#working with my overhead lights off when i'm alone in the office (one day a month)

[themarsbar]

.

[morallyinept]

NOBODY WANTS TO BE ALONE ON CHRISTMAS - A Javier Peña Christmas One Shot

Summary: You discover your boss Javi will be spending the night alone, working on the cartel case on Christmas Eve, so you extend a kind offer for him to join you for some Christmas dinner.

Pairing: Javier Pena x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 6.1k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks)/oral M receiving/fingering.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: There's some sexy Javi Spanish, not a lot, so I've not provided translations. Feliz Navidad!

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

The yellowing fluorescent lights overhead cast a slightly harsh glow on the worn-out carpet that covers the office floor.

The colour, once a muted gray, bears the marks of countless footsteps and the occasional coffee spill.

The desks, a mishmash of transient styles, are strewn with stacks of files, half-empty coffee mugs, and a scattering of outdated office supplies, like typewriter ribbons and correctional fluid.

The air carries the distinct scent of freshly brewed Colombian coffee, a constant companion in the war rooms of the DEA office. Agents huddle around a communal pot, exchanging quick greetings and nods as they fuel up for the next round of investigations.

The walls are plastered with maps and charts tracking drug routes and cartel activities. Bulletin boards are covered with Polaroid pictures of suspects, illustrating the intricate web of criminal connections in Cali.

The faint hum of dial-up internet connections emanate from the few computers scattered around the office. The whirr of dot matrix printers echo intermittently, producing reports that will become integral parts of the ongoing investigations.

The agents, clad in power suits and shoulder-padded blazers work with a sense of determination etched on their faces. The sounds of phones ringing and typewriters clacking provide a constant background symphony, underscoring the urgency of their mission.

The office's ambiance is further accentuated by the occasional chatter in both English and Spanish, a linguistic blend reflective of the team's diverse composition.

Agents move purposefully between desks, exchanging information in hushed tones. The dated computer terminals emit a soft hum as agents navigate through databases filled with information on known traffickers and cartel activities. 

In the midst of this utilitarian environment stands a small potted Christmas tree, perched on the edge of the desk of Javier Peña.

Placed there as a tiresome joke, created by the junior agents during a rare lighthearted moment he suspects, adding a touch of personal flair to the otherwise stern atmosphere.

He’s pushed it off his desk twice now and it keeps reappearing, a constant reminder of his own inward dismay for this time of year.

You glance at him over the top of your screen, hard not to on the regular, seeing as your desk is placed directly opposite his, your back to the window. Not a strategic decision but one you're thankful for when his dark cocoa bean eyes meet yours. 

As Javier focuses on decoding messages or delving into the intricacies of ongoing investigations at his computer, that he types really slow on, tapping laboriously on the keys, his eyes will inevitably wander to the window.

There, amidst the rain-streaked glass and the rhythmic dance of palm leaves, he’ll always find you diligently working at your desk. Your concentration, juxtaposed against the vibrant outdoor scenery, often draws his attention. 

In those fleeting moments, as your eyes lock across the narrow expanse of the office, the intensity of your work seems to momentarily fade away, replaced by an unspoken connection that hints at something beyond the professional facade.

It isn't just the shared pursuit of justice that binds you to Javier; it’s the exchange of glances, the uncharted territory of emotions that simmer beneath the surface.

At least on your part anyway.

Harbouring an attraction to your boss isn’t a wise move. A move that you’ve sat on relentlessly, trying to squash it into the soft foam of your office chair ever since you were transferred from the archives to real administration work in a real investigations office.

Javier is indifferent to you, looks upon with you a less-than-impressed, resting bitch face, but you’ve soon learned it’s the way his features have been moulded after years of chasing down hardened criminals in the dangerous territories this country harbours.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile.

But he always holds your gaze, far longer than you suspect he should. Just lingering looks that neither of you spiral into a verbal acknowledgement.

You bring him coffee with his reports on occasion, always making one for him when you get one for yourself; another unspoken routine you’ve found yourselves waltzing in. You know he needs at least three cups in the morning to function before the computer is even switched on. 

You feel the gravitational pull of these unspoken moments. As you diligently work on your assignments, your eyes instinctively drift towards Javier's desk; a magnetised shift as you meet his eyes lancing back at you and you allow yourself to believe it could be a look of want, of some coveted desire he has for you as you squeeze your thighs together during the heated exchanges. 

But of course, that’s wishful thinking.

You know that your crush is a pointless endeavour with no viable outcome. Javier Peña’s reputation precedes him. You’ve heard whispers from the team about the hookers in downtown Bogotá, even if they leave a heavy weight of disappointment and longing in your stomach.

Plus, there is that mantra of not shitting where you eat.

As the agents prepare for the holidays, Christmas Eve being where you find yourself, tapping away on your keyboard at a productive speed of seventy WPM, compared to Javier’s eight WPM - you know, you’ve counted - the potted Christmas tree standing lackadaisical on his desk serves not only as a festive ornament, but also as a reminder that even in the heart of a demanding and dangerous mission, camaraderie and the spirit of the season can find a place, however small, in the DEA office in Colombia.

Plans are exchanged and shared as your colleagues speak of them later on when they’ll clock off. 

"I'm taking the kids to see the Christmas lights downtown. They've been pestering me about it for weeks." One says.

Another chimes in, "I'm heading to my parents' house for a big family gathering. It's chaotic, but I love it."

As the discussions continue like billowy rain clouds drifting around, Javier remains at his desk, seemingly engrossed in his work and you notice his obvious disengagement from the holiday chatter ebbing around him.

One of them dares to direct a comment towards him. “Plans, boss?”

Javier shakes his head and you’re certain you can hear a grunt. “Work. Something you clearly don’t understand the concept of, Ramirez.” 

It’s enough to bring the team to an awkward hush as they settle back behind their screens murmuring to themselves indistinctly. 

And the thought gnaws at you throughout the remainder of the day. The thought of Javier spending Christmas eve in the office alone, powering through, as the light from outside dims and he works by eventual lamplight on his desk.

You’ve seen it before, coming in the following morning to see him blinking tiredly into the stacks of paperwork that often drown him on his desk out of your view completely. 

He’s known for practically living in the office like a hermit when he’s not out in the tacvest taking on the cartel's head first, or seeking solace in some hooker's cleavage, if you’re to believe those rumours that buzz around like flies over a festering pile of shit.

And that gnawing thought starts to bite harder in the late afternoon.

Hard enough for you to try and soothe the shredded skin around your nails having bitten at them for most of the day, as you find yourself hovering over his desk a little longer after gathering completed files for you to alphabetise. 

He doesn’t look up at you, even though your shadow is still in his peripherals. The scent of him this close is intoxicating. Tobacco and a faint note of whiskey from the bottle you know he keeps in his drawer.

A swilling musk of sweat; the climate at this time of year is tropical and it ruminates inside the ill fitting jacket of his beige suit. A slight glean of it runs tracks down his throat and you lick your lips, trying not to focus on it too much as he swallows.  

“Señor Peña-”

“Javi.” He corrects bluntly. 

“-I couldn’t help but overhear you don’t have any plans for Christmas.” You begin, tactfully, keeping your voice low.

