the shirt and pinning him against the wall, “WHAT DID YOU DO?” he roared, fury rolling across his face.

Clint’s mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. He had no answers for the god of thunder. He had no idea, everything had been going great, hadn’t it? Hell, you two had just had a date night two days before and everything had been great! 

“Let him go, Thor.” Steve ordered, moving forward and placing his hand on the man’s shoulder, “We need to figure this out.”

Thor didn’t move, glaring at Clint pinned against the wall, “Not until he tells us what he did to Miss [Y/N}.”

“Thor, we won’t get any answers if you kill him,” Bucky said, stepping between Clint and Thor.

With a growl of frustration, Thor dropped Clint’s shirt as if it burned him. He stalked to the other side of the room and glared at him. If looks could kill, Clint would be dead one hundred times over.

Tony let out a deep breath, “Friday, use facial recognition and figure out where she went. We need to find out what the hell is going on”

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t do that. I have no records of Miss [Y/N]. I have no pictures to use facial recognition on” Friday’s voice seemed to echo around the now silent room.

“What about the video? Use that.” 

“The video has now been corrupted. It seems that it was intended to be viewed only once as it was” 

The video began to play again, only this time your face had been erased. It was just audio over a black screen. You’d been careful to hide everything you could.

“Use our security footage. Get it there.” Tony ordered, cursing you silently.

“Sir, that is not possible. It seems that Miss [Y/N] uploaded a virus. There is one unidentified person on the security footage who I believe to be her, but the footage has been corrupted and the person’s face has been blurred out.”

“Show me. Now.” Tony ordered, turning back to the screen.

Sure enough, though there you were as you took your bags of belongings to the incinerator, your face was blacked out, erased like you were merely another face in the crowd. Natasha had yet to move, or say a word. Silently, she sat there plotting your murder for hurting the team, and Clint.

“What about her Fingerprints? DNA? There has to be something.” Tony’s voice was almost a plea, hoping you’d left something behind, some way to find you.

“Her sister has to have a picture of her” Clint spoke for the first time since the video had played, his voice rough.

“Clint, Tony, let’s go. Thor, Natasha, see if you can find anything she may have left behind. Banner, see if you can find any trace of her in our records hidden, maybe she forgot something. Bucky, contact Peter and the others. See if anyone else has heard from her. Loki, see if anyone in the tower knows anything.” Steve ordered, not waiting for anyone’s response before leaving the room.

~~~~~~

Your fraternal twin sister, Nadia, glared at Clint as she opened the door, “What do you want?” her voice was venomous.

Clint stared at her, confused. They’d always gotten along well, there was no reason he could think of that would make her hate him so. Something was going on, and he had no clue what. This all made no sense to him.

Tony stepped forward, “Hey Nadia. We need a picture of [Y/N] if you wouldn’t mind.” he kept his voice even, not trying to let on anything was seriously wrong.

“If I wouldn’t mind?” she spat, “You lot need to stay the fuck away from my family. [Y/N]’s gone thanks to you.”

Steve stepped forward puzzled, “Nadia, what’s going on? We got back from a mission and she was gone, she just left us a video and no explanation. Is she okay?”

Nadia let out a humorless laugh, “Is she okay? I wouldn’t know any more thanks to you lot. If you want what’s best for her, you’ll let her go.”

“Nadia please - “ Clint started, cut off by Nadia as she slapped him hard across the face.

“Don’t come around here anymore. You’ve done enough” she growled, stepping back inside and locking the door. 

Tony and Steve turned to Clint who stood there, stunned. His hand rested on his cheek as he stared at the now shut door. Steve rested his hand on Clint’s shoulder, and Tony merely stood there watching. 

~~~~~~

Later that evening, you arrived in your new home town. Cataldo, Idaho, a small town with a population of 893 people. Big enough for you to hide in the crowds during events, but small enough that you had the chance to meet all of your neighbors, and run background checks on everyone in town. An hour outside of Spokane, Washington, you were close enough to an international airport that if you needed to, you’d have time to get out of dodge quickly but far enough away that no one would stumble across you accidentally.

It had been a long journey to this place. You’d taken four flights, five trains, three taxis, changing identities between every switch. Finally, you purchased an old beat-up truck under your new name, [Y/F/N]. You drove through the silent town, pulling to a stop outside the little three-bedroom home you’d bought in an online auction a few days ago. It was a little run down, but it was home now. Nothing you couldn’t tackle before the baby came. It was midnight by the time you arrived, and you quickly fell asleep on the floor in your new home.

The next morning, you awoke to gentle sunlight spreading across you. You had to get a move on, you had a new life to create. First things first, you had to hack SHIELD’s database again. What better place to hide from the team than under their noses? It didn’t take you long to build an employee file under your new name. You made sure to make no mention of your medical knowledge or hacking skills, knowing those would be a dead giveaway. Instead, you noted your skills in other departments, undercover work, interviewing, tracking. Your new employee file made you completely and totally average, someone who would blend in without a second thought.

It was easy to then put through the transfer paperwork to transfer you from the Dallas field office to the Spokane office, with your start date as next Monday. That would give you plenty of time to get everything in order. 

Over the next week, you dyed your hair [Y/F/C] and bought colored contacts to hide your identity, making sure that it matched your new file for SHIELD. You fixed up your new home, and furnished it completely, turning one of the rooms into a guest room - you needed to keep up appearances of course - and the basement became a gym and home office. 

On Friday you had your first appointment with an OBGYN. Thankfully, the doctor said that everything was going well. As the appointment progressed though, a small smile crept over your new doctor’s face as she pointed to one spot on the ultrasound.

“[Y/F/N], looks to me like you need to be buying everything in doubles. You’re carrying twins.” 

~~~~~~

Months had passed since you had left the team and found out you were carrying twins. Things were going honestly pretty good. You’d settled in at work, and no one suspected that you were hiding anything. You’d had to tell your boss you were pregnant, and even though they’d only met you recently everyone seemed to be genuinely happy for you. At six months pregnant, the doctor had ordered you put on desk duty and although you were quickly growing bored, it was nice to not have to worry about running into any of the team on the field.

Of course, you couldn’t help but wonder how the team would have reacted, and at night, you mourned for those lost chances and moments. You’d never get to see Tony making the babies gifts that made your life a living nightmare. You’d never get to see Natasha spoiling them or teaching them to fight. However, you’d also never have to see Clint reject you or your little birds as you’d taken to calling them.

A month ago, you’d stumbled across a one-eyed Golden Retriever pup in the dumpster behind the offices, and you’d taken him home. Lucky had been your saving grace in the moments when depression had taken over. Friday nights were the hardest on you still, remembering your date nights with Clint. On those nights, you and Lucky curled up on the couch and shared a pizza. 

Unfortunately, life seemed to enjoy kicking you whenever it had the chance. When your doctor finally got the results back of your prenatal testing, you found out you were a carrier for Leber’s Congenital Amaurosis. Meaning, there was a chance one or both of your babies could be born blind if Clint was also a carrier. 

~~~~~~

Banner was working in the lab when his phone rang, an unidentified number flashing on the screen, although he answered it without paying much attention, “Banner”

“Hey Bruce” your voice was soft, nervous. You hadn’t spoken to any of them in months. Four months, three weeks, two days to be specific. 

You heard the clatter of something dropped and a sharp inhale before he spoke, “[Y/N]? Is that really you? Are you okay? What’s wrong? What happened?” the questions flew out of him before you could even hope to answer the first.

“Yeah… yeah, it’s me. I’m fine, Bruce. I’m sorry to call you out of the blue like this but… I need a favor. Two really” 

“Anything. Tell me what you need, [Y/N]” he leaned against the table, catching Tony’s gaze and motioning for him to be quiet as he put it on speakerphone. They’d been working together in the lab when you called.

“First, I need you to keep this call a secret. You can’t tell anyone I called or about my other favor, Please. I’m begging you, Bruce”

“[Y/N] come on, you know everyone wants to know if you’re okay”

“Bruce. No. No one can know about this, okay? Please”

A sigh came across the line before he answered, “Alright. Alright, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“I need a blood sample from Clint sent to Integrated Genetics under the name Matthew Adams.”

“What? Why would you need that? What’s going on [Y/N]”

Tony stared at the phone, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion as his thoughts raced. Why the hell did you need that? While Bruce answered, Tony was searching the lab on his phone. Apparently, it was a lab that did genetic testing.

“Please, Bruce. I am begging you. Please just do it” your voice broke, and the line clicked dead as you hung up.

Bruce immediately tried to call you back, but the only response was the phone company telling you the line had been disconnected. He turned to Tony, curiosity on his face.

“What's going on? Why would she need a blood sample from Clint?” Banner asked.

“According to their website, Integrated Genetics does pre-pregnancy, pregnancy, pediatric and hereditary cancer testing” Tony’s voice was quiet as he looked up from the phone.

“Fuck.” 

Tony and Banner quickly gathered the rest of the team except Natasha and Clint who were off on a mission in the living room. It had been a rough few months for the team. Thor refused to be in the same room as Clint, figuring he had done something to you to make you leave. Loki was… Well, no one really wanted to talk to Loki anymore after he went so far as to question if you were actually a Hydra spy all along. Clint had almost killed him when he let slip that theory. Tensions were high with everyone.

“I think we know why [Y/N] left.” Tony started when everyone had taken a seat. He raised his hand to silence them as they all began to talk. “Banner just got a call from her. She’s okay as far as we could tell, but we think we figured out what’s going on. We think she’s pregnant.”

The room was so silent you could have heard a pin drop as everyone processed what he’d said.

Steve was the first to speak, “That’s good news? Why would she leave over that?”

“Remember the mission in Boston? The last one we all went on?” Banner asked, waiting for them to nod before continuing, “That night during our movie, Clint told her repeatedly that he never wanted kids, and they had to be careful they never made that mistake.”

“Do you know where she is?” Steve asked, at the exact same time that Thor growled that he was going to kill Clint.

“She didn’t say where she was, Friday couldn’t track the call and the number’s already disconnected. She asked us to get a blood sample from Clint and have it sent to a lab that does genetic screenings for pregnancies.” Banner explained.

“We can’t tell him.” Tony’s voice was steady, “Or Natasha. It’s only going to kill him, and we can’t be 100% certain that’s what’s going on.”

The team agreed.

~~~~~~

Your doctor called you two weeks later, she’d gotten the test results back from the lab for ‘Matthew Adams’. Clint wasn’t a carrier, and there was nothing else to be concerned about with that. With the way the pregnancy was coming along, you were going to give birth to two beautiful twins, a baby boy, and a baby girl. 

With the help of your neighbors, you managed to finish setting up the nursery for your little birds. 

 Back at the tower, the rest of the team had stepped up their attempts to find you, sparing no expense. Clint and Natasha had no idea that you had called or that you were pregnant, and Steve had asked Thor to go search Europe for you, mainly to keep him away from Clint. 

~~~~~~

On May 15, at 37 weeks, you went into labor at your desk. Your co-worker and friend raced you to the hospital and stayed with you as you gave birth to two beautiful, healthy babies. They were the spitting image of their father with his dark hair and light eyes. You named your baby girl Raven, and your baby boy, Griffin and you wondered what Clint would think of you giving them bird names for him.

You cried the day they were born, feeling guilty for everything they’d miss out on because of you. They’d never know their grandparents, their aunts, uncles, cousins, no one. For the first time in months, you felt utterly alone.

When the nurse handed you your babies for the first time, you realized none of that mattered anymore. You’d never be alone again, and while they may miss out on a lot due to your mistakes, you vowed you’d make sure they never felt like they were missing out.

Two days later, the doctor finally discharged you and the three of you headed home, where you were greeted by your beloved Lucky who the neighbor’s kids had been caring for while you were gone. 

Yeah, you were sad but for the first time in months, things seemed to be looking up. You got this.

Next Chapter ->

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[maxattack-powell]

The Freshman: 2-1

Book 2 - 1 Chapter 1: Winter in Hartfeld

Masterlist - go here for other chapters and related original fics

Disclaimer: The following are fics (adaptations from actual game chapters AND original works) to Choices: The Freshman and The Sophomore stories. It is a fictional adaptation. I (we) do not work for Pixelberry Studios, the game developer or own the rights to the characters Chris Powell, Nicole or any other IN GAME character. All of the ORIGINAL characters, storylines and events were developed for my adaptation of The Freshman story.

Comments: I enjoyed playing Choices The Freshman… and then I found this awesome group of people and their works - I’ve loved it all, very much so. Deciding that I wanted more interaction than the options allowed, I’ve gone through the first book, chapter by chapter (omg painfully slow) to follow the story (95-99% I’d say) and add to it as I felt would benefit. Now I am doing the same to Book 2 as well.

Basically, I wanted to include certain things that weren’t really full fic worthy, adding more substance to the story. However, I did add some full size fic moments also… some are included in cannon chapters and some are their own full chapters in between. I wanted to see MC and Chris through their freshman year… with more angst, fluff, sweetness, real life and overall detail. So, if you like that pairing then you’ll be satisfied, otherwise sorry James & Kaitlyn fans lol. I even added some parts from Chris’s POV, so that we have a chance to see what he’s thinking, knowing what she experienced.

NSFW moments in future chapters - Mature Readers Only Please

Paring: MC x Chris

POV: ~MC~ or ~Chris~

~MC~

Morning finally comes for the last day of Winter Break. MC is sad, but also beyond excited to get back to Hartfeld. She’s missed her family and friends while at school, but now what she misses more than anything is a single person. The thought baffles her mind, but she accepts it with a warm embrace as it just feels right.

Early yesterday, she told her mom that she wants to get to Hartfeld bright and early, which was slightly different than the original plan. That mornings text from Chris might have had something to do with it, seeing how just thinking about the text makes her stomach flip. MC assumes her mom knows why, but she doesn't care. She just wants to get there, to see her friends, and to see Chris. The only thing she wishes she could change would be to bring Max. Leaving him gets harder every time.

Her bags were packed and ready before she went to sleep the night before, so when the alarm went off this morning she was easily jumping out of bed and getting dressed within minutes. She did take a moment to send a ‘Good Morning, handsome’ text to Chris, beating him to the punch, a rare win for her over the Winter Break.

Even With all of her preparations, her mother moves slowly around the house, as if she had nowhere to go all day. MC was trying not to become furious with her, but her mother knows she wants to get back to Hartfeld. She internally grumbles about losing her truck to her dad. He had to sell his car after he lost his job, and since she wasn't using her truck during first quarter, he commandeered it. Now she was actually without wheels, something she hoping to have soon at Hartfeld. She wasn't going to give up though, she would find a way.

After a few minutes of following her mother around pointlessly, MC drops to the sofa with a huff. That's when she notices a message from Chris.

‘Morning, beautiful. Decided to sleep in huh?’ She can see the smirk on his face when he typed it. She quickly checks the time and sees that it's only just now about 9 a.m. She frowns and wonders what he means. Then it hits her. He's been on the road for hours at this point, how could she forget. He had asked her last night when she was going to leave in the morning, and now she knows why - he left in time to meet her at Hartfeld.

The crease in her brow deepens when she counts back the hours to guess at his departure time. She frowns and sends him a message. ‘You better not be texting while driving. And OMG, what time did you leave?!’

She quickly shakes her head and sends another. ‘Don't answer that. Don't text while driving. Dont read this!’

MC smacks her palm to her forehead lightly and rubs down her face when she realizes what she just did. Clearly, she’s not thinking straight. Maybe she didn't get enough sleep, or maybe she's distracted. Suddenly her phone rings, making her about jump out of her skin. She quickly lifts it to see who it is and grins when she sees Chris’s picture.

She jumps up from the sofa and bolts to her room, narrowly missing her mother as they pass in the hall. She blindly kicks her door shut with her foot as she answers the call. “You better not be driving Christopher Powell.”

She hears him laugh lightly on the other side. “I wouldn't dream of it. I promised… a long time ago. Do I need to prove it?”

MC shakes her head even though he can't see it. “No. I trust you.”

“Good. Now, what are all these texts about… you made me pull over. I have a hot date to keep.” She can hear the grin as he says the last sentence.

“What time did you leave this morning?! You should have taken your time… it's such a long drive.”

“Nah, I’ve got good coffee and let's just say I’m highly motivated to start the new quarter…”

She laughs. “Oh yeah? And why is that exactly…”

“I’ll let you assume what you will.” He laughs but gets quiet when he hears Max bark. “Are you… are you still at home?”

She sighs. “YES. My mother won’t hurry up… I’ve been ready to leave since last night.” She grumbles.

Chris laughs. “Well, that's alright. Gives me time to get settled and ready for you when you get there.”

“Ready for me, huh?” MC lowers her voice, teasing Chris.

He doesn't miss it, letting a frustrating sigh out over the phone. “MC…”

“Whaaaat…” She asks innocently.

He doesnt fall for it. “Okay, thats enough from you. I’m going to get moving again. Message me when you get close. I’ll be there in less than a minute, kay?”

She smiles, knowing he speaks the truth. “Alright… See you soon, captain.”

"I cant wait, baby… you guys drive safe.”

“You too, please.”

They hang up and MC immediately feels relieved. Even though she wanted to leave at least an hour ago, she knows it won't be long before she gets to see Chris again. She lays there for a minute before her door flies open suddenly, her mom leaning against the frame dramatically.

“I'm late, I'm late. For a very important date. No time to say ‘Hello, Goodbye’. I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!” Her mother sings, ending with a chuckle as MC throws a pillow at her head. “So ungrateful... “ She scoffs as she turns and disappears down the hall, her voice fading as she yells back. “Well, are we leaving today or what…”

MC doesn't hesitate as she jumps off her bed and runs down the hall to catch up. The drive back was pleasant, the pair discussing school, movies and books as well as other interests they share to pass the time. It makes the time fly, and MC is grateful for it. She enjoys talking with her mom, but she dearly wants to get back.

It's the first official day of winter quarter at Hartefeld. MC’s mom parks her blue SUV in one of the campus parking lots and gets out to help her with the luggage. “Brrrr! It's so cold here! Good thing I took you shopping for winter clothes, huh? Told you you’d need them.”

MC closes the passenger door and heads towards the back to meet her mom. She’s dressed in a soft grey sweater, fluffy black scarf and a dark green army style jacket with a fuzzy hood. She has knee high brown leather boots on top of her skinny jeans, helping her stay warm. Her hair's a little longer than before the break, but not enough to consider a cut quiet yet, otherwise she looks exactly the same.

As her mom opens the back hatch, MC pulls out her duffle bag and drops it on the ground, giving her mom a goofy grin. “Yup, I’m eternally grateful, Mom. And it’s not like I didn't need them at home. It’s just about as cold at our house.”

Her mom closes the door and sighs as she brushes her hands off on her pants. “Yes, I believe you are correct. I probably just miss some of the places we lived before. We had so many warmer options in the past. The were much more agreeable than our home now during the winter.” She sighs and shakes her head. “So… are you glad to be back?” MC can see the mixed happiness and sadness in her mom's eyes.

She gives her a big smile. “Of course! Partying all day, every day.” She holds her smile, trying to appear completely serious.

Her mother's mouth falls open. “Is that all you've been doing?”

MC keeps a straight face, her smile unwavering. “Well, that and petty crimes. I’m trying to stay well-rounded. It's always good to diversify you know.”

Her mother snorts at her. “Very funny. Just make sure you take full advantage of your time here, okay? These are important years.” She reaches for MC to give her a friendly pinch, but she dodges just in time, laughing at her mom.

MC sighs when she jumps far enough away, rolling her eyes. “I know, mother…”

She turns and looks around the snow-covered campus, shielding her eyes against the reflected winter sunlight on the snow. When she turns back to her mother, she receives a knowing smile.

“Let me guess… looking for that special someone?” She laughs softly.

MC shakes her head at her mother, suddenly regretting telling her more about Chris over the break. A huge grin splits her face as she looks down at her duffle. “Maybe…”

“So, is it, you know… official? I know you young people ‘don't do labels,’ but you did go to formal together. And then you guys took those two trips together, right?” Her mother prods. “I’d say that's pretty official.”

MC gives her mom a look, hoping she will drop it, as she and Chris have yet to have that type of talk. Sure they had spent hours, almost daily, talking and texting, sending snapchats and facetiming… for weeks during winter break. Not to mention their time spent together… first to California and then to the National Championship, both thanks to a Hartfeld alumni.

Her thoughts pause for a moment as details from both trips flash through her mind, her neck starting to flush towards her cheeks. There was never a good time to bring it up, at least not from her point of view so far. And even though Chris had said what he did the night before the championship, she wasn't sure if he was ready to lock down and label the thing.

“Well, if your trip to L.A. or to the championship game together is any indication, I’d say you mean a lot to him.” She flashes MC an honest smile. “Might be time to get official, MC.” She gives her daughter a playful bump, shoulder to shoulder.

Just then MC spots Chris approaching through the snow. He was right. It only took him about a minute to get there after she sent the last text. He waves at her, a big cheesy smile on his face. She immediately feels warm as his eyes roam over her body and search her face. She has been beyond excited to see him, in the flesh, again. But she had no idea it would affect her physically like this.

Her heart starts beating faster and her palms begin to sweat, even in the cool crisp air. None of it changes her smile though as it continues to grow with every step he takes towards her. She watches his chest flex under his henley, smirking to herself as she just knew he would wear it today. Chris knows how much she loves it on him, so his wearing it now is very intentional.

Her mom steps next to her and does not hide the fact that she's staring. “Wow, the pictures you showed me did not do him justice…”

MC quickly tears her eyes from Chris and glares wide eyed at her mother. “Mom! Just…be cool!”

Her mother’s eyes go wide and she covers her mouth. “Sorry!”

Chris jogs over and sweeps MC up in a big hug. She wraps her arms around his neck as he spins her around, staring into her eyes the whole time. He appears to be completely unaware of the audience next to him, having eyes only for MC since he spotted her from across the field.

MC laughs and squeezes her arms around his neck. “Whoa! Down, boy!”

Chris chuckles and gently lowers her to the ground, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around her. “Sorry… just happy to see you.” His 6’3” frame folds around her slightly shorter one, only slightly having to lower his head to make contact with her forehead as he stares into her eyes.

He loosens his grip on her, turning to face her mom, finally noticing her presence next to them. He holds out his hand and gives her a friendly smile. “Hi, you must be MC’s mom. I’m Chris.”

MC watches as her mother gushes over her… ‘Well, you can't call him your boyfriend, MC…’ she suddenly thinks to herself. She sees her mother's face become giddy as she shakes his hand.

“So handsome! And a strong grip, too…” She smirks.

MC’s face flushes. “Mom, what did I just say?! You're gonna creep the poor guy out…”

Chris turns his head to face her and tilts to the side, clearly amused. “Heh, no harm done. I certainly don't mind being called handsome.” His eyebrows pop once to show his amusement.

“I’m starting to see why MC never shut up about you the whole time she was home…” Her mom continues, causing MC’s face to flush an even deeper red as she snaps her eyes over to glare at her.

Chris turns his gaze away from her mother and back towards MC’s blushing face. “Really?” His smile expands like a sponge in water.

“I wouldn't mind hearing what she had to say, exactly…” MC watches as his mischievous eyes sink to her lips momentarily before they pop back up to hers.

MC sucks in a deep breath and grinds her teeth, quickly whipping her head towards her mother. “Agghh, stop! This meet-and-greet is officially over. Goodbye, mom.”

She starts pushing her mother towards her SUV, eager to split the two up.

“All right, I’ll leave you two alone. It was nice to finally meet you, Chris.” She waves at him as she opens her car door. “MC, make sure to call home at least once, okay?”

MC forces a huge smile and quickly responds. “I’ll do my best. Bye!”

Her mom waves one more time before getting into the SUV. “Bye, sweetheart.”

She turns to Chris and watches him flash her a cocky grin as he shoulders her duffel bag.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to the suite. Everyone’s been dying to see you.” He wraps his free arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

“Aww… I think I need some alone time with you first…” She lifts her hand up to his chest and runs it up around his neck. She can feel him softly groan at the contact.

It has only been four days since she last saw Chris, then another three weeks before that. Well, in person anyway. They had communicated daily since they last saw each other at the dorm the day after they returned from California. She remembers how much he hated doing that, leaving her alone to wait for her ride while he began his long journey home. She made him do it though, not wanting him to get tired or have issues on the trip back. So she forced him to leave. She never let him know at the time, but she hated that part too.

He pulls her closer, nuzzling next to her ear. “I was thinking the same thing. But I’m pretty sure they’re gonna grab you as soon as you walk in the door.”

She flashes him a flirtatious smile. “I guess we’ll just have to stay out here a while longer then…” She lifts up a little to press her lips against Chris’s, running both her hands up and around his neck into his hair.

He closes his eyes and melts into her lips, only speaking briefly when they break for a breath of air. “Guess so…”

He drops her bag in the snow and leans closer to kiss her deeply, wrapping both arms around her and holding her impossibly close. After what feels like hours, they finally break apart and gaze into each other’s eyes for a long second. Chris smiles at her as he leans close to her ear, kissing her neck softly a few times.

“Let’s finish this later. Our suitemates will kill me if I keep you away from them any longer.” He quietly says into her warm skin.

MC smirks at him. “Well, I wouldn't want that.” She steps back, breaking the embrace and grabs his hand. “Let’s go say hi.”

She squeezes the same hand and he quickly scoops up her bag and flings it back onto his free shoulder. The two of them walk slowly across the campus towards their suite, enjoying their time together, hand in hand. As they cross the quad, MC spots a glamorous young woman looking around campus, clearly lost.

She makes eye contact with MC and hurries over to them as they draw nearer with an ingratiating smile on her face. “Hi there, you couldn't possibly direct me toward the faculty offices, could you?”

Chris turns to look at MC. “I think you're a little more familiar with those than I am, right, MC?”

The woman takes a step back, her mouth suddenly agape. “Hold up… you’re MC?!”

MC cautiously glances at Chris, his brow furrowed as he listens to the strange interaction. “Uh… yes.” She finally spits out, her eyebrows coming together as she studies the woman. “Do I know you?”

The stranger gives her a sickeningly sweet smile. “Not yet… but I certainly know you.”

The woman looks sidelong at Chris, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “So… that must make you Chris.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at her, shifting uncomfortably next to MC as he gives the woman a crazy look. “How did you--”

The stranger interrupts him before he can finish as she eyes them both. “I should’ve recognized you both sooner. You're exactly like I pictured…”

She smirks. “You know what? I think I can find my own way from here. My friend just texted me directions.”

A bewildered look crosses MC’s face. “Uh… okay.”

The young woman hustles off, throwing a last lingering look over her shoulder at the stunned pair. They both watch her for a moment, waiting for her to be well out of hearing range before Chris turns his befuddled face to hers.

“Um… who was that?” He blinks a few times.

She frowns at him. “Your guess is as good as mine…”

They both watch her disappear in silence before looking at each other one last time, simultaneously shrugging and starting their journey again. They arrive at the suite to find Zack and Tyler in their usual spot on the couch, their eyes glued to the videogame on the TV.

Tyler looks up first and smiles. “Hey, MC! Long time no see!”

Zack quickly looks up and flashes her his usual grin. “Sup, doll! I’d get up and hug you and all that, but…” His eyes jump back to the screen as he tilts his head to it.

MC snorts at him and laughs. “Don't worry. I can see you're really busy.”

Chris just shakes his head and chuckles. “Have you guys moved at all today?”

Tyler suddenly looks perplexed as he tries to sort through his memories. “I think I got up to go to the bathroom? But don't quote me on that.” He purses his lips and nods.

“That's it? Respect.” MC laughs at their craziness.

Zack grins. “We’re in the zone. We’ve achieved a state of serious flow.”

Tyler bounces in his seat, clearly excited. “We’re this close to beating Yothag, Thrall of Xelia! This is the furthest we’ve ever gotten!”

MC looks at them both with endearment and a little bit of sarcasm. “I’m very happy for you both. Are Abbie and Kaitlyn here?”

Just then, Kaitlyn pops her head out from the back hallway, a big smile on her face. “MC! I thought I heard your voice… come here!”

Kaitlyn runs over and wraps her up in a tight hug, pulling her from Chris’s warm embrace. He winks at her and takes her bag down the hall to her room. Over Kaitlyn's shoulder, MC sees Abbie coming out of her room, passing Chris in the hallway, clearly excited to see her as well.

“Hey, MC!” Her shy friend waves at her with a smile.

“Abbie! Aw, it’s so good to see you guys. I really missed you over break.” She flashes them a huge smile.

Kaitlyn takes a step back and bounces a little on her toes. “Same! Now, enough small talk… Abbie has some serious gossip to share, don't you, Abbie?”

Abbie is caught off guard by Kaitlyn's sudden question. “Oh, uh…” She glances over at Tyler and tries and fails to hide a smile. “I might…”

MC can't help but let her grin spread across her face as she lowers her voice a little. “Ooh, you and Tyler? Tell me everything! I know you guys went to formal together. I assume things went pretty well after that?”

Abbie blushes. “You assume correctly.” She glances at Tyler once more before continuing. “We didn't end up meeting up over break, but we did talk online a lot. And on the phone. And on video chat.”

“Aw, Abbie! Are you two finally together for real now?” MC pauses, suddenly excited at the idea.

Abbie blushes and catches Tyler’s eye, raising her voice so he can hear. “What do you think, Tyler? Are we together?”

He briefly looks up from his game with a adorably cute grin. “Totally.”

MC suddenly taps Abbie on the arm to make her turn back to her. “Wait, video chat… no clothes or clothes?” She quietly jokes with her friend.

“Oh my god MC!” Abbie’s mouth falls open and she swats at MC.

Kaitlyn turns to grin at Abbie. “You didn't answer the question, Abbie…”

Abbie snorts at them both before she grins again. “Clothes, obviously.” She clears her throat. “It is way too soon for… that.”

Tyler perks up and looks away from his game. “Too soon for what?” He eyes her curiously.

Zack elbows him and nods towards the TV. “Dude, focus!”

Tyler looks back at the screen just as Yothag, Thrall of Xelia devours his character with one snap of his spectral jaws.

“Nooooo!” Tyler wails.

The controller falls from Zacks limp hand as he sighs and pouts. “Game over, man.” He turns to MC. “See what I have to deal with, MC? Ever since these two got back from break, they’ve been making googly eyes at each other.” He humorously glares at Tyler. “It's completely throwing off Tyler’s game!”

MC raises her eyebrow at him. “This is exactly what you wanted Zack…”

He looks at her for a moment and then shrugs, a small grin slipping across his lips. “Eh…”

MC, Kaitlyn, and Abbie sit down on the couch while Tyler powers off the game console.

“Speaking of game, hows your love life going, Zack?” MC wiggles her eyebrows as she shoulder bumps her best friend. “You and Brandon were the hottest couple at formal if I remember correctly.”

Zack quickly throws his hand up. “Oh, we’re still the hottest couple at basically any social function. Except now it's a little more ...official.” His eyebrows jump slightly at the word.

MC raises an eyebrow at him, surprised that two of her good friends are now officially seeing someone. “Seriously?”

Chris reenters the room just in time to hear Zacks news. “Nice one, man!”

Zack flashes Chris a big smile. “Thanks! He’ll be coming to our party later, actually.”

“Ooh, that reminds me. We’re throwing a party tonight. You down?” Kaitlyn turns towards MC.

MC nods at her bubbly friend, ready to start the new quarter with a great time. “Definitely.”

Just then, MC’s phone vibrates. She looks down to see a text from Professor Vasquez. ‘Looked out my window and saw you performing your characteristic woe-is-me shuffle across the quad. Report to my office ASAP.’