Javi finally glances up, a stoic expression on his face, "I'll be working. The case needs my attention."

“Surely it can wait for one evening?” You sway. “I’m sure the cartels will be celebrating and making merry. You should have a break, sir. It’s Christmas.”

“Just another day,” he swallows grittily.

The atmosphere in the office seems to thicken with a sudden tension. Javier, known for his abrupt stoicism, can't hide the defensive edge in his voice.

You sigh and gather the files in your arms. “You’re welcome at my place, if you want. A bit of dinner?”

"Christmas dinner? Mierda.” He scoffs. “You trying to play the good samaritan or something?" Javier says, his tone edging with a hint of spite.

His eyes, usually stern, carry an unusual flicker of irritation as they darken. “Did I miss the memo that we're suddenly one big, happy family in this office?”

You clock your colleagues, now silent and peering over their screens at the spectacle.

Javier, leaning back in his chair, retorts, "save the Hallmark moments. I'm perfectly capable of spending Christmas alone. I don't need company, especially not from someone who doesn't know when to mind their own business."

Your expression holds a mix of hurt and determination. "This isn't about charity, Señor Peña-” 

“Javi.” He corrects again with gritted teeth. 

“-We're a team, aren't we?"

Maintaining his composure, he brushes off the suggestion.

"Team or not, I don't need or want your pity, cariño. I've got work to do. And so do you." He stares up at you with a silent fury venting from his dark eyes.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not pity.” You correct, stepping away; cheeks burning up with some humiliation brewing.

He watches you leave towards the file room, and tosses a glare at the others who immediately begin tapping and working again.

Growling inwardly, he shoves the potted Christmas tree off his desk again and hears it topple to the floor. 

The empty office seems to echo with the ghosts of the day's activities, the remnants of conversations and shared jovial laughter hanging in the air to taunt him long after you’re all gone.

Javi is sitting alone, the harsh glow of his desk lamp casting shadows across his caramel skin and making his eyeballs ache.

His long fingers trace the edge of the whiskey glass, each sip a bitter reminder of the solitude he’s chosen. The rain outside, a constant drizzle against the windowpane, mirrors the melancholy that settles within his chest. 

His thoughts drift towards you, your invitation lingering like an unanswered question in the quiet room.

The disappointment and hurt swelling in the moisture of your eyes as he fired venom and hostility at your attempt at festive kindness. He knows it wasn't pity you offered, not really.

It’s in the coffee you always have made for him in the mornings that's just the right amount of rich and sweet, despite being from a cheap packet.

Your good nature, although grating at times, is what he secretly finds admirable about you - you care.

It's the care in your work, the attention to detail. The care in your questioning of your colleagues’ weekends and how you listen, hanging on their every word with bright curious eyes.

As he sips the whiskey, the amber liquid burns with a bitterness that seems to match the regret pooling in his chest. The files on his desk, once symbols of purpose, now feel like burdens, heavy with the weight of his own inane stubbornness.

He can't shake the feeling that he's missed out on something important here, a chance for a connection that has slipped through his fingers.

The loneliness presses in on him, and for the first time, Javi questions the walls he has built around himself. The whiskey, usually a numbing agent, now accentuates the ache of regret. He finds himself replaying the words he’d spoken to you, realising the rooted cruelty of his own defences. 

The night unfolds slowly, the hands of the clock ticking away the minutes as Javi works through unrelenting paperwork.

In the quiet solitude, his thoughts mutate into a tempest of introspection. Your words batter his skull, your face.

He glances up at your desk and you’re not there, looking back at him and feeling his chest and loins alike filling with a tightness that aches.

The rhythmic tap of raindrops against the window becomes a thundering metronome. Filling his mind with flashes of your naked body pressed against his, the sound of your pleads and gasps filling him up as he fills you with himself.

Growls at the ache hardening between his legs, growling at his own stupidity, feeling a lifeline he's let slip away. 

He glances around the empty office, the shadows dancing along the walls like phantoms of missed chances, beacons of potential connection.

His silhouette and yours, fucking in every position known to him, and Javi growls.

The weight of his own words linger in the air, each one a sharp reminder of the distance he’s purposefully placed between himself and his colleagues, and he’s not sure why.

He bends and picks it up and sees there's a label stabbed into the back of it, one he never noticed before. 

The whiskey, now a bitter residue in his glass, mirrors the lingering taste of remorse and as he gets up to attend to a task, he trips on something.

The potted tree that he tossed so carelessly off of his desk.

Unfurling it, he realises it's a gift and not a practical joke played by his colleagues who have nothing better to do than mock his authority and professionalism behind his back. 

Feliz Navidad, Señor Peña x 

Placing the tree back on his desk, he lingers on the guilt.

The hum of the lonely printer and the distant patter of rain becomes a backdrop to his internal dialogue. What if, he wonders, he has misunderstood your invitation? What if it isn't about pity, but a genuine desire for his companionship?

The barriers he’s erected around himself feel suddenly fragile; the stoicism that has defined him now seems like a self-imposed prison.

Has he really been so blind of your affections towards him?

In that moment, a decision crystallises in Javi's mind. He can't spend Christmas alone in the sterile glow of the fluorescent lamplight, drowning in whiskey and the silence of his regrets. 

His fingers drum on the desk, a silent debate waging within him. As he grabs his creased jacket from hours of sitting on it, the decision solidifies with every step.

The office, with its empty corridors and the ghosts of his own stubbornness, seem to release him with a reluctant sigh. He can’t stay here tonight.

Not when he knows now that you want him.

“Javi… I mean, Señor Peña.”

You stand on the other side of the door. The intrepid concern for a late night knocker in a city like this, melts away into something else as you peer at him on the other side. 

“Buenas noches, cariño.”

He’s wet, soaked through almost. His hair sticking to his forehead like an oil slick, and droplets caught in the prominent pencil moustache that you’ve always wondered if it would be soft or coarse against your skin. 

“Javi, please.” He softens. 

“What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you to...” You’re a little stunned actually. The gall and unpredictability of this man never ceases to amaze. 

He holds out a bottle that he plucks from a brown bag, tequila.

“Call it a peace offering, or a Christmas gift. Either way, I'm sorry for snapping.” Javi says, and you can feel the sincerity and regret radiate from him, burning hotter than the sun.  

“It’s okay.” You say, with a blooming smile at the corners of your lips. 

He questions it. Relief? Are you as genuinely pleased to see him as you appear? And it stunts him, your instant forgiveness.  

He nods slowly. “If it’s alright with you, querida, I’d like to take you up on your offer if it still stands?"  

He extends the olive branch and you’re only too quick and eager to receive it. 

“Sure. Come on in, Javi.” You smile with pertinent relief.

You fix him a plate, reheating leftovers, as he perches on the edge of your lumpy sofa, feeling that it could swallow him down into its gullet at any moment if he truly relaxes.

It’s a rental, probably more than you can afford, bland with peeling paint and a musty aroma that lingers under the scent of your floral perfume that pollutes his head daily at work. 

He shuffles out of his wet jacket, large wet patches dye the beige of his pants darker at the thighs and knees. He takes in the frailty of your apartment. The emptiness of it.