MC sighs and glares at her phone. “Wow, I haven't even been back five minutes…”

Her phone buzzes again, and she glances down to see a winky face emoji on screen, immediately confusing her. “What the..?”

She almost instantly receives another text. ‘Disregard. New phone. I’m not used to this contemptible touch screen technology.’

Abbie notices the change in her mood and frowns a little. “Everything okay, MC?”

MC sighs. “Only if you define ‘okay’ as Vasquez suddenly having the ability to text me orders at all hours of the day…”

She shakes her head and stands. “I guess I’d better go see what he wants. See you guys later…”

As she heads towards the door, Chris follows, taking her hand in his. “Wait up just one sec, MC…” He lightly tugs on her hand to slow her down.

She turns and looks into his eyes, curious. “What’s up?”

“I know Vasquez is expecting you and all, but… I was thinking maybe I could walk you over?” He holds her gaze and gives her a small smile.

“Plus, there’s some kind of winter festival going down in the park… There’ll be hot cocoa, live music, chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” His grin grows.

“Sounds pretty romantic, right? And we still haven't had much of a chance to catch up…” He gives her hand a gentle squeeze and rubs his thumb over her knuckles slowly his eyes searching hers.

She looks at him for a moment, watching the corner of his lip curl higher. The look he's giving her makes her toes tingle. She doesn't want to go to see Vasquez, she wants to be with Chris, wherever that is. Especially when he gives her that look. Her heart beats harder in response as a small smile appears on her lips.

“Okay. Let’s go check out the festival. I’ve never said no to hot cocoa, and I’m not about to start.” She takes a step closer to him. “And… you're pretty cool, too.”

“I’ll take it.” He grins and shifts closer, running his free hand around the side of her neck, his thumb running across the edge of her jaw as he leans in for a soft kiss.

They separate only to put their jackets and shoes on before heading outside. Once downstairs and outside of the dorm, the pair cross the quad to the park. Her arm is hooked through his,  while she snuggles close in the crisp air. They stop by the frozen fountain and look down at the glistening ice. Chris turns to MC and grins as the smell of roasting chestnuts and hot cocoa reaches them both.

“It seems like a long time ago since we had a slip ‘n slide set up here.” MC stares into the ice as the memories of their first day at Hartfeld float through her mind; the first day she met all of her amazing new friends. The first day she met Chris.

“Yeah. The campus looks so different.” Chris takes a long deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, absorbing the wonderful aromas.

MC watches him as they stand there for a moment longer before he opens his eyes and they begin to slowly walk down the main path. She has learned that this is his favorite time of year, as it was one subject they thoroughly covered during their winter break conversations. She loves that he gets so excited about the holidays, spending time with his family and friends and just the overall magic of this time of year.

While she has a good time with her own friends and family, after meeting the guys on the championship trip, MC almost wishes she could have been with him in Cherryfield over the last few weeks. His friends seem like great people from everything she’s seen so far. And if Chris is that close to them, she knows they are. Ryan and Ethan already feel like her best friends.

Then there is his family, who sound beyond adorable from all the random things Chris had told her over the break. She wants to meet them so badly, because she knows that it will help her see an entirely new level to Chris.

He finally opens his eyes and tilts his head to look into hers. “Aren't you glad you decided to come with me?”

She can't help but stare back, his deep blues pulling her in. “Definitely.”

MC glances down at the snowy path, reflecting on her memories. “I guess a lot has changed since fall quarter.” She speaks softly.

~Chris~

Chris grins at her when she looks up. “Not everything.” Chris shifts their arms to hold her hand in his, before leading her over to a nearby booth, where a student volunteer fills two styrofoam cups with hot chocolate and hands them roasted chestnuts.

Chris lets go of MC’s hand to quickly grab the offered cups and stuff the bag in his pocket. “Thanks man.”

He turns to MC and hands her a cup before they continue their walk. Clutching their new steaming cups of hot cocoa, MC and Chris walk further into the park. The soft strains of holiday music fading into the distance as they settle onto a private bench.

Chris blows onto his hot cocoa softly as he watches MC, his eyes bright with enjoyment. She licks her lips in between sips, and he watches intently. He wants to be that cup of hot chocolate right now. He wants to taste her lips, knowing they would be doubly sweet with the chocolate on them. She sees him staring and blushes a little before turning her eyes away for a moment.

“Mmm… maybe it's just because I’m freezing, but this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” MC clutches the cup tightly between her hands, her eyes shifting up to his briefly before she turns them away again, her expression fun and flirty.

“If you’re cold, it's the perfect time for me to give you your Christmas gift.” Chris reaches into his back pocket and produces a crinkled package. “I, uh, wrapped it myself.” He chuckles.

He hands it to MC with a lopsided grin. She holds it close for a moment, looking into his happy eyes as she takes in a long breath. She quickly looks down and tears open the paper to reveal a pair of soft, wool gloves.

“Wow… these are the softest gloves I’ve ever owned! And they’re just the right size...” She looks over to him after she puts them on, clearly impressed with how perfect they are.

“I can't take all of the credit for that.” Chris laughs. “I got them at the clothing shop where my mom works… I showed her a picture of you, and she was able to guess your size.”

He watches her face as she hears his words. He wants her to know that he’s told his mom about her, that he's confident in his feelings to not only tell his mom about her, but ask for input.

~MC~

MC’s face warms as she realizes that Chris must have talked about her to his mom after they returned from Nationals. “That’s a pretty neat trick.”

He flashes her a soft smile. “I’ll tell her you said that.”

“I didn't realize your mom works in a clothing store. I haven't really heard that many stories about your life back home…” She looks up at him sweetly, indirectly asking him for more information as curiosity gets the best of her.

“I... “ Chris frowns suddenly. “I don't like to talk about it. But, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He stands and offers his arm to MC.

She happily takes it and they start walking slowly down the path. As they take a few silent steps she wonders if she’s hit a nerve. He clearly isn't excited to share something, but she has no idea what it is.

She gives him a small smile, carefully choosing her words as to hopefully avoid a sore spot. “What about your family?”

Chris looks down to the ground as he begins to answer her question. “Let’s see… there’s me. My mom. My brother Kyle is 10, and my sister Jo is 8.”

MC smiles. She remembers him talking about them some over the break, but he never went into much detail. She wonders why he is so guarded. “They seem pretty awesome...”

He turns his eyes to hers, his own a little melancholy although he gives her a small smile. “They really are.”

“So you had a good break?” She raises her eyebrows as she squeezes his arm, trying to be supportive.

“It was great to see my family. It always is. I gave my little sister a game ball signed by the whole team…” He begins to chuckle. “She and my little brother promptly went outside to play with it in the snow.”

“Sounds like she's a trouble.” MC laughs.

He shakes his head and grins through a scoff. “You don't know the half of it.”

MC hesitates, sensing some tension about the one person left unmentioned. “Your dad--”

Chris clears his throat and looks up and down the path to an unknown distance. “Was a long haul trucker.”

MC’s voice becomes quiet as she looks over at him carefully, unsure what he means. “‘Was’?”

“Let’s…” Chris sighs and shakes his head, quickly replacing his frown with his normal happy smile. “...not get into that today. It’s a happy day.”

He turns to look deep into her eyes, his plea obvious inside them. “My mom, Kyle, and Jo are everything to me.”

She gives him an understanding nod and rubs his upper arm. “Can you tell me more about your hometown?”

He nods, happy to oblige. “Cherryfield, Maine. The blueberry capital of the world.”

She blinks a few times. “So why is it called… nevermind. Wait, is that why you like blueberries so much?” She grins at him, receiving the same in return as they both recall their strong blueberry muffin bond.

“Maybe?” He laughs.

“I’d love to take you there sometime. Its beautiful…” He pauses and looks away, almost as if ashamed. “...but also dirt poor. There’s the high school, a tiny downtown, and exactly two restaurants.”

He turns to look at MC, a hint of sadness swimming in his eyes. “If I couldn't throw a football, I’d probably still be there, scraping by like most of the guys I went to school with. I’m not going to lie. It was hard to be back home. Now that I’ve seen more of the world, my town looks awfully small. It’s beautiful, of course… but the people are dirt poor, and mostly unhappy.”

He stays quiet for a moment as he searches her face. It doesn't take long for his grin to grow as he looks at her. “And… of course, I missed you.”

“You did, huh?” She tilts her head, curious about his statement.

“What’s with the slack jaw?” He raises an eyebrow at her.

She clears her throat. “It’s just… I feel like I know you so well in certain ways. The two of us have had some uh, great… moments together…”

She feels her face flush warm. “But… we still don't know much about each other's past.” Her eyes flick back and forth across his eyes, trying to learn whatever she can.

Chris lets out a long sigh and looks forward again, away from her searching eyes. “Trust me, it’s not important. My past is the least interesting thing about me.”

“I’m sure that's not true, Chris.” She playfully bumps him as they walk, hoping to get some type of reaction from his suddenly stoic demeanor. “But for the sake of enjoying this date, I’m going to let you off the hook for now.”

~Chris~

When he turns to look at her with a grin she winks at him and he laughs. “Lucky me.” He watches MC, his eyes bright with enjoyment.

She can't help but giggle at his expression. “What are you smiling about?”

He clears his throat and looks away bashfully for a second before he musters up the courage to look back into her eyes and hold the gaze this time. “I guess I’m just happy. I told you. I uh…” He reaches over and covers her smaller hand with his much his larger and warmer one before he shrugs slightly. “I just… missed you.”

“We talked or whatever, like everyday… ” She gives him a curious look before she continues,

“And then there was Nationals…” They both grin cheekily at each other, causing her to full on blush and look down at their connected hands as he lets out a soft laugh.

“Okay, I missed you, too. Winter break was too long. Even with the trip last week...” She looks up and bites her lower lip as she locks eyes with him.

“Yeah I know, we did talk… and text… and FaceTime a little…” He shakes his head and laughs, his entire body shifting with embarrassment. “But it’s not the same.”

He squeezes her hand and clears his throat before changing the subject. “Anyway, what kind of stuff did you do the rest of the time?”

She looks at him for a few seconds, watching as he forces his body to relax. “Hmm, I caught up with my high school friends some, but you knew that. There were some parties… and we watched an old movie that we can't seem to let go.” She laughs. “Spent time with the family of course.”

“How did that go? Is everyone doing good?” Chris inquires with sincerity.

MC lets out a weak laugh. “It was… mostly good.” She frowns a little. “Well, the job I told you that my dad got… it was only temporary. He still hasn't found permanent work, but my mom was able to get her old job back at least.”

Chris frowns as he picks up on her demeanor. “Well, that’s good, right?”

She gives him a small smile. “Yeah… but it’s just enough to support them. She’s not exactly making college tuition money. They sold his car and had to take my little truck for now too, so he can continue looking for work.”

He takes his hand off hers to wrap his arm across her shoulders and pull her close, kissing her on the temple. “I hate to hear that, I’m sorry. But you still have Vasquez though, right?”

“Yeah… right.” She frowns.

Chris pulls her even closer, squeezing her upper arm with the hand he wrapped around her shoulders. He leans over and lays his forehead against her temple before he softly speaks. “It will be okay, MC. I promise. Just like first quarter, we will figure it out.”

She lets out a long sigh. “Thanks Chris. Sorry for getting mopey…”

He winks at her when he straightens up and she looks into his eyes. “No reason to be sorry.”

MC quickly thinks of something else to change the subject. “So, besides what I saw myself… how was your break? Did your family have a good Christmas?”

He laughs as memories begin to cut across his thoughts. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Do you have any pictures?” She looks at him hopefully.

He raises his eyebrow and laughs. “Ayuh, I have a few…” He pulls out his phone and swipes through his photo stream.

“Here’s my brother and sister… making dinner on Christmas Eve.” He grins as he shows her the picture he took with them behind him, selfie style.

MC smiles as he recalls that night and the mess they made. She listens to him intently, smiling hard at his faint accent as he reviews the events of the night.

He turns to see her face and stops, his left eyebrow arching up sharply. “What?”

Chris then lets out a short knowing laugh. “Are you laughing at the way I speak again…”

She shakes her head. “I’m not laughing. I love it.”

“Oh, you love it…” He smirks at her as she blushes after realizing her word choice.

She tries to shrug it off, making him feel butterflies for a moment as he watches her backpedal hard. He decides that she can bring up his accent anytime as long as she continues to look at him the same way.

“Well, my family doesn't really have any accent. We’ve moved around too much over the years and they came from all over. So I uh, I think yours is... neat.”

He pulls her close. “See, I think that's neat. You're a chameleon. You can go anywhere and blend in. No one will ask you where you're from.”

“It's really not that obvious, yanno… Sorry if I’m bothering you.” She gives him a sweet half smile-frown.

“You could never bother me, MC. I love that you like to listen to my voice…” He says it in a slow, husky tone as he gives her a flirty look, making her laugh again.

He instantly knows that her laugh is and will always be, his favorite sound. Something he will forever love to hear daily. He takes the moment to nuzzle into her neck right near her ear, receiving a shiver in response, making his lower abdomen tighten in return, sliding his arm from her shoulders down around her waist as they slowly continue to stroll down the path.

~MC~

She asks to see more pictures and he obliges, scrolling through more images of his family and of course, all of his friends. Some she recognizes from FaceTime calls and from their trip to the championship. She can’t wait to meet the others and hang out with Ryan and Ethan again.

He stops on a particular picture when MC puts her hand on his. “Oh my god… you guys are so cute.”

She studies a picture Chris tells her his mom took. It’s of Chris and his siblings on the couch after they had fallen asleep together. Chris in the middle with his head leaning slightly over the back, his mouth slightly open because of the odd angle. His brother Kyle is on his right, leaning on Chris’s shoulder. His sister Jo is tucked under his arm on his left, snuggled up as close as she could possibly get with his arm wrapped protectively around her. All three are passed out, bundled tightly together, the Christmas tree sparkling in a blur behind them.

She looks up and sees Chris studying her face, a small smile on his lips. “I would love for you to meet them someday. They are great kids. Pretty sure they are going to make me look bad as they grow up…” He lets out a hearty laugh.

She shakes her head at him and pulls his arm tighter around her waist. “I don't think that's actually possible.”

A sad look crosses his face for a moment but he pushes it away and lets out a huff of air. “Heh. Yeah…”

MC picks up on his mood shift and nudges him slightly with her shoulder. He gives her a quick grin and he starts scrolling again. She jumps next to him suddenly.

“Wait! Go back!” She demands, almost knocking the phone from his hand.

He stops and gives her an odd look before he slowly starts scrolling through his pictures backwards. When he pulls up a particular shot she lunges at his phone, excitedly grabbing it with both hands. She studies the picture with wide eyes, etching it into her memory as much as possible.

“Who took this?” She holds it up to him and he laughs and looks away, a faint red tint creeping up his neck.

“Uh, Jo did… My little sis-ta.” He smirks as he leans closer and purposefully enunciates the way he says sister as MC giggles and continues to evaluate the picture.

The picture is of Chris, on a shore in Maine during a sunrise. He’s facing the barely visible sun as it creeps into view, lighting his front while the rest of him remains in a dark shadow, creating drastic contrast. His sister must have snuck up on him to take the picture, because his focus is way off into the distance, almost like he's searching for the sun itself. He appears deep in thought, but happy at the same time. She finally looks up and finds him studying her face again. This time with an odd look on his own.

 “What?” She asks apprehensively.

He tilts his head. “Just curious… of what you're thinking about?”

She looks back at the picture, still holding his phone in her hands. “I guess I’m wondering, what you were thinking of here. How she managed to sneak up on you like that. It must have been something…” She looks over at him. “Do you remember?”

~Chris~

Chris lets out a small laugh. “Ayuh, I remember.” He lays on a thick accent to purposefully make her smile again while he stalls for a moment, trying to decide how, or possibly if he should answer truthfully. “Jo kept trying to get me to tell her for the rest of break after she took it. But I never told her...”