How nothing here reflects the sparkling personality he knows you have.

The air carries a faint scent of scented candles, the flickering flames casting a soft ambiance as his eyes find them gloaming on the coffee table in clusters. The muted colours of the furniture and the strategically placed potted plants create a serene atmosphere, a stark departure from the chaos of the office.

The harsh absence of the expected holiday decorations strike him. There are no garlands draped along the walls, no twinkling lights casting a festive glow. A vast, empty space threatens the room where a Christmas tree should stand.

Instead, the void exudes a calm simplicity that feels like a deliberate choice rather than an oversight on your part.

Noticing his surprise, you offer a small smile. "Not what you were expecting, huh?” 

Javi, still processing the unexpected interior, manages a nod. The realisation that your invitation wasn't an attempt to impress, but a genuine extension of your simple world, settles within him. 

The apartment, with its quiet and dated elegance, feels like a reflection of your character - strong, resilient, and unassuming.

"I didn't expect this," he admits, gesturing around the room. "I thought there would be... I don't know, more Christmas shit."

You hum with a smile as you pass him a plate. 

Javi tentatively asks, "so, why did you invite me here, if it wasn’t pity?"

Your eyes hold a glint of sincerity. "Because I sensed you needed it. Christmas alone in the office isn't how anyone should spend the holidays. You work too much."

He takes the plate gratefully. Then he watches as you slice into limes with a blunt knife and toss the segments into a chipped bowl. 

Javi, caught off guard by the sincerity in your words, feels a pang of gratitude. The walls he had so meticulously built around himself were showing cracks, and your presence seems to widen those fractures, as you seat yourself beside him on the sofa bringing glasses and salt for the tequila.

You lean back, studying him as he replaces his picked at plate for the bottle, twisting off the cap.

“So, you really are a good samaritan?”

"No, I just don’t think we realise what we need until someone offers it, I guess.” You shrug.

“Is that so?” He asks, pouring out shots into the glasses. 

“It's okay to accept help, Javi."

“Do you think I need rescuing?”

“You don’t want to know what I think.” You say. 

“Humour me.” He tempts as he hands you a glass. You pick up the salt shaker sprinkling some on the base of your thumb.

“Well, you’re an asshole.”

Javi chokes immediately on his tequila, spluttering it over the rim of the glass as you grin.

Then he nods, wiping at his long since loosened tie. “I am.”

“And you’re grumpy and you’re mean.”

“Never proclaimed to be Christ.” He smirks.

“Is it true what they say about you?” You question, carefully.

“What do they say about me?” Javi asks with raised eyebrows.

“That you… you know, spend a lot of time in Bogotá with the uh…”

“Hookers. You can say it.” He scoffs.

“Yeah.” You say swallowing back the tequila hard. 

“Sometimes a man has his vices.” He simply says, pouring out another. He catches your face, bitter from the lime you suck. Or maybe something else.

“What about you, no boyfriend?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No.” He watches as you frown and try to mask it.

“Thank you… for the tree.” He says after a few minutes of awkward silence have descended upon you both. “I didn’t realise it was from you.”

“It’s nothing.” you shrug. 

“We both know that’s not true.”

You smile, looking away. “Doesn’t matter.”

He turns your face back to him with a simple finger and thumb on your chin gently, dropping it when your eyes meet his again. You watch his eyes watch as you gnaw on your lip.

“Do you really think I’m an asshole?” He questions.

“Why do you care what I think, Javi?”

“Because I’d hate for you to think that about me.”

“Sometimes…" You admit. "But I just mostly think... that you’re sexy.”

His eyebrows raise. “Por que?”

“I mean-” You fluster. Shit. “Too much tequila,” you say quickly, feeling the heat abruptly flood into your face.

“You think I’m sexy, cariño?”

You reach for more tequila, but his hand, gently curling around your wrist, stops you. 

“No.” You say, and he knows you're bluffing.

It’s out there now, that spoken want and desire growing limbs and becoming a solid form before you. 

“That’s not what you said.” Javi, taken slightly aback by the depth of your admission, meets your twinkly gaze with a mix of curiosity and simmering.

“I should go,” he says, edging closer to you.

You bite down on your lip again, your eyes falling to his lips, pink and shiny as he runs his tongue on the bottom one.

A subtle drumming fills the silence between you until you realise it’s your heart beating frantically in your chest. 

The air between Javi and you now crackles with a newfound tension, static that clings to your skin and makes all the hairs on your body stand tall. 

“Stay.” You whisper, turning your body in and knocking against his knees with yours.

His hand around your wrist travels onto your thigh, moving up to your hip.

“If I stay, I’m going to fuck you, cariño. All night.” He husks, as your face draws near.

You can smell the honeyed agave on his breath. Feel it warm your eyelashes. He's so close.

“Stay, Javi.” Your hands climb the lapels of his damp shirt, twisting.

“Is that what you want?” He questions, dangerously close now.

You can feel both his hands circling your hips, kneading and squeezing gently, but firm. His forehead touching yours, lips so close to take in your teeth.

“I don’t want to be alone on Christmas. And neither do you.” You confirm.

The sharp citrus of the lime stings against your lips as he presses his mouth to yours, swallowing your gasps.

You taste his tongue; a faint descry of smoke and distilled amber dances over your own. Javi’s large hands caress your back, pulling you closer, cradling you in his arms as your kiss becomes deeper, more desperate. 

You explore the uncharted territory of him; exhilarated and emboldened by his mutual want of you. Gasps pelt into your mouth as you finger through his hair feeling the silk of it, nails scrape down his spine over the damp material of his shirt.

His hands do all the talking too as he strokes them over your body, feeling the hilts and curves. He winds up your stomach and gropes gently at your breast, pushing upwards so it spills over your cami.

He glances at you, watching him as he flicks his tongue across your nipple, and sucks it into his mouth. He frees the other one and alternates between running his tongue and mouth across them.

“Eres tan hermosa.” Javi mists over your skin. And it pulls the breath from you to know that he thinks you're beautiful.

This man that you’ve coveted for so long, in the secret, sordid confines of your imagination and your sheets as you fuck yourself with your fingers to orgasm, is running his lips over your nipples and sucking them into his mouth as though he can’t get enough of you.

You can only choke out a gasp at how good it feels, how absurd it still is that he’s actually here. 

Javi tilts your head back, fingers wrapping gently around your jaw so he can kiss your throat. You feel the graze of his teeth as he pulls on the skin, marking you as your hands fumble with the buttons on his shirt.

Revealing caramel, tan skin, you trail kisses down his throat, tasting the sweat that lingers in with the indolence of his cologne, notes of spice barely hanging on as you wash them away with your tongue. His skin is warm, smooth as you kiss down his chest as he leans back into the sofa. 

You feel his fingers fighting with his belt under the tendrils of your hair. You take over, unzipping his pants and pulling them down his svelte waist as you glance up at him; your mouth dangerously close to his cock, freed and swollen.

You’re surprised at his size, hidden and tucked away in those tight pants on the daily and unsure how you’ve never noticed this enormity before. It’s not like you haven’t looked at his crotch when he stands from his desk, it's in your direct line of sight. 