MC must sense his hesitation because she scrambles to retract her question. “It’s okay, if you um… If you don't want to say. I just think it's a nice picture…” She quickly hands him his phone and shyly looks forward, avoiding his heated gaze.

Chris stops walking then, tugging her until she stops as well from his arm wrapped around her waist. He holds the phone up in front of his face to study the picture for a moment before he shifts it directly into MC’s line of sight. He tilts his head towards her slightly, his arm tightly wrapped around her, before he speaks.

“I don't mind. If you really want to know.” He looks at her as he speaks slowly. “I was thinking of you.” He watches her swallow hard, absorbing what he just said about the picture.

She eventually turns to look at him, her voice quiet and soft. “Can I have it?”

Chris smiles warmly at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his happiness grows. “Of course.”

He pulls his phone back and sends her the image through text. MC smiles as she hears her phone ding with the message notification.

She unwraps herself from his arm and grabs his hand before pulling him into the snowy quad. “Come on. We’re at a winter fair! let's do some winter stuff.”

Chris gestures to a group of students knee deep in the thickest snow banks in the area. “How about we build a snowman?”

She nods and stops to look at them before turning to him. “Sure thing… but I’m fresh out of magic top hats.”

He laughs, instantly getting the reference. “Gah, I love that movie.” He chuckles. “Guess we’ll have to use our imaginations instead.” Chris hunkers down and starts packing snow together.

MC quickly kneels beside him to help. “We can use two of the chestnuts for his eyes! We can name him… Mr. Chestnut.”

Chris doesn't even try to hide his laughter, enjoying her goofy sense of humor. “Wow. How creative.”

He effortlessly lifts two sizable balls of snow onto the largest, stacking them perfectly. He watches her as she moves around the snowman, her face soft and happy, making his chest swell.

MC gives him a mock pout. “Hey! You’re going to hurt his feelings!” She packs snow between the sections, securing the snowman’s upper body and head.

Chris returns with a mock apology as he pats the snowman on the head. “Aw. Poor guy. Sorry, Mr. Chestnut.”

~MC~

MC notices Chris shivering slightly as he finishes putting the finishing touches on the snowman with his bare hands. She suddenly feels horrible.

“I didn't realize it since I was wearing gloves… but your hands must be freezing! Maybe you can wear my gloves?” She quickly takes them off and hands them to Chris.

He looks at her thankfully but gives her a sweet smile from the offer. “But these gloves are the perfect size for you. My big hands won't even come close to fitting.” He gives her a wink.

MC frowns. “Oh, yeah.”

She shakes her head and sighs, thinking of another way to warm him.

Chris gently grabs her wrists and puts the gloves back in her hands. “Please put these back on. I couldn't stand to watch you shiver. Even for a second.”

MC blushes as he holds her gaze with a very serious look, daring her to disobey. She smiles and shakes her head while she puts them back on, racking her brain for another solution. Then it hits her and she takes a step closer to him.

“Quick! Put your hands inside my coat.” She unbuttons her jacket and opens it to him as she eliminates all the space between them.

Chris looks at her with concern. “Are you sure?”

MC frowns at him and raises her voice slightly, very worried about his hands. “Just do it!”

Chris snaps to and reaches under her coat around her body, his icy hands touch her warm skin as they run along her waist, pulling the hem of her shirt up. He grimaces as she feels his hands pull the warmth from her soft skin almost instantly.

MC gasps as if the air was sucked straight from her lungs at the ice cold contact. “So… c-cold!”

Chris flinches and begins to remove his hands quickly. “You told me to do this!”

She swiftly grabs his retreating hands through her jacket and holds them to her skin as she shudders for a moment, trying to focus on something other than his frozen digits. “I… I know.”

She takes a few breaths in and out, clenching her eyes shut for a moment before she looks up to meet his very concerned eyes. She shakes her head to let him know it is okay and leans in, wrapping him with her own arms, holding them together chest to chest. He sighs and leans his cheek against her’s as they stand like that for a few minutes, his hands finally starting to warm up. She lets out a light laugh once she can start to feel his fingers move again, no longer the ice sculptures they were just minutes prior. She leans back and looks into his eyes, now softer but still full of concern.

“This is… actually starting to feel nice.” She feels Chris relax against her finally, looking at her somewhat apologetically.

~Chris~

She sucks in a quick breath as he begins to move his fingers around under her shirt, familiarizing themselves with her soft skin again. She looks deep into his eyes as Chris continues to blindly explore. He struggles not to react to the memories that start to pop into his head. Memories of the last time he touched her like this in his hotel room only a few days prior.

“I almost forgot how much I missed you touching me.” A small grin cracks across his face as she continues, “Almost.”

Chris pulls his now normalized hands out from under MC’s jacket and away from her warm skin, knowing he can't continue down this path here and now. He helps her button her jacket again as she struggles with her new gloves. She gives up with a huff and stands there, watching him dutifully button each one with a smirk, until she is warm and cozy again.

“Let’s get some more cocoa. It will help warm us up.” Chris grabs her hand and they both run back to the cocoa stand for fresh cups.

Chris takes a long sip after blowing across the top a little. “That feels so… good…” He sighs and cherishes the warm cup in his hands.

MC watches him over her own cup as she takes a sip as well. “Careful. You’re going to make me jealous of a cocoa cup.”

He lowers the cup and gives her a sultry look. “Maybe you should be.”

They both start softly laughing as they keep eye contact while finishing their cocoa, each peering over their steaming paper cups and drinking through playful grins. After a few minutes they finish their second cups and toss them in the trash as they pass by on their walk. They end up near the string quartet that begins to play a winter waltz as they move to a quieter part of the path.

Chris slows down and turns towards her, making her stop as well. He lightly cups her cheek in his hand and rubs his thumb over her bottom lip as he gazes into her eyes. His voice becomes very low as his expression turns serious.

“When I got home after nationals, I had a nightmare, you know…” He swallows hard and takes a deep breath. “In it, I showed up here today, and you didn't exist. Everything we’d shared last quarter and over the break… it had only been an illusion.”

He squeezes her hand, trying to force the panicky feeling from his body. Even thinking about it now was making him feel like it just happened, that she isn't real even though he’s holding her right now. He takes a deep breath.

“I woke up in a cold sweat, picked up my phone, and scrolled through my photos until I found one of you.” Chris gives her a weak smile.

~MC~

“Aww, Chris…” MC smiles softly at him, feeling the anxiety rolling off him, making her chest tighten as he continues.

“And then I knew you were real. And I took a deep breath and went back to bed.” He lets out a held breath of air, his bangs moving a little from the force.

He hesitates for a moment before suddenly leaning in and kissing her hard on the lips, his stubble lightly caressing her cheek. She only stays stunned for a fraction of a second from his swift invasion of her lips, quickly giving in and forcefully kissing him back in return. She can feel the power behind his kiss, his need to prove that she’s real and actually here, in his arms. So she gives it to him.

She lets him in when he asks, his tongue soft but demanding with hers. She matches his exuberance as he becomes excited with her level of participation, and she makes sure he knows it is real. She reaches up behind his neck, holding him close to her with one hand and running her fingers through the hair on the base of his neck with the other. When he pulls back, his eyes are a familiar deep blue, cutting straight through her with raw intensity.

“We… should find somewhere… private.” Chris holds her close, leaning his forehead to hers, trying to slow his breathing as he closes his eyes, forcing himself to focus.

She does the same, forcing herself to breathe slowly, trying to lower her elevated heart rate while her head spins. They hold each other tightly for a while, almost as if they are afraid they might disappear.

Disrupting their moment, MC’s phone beeps again with another text. She sighs and almost pitches it down the snowy path, knowing exactly who it is without looking. She squeezes it tightly before Chris gently grabs her hands with soft pressure, silently asking her to let go and relax.

She looks to him then, finding his focused stare as he gives her a reassuring hug. “Later tonight. We’ll make up for lost time. I promise.”

He gives her an excited smile. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

They walk back towards the quad hand in hand. They split off at a certain point on the path, each going their separate ways; Chris back to the suite and MC towards Vasquez’s office. Chris doesn't let her leave without a quick kiss to her temple as he hugs her close. MC swears she can still feel tension in him and makes a mental note to talk to him later. He glances over his shoulder at her one last time just when she does the same to him. They both smile warmly before turning back towards their destinations.

As MC walks into Vasquez’s office she is immediately addressed by the professor. “MC. What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for… Hrrrk.”

He suddenly bends over and coughs into a handkerchief. When he pulls it away, she notices a red spot bleeding through the white cloth. He quickly stuffs the handkerchief in his pocket before James can see it. James does however hear the cough and consequently finds the professor folded over.

Concern instantly covers his face. “Professor, are you--”

Vasquez quickly cuts him off. “I’m fine. James, could you get me a glass of water?”

James lingers for a moment, his eyes glancing back and forth between the professor and MC. He then frowns before nodding and walking out of the room.

MC frowns at Professor Vasquez when his eyes meet hers. “You need to tell him.”

He glares at her. “Don't you dare try to tell me what I need to do. You need to remember who's in charge here… who holds your future in the palm of his hands.”

“Well… I’m sorry.” She sighs, feeling defeated from this situation.

He stands up straighter and eyes her suspiciously. “Interesting. Last quarter, you would have barked back some insult at me. Perhaps you’re capable of evolving as a character.”

Her face scrunches up in irritation. “I’m not a character. I’m a person.”

He lets out a small chuckle. “Whatever you say…” He clears his throat and looks back down at his desk. “Back to your question. I’ll tell James when the moment is right.”

She rolls her eyes and frowns. “You mean when it causes the most drama?”

He snorts at her. “No… when I’m ready.”

Just then, the office door bursts open, and the young woman from before enters with James at her heels.

“Professor Vasquez. How nice to finally meet you in person.” She extends her hand towards him. “Let me introduce myself… I’m Yasmin Udoka.”

James quickly comes around her and places himself between them. “I’m sorry, Professor. I tried to tell her you were busy, but--”

Yasmin waves him away. “It’s my job to push for what I want, James. It’s what makes me the best agent in Manhattan.”

Professor Vasquez looks at her less than amused. “I’m afraid you're about forty years too late to sign me. I already have an agent, Charles Wallace!”

She smiles sweetly at him. “Charlie retired on Tuesday. I took over his client list and jumped on the first flight here. I used the flight to catch up on your latest book. Very provocative stuff. Especially the MC character.”

MC quickly turns to glare at the professor. “Vasquez! You actually named your character MC?”

He scoffs at her. “You should be grateful! You’re being immortalized in a work of classic literature!”

Yasmin smiles at MC in a way she doesn't like. “If half the stories I read are true, you’ve had quite an interesting freshman year so far…”

MC’s eyes narrow a little. “Oh yeah? What exactly did he write about me?”

Yasmin's smile becomes even more twisted and unappealing to MC. “Oh, I wish I could tell you, but I couldn't possibly violate Vasquez’s trust like that.”

MC glares at them both. “I guess I’ll just have to wait for the book to come out like everyone else…”

Professor Vasquez ignores her response. “On to business. What do you want, Yasmin?”

“First, a little bookkeeping We need to renew publication rights for Winter in July. That includes going digital! I’m afraid no one reads print anymore, dear…” She holds her hand up to look at her nails.

Vasquez quickly snaps his eyes up from his desk and glares at her. “Don't patronize me. Just because our entire culture’s sinking into a morass of shallow self-absorption doesn’t mean I have to help the slide.”

She walks over towards his desk, digging in her bag for a stack of papers. “All I need is your signature, Enrique. Then you can go back to your ivory tower and sneer all you want.” She holds the document out across his desk.

“I… I’m not ready to sign. I need to think about it.” He gruffly replies, quickly looking away from her extended hand.

She pulls it back towards her, taken by surprise. “What’s there to think about? Your book sales could double or even triple if we release Winter in July on digital platforms.”

MC and James share a worried look from their places on opposite sides of the room. They already know why the professor doesn't want to sign, not to mention that he will probably get upset if she keeps pushing.

“I said I need to think about it, okay? As far as I’m concerned, the matter is closed for discussion.” He gives Yasmin a serious glare. “I’d rather focus on finishing The Freshman. Hopefully it will serve as a cautionary tale to today's youth.”

MC sneers at him from her spot in the room. “Yeah… a cautionary tale. As in… never trust your professor.”

“You’ve clearly misidentified the theme of my book, MC. Whether you trust me or not is a moot point. You have to work for me.” He looks at her, his face devoid of emotion.

“So it’s a book about the way millennials are subjugated by a corrupt power structure set up by your generation?” She grinds out between clenched teeth.

“Interesting take. I like that angle…” Professor Vasquez smirks. “But… it still ignores the main character’s central flaws.”

“What flaws? I bet you can't even come up with one example.” MC is tired of holding back.

After being ridiculed as nothing other than a character in his book, pure substance for his story, she's had enough. Now she's seething.

“Actually, I’ve got half a book’s worth of examples. And by the end of the year, I should have enough to finish this thing.” He gives her a haughty smile.

Yasmin frowns. “I take that to mean, you don't have any more pages for me?”

“Actually… I’m getting an idea for my next chapter now… of course, this is going to require a bit of ‘help’ from MC and James.”

James takes a step back, his face clearly showing his disagreement with the plan. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Leave me out of this. I’m your mentee, not your puppet.”

He flashes MC an apologetic smile as he realizes what he just said. She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms as she glares at the professor.

Vasquez gives him an eerie smile. “Hear me out.” James and MC share worried looks.

“There’s a nice benefit in this for you, if you play your cards right.” He clears his throat. “Here’s my proposal: MC is going to put on James’s play, here on campus, next week.”

The other three all look at each other with shocked confused glances.

“And Yasmin here is going to watch. If she likes it, she’ll take James on as a client.” Professor Vasquez finishes with enthusiasm as MC and James stare at each other in shock.

Yasmin’s eyebrows lift as her eyes widen with surprise. “I will?”

“Think of the drama! James’s future on the line… an agent out to land her first client after inheriting a bunch of literary dinosaurs… And at the center of it all, a girl who risks losing her scholarship and getting thrown out of school.” He chuckles to himself as his eyes lock with MC’s.

Yasmin grins. “That does sound compelling. Very well, then. I accept.”

They shake hands over his desk before she turns towards James. “I’ll look forward to watching your play, Mr. Ashton. It had better be worth my time.”

MC takes a step forward, her expression showing her concern. “How am I supposed to put on a play just like that? I don’t even know any actors!”

Professor Vasquez gives her a blank look. “Oh, you won't be using actors, MC… The stars of this play will be a few of my favorite characters… you and your friends.” His eyes narrow as his grin grows.

[prettieparker86]

Deliverance || Part 6

Pairing: Donald Pierce x Reader

Warning: Adult content

Word Count: 3K

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, & Part 7

Gif Credit: @cainwrites and @robertboydholbrook Thank you for letting me use your beautiful gifs!

Tag: Hopefully you wanted to be tagged, if not, tell me fuck off lol. No hard feelings. Ad if you want to be tagged let me know. @crazyfreckledginger @star-girl-pryde @introvertalien13 @emislayyyy74 @nuvoleincielo @ziambitches99

A/N: Once again, thank you to my editor @lainey-lane you keep the inspiration follows with your insight, and thought provoking questions and writing wheels turning. Couldn’t do it without you friend.

Note: First half of the chapter is a flashback. I think one of the best ways to understand who Donald and are the reader are to each other now, is to understand who they were and what they went through. Also this update is Super Long! I’m sorry. It got away from me.

Then

“Fuck!” You cry out on a pitched breath as your back arches and your head falls back seconds before a hand swiftly clamps down over your mouth, silencing you.  

A wave of intense white-hot ecstasy crashes over you in delirious pulsating waves that push you up toward the clouds then pull you back down beneath the sea, over and over again. 

Humming through your veins like electricity, sparking all your senses on fire as you clench around him.

Your cries muffle into his palm, your fingernails digging into the muscles on his chest as you grind against him, dragging out the moment for every ounce of pleasure it can bring you, for as long as it can last. 

Donnie’s robotic hand is seized mercilessly upon your hip as he thrusts up into you, chasing the same intoxicating dragon that’s just slain you. 

You feel his whole body tense beneath you, hear the muffled sound past his tightly clenched jaw as he tries to stifle his own groan, his metal fingers digging brutally into your flesh as he spills inside you.

Slowly your eyes open again as the ecstasy wanes and slips away. Your chest rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath against his palm. 

You catch sight of the delirious heat in Donnie’s eyes as he stares up at you, panting beneath you, before his hand slips from your mouth and you practically collapse on top of him, your body spent. 

People probably heard you that time, but that’s why you try to save most of your misdeeds for the night shift, who hate their job even more then the day crew. 

Looking the other way when a moan occasionally echoes down the corridor from one of the cells. 

You aren’t the only one responsible for the noise, of course. Other guards, other vulnerable girls, but only you get Donnie. 

Most of security already knows he’s screwing you. But they don’t know you want it as much as he does or that it’s become more than just sex. 

No, that’s the kind of secret that would get him fired and God only knows what for you.

Your cheek rests on Donnie’s strong chest, your hair sticking to flesh as your head lies tucked under his chin where you can hear his heart still pounding wildly, your bodies slick with sweat as you lie tangled up, skin to skin.

His arms wrap around you, one hand tangling in your hair as the other rests at the small of your back.

“Damn baby, what’s gotten into you lately?” Donnie pants out, you can practically hear the smirk on his satisfied lips. 

You have – you think. Your seed is growing inside me. The thought rattles through you, terrifies you to your fucking core, now as much as it did the first time you learned the truth. 

Sending gooseflesh popping up on your skin as Donnie runs his hand across your body. 

He clutches you a little tighter with the feel of the tiny bumps on your flesh and you think he’s going to say something about it before you beat him to it.

“Are you complaining, Mr. Pierce?” You tease him, tilting your head back to nuzzle that god awful tattoo on his neck with your nose.

Sex between you and Donnie has always been… intense. But lately, it’s like you can’t get enough of him. 

Like your body knows he gave you something, or maybe you’re just horny and hormonal. 

But your hunger has been insatiable and when you cum now, it’s like your whole world is blowing apart and then flying back together, over and over again in the most intoxicating way possible. 

You didn’t know what was happening to you until you found out you were pregnant a week ago. 

You assume this is one of the many side effects you’ve been experiencing, but since you can’t exactly ask anyone, you don’t know for sure. 

You only found out, because Donnie arranged for you to see nurse Gabriella after you started getting sick and then nearly fainted in the bathroom.

Cupping for your jaw, Donnie lifts your face up to his. 

“No complaints here,” he smirks before pulling you into a deep lazy kiss. 

You kiss him back just has deeply, melting against his mouth for a long moment before you move along his jaw, pepping it with kisses, his beard scratching at your lips as move for his ear.

“Imagine if we could do this every day. Anytime we wanted. Imagine if you could actually hear me scream your name.” You whisper low and raspy into his ear before giving it a little nibble. 

You swear you feel his dick twitch back to life beneath you as you move for his neck with tiny nips and kisses.

Donnie groans in approval as he clutches you tighter, your heart growing anxious. 

You know what you have to do. You’ve known for days now, but the time never felt right. 

You’d given up hope of ever escaping so long ago that the sudden courage you needed to survive for this baby took time to build, but you made up your mind, you were going to fight. 

You were going to find a way to get the both of you out of this hell hole before Dr. Rice or anyone else found out.

You didn’t want this to happen. You had foolishly never considered the possibility while trying to survive in the pit of hell. 

Never considered what you and Donnie were doing would have repercussions. Too focused on the relief it gave you, something to look forward to, an escape from the tortures of your day. 

Outside this place you would have never been risky, never taken the chance, but you aren’t outside, you’re trapped within. 

And this baby is the only family you have left, it needs you. And for the first time in a very long time, it’s give you a reason to fight.

Honestly, you’re terrified. But you don’t have a choice, time was running out, you can feel it.

Donald growls low in his throat, he clutches you tighter as your mouth opens against his neck.

“I need something. Something only you can give me.” You whisper against his skin.

You can tell he likes the sound of that as his breath deepens beneath you. 

Raising your face, you hover over him, his palm finding your cheek as you gaze down into his piercing eyes. 

It’s moment’s like this as you stare deep into his eyes that you’re reminded this isn’t just sex. Hasn’t been for a long time. 

He wouldn’t look at you the way he does if it was. Look at you like you’re the only thing that really matters to him. 

Donnie owns your heart, and you can feel in the touch of his hand, the look in his eyes, you have his heart too. 

You need that. You’re banking on it. It’s your only real prayer.

His eyebrow arches awaiting your answer as your heart starts to drum harder and faster with apprehension. 

You think of the life growing inside you. It needs you to protect it. There’s no one else who can. 

This precious life you made with this man you shouldn’t love, but do. your baby… together, a piece of him growing within you. 

And this baby needs you to be fearless, you tell yourself it’s now or never as you suck in a shaky breath.

“I need you to get me out of here.” You finally whisper and for all your strength the words come out quiet on your breath, but you know he hears you just the same as you feel his whole body go tense beneath and around you.

Instantly his eyes narrow and turn dark upon you. He’s mad. You knew in your gut he’d be mad.

“Nu-uh, we’re not doin’ this baby.” Donnie instantly shuts down the conversation as the hands wrapped around your body suddenly start trying to lift you off him.

Dropping back down to him, you wrap your arms tightly around him in resistance as you bury your face in his neck.

 “Please Donnie! Please! I’m dying in here!” You beg, your chest tightening, your throat closing.

Taking the upper hand, Donnie flips you both, pinning you down to the mattress as he reaches around his neck, easily prying your hands off him. “We’re not doin’ this.”

“I’m really scared, Donnie please.” You plead desperately. Your eyes reaching out for him as he pulls your hands free and climbs from the bed.

“I’m looking out for you. Nothin’ is gonna happen to you.” He tells you, dismissing your concerns as he heatedly throws on his clothes.

You stare at him in disbelief, tear pricking at your eyes. 

“You really believe that?” You question him as you sit on your bed, tangled up in your thin blanket.

Challenging him to see the absurdity of his statement. As long as you’re here your life is in jeopardy. 

Doesn’t matter if Donnie’s looking out for you. One wrong move and not even he could save you… And once they find out your pregnant. 

You fleetingly wonder if you just told him about the baby he’d stop, listen, help you. That foolish part of you that can imagine what it’d be like if you were a family together.  

But then you remember what you saw last week… 

Saw him hauling a child no more than four down the hall toward the elevators, flung carelessly over his shoulder as the little boy kicked and screamed for his life. 

You weren’t supposed to see that, but you can still hear that child’s cries echoing in your head.

Donnie doesn’t want to be a dad. He wouldn’t be any more sympathetic to your plight with the truth than he is now. You’re sure of it. 

Hell, he may even turn on your completely. Hand delivering you to Rice if he was spooked enough. 

You love him, but you aren’t blind to what he is capable of.

Donnie’s almost dressed when he tosses your shirt at you. Pulling it over head, you refuse to give up as you move to him before he can leave. 

He tries to evade you, but you still manage to get in front of him, wrap your hands around your face, force him to look at you as tears brim at your desperate eyes.

“I need you Donnie. I’ve never asked you for anything - not once, but I know you can help me. Please Donnie… please.” You plead desperately with him. Your eyes locked as the tears start to slip and roll down your cheeks.

With the sight of your tears he stops resisting you as he stares back at you, lost on your eyes, the sight of your pain. 

You know he loves you. He doesn’t have to say it. You can see it. You can feel it. You stare deeply into his eyes, pleading for his help, pleading for him to save you.

“Please…” You whisper.

“I can’t help you.” He tells you, his voice heavy and burdened. Pulling your hands free of his face, Donnie moves past you and storming out of your cell without another word.

A hopeless desperation washes over you as your eyes sweep around your small cell and you finally feel how alone you truly are. 

Turning for the door, you pound your fists against it as hard as you can.

“Goddamnit!” You scream, the words physically vibrating through your body. 

A sob violently gasps up your tight throat as your knees buckle against the weight your predicament and you crumble to the cold linoleum floor, curling in on yourself. 

What are you going to do now?

 You hadn’t seen Donnie in days, not since that night. 

All your supervision was suddenly and abruptly handled by another asshole in his crew after you begged for your freedom. 

You had tried to ask about Donnie, in subtle ways that wouldn’t draw attention, but you quickly realized you had been reduced to nothing again. 

And the prick keeping an eye on you didn’t think you were worth the breath it took it speak anything more than his orders. 

You found yourself painfully powerless once again, but you weren’t a quitter. You had too much to lose. 

You tried to catch Donnie’s eye anytime he ended up in the same vicinity as you. Down the hall, across the room, you’d stare boldly at him, daring him to meet your gaze, but he wouldn’t even look your way. 

You had begun to give up hope… give up on him.

Desperation was taking hold in your mind as your options rapidly dwindled and time continued to run out. 

You started to weight options only a fool would consider. Risky options like creating a scene, a situation where Donnie would be forced to step in or let you die, but you knew that would risk the baby.  

The inevitable blow back you’d receive for stepping out of line could cost you the very life you were trying to save and you weren’t sure you could heal yourself fast enough to protect it. 

You considered approaching Gabriella, begging for her help, but you’d seen the fear in her eyes the day she gave you the news. Looking at you as if she had given you a death sentence. 

Surely, she would have offered you help by now if she had any.

You knew time was running out. Any day now Dr. Rice would discover the truth. Any day now you’d be thrown into a hole even darker than the one you find yourself currently in. No chance of ever getting your baby to freedom.

It’s desperation that’s still coursing through your veins the night you awaken to a shake of your shoulders and a voice murky from the haze of sleep. The sound all muffled and unclear until your eyes open in your dimly light cell.

“Wake up baby,” that familiar drawl fills your ears as you’re met with a set of haunting blue eyes.

“Donnie?” You mumble on a breath heavy with sleep and disbelief, unsure if you’re dreaming.

His big rough hand swallows your cheek as he grips it tight and the rough thick skin of his palm instantly tells you this is real. 

“We don’ have much time.”

That look in his eyes, it’s the closest thing to fear you’ve ever seen from him.

“What’s going on?” You ask, instantly awake as apprehension begins to build in your chest.

“I’m gettin’ you out.” He says on a low heavy breath, the kind you know hurts him to say.

His words wash over you like a tidal wave. Something powerful that strips your lungs of air as it drags you out to sea. 

You don’t know if it’s the pregnancy hormones or the fact that you actually thought he gave up on you, but tears swell rapidly in your eyes as you dive against him, wrapping your trembling arms tightly around his neck as you bury your face against the slope of it, desperately breathing him in. 

He loves you. You knew he fucking loved you.

“You came back for me.” You whisper in astonishment on a shaky emotion thick breath.

Donnie grips you back, wrapping his strong arms around your trembling body for a brief moment. You feel his heavy breath rattle against your hair.

“Always,” You hear his gitty breath whisper back and it’s the closest thing to ‘I love you’ he’s ever said, before his lips find the curve of your neck for a quick kiss. 

Untangling your arms from around him, he pulls you back until he cups your face firmly in his palms. His eyes piercing and unrelenting as they drill into yours. 

“Listen carefully an’ do exactly what I say.”

Every word is etched and echoes in your brain. Chanting over and over again as you find yourself seated on the edge your bed, heart racing as you wait for exactly five minutes to pass. 

Counting the seconds on the wrist watch he gave you. 

Forty-five seconds left… fifty… 

your heart pounds… fifty-five… 

five minutes exactly and just like Donnie promised, the lights flicker only for a second before you hear the bolt on your door slide free. 

Feeding off the pounding of your heart, you move rapidly to the door. 

A shaky breath blows past your lips as the handle turns in your clammy hand and you push the door open just enough for you to look both ways. 

Long white halls fill your dilated pupils, the coast is clear. Quickly you move.

Down the hall your feet clip along the linoleum as quickly as you can go. Your head continuously scanning, watching, waiting for someone to round a corner and spot you. Snatch you up before you ever see them coming.  

You turn left down the hall, left again, then right, then left once more. All the while sending out silent prayers to anyone who will listen… Please let me make it. Just please let me make it. 

Your heart pounds so hard you can hear it pulsating in your ears. You breathe feels rapid and shallow as your chest moves quick. 

What if you get caught? What if someone spots you?

 Can’t the cameras see you? Shift change – that’s what Donnie said, you keep telling yourself, holding onto the promises he gave you. 

All you’ve got to hold onto as you put everything on the line for this one chance.

You reach the door, fifth one done. Steal, grey, just like all the rest. 

You second guess yourself for a moment… What if it’s a trap? 

Your heart pounds harder, but you shake your head, trying to knock the thoughts loose. You can’t doubt this now, it’s all you have.

Grabbing for the cool steel handle, you turn it and as the door opens, you quickly slip inside. 

Rows of identical grey lockers fills your vision, until you feel someone push the door from your hands, closing it.

You jump back in fright, heart pounding, pulse racing as you turn to see one of the nurses standing in front of you… It’s Gabriella.

“It’s ok, Mija. It’s ok.” She tells you in that familiar soothing accent, her eyes meetings yours as she quickly tries to calm your fright.

Sucking in a quick rattling breath, you try to calm the racing of your heart, the shaking of your limbs as Gaby rushes you, shoving what looks like nurse scrubs into your arms as you quickly realize this is part two of your escape.

You’re disguised as a nurse before Gabriella directs you how to get to the stairwell that will lead you to freedom, two flights, second door, use the key card in your pocket, first floor of the parking garage, there will be a car waiting for you. 

She tells you this on a hurried breath as your mind scrambles to keep track of it, all while you rapidly change from your white shirt and matching cotton pants, prisoner garb. 

You’re worried if someone will see you, what do you say, what do you do, but she promises dressed like this no one will stop you, just keep going. 

You hug her before you go. Hug her so tightly your arms shake with the force it. Thanking her for not telling anyone about the baby. Thanking her for saving your life.

Before you go she slips a paper in the pocket your scrubs and looks you dead in the eye for a moment you’ll never forget.

“This is a secure way to reach to me. If you need anything, I will do what I can.” She tells you as her hands runs over your hair like a mother would her child. 

Then she grips your hand tightly, garnering all your attention in the moment.

“Mr. Pierce is a dangerous man. You can’t trust him. Get that baby far away from him where it’s safe, understand Mija? Do not trust him.” You nod numbly as her words hit you hard, but you don’t understand, not entirely.

This is the man who’s granting your freedom. The man risking everything to give it to you. 

The man you love. The father of your baby. 

But you don’t have time to ask her why she’s saying this as she ushers you to the door and quickly sends you off.

The last stretch of your escape is as scary as the first. Almost scarier in some ways. You’re so close you can taste it. 

On the precipice of a dream you had long given up on. You’re almost there. 

Your heart races with the quickness of each step, your breath shallow as you move down the long corridors, eyes on alert, averting your gaze the few times you pass someone.

 Fear so tight in your chest it’s hard to breathe, but you force yourself to keep your shit together. 

You fight with everything you’ve got inside you. For yourself and the baby growing inside you.

With hands you have to force not to tremble, you slip in the key card Gabrielle gave you, letting out a sigh of relief when it clicks open. 

You trot down the stairs, four flights, you count them in sets of six for each level. Your mind racing to the beat of your feet pounding concrete. 

By the time you reach the parking garage just outside the stairwell exit, you can hardly believe you’re there.

You open the door and step out. The cool night air assaults your face and you gasp on contact. 

You had forgotten how fresh air felt upon your skin. The way your skin prickles and gooseflesh forms under the feel of it. 

Gently you touch your face, letting your skin get drunk off the feel of it... freedom. 

Your eyes wonder absently up like a child who’s never seen the world before, spotting the faint stars glowing back at you in the sky, with the promise of something bigger and more distant then this terrible place. 