You can smell it, smell that salted crystal of precum glistening at you as it bubbles on his head, soaking his pink engorged skin, and you brave yourself to lick it. To finally taste him.

He shudders, you know you want to take your time worshipping him, suckling gently around his swollen head as his hands coil inside your roots.

Savouring the taste for yourself, only ever being able to imagine what he would feel like inside your mouth. Alternating between sucks and licks, you tease the length of him, taking him deeper each time. 

“Fuck,” Javi hisses as he watches your lips suction around him. 

You let your lips slide up and down the thick girth of him, smooth and warm, listening as he hisses between his teeth, his fingers stroking at your face. 

You jerk him as you go, hand sliding up and down and pulling the wet tracks from your mouth down his hard cock, as he glides effortlessly into your fist.

You keep licking the head until you take him inside again, cheeks hollowed out as you suck harder. 

“So fucking good,” he grits at you, a visible strain in his throat. 

You relax your throat, opening wider, taking him in deeper and he audibly groans.

Your eyes flick to his and his pupils have bled into the chocolatey irises; a dark hungry stare tossed back at you that makes your clit pull tight in response. 

You hum in satisfaction around him, listening to him enjoying your mouth. 

He reaches forward, “ven aquí,” pulling you to him and twisting so you’re on the couch. 

He kisses over your skin as he reveals it, pulling off your clothes until you’re naked in his arms. 

His hands leave a desolate carnage of tingles as he traverses your body, fingers trailing delicately across your navel as he sucks on your lip, nipping gently between his teeth. You feel him, digits slipping further to the swollen, wet bud of your clit. 

You gasp into his mouth as he circles on it, slick movements as your inner thighs jerk and twitch. You clasp onto his shoulders, kissing him deeply as he runs his fingers through your folds, teasing your hole before he pushes two of them inside. 

“Javi,” you groan.

“That feel good, cariño?”

You nod. “So good.”

“So tight,” he groans as he slips his tongue in your mouth, the soft bristles of his moustache tickling deliciously against your lip. “Lay back for me.”

Withdrawing his fingers after a few teasing pumps, you lay back, Javi kneeling between your thighs and stroking himself. Spitting into his palm and coating himself with it as he watches your fingers rub quick, little circles around your clit.

His other hand strokes up your thigh and reaches for your breast; palming it and feeling your nipple pebble under the rough skin of his palm - rough and calloused from the constant handling of his Beretta as of late. 

He kneels up slightly, running the tip of his cock inside your folds, greasing himself up with your slick. Tapping gently against your clit and you gasp as he squelches around you. 

“So wet for me, are you always this wet?” He utters in praised disbelief. 

You smirk, nodding. “For you I am.”

“Fuck,” he smirks back.

“You don’t want to know what you do to me…” You whisper.

“I want to know,” he says with deep hypnotic eyes. “I want to know everything. Dime que hago por ti, querida.” 

Leaving forward over you, his hand splayed on the cushion above your head, Javi lines up, the thick head of him notching gently at your entrance.

"Tell me what you think about when you look at me over your desk," He urges.

Javi feels you flutter against him already, the desperation to suck him in as he bites down on his lip watching you. Watching your eyes flit from the centre of your legs, to his eyes.

“This," you breathe. "Want you, Javi,” you moan to him, trying to push yourself against him. 

You move as he slips in, letting go of his cock and laying over you as his hips shunt forward in a smooth thrust, filling you full of him. 

“Oh!” You gasp.

Your lips tear at his; your arms creeping around the back of his neck as he winds into you, grunting in your ear. 

“Oh my God, Javi…” 

The crest of his hips rattle against you, pushing you closer together as you wrap your legs around him, heels digging into his pert ass.

He moves with intention, every thrust well thought out to feel every inch of you, to make you feel every inch of him. 

“You feel so good, so wet around my cock…” He grunts into you.

You can hear it, hear every lewd, wet squelch as he thrusts in and out. Louder than your mutual breathing and gasps.

He pushes your left leg up against the sofa and leans forward, closer into you as his hips continue to piston in. 

His breath is heavier, ragged in the back of his throat as it scrapes across his tongue and out into your face. 

He kisses you like he’s in love with you; gentle clicks of his lips against yours. Sucking gently around your tongue as he puffs through his nose.

He runs his chin up the side of your face, nuzzling. The moustache feels soft and silken; finally answering all your probing questions about it.  

He hooks your legs against his shoulders and stays close to your face, his hips doing all the work now. Hitting that spot deep inside you as he fucks that bit harder, that bit more intense.

You can feel the flames licking at your skin, the heat suffocating the room. The tightness in your belly, the way your limbs begin to contort with the pressure. 

“Oh, oh,” you whine. You can feel it brewing, feeling it rushing through your veins. 

He presses his forehead to yours in an effort to ground you, pull you back to him, but it does the opposite, it makes you soar. Your gasps become throated grunts as it builds. 

“Let it out,” Javi coaxes. “Let go, cariño. You feel so good around me like this. That’s it, come for me.” 

He glances down, watching his cock disappear inside your swollen lips, and coming back out slick and shinier with each thrust. He pushes down on your thighs, your knees against your shoulders folding you up as he ploughs harder.

Each breath in the back of his throat punching out as though he’s running a marathon. 

“Oh my God, yes… Javi!”

“Come for me,” he pleads again, moaning around each syllable in a soft tincture that punctures your lungs.

He can feel it when you contract, that moment you flood around him. He watches as you writhe and shudder, your voice losing it’s alto as you sigh and pant, losing yourself blind to your orgasm. 

“Oh fuck… fuck yes!" He groans as he can feel you shaking on his cock.

“Hold on to me,” he says, pushing your hands to his neck where you wrap them around him.

He kneels, hooking his hands under your thighs to pull you upright onto him, and closer, and you feel him hit deeper as you cry out.

Javi slows his pace, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip for a second as he completely loses himself. Pussy drunk on you, buried so deep inside that he forgets where he is for a moment.

The sofa creaks in pain with his tempo, both his hands on your ass winding you back and forth over his cock.

The sweat shines at the bottom of your back; the room feels like a furnace, despite the rain outside cooling the night's air that seeps in from the open window. 

“You’re gonna make me fucking come so hard…” He’s growling now, you can hear it. Those husked grunts ribbing at the back of his throat, lips curled up over his teeth as he plunders deeper into your cunt. 

You move, flexing your hips back and forth as you fuck him slowly, and he groans coming back to you. His hands slip back down onto your hips as he moves you, faster, harder on his cock.

“Come inside me, Javi.”

“Oh fuck, mierda… Fuck!” It’s sweetly blasphemous as he comes, grunting and whimpering, his own body shaking and shuddering against yours. Sweat glueing you to one another. 

He groans out as he comes, filling you with his thick spend as your tongue knots in his mouth. 

“Querida,” he moans, as you peck gently over his face, his arms unrelenting, refusing to let go of you. 

He lays back, taking you with him into the breach of the sofa. And you smile at his face regarding you back; big browns that are just mesmerised in some post-coital bliss by all those little nuances, up close and in his face. 

You become mesmerised too, by the way his tongue glides over his teeth, usually to show mirth or derision in the office, but here it commands desire. Want. 