After everything you’ve been through, you can hardly believe this is real. After so long it doesn’t seem real. For a moment, you’re afraid you’ll wake up back in your cell. 

Until a set of car lights flash you before pulling up alongside. The window slides down and you hear a voice in a dark.

“Get in,” A thick gritty voice demands.

No need to be told twice, you snap out of your state of wonder and rush for the door of the SUV, jumping in. 

Turning to the driver’s side you catch those piercing beautiful blue eyes in the dark… Donnie.

He holds your gaze for a moment before getting the car moving once again. Your gaze is glued out the window in disbelief as you drive away in the darkness. 

You get drunk off the sight of buildings and hanging street lights slipping by as you go. It’s late, but the scattering of people you see practically hypnotizes you. 

Your eyes focused and unblinking, hardly able to believe you’re finally free until you feel Donnie’s hand find yours in the passenger seat where it rests on your lap.

“Breathe baby,” You hear him instruct as you suck in a sharp breath, unaware you had been holding it until that moment. 

You squeeze his hand desperately tight the rest of the ride and he never once tries to let go. 

The feel of his hand anchoring you as your senses are assaulted by a world you had been convinced you’d never get to see again.

You need Donnie by the time you reach his place and he takes you up to his apartment. Need him like roots in a tree to ground you, keep you steady. 

Need to feel him, touch him, taste him - need him to ground you with something familiar as your mind and body grow overwhelmed with everything new that surrounds you, as you enter the world like a baby reborn. 

Your eyes barely scan his home, all shrouded in darkness before you turn back to him, pulling him into a desperate kiss he’s eager to match. 

He saved you, saved your baby – even if he doesn’t know it - the thought runs wildly through your brain as you urgently work the buttons loose on his signature black shirt as fast as you can. 

Donnie yanks the shirt over your head in lightning speed, never one to be out done. 

He lifts you to him effortlessly, his strength still amazes you as your legs wrap around him, the feel of your chest skin to skin comforting in the midst of everything new. 

As he carries you down the hall to his bedroom, you’re convinced this is the beginning of your lives together. 

Convinced you’re going to tell him about the baby. Convinced Gabriella had it all wrong. She didn’t know him like you did.

How naïve and hopeful you were that night. Riding off the high of no longer being captive… 

Little do you know two days later curiosity will get the best of you after you’re left alone for too many hours at Donnie’s place. And you’ll find yourself looking through things you should have never found. 

Little do you know that one look at the file for the latest experimental program Donnie is taking part in, a program fed off exploiting small children with Dr. Rice and you’ll find yourself down on your knees, face pressed against the porcelain as your lunch comes burning violently back up your throat. 

Little do you know that’s the moment you realize the awful truth about the man you love. The day you realize Gabriella was right all along. The day you realize that as you did everything you could to protect your baby from Transigen, you’ll now have to do the same against Donnie. 

Little do you know five days from the moment you’re set free you’ll be on the run. Having reached out to the only other lifeline you had, before it came to retrieve you and you disappeared like a puff of smoke.

Now

After tucking Danny into bed, you find yourself standing in the doorway of his room, side by side with Donnie and for a moment you almost feel normal. 

Almost feel like two parents, watching over their little boy, without all the mess and carnage at your backs.

You feel Donnie’s eyes on you in the dim light creeping into Danny’s room from the hall. You turn to him, meeting his gaze before he speaks.

“I wan’ him to know who I am. I wan’ him to know he’s mine.” He tells you.

The look in his piercing blue eyes, it’s one of those rare moments with Donnie where he’s being completely real with you, completely open.

“Donnie…” Your heavy breath stalls as you search his eyes for a moment longer before slipping out of your son’s doorway and moving down the hall back toward to kitchen.

“You don’ want him to know I’m his dad?” Donnie calls at your back, following you.

“I didn’t say that.” You tell him, rounding the corner into the kitchen. 

Your eyes land on the discarded glass of wine in a red solo cup you had earlier, before you quickly scoop it up and finish the remaining contents in one gulp. Trying to drown the anxiousness creeping up your back.

“Because of who I am. Don’ wan’ him to know his old man is someone like me.” Donnie says at your back, but even turned away you hear the weight of his words.

Placing the cup down, you turn back around and move to him, your anxieties momentarily halted. 

Wrapping his cheeks in your hands, his beard pricking at your palms.

“No. It’s not that.” You reassure him with absolute sincerity.

Your eyes searching his as you wish he could see what you still capture glimpses of, past all his militant programing and hard exterior. 

The Donnie still tucked deep inside there. The one that saved you… more than once. 

There’s no one else you’d rather have be Danny’s dad. Despite the price to your soul, there’s no one else you could imagine enduring that nightmare alongside.

You’re relieved when he nods against your hands, taking your word.

“Then what is it?” Donnie asks, this time it’s his eyes searching yours in return.

You release his face and take a step back as a sigh lifts off your chest, nerves racing once in your belly.

“It’s a big commitment.” You tell him honestly.

“You think I don’ know that.” Donald scoffs.

“I don’t know that you do,” You counter on an exasperated breath before running your hands through your hair trying to diffuse this before it escalates any further into an argument.

“You’re fun to him right now, Donnie. You get to be the hero. You saved us. But if he learns who you really are, there’s no going back. You’ll have to be here. You’ll have to be a part of his life and not just when it’s convenient for you. He has to be a priority. You ready for all that? Cuz if not, there’s no shame in being the fun guy until you figure things out.” You give it to him straight, lay it all out there. 

You’re not trying to judge him, but this is your baby you’re talking about. And revealing Donnie is his daddy will rock his little world. 

You need to make sure Donnie is ready for that kind of responsibility before you put your son through that.

Donnie takes you by surprise and moves to you, towing over you as your back presses into the countertop. His hand finds your cheek as he holds onto your gaze.

“You and Danny- I’m all in, baby. I’m not gonna fuck this up.” He tells you and you see it hanging boldly in his eyes. He’s all in, but nothing’s that easy and certainly not for you and Donnie.

“So what, you’re all in, but you go back to Transigen when you’re not with us?” You ask him unable to deny the elephant in the room, but feeling the weight of your loaded question as the words slip off your lips.

You watch your words register on his face as Donnie’s hand slowly slips from yours and he takes a steady step back.

“That’s my job.” He answers simply as if that explained it all.

Disbelief swims in your gaze as a sardonic laugh practically heaves off your lips. 

“Yeah, I know. I was there, Donnie. Maybe you forgot that little detail in all this, but I haven’t. I haven’t forgotten how they tortured me. Nearly killed me. Broke me in every way they could. My body may not hold the scars, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.” You tell him on an exasperated breath, your chest tight as you fight to keep your feelings under control. 

Fight to keep that old familiar panic at bay that always finds you when memories of Transigen get near. 

You’ve managed to create a life for you and your son, but what happened back at the lab, that kind of pain, that kind of agony… it never leaves you.

“And I got you out. Or did you forget that part? What do you want me to do? Quit? Come up here and place house with you?” Donnie throws back, chest puffing up, muscles tight as you watch his cool begin to unravel.

Staring at him a heavy huff leaves your chest, tears sting your eyes, as you’re forced to recognize the ugly truth of your circumstance.

“God, we’re so fucked up Donnie. Look at us. You were my guard, fucking head of security. And me? I’m just the hostage you knocked up. This was never going to work. And Danny? I don’t know how to spin this so it doesn’t break his heart.” 

You can’t hold back the tears by the time you say your baby’s name. This entire situation is a shit show and your little boy’s heart is trapped somewhere in the middle. 

The truth of where he came from, how he came to be, you know it’s going to break his heart one day when he’s old enough to understand.

Letting out a defeated breath, you wipe the tears from your face as slip past Donnie done with this fight, ready to head to bed.

You don’t get far though before Donnie’s on you, right behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulls you to him.

“Come on baby, don’ go. I hear ya, ok? I hear ya. Ya ain’t wrong.” Donnie says as he holds you close.

You want to tell him this isn’t worth it, that you don’t make sense together, never did, and he’s already done more then you ever imagined he would. 

He should just go before this gets any messier. Go back to Transigen, doing god only knows what. 

But you don’t, you don’t say those words, because lost in his arms you can’t find the heart to say them.

As you begin to admit your resistance is futile against the strength of his arms, his grip on you loosens, but never let’s go as Donnie’s face drops close to your ear.

“But it ain’t all bad either, baby. We use to be good together.  You remember that part, don’ ya?” He asks, his lips grazing along your ear and trailing down your neck before he begins to kiss the slope of it. 

Maybe it’s the wine you drank earlier. Or the long days you’ve spent on the road. Or maybe you just missed him for fucked up reasons you can’t begin to make sense of, but your eyes fall close and for a moment you begin to give into him. 

To the feel of his hot breath, nipping teeth and warm tongue on your sensitive skin. Skin that still craves him, even after everything.

But then just as quickly, it all comes back to you – this is all you know together. 

This is practically all you have besides Danny. He knows your body like a well-versed map and you his, but none of that is going to soften the hashes of your reality together. 

You can’t just fuck away the ugly truths of your situation anymore.

Catching him off guard, you break free from his hold and put some breathing room between the two of you as you turn to face him head on.

“Is this all we got between us? I’m just somebody you like to fuck?” You challenge him boldly, unapologetically, looking him square in the eye.

Donnie stares back at you, his lips muted as a huff leaves chest.

 His eyes focused solely on you before that slow sexy grin forms on his face, gold tooth shining tauntingly back at you. And you’re over it.

“I’m going to bed. It’s been a long couple days.” You tell him before turning for the hall and heading in. Too tired to fight or play games.

Reaching the second bedroom, you’re surprisingly relieved he didn’t protest. Stripping down to your tank top and panties, you climb into the bed. 

Thankful to know you’re finally home. Even if this place is foreign and new, just knowing you reached your destination somehow soothes your bones.

Rolling on your side, you snuggle into the sheets and down-comforter before closing your eyes and letting yourself relax. 

You had just begun to drift when the sound of someone coming in stirred you back awake. 

You roll over onto you back to see Donnie standing at the end of your bed unbuttoning his black shirt before pulling it down his arms and tugging his black white-beating over his head.

“What are you doing?” You ask on a long breath, too tired to fight anymore.

Undoing his pants and letting them drop, Donnie moves to your side of the bed.

“Said it yourself, been a long couple of days.” He tells you as if climbing in your bed in only his boxers was the most natural thing.

Pulling back the blanket, he meets your gaze dead on. 

“Now remember baby, don’ get any ideas. Your rules, not mine.” He tells you, that mischievous smirk edging on his lips as he climbs in next to you.

You fight the smile that wants to form on your lips with his sarcasm as his arm wraps around your waist and he drags your back up against him, spooning your body. 

Maybe you should insist he give you space, but you don’t. 

He feels warm, solid and strong against you as your eyes close, momentarily relishing the feel of having him close again.

But then he shifts to lean over you, finding your jaw as he tilts your face up so your eyes can meet his. 

You stare into his beautiful blue eyes that hold you captive before he speaks.

“I’ve never forgotten what happened to you back there. What I… I never forgot.” He tells you, his thumb sweeping across your cheek as he stares down at you. 

Something pained and heavy in his gaze, something so rare to see it has you wanting to reach out to him, but he starts talking again before you can.

“This ain’t about fuckin baby. Hasn’t been for a long time.” Donnie tells you, that look in his piercing eyes tells you what you already know - you loved him, maybe you still do, and he sure as fuck loved you.

His face dips down to meet your mouth. His lips are soft, but hungry as they press yours and you find yourself easily giving in. 

The hand at your jaw holds you close as his mouth opens against yours, sucking on your top lip as his tongue runs over it, deepening the kiss. 

That old familiar intoxicating heat begins to build and spread from deep in your belly as you scrap your teeth against his bottom lip. 

Reminding you how badly you want him and how badly he wants you, but after what he said it reminds you too, there’s is more between you then just Transigen. 

It’s messy and complicated, but real. You feel it, when you let yourself, in these quiet moments, when it’s just the two of you.

A shuttered breath vibrates off your lips as he breaks the kiss, lowing back down to the pillow as he pulls you flush against his body. 

You want to protest, pull him back to you, but he’s right - your rules. 

And your rules have reasons, namely Danny, but if there’s anything tonight as shown you, it’s that, you and Donnie are far more complicated than your history at Tranisgen. 

You trust him, in some weird way, you do. And you may have found him while trapped in the pit of hell, but that isn’t the only tether that keeps you two tied together.

With a shaky breath and a leap of faith, you speak up against your pillow. 

“If you’re really sure about all this, we can tell Danny in the morning.”

You hear a growl of approve rumble off Donnie’s lips and vibrate against the back of your neck as he squeezes you tighter and playfully bites at your shoulder.

 And just like that, he’s practically a big kid again, the real Donnie, hidden behind the shadow of the man war and transigen have made him.

[kurobizzlewrites]

Leaps of Faith

Chapter 1 - First Impressions

Fandom: YouTube RPF/Markiplier (with hints of Five Nights at Freddy’s)

Pairing: Mark Fischbach x Reader

Story Summary: You're a multi-universe jumping secret agent, specializing in video game universes and out to prove you're more than just a legacy. He's a famous YouTube star who's assigned to be your new partner thanks to his expertise in the horror game genre. You don't know what's worse: putting your trust in this weird dork or falling in love with him.

Genres: In-game reality, AU, romance (specifically ‘rivals to friends to lovers’), comedy, action-adventure, & horror

2

Chapter Summary: You never really liked pairing up with a partner for missions but your boss doesn't seem to care. She even went ahead and picked the most unsuitable candidate imaginable...

Warnings: Swearing & explicit language

Words: 4900

A/N: OMG it’s here on Tumblr now! I originally had this uploaded on Ao3 (if you wanna read it on that site, click here) but after a while, I decided I wanted to step into the Tumblr fanfiction world. So here I am, uploading the improved chapters of this story up on this wonderful site! If you haven’t read this story before, please keep an open mind and an open heart. This is a different take on the alternate universe & in-game reality genres and I hope that you enjoy it! Also, get ready for a slow burn/build-up with Mark lol

---

Shitshitshitshitshitshit.

You were an idiot.

A big idiot.

Why in the world did you decide to take a day off in the middle of a work week?! Sure, you needed to unpack the boxes sitting in your empty apartment but at what cost? How stupid of you to think that was more important when something urgent was happening back at the office. Or at least that’s what the email subject had read. The actual contents of the email were rather vague about the matter but your line of work called for the utmost discretion. Anything more detailed would have been more alarming. You were out the door in minutes upon skimming the message and made it to your pristine office building in record time. You rushed past security, the pass hanging from your wrinkled shirt all you needed to get through the gate, and ran into a closing elevator.

You took this moment to finally catch your breath as you leaned against the mirrored wall. In between soft pants, you thought up a few scenarios as to why you were being called in. It was urgent, obviously, so it had to be something of dire importance. It couldn’t be a performance review; you weren’t due for one of those in months. And you were positive you hadn’t done anything wrong… okay, maybe 95% positive. There was that incident with Douglas but he was the one at fault. Could it be a new assignment? You were due for one ever since you had been reassigned to the L.A. Headquarters almost a month ago. All you’ve been doing so far was filing papers and maintenance work. It was high time for another big case. Deciding that was the most logical (and preferable) reason as to why you were being called in, you felt a whole lot better about the interruption. You could unpack those pesky boxes another day.

The ding of the elevator pulled you out of your thoughts. You walked out, tugging at your clothes as you strode down the tiled hallway. You reached the double doors of your boss' office in a matter of minutes and knocked one of them with a few, quick raps. You heard a muffled “come in” and opened the double doors. Immediately greeting you was an expansive view of the Los Angeles skyline and standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows was a tall woman dressed in a sharp, gray business suit. She spun around to greet you once you had closed the doors behind you.

“Hello [Name], sorry for having you come in on your day off. I really appreciate it.” She stated in an apologetic voice.