How when he smiles, the left side of his top lip is the first to crook up into that beam that drags his cheeks up to reveal dimples either side of his face, marred usually by his moustache.

It takes you a moment to realise he’s smiling. Javier Peña is smiling for you, and it stuns you, tracing your fingers around the edges of it like a fine piece of art, the beauty of it etched forever in your memory.

“Que?” He asks, observing your awe.

“I’ve never seen you smile before.” You say, shaking your head. “You should do it more often.”

You think you spy a blush creep into the bronze sculpting of his cheeks. Small capillaries flooding with blood.

He slips out of you, but you feel his fingers reaching between your lips probing and slipping around gently in the silken feel of him starting to drip out of you.

He runs his nose across your face, nuzzling into you further. You feel him, sticky and softening under you, and you stroke through his hair, matted with sweat and smiling as he pecks at you still. 

He kisses you, tonguing around your mouth as you feel his fingers sliding inside you, pushing his come back in. His thumb delicately stroking on your clit, barely ghosting it as your shudder and clutch onto him. 

He softly strokes you to another orgasm as you pant inside his mouth.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring, how he’ll treat you in the office after this.

If this could become a regular thing where he brings flowers and tequila, and takes a spare key and keeps some of his things here, and has dinner with you and showers with you.  

You try to ponder on if it will make things tense or awkward. If he’ll regret it. If you’ll regret it. If he’ll see you as some easy conquest, another notch on his bedpost.

Or if this could become something more.

It doesn’t matter, because right now in this moment, as the clock rolls over into the early hours of Christmas morning in the torrential rain that sprays over Colombia, Javi kisses at your throat with a gentleness about him you couldn’t believe could have existed.

And it’s the best Christmas gift you ever could have wished for. 

“Feliz Navidad, Javi.” You whisper into the hairs of his moustache.  

“Feliz Navidad, cariño.” He whispers back. 

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

[shynmighty]

oh oh oh, 53 holding the other’s jaw forrr Aeseca and Rass? :3

53 from this list it is!

I'm hanging onto @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen's ask because, let's face it, I'm totally going to write 20 & 28 for Aeseca/Rass (because I, too, am obsessed with them!!) but I gave this one priority since it was requested twice!

Anyway, I wrote this as somewhat of a companion piece/sequel to this one, hope you all enjoy it!!! 😁

53: Holding the Other’s Jaw Pairing: Aeseca Silverblade/Rass Ordo

Nar Shaddaa was a riot of lights and noise. From where Aeseca stood across from the Promenade, a vast array of colored signs cast the rooftop in a fluorescent glow, flickering from purple to blue to yellow and back. She pressed a finger to her temple to stave off the oncoming headache brought on by the constant noise and bright flashes at the corners of her vision.

A standoff with a Hidden Chain informant had ended in a showdown atop that very roof just a few minutes earlier, with backup arriving from Odessen to see the slippery Rodian captured just before he could escape. Aeseca could feel her heartbeat start to return to normal as she wandered to the sidelines. Behind her, Alliance officers led by Theron Shan took the Rodian into custody, escorting him to the shuttle they had arrived in.

The mission was a success. Shae would be pleased. All in all, a good day for the Alliance.

Even so, Aeseca could not suppress the less comfortable, pinching sadness deep in her chest. No more mission meant she and her companion would go their separate ways. Even if they partnered up again, there was no telling when that might happen.

Then came crushing guilt. As a Jedi, this developing attachment was strictly forbidden. She knew that, and yet it had been so effortless to cultivate. Even one-sided as it was, something would have to be done before it became a bigger problem.

Aeseca glanced at him as the shuttle’s ramp ascended. He had taken off his helmet and slung it casually under one arm. To her surprise, he was already looking at her, the corner of his mouth slightly upturned as he approached.

“Don’t say it, Rass,” She told him.

“Don't say what?” The Mandalorian replied with barely feigned innocence.

“Whatever joke about shuttles you’ve been preparing,” the Jedi cast a level gaze at him from the corner of her eye. “Specifically, crashing them.”

Rass chuckled. “You know me too well.”

Behind them, the shuttle became airborne. Other ships that saw the Alliance insignia emblazoned on the hull gave it a wide berth as it soared into the clouds overhead, leaving Aeseca and Rass alone on the rooftop. Despite the echoed cacophony of the city around them, the area seemed somehow quieter than before.

“What’s on your mind?” Rass asked.

Aeseca frowned, cycling through all the possible responses before deciding to deflect. “What do you mean?”

“Just the way you’re frowning at me,” The slight, infuriating smile remained on his face. “You’re not the only one who’s picked up a thing or two.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground, but somehow even his feet were too difficult to look at. Turning away from him, she leaned on the rooftop ledge. The city, foul and dazzling as it was, seemed easier to take in.

“I’ve just been thinking,” she said, stopping short of admitting that it was him she had been thinking about. “I guess I haven’t really been feeling like myself lately.”

“Want to talk about it?” Rass was leaning on the ledge beside her, and she could feel his soft brown eyes searching her. She deliberately remained facing the city. “Can’t say I can solve big, important Jedi problems but I can listen.”

Aeseca sighed. “It’s not a big, important problem. I just feel…” she stopped herself from saying anything about him directly. “I feel disconnected. From myself. I worked so hard to get where I am, I was so single-minded in my goal – to be a good Jedi. But I have doubts, and they’re making me question everything I’ve achieved.”

“You are a good Jedi, I’ve seen that firsthand,” Rass said. “Whatever your doubts, they can’t erase everything you’ve done.”

“I wish I had your certainty,” Aeseca remained stubbornly facing away. She knew speaking in half-truths would only lead to his partial understanding.

This was accompanied by a somewhat terrifying thought: that if she looked at him now, she might just tell him everything. That she was falling hopelessly in love with him, how part of her wanted to cast the Jedi code aside completely for him, that she would realign the galaxy if he asked her to, and that these illicit feelings became more overwhelming by the day.

“Aeseca,” His voice was accompanied by a soft touch, his gloved fingers gently pressing against her jaw as he turned her head to face him with one hand. A short eternity passed in the space of her meeting his gaze. The glow of the city shone in his eyes making them look even brighter. If he had not been holding her jaw, she might have had trouble staying upright. “I’m not just handing out empty platitudes, okay? You’re remarkable. You… amaze me.”

For a brief moment, Aeseca knew what it felt like to fly over the city. Her heart was unleashed from her very chest and was doing a barrel roll somewhere in the clouds overhead. The rest of her was frozen in place, wide-eyed with disbelief and delight. At the same time, he was looking down at her with sincerity in his eyes she had never seen before. He thought she was remarkable. She amazed him. Perhaps there really was a chance he felt the same…

There is no passion, there is serenity. The thought brought her back to the rooftop. Once again, she was a Jedi, and he was a Mandalorian, and she reminded herself that this was all wrong. In her enjoyment of that moment, she had already gone too far.

“I need to go,” the words escaped her weakly, in a whisper. She took a reluctant step back, ignoring the feeling of Nar Shaddaa crumbling around her as his hand slipped away.

“Go where?” He asked as she retreated.

“To Tython,” she called over her shoulder. Her fists clenched at her sides as she battled the tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

She would go to Tython… and try to forget.

[like-a-bantha]

Busted Hyperdrive

Chapter Three: Odd Jobs

Summary: Last mission was, well, a definitely a mission. But will it be your last? An unexpected break leads you down a spiral of negative emotions.

Pairing: The Bad Batch & Gender Neutral Reader

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, lots of self doubt and negative thoughts, mentions of canon-typical violence

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Hi! I'm back, and VERY sorry for the wait. This sat in my drafts for close to a year, honestly kind of ironic since this chapter is pretty heavy on the self-doubt. As always, I hope you enjoy! <3

Link to AO3 and my masterlist for chapters one and two

Technically, the last mission was a success. You didn’t feel particularly successful, but Cid got her payment and the freedom fighters of Lothal got their thermal detonators, so by all intents and purposes, it was a job well done. But from where you’re sitting, hunched over the bar with your eyes locked on the drink in your hand that you haven’t touched yet, success doesn’t exactly live up to the hype. The deeper you stare into the purple liquid in the cup, trying to focus on the way it shakes within the glass the harder you anxiously bounce your leg, counting the ripples in a lame attempt to repress the still fresh memory of that morning's meeting.

Last night seemed fine, other than the mission ending rather violently you hadn’t a care in the world. You laughed and spent time with these strange people you’re starting to consider friends, albeit, reluctantly (mostly on Cid’s end). Hunter told you to meet back at the parlor at 0800 tomorrow to see if there’s any work to be done. You walked back to your ship and crawled into bed with a sigh. A good end to a bad day, good enough that the day was ready to be forgotten. Really, if you could just keep going like nothing happened you know you would adjust; you’ve put in enough hours at demeaning minimum wage jobs that you could probably get some sort of certificate in compartmentalizing. You can do it. You just can’t seem to figure out what you need to do to prove you can.

This morning the alarm on your chrono seemed louder than usual and your ships overhead lighting is just a little brighter. The sun rises as the painkillers begin working their magic, giving you just enough energy to dig through your cupboard for some instant caf. You’ve never been so eager to go to work before but you’ve also never been so friendly with your coworkers. It’s not even a five minute walk to Cid’s but you decide to head over at 0730. Just in case, you tell yourself.

The parlor is deserted when you get there. Obviously. Cid must be in her office and you’re definitely not knocking on that door until you have backup, she probably wouldn’t answer anyway, why give the newbie the rundown only to repeat it in 20 minutes? Valid. Too early for Bolo and Ketch, apparently. You kinda figured they were permanent fixtures. Probably could’ve killed time back at your ship rather than sit around an empty parlor, not entirely sure what the plan was there. Now you’re left alone with your thoughts in an unfamiliar place. This is becoming a habit. The time passes quickly, however, and yesterday’s events are tucked away neat enough that it hasn’t even crossed your mind.The way your brain practically vibrates inside of your skull has nothing to do with any ships you may or may not have blown up recently, it has to be from the singular drink you had last night.

Five minutes to 0800 and the office door whooshes open.

“Oh good, Y/N’s here,” Cid announces sarcastically, as you turn to greet her you’re met with five additional faces that clearly weren’t expecting you to be the early type, “you guys can tell them, I got work to do.” 

“Hey, guys,” you say it like it's a question, “knew I should’ve got here earlier, what’d I miss?” They share a look and make their way over to your table. Something’s off and they’re doing a kriffing terrible job of acting nonchalant.

“Y/N,” Hunter says with a heavy sigh and a lopsided smile as he takes a seat in the chair across from you, “good to see you. You’re right on time.”

You try to not look visibly confused but it’s kind of hard not to, why are they being so weird? Everything seemed so normal last night. Is Cid firing you already? You just started.  “So what did Cid not feel like telling me?”

Hunter clears his throat and looks down at the table as he collects his thoughts, he sighs and says, “Listen, we’re happy to have some help around here, and you did a good job on the mission yesterday, but we decided to ask Cid for some light work for the next couple of days. Lay low. Give you some time to recover after yesterday.”

“After yesterday? Why?” You shake your head, now definitely visibly confused, “I thought it went really well!” You look around the group, hoping to no avail that someone would back you up.

You lock eyes with Echo, he gives you a sympathetic look and reassures you, “You’re right, it could’ve gone a lot worse. But you need time to adjust, jumping back in too soon will just burn you out.”

Before you could protest, Wrecker lets out a loud “Yeah!” Laughing loudly, “Been too long since we had a good vacation!”

“It is not a vacation, Wrecker, we will still be doing smaller tasks,” Tech corrects him as he types away on his datapad, “I am making a detailed schedule for the next three days. If we are not making credits, we may as well use this time wisely.”

“Whoa, wait we’re not getting paid?” You finally manage to get a word in.

“We’re still getting paid,” Hunter corrects, Tech makes a face but never ceases his typing, “it’s just not as much as the last job. Lighter work, lighter credits. Cid gave us some odd jobs to keep us busy for the next few days while she finds us something better.”

“Wait, like, we’re getting bottles or whatever?” You ask, “There’s gotta be something we can do besides running errands.”

“Call it what you want,” Hunter shrugs, “it’s still a job. We’re lucky Cid even agreed to do any of this for credits.”

“It’s true, she usually just expects us to do it for free.” Echo sighs, it sounds like he meant it to be a joke but his tone betrays him.

You relent after a moment of deliberation, shrugging, “Yeah, okay, sounds good.” You try your best to put on a smile but you know it looks forced.

“Good,” Hunter nods, you note how tired he looks, “Tech, is that schedule ready?”

“Affirmative.” Tech quickly replies and finally finishes typing before giving each of you a detailed list of tasks while you sink into your seat, hoping the next three days at least go by quickly.

Everyone got to work with their lists of chores, working surprisingly quickly, but you can’t help but feel the time drag. Four hours into cleaning tables and fixing slot games Omega brings you a ration bar and a cup of juice.

She motions you over to the row of barstools, silently asking you to sit next to her while you both take a break from your chores. You sit down next to her, opening the ration bar that you take one look at before resting on the countertop. Omega watches you with visible worry, “How are you feeling?”

The guilt you feel manifesting in anger and sadness, none of which is directed at the girl, or her brothers for that matter. You want to respond but the pit in your stomach is beginning to condense into a black hole of dread. Shielding your pride, you swallow down a lame excuse and opt for a quick nod and whatever you can muster for a smile.

“It’s okay, you know,” Omega looks down, you pray she doesn’t think you’re upset with her, “we’re just worried about you.”

She sounds so sad. You’re sure it’s pity, none of them seem happy to be taking an unscheduled break on your account; no one except Wrecker, of course. But it's clear she’s telling the truth, she’s genuinely worried. “I know, Omega,” you say, trying to force your tone into something more comforting, neither of you are buying it, “and I appreciate it. But I really am okay.” This smile is a bit more convincing.

At least convincing enough that Omega gives a sad smile in return before sliding the now open ration bar closer to you as she hops off the tall stool, “You should eat, Tech said he doesn’t believe in long breaks.”

“Yeah,” You nod, eyes locked on the cup of juice in front of you, “I’ll see ya later.” 