“It’s fine. What’s wrong?” You asked as you unceremoniously fell back onto one of her plush armchairs. In front of any other Branch Director, you would have been scolded for your lack of professionalism. But Evangeline Kane was different. An old friend of your parents, she was one of the few people who made an effort to look into your well-being after their passing. She sometimes came to visit you at your relatives’ home and was the only one who truly understood the tragedy you had gone through. Sadly, her visits were far and few and you soon lost contact with her once you were shipped off to Agent training after your 18th birthday. It wasn’t until you received a job offer a few months ago that you heard from Evangeline again. She was the one who personally requested for you to replace a fallen agent at the L.A. Headquarters and you quickly jumped at the chance to be reunited with her. And even after seven years apart, Evangeline didn’t look all that different. Sure, her long brown hair had some white peppered into it now and the lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes were more pronounced, but she was still the same, lovely lady who cared for y-

“We’re assigning you a partner.”

Scratch that, she was the worst.

“I don’t need a partner.” You began, pushing yourself out of your relaxed position and crossing your arms over your chest to look as defiant as possible.

“You don’t get a choice in the matter. I’m assigning you to an initial exploration case and I’ll be damned if you go in alone. That’s not how we do things here.” Your lips tightened as you held back a retort. On one hand, you detested having to work with another person. Partners just slowed you down. The few partnerships you've had during your short career as an Agent always ended as badly. However, Evangeline made an excellent point. Things were different out here and you had to learn how to adapt if you wanted to keep this position. Even if it meant you had to lug around extra weight for the sake of the mission. After staying silent out of spite for a few moments, you finally let out a sigh.

“Fine, who are you assigning me with? It better not be Douglas; that guy doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. Which reminds me, I’d like to file a complaint to HR.”

“He’s already been suspended till further notice so don’t worry.” Evangeline replied without missing a beat as she pulled out her smartphone. Her fingers flew across the screen, tapping buttons you couldn't see from your position before she placed the device next to her ear.

“Send him in.” As your boss placed her phone back into her pocket, you noticed her take a long, deep breath before she turned back to you.

“Now I want to let you know that I consider you one of our best agents…”

“I don’t like where this is going.” You interjected with a glare. You knew that tone of voice all too well. Something unpleasant was coming.

“And that’s why I know that you can handle a partner with much less experience than you.”

“How much is ‘less’?”

“Let’s say about… none.”

“What?!” You jumped up from you chair, ready to go on a tirade when the doors to Evangeline’s office swung open. You glanced over your shoulder to see a bespectacled guy around your age stumble in, followed by two men in suits that towered over him.

“Um… hello?” He greeted with a small, awkward wave but you only responded with a noticeable cringe as you looked over his unruly black hair and stubble-covered face. You spun back around to Evangeline in a rage.

“A civilian?! Are you kidding me?!” You shouted.

“He’s not just any civilian.” Evangeline replied calmly, motioning her hand towards the man as if she was showcasing a prized work of art, “this is Mark Fischbach.” Silence followed as the woman gave you an expectant look. You responded with a raised eyebrow.

“You may know him as Markiplier.” She tried again, putting more emphasis on his... Name? Alter-ego? You didn't know what to call it.

“Am I supposed to know who that is…?”

“Honestly [Name], I appreciate your dedication to this job but I think for your sake, as well as for the rest of this department’s, you need to get a life.” Your annoyed demeanor faltered for a moment as you were taken aback by your boss’s blunt honesty. Dammit, she didn’t have to go that far. You totally had a life outside the Agency...

Evangeline quickly took advantage of your brief hesitation and continued speaking. “Mr. Fischbach here is a celebrity in the internet world. He runs a very successful gaming channel on YouTube and has extensive knowledge on a variety of games, especially horror.” The mere mention of that genre reignited your anger tenfold.

“I do not-!”

“[Name], I am quite aware of what genres you work in and frankly I don’t care right now. You are the best agent we have and you are going to work where I say you work, got it?” The sparks that flew between you and Evangeline’s glares were so intense that Mark and the two other men took a couple of steps back to avoid the crossfire. After a few tense-filled seconds, you were the first to look away, albeit begrudgingly.

“Got it.” You spat out, your hands balling into fists. Even if you had to agree with her on this matter didn’t mean you had to like it.

Seeing as you had finally calmed down (at least for now), Evangeline turned her attention to the forgotten ‘star’. “Mr. Fischbach, thank you again for coming in on such short notice.”

“Yeah, uh… no problem? It’s not like I had a choice in the matter.” You saw Mark cautiously glance over at the suited men next to him. Poor guy; he must have been forced to come here.

“Yes well, we thought that it would be better to show you firsthand what we do before giving you an explanation. Now, follow me.” Evangeline headed for the door but momentarily stopped to look back over her shoulder.

“That includes you, [Name].” You let out an exaggerated groan but did as you were told as you followed her and Mark out, falling into step with the male instead of walking ahead. You didn’t want to get another earful from her any time soon.

“They're not coming?” Mark suddenly asked when he noticed the expressionless guards that had escorted him up stayed put just outside the office.

“Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are only security guards. They don’t have clearance to where we’re going.” You replied.

“Oh…” You looked over to him and saw a tinge of hurt pride grace his dark brown eyes. It was a look you knew all too well, having broken several men’s prides on various occasions. That’s why you couldn’t help by smirk as your assumptions came together.

“Disappointed that the guys who took you down are at basically the grunts of our secret organization?” You had expected an angry response like you had received many times before. As underhanded as it was, if you could annoy him to the point of refusing the partnership position, it would be a win for everyone (except Evangeline but screw her, she could find a better replacement). To your surprise, Mark glanced over at you sheepishly.

“You can tell, huh?” He asked, scratching the side of his neck nervously.

“It’s as obvious as this blatantly obvious secret headquarters we’re in.” You responded, your voice drenched in sarcasm to hide the foolishness you were feeling for making the wrong assumptions about him.

“We are not that conspicuous.” Evangeline stated sharply. Probably annoyed by your accusation.

“You kidnapped this guy in broad daylight. If that doesn’t scream ‘secret organization’, then I don’t know what does.”

“Well… it’s also kinda mobster-ish if you think about it.” Mark suddenly added but quickly shut his mouth when you threw a glare at him.

“Hey, I’m trying to get us out of this so stop it.”

“Get out of what? You guys haven’t told me anything yet!” The sound of heels clicking tile ceased and the two of you turned your attention back to Evangeline. She stood next to a large oak door and had on a look of complete seriousness that made you hold back your snarky tongue.

“We are a secret, international organization whose sole purpose is to protect this universe and its inhabitants' way of life. To do so, we have Agents, like Ms. [Name], jump to different universes and complete missions to assert the dominance of our universe, thus keeping it as the Alpha, or Main Universe." A tense silence followed Evangeline's explanation as all attention was focused on Mark.

"You're kidding, right?" He asked incredulously, looking at the two of you as if you both had sprouted extra limbs.

“Therefore, we had to take you in. You wouldn’t have believed us if we didn’t show you what we do firsthand.” Evangeline explained before pulling out a black card from her back pocket. She slid it easily through a card reader stationed next to the door and took a step back. The wooden door slid horizontally into the walls, revealing a thick, steel door. The steel door swung back a second later to reveal a massive, circular space filled to the brim with technology. The room itself had no lights but had large screens that lined the walls in rows of three that gave enough illumination for the large space. Manning the screens on an enormous electronic panel that covered the entire bottom wall of the room were various people in all shapes and colors, all dressed in some version of a button up shirt and black slacks. No one tore their eyes off the screens when Evangeline opened the door except the sole person standing in the middle of the room next to the only terminal not connected to the wall. The stout blond fellow waved at the three of you, urging you to come inside with a warm smile. Mark was the first to enter, although a bit hesitantly, as he looked at all the screens in silenced awe. You, however, stood by the doorway and gave your boss a suspicious glance.

“That was not dramatic at all.” You pointed out wryly.

“You know I don’t get to do this often. Will you just let me have this?” Evangeline replied with faux desperation, bringing a grin to your face. Looks like she wasn’t that mad at you anymore and honestly, you were more relieved than you would like to admit. Your snide remarks and prickly nature put most people off so it was always a blessing when someone could look past your tough exterior. Some of your fondest memories of her were the two of you bantering back and forth for hours.

As nostalgic as that was, reminiscing could wait. You went back to serious mode as you walked into the orderly chaotic room. Even from a distance, you could see the huge grin on the Head Analyst's face as he conversed excitedly with Mark, his large hand grasping the shorter man's in a firm shake. Once you and Evangeline got closer, the blond let go and greeted you both.

"Director! Agent [Name]! Nice to see you! Glad to know you are taking my suggestion under serious consideration."

"Suggestion?" You questioned.

"I was the one who thought Markiplier would make an excellent partner for you, especially if we're dealing with the horror genre and what not."

"Oh my god Chuck, you knew?!"

"What, you didn't?"

"A certain someone failed to mention it." You hissed as you glanced over Evangeline. She calmly brushed it aside as she focused her attention on the still awed Mark.

“As you can see, I was completely serious with my explanation before. This area is the center of all our operations with each column of screens displaying what our Agents are experiencing at this very moment. The Analyst in front of the screens act as a handler to that Agent by keeping track of their progress and, more importantly, their health.” She stated, gesturing to the said objects or people throughout her lecture.

“So, what you’re saying is that a real live person is pulling off a heist in the fictional city of Los Santos as we speak?” Mark replied slowly while pointing to one column of screens displaying gameplay of Grand Theft Auto V in three different angles.

“Well, a real live person’s consciousness, not their actual physical body.” Chuck corrected. “But yeah, everything you said is accurate. Agent Xander will probably be done in a few short minutes after he shoots down those helicopters.” He motioned over to the monitors where the said agent onscreen began releasing a torrent of bullets into the air.

“How is that even possible? How is any of this possible?” Mark asked, completely dumbfounded by all that was going on around him. Could you blame him though? This was a ton of information being thrown at him and you were impressed that he hadn’t freaked out yet, especially since he had been forced to come here in the first place. You weren’t sure if he was dangerously curious or so laid-back that he’d just go with the flow with his supposed kidnappers. It was starting to look like it was a mixture of both.

“Let’s start in the beginning.” Chuck began, his blue eyes sparkling at the chance to educate a new mind with the wonders of the universe. You immediately grabbed a couple of unused rolling chairs, knowing from experience that this might take a while…

“As Director Evangeline had probably already mentioned, this world we live in is part of the Alpha Universe. It’s not called that because we’re egotistical but because all other universes are born from the imaginations of the Alpha Universe’s inhabitants. When a person thinks up an idea of a new world or character, it becomes the initial spark of a completely new universe. And because there are more than a billion people on this planet alone, the number of Beta Universes that have been created or will be created is infinitesimal.”

“Holy shit.” You heard Mark whisper as he fell back on a chair you strategically placed behind him minutes before. You gave yourself a mental pat on the back as you continued to listen to Chuck speak.

“Most universes remain separate from another throughout its entire lifespan. However, if a universe gains exposure in the Alpha Universe and is known in the minds of more and more people, it will grow in power. If another universe gains too much power from exposure in the imaginations of the Alpha inhabitants, they evolve to a Beta Universe and a phenomenon known as a ‘bleed’ will occur. This is when the notable characteristics that make a Beta Universe unique begins to trickle into the Alpha through two ways; influenced humans whose behavior will change drastically based on how they are represented in the other universe and/or supernatural or mythical beings/objects. Some bleeds are positive but most will have negative impacts on society. You might remember a few headlines from years ago where a teenager shot up a school because he got the idea from some violent video game or a man eating another human being after snorting bath salts. These are incidents caused by influenced humans that we at the Agency had to cover up to avoid mass hysteria. The first incident I mentioned was much easier than the latter but we covered up that zombie incident rather well, I think-”

“Get on with it Chuck.” Evangeline interrupted.

“Right. Sorry. Um, examples of supernatural/mythical beings are what you consider urban legends and what not. Ghosts are the prime example of this since people have known and thought about the existence of spirits for centuries. However, they are not able to maintain a physical form because even though many people know about spirits, there is not one concrete idea or form people imagine. It is only when the same image or form is associated with a world or character can that item or being begin to take on a physical form. Thankfully, this has not happened yet due to our efforts in maintaining Beta Universes from becoming too powerful.”

“How does that work? You said that you send people’s minds into a game?” Mark inquired, a concentrated look on his face as he rested his elbows on his knees. Again, you were quite impressed with his quick acceptance and adaptability to the situation at hand.

“Video games, movie franchises, television shows; the Agency handles them all. We were formed when the rise of technology gave way for people to bring physical forms and images to their imagined visions. In regards to video games, we have Agents complete them like you would if you played it. Every time an Agent completes a chapter or checkpoint, depending on how the game is set, they are basically asserting the dominance of the Alpha Universe. It also adds more Alpha energy masses into that Beta Universe and creates a wall between that universe and ours. There are several different headquarters around the world to prevent bleeds in any region. We also divide sections up based on specialties and genres Here at the Los Angeles Headquarters, we focus on video game universes, predominantly FPSs, platformers, and of course, survival horror.”

“That’s where I come in.” Mark finished, looking as though he had finally put all the pieces together.

“Precisely. We’ve seen your work and your expertise in the survival horror genre. It makes you the perfect candidate to become [Name]’s partner.” Evangeline replied as she stood up. “We wouldn’t make you a full-fledged Agent since that will take up too much of your time away from your day job. However, we would like to hire you on as a part-time consultant. Less hours but with all the perks of being an agent. Which work well with how Agent [Name] operates.” You saw Mark’s eyes lit up in excitement behind his thin-rimmed glasses and you were about to open your mouth to say something but the older woman beat you to it.

“However, before you agree to anything, we need to explain one important detail of your job description.” She said so solemnly that it immediately extinguished the sparkle in Mark’s eyes.

“What is it?” He asked just as seriously but you could tell that he knew what was coming.

“When visiting these universes, you don’t get the infinite amount of lives like you would playing. If you die in a universe, you die here.” No one spoke after that and the silence around your small group was immediately filled by the sounds of games playing and Analysts speaking to one another. All eyes were focused on Mark, his minute facial expressions revealing the internal struggle to come to a decision. After what seemed like hours but were only mere seconds, he finally looked up.

“Can I have a few days to think about this? I don’t think I can decide just yet.” He asked timidly. Evangeline nodded.

“Of course. Take as much time as you need.” She stated. “Let me escort you downstairs. I’ll have a car bring you back home.” She gestured her hand over to the doorway with a warm, almost motherly smile and you saw Mark give a small smile back. Once he stood up, Evangeline went ahead to the door as she pulled out her phone, probably to call on her personal bodyguards to get the car ready. Mark followed soon after, but not without glancing over to you. Your eyes met for a moment and you could see that he was searching your eyes for some kind of answer. If he agreed, he would be your partner. Could he trust his life in your hands?

You sure as hell couldn’t trust your life in his. You didn’t want to work with an inexperienced nobody, even if he was some horror game god. Playing it behind a computer screen and experiencing it in real life were two totally different things. That’s why you returned his glance with a glare and turned away as coldly as you could. You didn’t look back to see his reaction and squashed whatever guilt you were feeling. He seemed like a nice guy but you couldn’t risk your life or his with whatever crazy mission Evangeline had in store. He would be better off going back to whatever he did on YouTube.

You saw a figure loom next to you and looked up at Chuck. He had a disappointed look in his eyes, probably from watching your interaction with his idol. “You should give him a chance.” He said as he rolled over a seat next to you and sat down. “He really is good at playing games.”

“It’s not the same as being an Agent.” You sighed, relaxing your arms in your friend’s presence. If someone had told you a month ago that the jolly, overly-excitable Head Analyst of the Los Angeles Headquarters would become the closest thing you’d have to a best friend, you would have had that person check into a mental health institution. But lo and behold, Chuck wormed his way through your cold exterior with his pun-filled jokes and welcoming attitude that you couldn’t ignore the loveable doofus even if you tried. It was a friendship you had been yearning for a while but previous experiences made it hard for you to move it past co-worker friend status. Luckily, Chuck was a-okay with that and respected your boundaries.