So here you sit. Staring blankly into a cup, silently commanding your reflection in the juice to do something. To fix this. In a sad attempt to pull yourself out of this mood you pick at the ration bar, but after a few bites you just feel sick. Deciding to get back to work, you make your way to the storage room to take inventory for Cid but as soon as you enter the door shuts behind you. Outside you hear two voices approach, stopping a few feet away from the cramped storage room you’re currently, technically, hiding in and you just can’t help but eavesdrop. Thin walls. It’s too muffled at first but after you close your eyes and focus, letting your ears adjust, you hear Tech and Hunter having a hushed conversation.

“I’m sure they knew what they signed up for, I do not understand why you would request to be paid significantly less for them.” You can’t tell if Tech is defending you or not but he is right.

“You saw how they handled yesterday’s getaway. Nat-borns aren’t like us, Tech. They need time.”

“Yes, well, we need credits. It appears they do as well.” You nod as if they can see you. “My point still stands.”

“Credits can wait-” you scoff behind the door and the voices on the other side fall silent. You didn’t think it was that loud. 

Your cover’s blown so why not press the button to open the door to the storage room. The door opens, regret immediately sinking in as you stand there like a womp rat in a torch light, before looking at Hunter, “He’s right, you know. I know what I signed up for.”

“I’m not sure you do.” Hunter’s voice suddenly became very stern, “What happened yesterday, that’s going to happen again and I don’t think you’re prepared for that.”

While you’re glad he didn’t try to sugarcoat it, you can’t help the pain in your chest. You chew on your lip, looking at the floor while you try to formulate a response. “Listen, I know I freaked out yesterday but I’m over it now. Really. You didn’t have to request grunt work for my sake.”

He just stands there for a minute. Arms crossed and brows furrowed as he considers your response. “We’ll see about that in three days.” Hunter sighs, turning to leave the conversation, “Back to work.”

You and Tech are left in a tense silence for a few moments before he pulls out his datapad to check the schedule. “You are currently taking inventory for the supply run, correct?”

“Yeah, I’m on it.” You turn back to the storage room, “I’ll give the list to Cid when I’m done.”

“No need,” He’s still looking down at the schedule when you face him, your hand hovering over the close button. “I will send you the coordinates to the shop and Wrecker will accompany you to carry the order.” You simply nod, shutting the door to the cramped storage room as he walks away.

You set your bag on a shelf and get to work taking inventory. It’s grunt work, and you’re used to it, but this is why you left Tatooine. As you count all of the backup bottles and boxes of bantha nuggets you find yourself back in that mental loop of self-deprecation. You finish typing out the order on your datapad while you walk out into the parlor to find Wrecker and Omega waiting for you. You’re too deep in that mental loop to know for sure but you think you hear one of them ask if you’re ready to go so you nod and silently make your way up the stairs.

The short walk to the vendor was one filled with silent rage. You walked alongside Wrecker and Omega as they debated whether or not each errand counts as an individual mission and, if so, would that mean they just hit the mantell mix jackpot. While you would love to weigh in on such a riveting topic, your heavy footsteps rang loud in your ears, demanding your full attention; the fall of your right foot echoing my, and your left fault. Your body wants so badly to cry and scream, but it was your tears that landed you in this mess, so you keep on towards the shop silently as the debate next to you goes on.

When you got to the shop and peaked in you were surprised to see several people standing in the cramped storefront. You turned to tell Wrecker and Omega to wait outside but they were one step ahead of you, sights locked on the food stall across the street. Luckily the vendor was more than happy to keep small talk to a minimum, you just gave him the order number and before he retreated to the backroom he gave a quick, “30 minutes." Excellent customer service. When you walk out of the shop the food stall you last saw Wrecker and Omega is deserted, you walk into the road a bit more, scanning all of the other food stalls for any sign of your friends to no avail. Just as you’re about to go searching for them you remember Tech gave you their comm channel but when you reach for your bag to fish out your commlink you let out a string of curses. You consider taking the short walk back to the parlor to get it rather than walk around aimlessly looking for them, but just as you’re about to turn back you spot them heading your way, mantell mix in hand.

“It’s gonna be another 30 minutes, did you guys want to-” before you have a chance to finish your sentence, Omega runs up to you with a third carton of mantell mix.

“We got you some, too!” She beams, handing you the carton.

You can’t help but smile as you accept, “Thank you, guys,” you look down at the food in your hands then back to the two of them smiling, urging you to try it, you grab a piece and to no one's surprise, “not bad!”

Wrecker lets out a loud, “You got that right!” The two seem very happy with your approval, the sound of their laughter now louder than that terrible voice in your head and your mood is starting to shift back to something more pleasant.

“Okay, this is really good, but we still have 30 minutes before the order’s ready and I’m gonna take a guess and say Hunter’s not gonna be too happy if he sees us with all this mantell mix,” you laugh, “what’s the plan?”

Wrecker seems deep in thought, still eating, but definitely weighing your options. Omega lets out a gasp, immediately drawing your and Wrecker’s attention, “They haven’t been on the Marauder!”

The port isn’t far from the shop, just a few minutes of walking and snacking. When the ship is within view they practically take off running towards the open ramp, you laugh and pick up the pace. At least they wait for you at the bottom of the steps, Omega gestures for you to enter first with a little ‘ta-da!’ and you climb aboard their ship. They excitedly begin their tour at the cockpit. As you make your way to the back of the ship while Omega tells you about some surprise you have to see, you stumble over a case that was haphazardly tucked under a chair. As you bend to push it fully under the chair so no one really trips, Wrecker begins to panic, “Don’t open that!”

“I wasn’t planning on it?” You finish pushing it, standing to look up at him, “What, more explosives? You really should find a better way to store tho-”

“It’s Crosshair’s.” Omega cuts you off, shifting your gaze to her frown and back to Wrecker, who’s face went from shock to pain. The only sound in the ship is the hum of the overhead lights.

“Oh.” You don’t pry, whoever this was it was someone close to them, and whatever happened was recent by the looks of it. You look down at the case under the chair, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s okay.” Wrecker says, this is the quietest you’ve ever heard him, he shakes his head and his expression suddenly seems less troubled. He lets out a sigh as he takes a seat, crossing his arms, “He’s not dead or anything. Just joined the Empire.” His tone has leveled out, but the way his eyes are locked on the ceiling is setting off the change the subject sensors in your mind.

“So what exactly did you guys want to show me so bad?” You sigh, a tired smile taking over your face as they both look to you with matching grins. Without a word, Omega rushes towards you and grabs your hand as she pulls you further into the ship, Wrecker following closely behind.

You stop at a ladder, Omega looks to it and then to you with a wide smile. You must look very confused, because she points up the ladder as she beams, “That’s my room!”

You grin, stepping toward the ladder, you make your ascent and gasp as you pull the curtain to the side, letting out an audible, “Whoa.”

“Wrecker made it for me!” You can hear their excitement at your reaction.

Glancing back, you see the proud smile plastered on Wrecker’s face. You return your attention to the coziest gunner’s mount you’ve ever seen when you spot a stuffed animal, you reach forward to grab it, “And who is this? Your little soldier has a friend?” You hop down the ladder, giggling, holding the tooka doll by the arms to make it look like it’s doing a little dance.