“Well, maybe what we need isn’t an Agent. They’re the ones who keep failing after all.”

“Are you saying I’m gonna fail?”

“Of course not. You’re the freaking best Agent we’ve got.” Your lips twitched and Chuck grinned at your impending smile before he continued. “But maybe you’ll have a better chance with someone who isn’t formally trained.”

“Maybes won’t save lives Chuck.”

“I know, I know. Can’t I just be an optimist and believe in you guys?” You glanced over at him for a moment and saw nothing but honesty shine through his baby blue eyes. You gave another sigh, this one more exaggerated, before shrugging your shoulders.

“If you must.”

“Great! Anyways, don’t let me keep you from the rest of your day off.” Chuck exclaimed, jumping up from his chair. “But before you go, I’m sure you’d like a head start on what Beta Universe Evangeline plans to send you to.” He walked over to his private, rolling terminal and grabbed a folder sitting on top of a set of colorful buttons. He walked over back to you just as you stood up.

“Warning you now, this game is pretty terrifying.”

“How fun. I’ll be sure to look at it when I get home.” Bidding a quick goodbye, you walked out of the room and back towards the elevators, taking your sweet time back down to avoid walking into Evangeline and Mark if they were still downstairs. Luckily, they weren’t there anymore and you were able to leave headquarters without another incident.

One short bus ride later gave you enough time to skim through the folder. The game you would be going into was called Five Nights at Freddy’s 2, a survival horror point-and-click game. Even though it was an indie game, it got a lot of exposure during its first game for its vague lore and memorable animatronic animal villains. With the release of the sequel so quickly after the first, it’s exposure skyrocketed and was having some hazardous effects on your universe. The high death rate of the second game had taken at least 2 sets of Agent pairs so far. A part of you wondered if there were too many cooks in the kitchen, which lead to their untimely deaths but you shook your head. Stop it ego; you had to get into the new habit of having a partner. Preferably someone with a few missions under their belt.

As you climbed the stairs up to of your floor, you began making a mental list of all other available Agents at your headquarters. You were unlocking your door and thinking about Agent Xander’s qualifications when you heard someone call out behind you.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” You froze, immediately recognizing that smooth baritone voice. You hesitantly looked over your shoulder to see Mark Fischbach stepping out of the apartment door across from yours.

“I… live here?” You slowly replied, frantically praying to whatever god was willing to listen.

Please just be visiting someone. Please just be visiting someone.

“What a coincidence, I live here too!” He announced cheerfully as he closed the door behind him. “Guess we’re neighbors.”

“Yeah… Cool… Um, I gotta go.” Before Mark could say anything else, you scrambled inside and closed the door behind you a little too loudly. Probably a good thing though since you were still sticking to your plan in keeping up an assholey persona to push him away. But that was the furthest thing from your mind right now as you pulled out your phone. You went to your speed dial page and pulled up the first person on top of the list. She answered in two rings.

“Yes [Name]?”

“Why does he live 10 feet away from me?”

“I don’t kn-”

“Cut the bullshit, you’re the one who put me in this apartment.”

“I put you in that apartment because I knew you’d appreciate that spiral staircase.”

“You know I do but that’s beside the point. How long have you been planning to assign him as my partner? Before I got here?”

“What if I did? What if I’m concerned about your social well-being and that you haven’t had a partner or any social interaction outside of work for the past two years?”

“Because it’s none of your business!” You hung up on her before she could say anything else and threw your phone on the couch. Her words hung in the air but you did your best to ignore them and the open wounds they had created.

You were fine.

And you were going to remain fine. You had a good job, a nice home, and a sizeable income. What more could you need?

If Evangeline was so hellbent on making that Marki-whatever guy your partner, then you were going to do everything in your power to make him refuse the job.

[todokori-kun]

WELCOME BACK, QUEEN!

(Awww I hope you’re feeling ok *hugs* I get how you feel, stuff like that used to happen to me all the time ;-;)

I WISH I HAD MORE FRIENDS TO DRAG INTO HAMILTRASH HELL. (omg how did they react, though????)

LAURENS LEADS A SOLDIER’S CHORUS ON THE OTHER SIDE

MY SON IS ON THE OTHER SIDE

HE’S WITH MY MOTHER ON THE OTHER SIDE

WASHINGTON IS WATCHING FROM THE OTHER SIDE

TEACH ME HOW TO SAY GOODBYE

…Baby Luna still sounds cute to me XD

(True stories about Tiny Evans:

Once, when I was about four years old, mom let me play in the bathroom. She later came in to find the entire bathroom flooded…I hadn’t bothered to turn the water off and just kept playing calmly in the middle of the mess XD she says that when she asked me what happened, I was just like “Mommy, the rain came down from the sky…”

And once mom bought me a tiny Beauty and the Beast doll, with super tiny accessories (I was probably around five years old). I was playing with the doll on the bed. Then I decided to lie down, holding one of the doll’s tiny shoes in my hand….I dropped the shoe and it went straight into my nose 0.0 When we went to the hospital they couldn’t get it out (they gave me a nosebleed trying) and then they said I should have surgery.

Then we went to a different hospital. The doctor took a look, told me to lie down, and then got it out in a few seconds (…)

And I was also super attached to my toys when I was little. I’d refuse to let mom wash my favorite teddy bear because I thought the washing machine would hurt him, and I hated it when people shoved my toys away into a toy box because NO the dollies can’t BREATHE if you do that)

Yeah, I think that most kids have a bratty side to them XD some kids are worse, though. One of my little sister’s friends once kicked another boy because he kept playing with my sister instead of her…like, literally kicked him in the face. The poor kid was just coming down the slide, she was waiting at the bottom and kicked him 0.0

I wouldn’t give you time to cry. If I must suffer, Queen Luna must help me…maybe you could distract them with snacks?

Oh, that’s great! Your mom sounds cool :D

Hmm, I’ll try to find it :)

ok, yeah, I did hear that Fairy Tail’s plot sucks XD (and of course there’s the fanservice ugh.) I was thinking about checking it out just because so many people seem to watch/read it (and hate it) but maybe not lol

Queen. QUEEN. I know I recommended HxH to you but…well. Please google the Legendary HxH Hiatuses before you make a choice you might regret (if you’re brave, you can still dive into the fandom anyway and suffer with me).

BUT ALSO. Levi has an HxH twin. His name is Feitan, and HE’S SHORTER THAN LEVI

(And YES fellow OPM fan!

btw, I just saw a comic with Hisoka meeting Saitama. *Schwing intensifies*)

Can you imagine what would happen if Evans and Kimblee got in a fight, though? (assuming that Kimblee does ‘like’ Evans enough not to kill her.) Because I just realized that if Kimblee got blood on the carpet I’d definitely be mad- I’m an almost Levi Level clean freak in some ways. If the carpet was white not even a Philosopher’s Stone could save him. And if he brought the dust, dirt and ashes from his explosions into the house with him I’d probably feed him to Pride.

(idk what this is but I just made myself kinda angry thinking about Kimblee dripping blood on a white carpet lol)

That would be adorable until Pokemon Pride decided he was hungry.

I’m not sure what that is, sorry ^^;; are you talking about Bertl’s death scene???

Yes. The clean freak in me rejoices every time I look at his new hair. (seriously though it was REALLY greasy in Avengers and The Dark World.)

Idk how I never thought Roma might be the Clown Boss omg. She’s horrible but she’s also amazing.

Nah, I worry for Urie’s health (physical and emotional) but he’s not going to die. I don’t think his character arc is finished yet, and besides, there’s so much he hasn’t done yet, so many promises he has yet to keep (like, oh, I don’t know, the whole thing with Shirazu’s body). Also have you heard the theories about how Shirazu’s probably going to be on the next volume cover?

If Mutsuki kills Yomo I’m really going to start hating TG. (though tbh it feels like he might die here ;-;)

Touka…I don’t like her and I really don’t like all this Touken stuff but I don’t want her to die, because I think that if she did, Kaneki would just go right back into his angsty “I want to die in style and sacrifice myself” mode…and that would be bad.

(Speaking of Touka though:

I read a theory on tumblr that Juuzou might be the one to kill her if she does end up dying. Like, a while back Ishida wrote a poem for Juuzou where he's trying to decide whether to kill a cat or a dog- when he chooses, there’s a line about a ‘rotten womb’, suggesting that the animal he killed was pregnant. The poem ends with Juuzou thinking that it really didn’t matter in the end, because he himself was going to die anyway.

Mutsuki called Touka a cat several times back in the chapter where they fought, so Touka=Cat, the pregnant animal Juuzou killed, and Kaneki=Dog? So Juuzou might have chosen to kill Touka and spare Kaneki, who was once his friend? And Kaneki kills Juuzou to avenge his wife?

I don’t think this is going to be canon and I don’t WANT it to be canon (it would be too much for my feels), but it’s interesting)

And I'm still waiting for the moment Shuu finally decides to confront Kaneki about that night on the L.E building

Yep, I’m going to try to play Waltz’s route soon! I’ll let you know when I do :D (But I refuse to play the Bad Ending because I now know what happens in it and wow. Just wow.)

I’ll try to listen to the music too!

Yeah, it’s pretty easy to tell that Lady Karma and Prince Karma are the same person. For me it’s the eyes…

Wonder what Llama’s like? (Probably Burr-levels of salty and bitter because of his dad’s fondness for weird nicknames)

Maybe I’ll play the bad ending just to torture myself with whatever happens to Varg lol

I seriously wish we could date Delora, Jurien, Parfait and Emelaigne, though. We could trade Rod’s route for one of them? (again, not that I don’t like Rod but I feel like a Delora or Jurien route would probably be WAY more interesting than his)

I can’t even use ‘Evans' in Otome games, that would be really embarrassing…I mean, even with Reader x Character fics, I can’t bring myself to use my own name so I always read the Reader’s name as literally 'YN’ in my head XD

TY Queen Luna. I might be blushing a bit right now. (Please don’t write any more Fritz HCs they’re too amazingly fluffy I’ll die.)

Queen Luna/Karma would be the best though. Karma probably thinks you’re the most beautiful, amazing person in the history of the entire universe.

-He often asks you for book recs, will always give you his honest opinion of them once he’s done reading

-likes reading with you better than that, though. Just cuddling together while he reads over your shoulder or something (idk I feel like Karma would like books)

-does your makeup for you. Not if you don’t want him to, but if you ever have to go to a party or some big event…he’ll insist (and do a great job of it too).

-of course he goes shopping with you and helps you pick out clothes. Then he insists on buying all the outfits that look good on you (though of course, in his opinion, that’s everything you try on)

-he’ll try to help you remember things and keep track of your stuff better, but even if you still forget he usually remembers. Will find whatever it is you lost and hand it to you with a playful smile, teasing you a little bit (he honestly thinks it’s cute)

-he’s immediately interested when he hears you used to learn archery and will ask you to teach him if you can still do it. In exchange he’ll teach you how to use a sword if you want him to (if you say yes he won’t go easy on you, but will always be impressed with your efforts and will be sure to compliment you and tell you how well you’re doing)

-if you two ever have to go to some social event, he’ll quickly notice if you’re feeling overwhelmed and will lead you away into a quiet corner, where you can just have some calm, private(ish) time together, talking about your day and watching the people around you.

-I think Karma likes sweets too (there was that thing with the Chamaeleon cupcake and I think I read another line about him eating cake in the game? not sure about it though) so he’d probably buy a bunch to try with you and would think your obsession with them is adorable

-he teases and flirts with you a bit, and doesn’t mind if you tease him back. However, if you ever flirt back at him, it doesn’t matter if it’s bad or cheesy- he WILL end up blushing. He’ll try to play it cool but the blush is just too obvious

(hope these are ok ^^;;)

Well, the friends weren’t exactly impressed. But hey if I was able to bear them for a week, they can bear 2 hours of good music XD They did find Guns and Ships interesting though, because of the speed of rapping XD

RISE UP, RISE UP, RISE UP

ELIZA

MY LOVE, TAKE YOUR TIME

I’LL SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE

RAISE A GLASS TO FREEDOM…

Wow. Just. Wow. I never managed to flood the bathroom, though I did blame my sister for stuff she couldn’t have done anyway XD And the thing about the shoe… couldn’t they’d just taken those thingies you pluck your eyebrows with (but bigger) and gotten it out with them? I mean, i’m no expert, but how did they manage to give you a nosebleed XD

I’m 17 years old. I still value all my toys, especially the plush ones and wouldn’t part with them no matter what you offered to me. Hell, I still can’t sleep without a plush toy XD So I don’t think that was weird at all :P

That’s… a bit aggressive… should the kid get it checked out XD

I’ll distract them, you run :P

Nope, don’t even try with Fairy Tail, unless you’re really into magic and guilds. The tasteless Fanservice and lack of plot make it infuriating. The only reason why I stuck with it was because I wanted to see my OTPs get together (THEY DID  N O T) 

Ah, I’ve heard of those... a bunch of manga I read go on hiatuses all the time as well, so I don’t think I’ll mind ^^ I’m still not sure, tho, since it has 387 chapters and that might take time to catch up (hah, i once read 130 chaps in one day, but that was a special occasion XD)

WHOAH SOMEONE SHORTER THAN LEVI WHAT Tell me everything XD

Hi, yes, I love Genos and Sonic (Saitama as well lol). Metal Bat is fucking awesome, because he is so dedicated to his little sis. Old man Bang (almost called him Old Man Fu XD) is freaking awesome!!! And let’s not forget out  favorite loli, Tatsumaki, aka Terrible Tornado.

I’m not sure I want to imagine that fight... anyway it ends, it’s catastrophic XD

YEP, Bertl’s death (still crying). So the (I think) comic went like this: Armin has eaten Bert, and Reiner was captured and he looks at Armin, obviously realizing what happened to Bert and breaks down crying. Then, in one final act of defiance, Bert’s conscious manages to suppress Armin’s for a second and tells Reiner that he has nothing to apologize for. I cry.

I can’t wait for Ragnarok *^* More Loki, more Thor, more Marvel!!

Just. I honestly have no idea what to think about TG anymore... The things that happened lately have been pretty hard to stomach and so many things have been left unresolved. And all the death flags and the fact that Yomo might lose to Mutsuki, despite being canonically stronger than them. Tbh, I think I might just drop it (again XD)

I seriously can’t wait for you to play Waltz’s route :3c Lol, Waltz’s bad end is the anomaly! ((SPOILER)) The only bad end where the boy character doesn’t die, yet is the worst story-wise ((END SPOILER))

I really want to meet Llama XD I mean, if he’s Karma’s brother, he must be fabulous σ(≧ε≦ｏ)

Technically, Fritz’s bad end isn’t too different from the others, I just like Varg too much XD 

Y’know... we could always write our own routes ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

That’s one of the reasons why I’ve adopted the name Luna XD No embarrassment. But I once watched an anime where a character had the same name as me. Not only that, she also looked a LOT like me and we shared a few personality points. It actually made me pretty happy.  And then, later, I found out that a part of the fandom shipped her with my, at the time, favorite character. I could never read fanfiction of the two without getting embarrassed XD A significant portion of the fandom hates her, though, even though she didn’t do anything wrong other than, surprise, ‘interfering’ (???) with a popular yaoi ship. (Since her x the character was implied canon). Long story short: Luna gets embarrassed watching anime. 

Are you suuuure~ I might just write some to embarrass you huehuehue I’ll wait till you finish Waltz, cause I want to see your list of faves ^^

Y’know at this moment I’m incredibly glad I physically don’t blush. Cause I’d be a fucking tomato if I could. φ(ﾟ ωﾟ//）♡ I think that, no matter how much of a shy potato I am, I’d flirt back with Karma just to see him blush huehuehuheuehue And I’d always, always accept sword-fighting lessons from him *^*