“That’s my Lula!” Wrecker proudly exclaims before clarifying, “She’s Omega’s, too, we share.”

“I have one, too. Not a tooka, though, she’s a loth cat. Her name’s Jama.” You smile warmly and hand the doll over to Wrecker who immediately pulls it to his chest as one would an infant. Sighing as you laugh, you look around the ship, “I really like the room, I should take a page out of your book. Make my ship feel more like a home.”

The siblings lock eyes immediately, both of them buzzing with excitement as Wrecker frantically nods, Omega looks over to you, “Can we help?”

You’re shocked at first but feel you should’ve seen this coming, left with no choice but to happily nod your head, “Yeah I think that’d be a job for the professionals.”

“Are we the professionals?” Wrecker loudly whispers in Omega’s direction.

“We’re the professionals!” That tense silence a few minutes ago is long forgotten as the two laugh and happily high five. They take you on a full tour of the ship after that, showing off the weapons closet, Wrecker’s special explosives storage, the tally wall next to a bunk in the hallway below deck that Wrecker says are all for successful missions. He happily recounts a few too many, however, he’s halfway through a story about a particularly harrowing fight against a monstrous animal with razor sharp teeth and claws in a pitch black jungle when the alarm on your chrono goes off. 

“Ah,” you silence the alarm, hoping no one noticed how you jumped when it started beeping, “order’s ready. C’mon you can finish that story on the way, I gotta know how you guys took that thing out.” Wrecker eagerly obliges, describing the ordeal in depth the whole way back to shop. The man who took your order pushes out a cart with four boxes and sends you on your way, Wrecker grabs the two largest crates and you hand Omega the smallest, resting her unfinished carton of mantell mix on top of it before you did the same with yours as you grab the remaining crate and begin your walk back to Cid’s. 

As you approach the entrance to the parlor you remember your joke about Hunter seeing the mantell mix and, after your conversation earlier, you don’t want to seem like you’re intentionally trying to get on his nerves. You come to a stop and after a moment Wrecker and Omega do the same, looking back at you, “Hey, Omega. How ‘bout I trade you my mantell mix for that crate you’re carrying?”

“Why?” The girl, confused, takes the mantell mix from you in exchange for the small crate.

“Wrecker and I will bring these down, then you two are gonna take a walk while you finish that,” you laugh, nodding towards the cartons in her hands.

“What? Really?” Okay, Wrecker’s on board.

You laugh, “Yeah, it’s all yours, big guy. Let’s go put these down.” You both start down the stairs when Omega stops you.

“But what about restocking? We’re supposed to help you!” 

“Ah, I got it covered. Used to do it all the time back home.” You shrug with a smile, reassuring the poor kid. She really is worried about you. “Plus, you guys already helped me.”

She looks half convinced but nods anyway and you meet Wrecker at the bottom of the stairs. He’s clearly excited for an unscheduled break and leftover mantell mix. You both leave the crates on the bar, smiling at Wrecker as he turns to leave, “Thanks.”

He’s already rushing for the stairs, grinning from ear to ear, “Thank you!”

The small crate Omega was carrying was mostly stuff meant to be stocked behind the bar so that was quick to sort out. You move on to the next crate, mostly bottles, you leave that behind the bar and pick up one of the last two crates to bring back to the storage room. Just as you’re about to open the door it hisses open and you nearly drop the crate, Hunter, who opened the door, stands before you with a raised eyebrow. You let out a shaky laugh, now that you know they’re all suffering a loss you don’t have the heart to rehash that talk you had earlier.

“You seem on edge.” He shifts in the doorway, not really letting you through, it looks like he’s trying to get a better view of the parlor.

“Just putting these away.” You help up the crate in your arms a little bit, nodding to the storage room behind him.

“Where’s Wrecker and Omega?” He finally looks back to you.

“Oh, uh, I forgot to mark something on inventory,” you lie through your teeth, “they offered to go back out for me.”

He looked like he had something to say about that but dropped it, sighing. You step aside, giving him room to leave and as you turn back to shut the door behind you, you see him heading outside. Hopefully Wrecker and Omega got a head start.

Restocking the storage room went by very fast, glancing down at your chrono you notice you’re surprisingly ahead of schedule and decide to waste a few more minutes in the storage room while you can. You sit one of the crates by the wall and close your eyes, taking a moment to recenter yourself before you take care of the bottles out front. Outside you hear the door hiss open once again followed by footsteps but you don’t bother opening your eyes, why would anyone bother coming in here unless they had to? Then the footsteps stop in front of the door before it hisses open.

“Sleeping on the job, huh?” You stand as Cid reprimands you. “You leave a mess behind the bar and come in here for a nap?”

“Yeah, there’s just something about the smell of wampa jerky that I find really calming.” You laugh, making sure you grab your bag on your way out of the storage closet this time.

“Yeah, yeah, gimme a hand with these.” The door to the back room hisses shut behind you both and Cid picks up the remaining crate, placing it on the counter with a clinking thud. Silently, the two of you get to work restocking the bar. You can tell she doesn’t want to talk but it’s been bugging you since this morning, and at the very least you deserve answers.

“Listen, I know one of them told you,” you say, moving a half empty bottle of shimmery green liquid to the side to put a full one behind it, “but why wouldn’t you try talking them out of this? They’re not your errand boys.”

“You really wanna know? They were just worried about you, after all.” She’s irritated, you can tell by her tone, but so are you so at least you’re on equal ground. “Did you even consider that, maybe, they could use a break, too?”

“Sure, if they need a break then give them a break, why assign them your grunt work?” You grab another bottle from the crate.

“My work is your work, kid,” She looks to you, pointing to the bottle in your hand, “that goes up top.” You roll your eyes, placing the bottle on a high shelf above the bar before returning to the crate for another. “Lemme ask you something,” she says, you put the next bottle in its place and turn to her, “this your first time having friends?” Your eyes go wide, you’re not sure what she’s trying to say but you had plenty of friends at your old jobs. You open your mouth to answer but she interrupts you, “Not coworkers. Or bosses. Friends.”

You think for a moment. Then another moment, and when your eyes drop to your shoes, she knows your answer.

“Thought so.” She says, passing you another top shelf bottle. You almost don’t grab it, just walk out, end the conversation altogether. “A word of advice, when people care about you, it’s nice to care back,” she looks to you, “a little understanding goes a long way.”

“Of course I care. I just don’t want them to miss out on my account, I didn’t ask them to do that, I said I can handle it.”

“You’re not hearing me. You don’t have to ask. They wanted to make sure you were doing alright, they’re not worried about work, they’re worried about you. You got a chip on your shoulder the size of a starcruiser, but they still care. Give and take, kid, give and take.”

She’s not wrong, but you were definitely not expecting to be read so easily. You never saw yourself as an open book, but this conversation only made you feel like there was a giant neon sign pointing to the book that said ‘Read Me!’ in bold, flashing letters. The most jarring part of it all, though, was how warm it made you feel. To be seen. To be cared for. The silence that hangs in the air after hearing Cid’s advice is more comfortable than you’d care to admit, the two of you stocking the shelves as the jukebox plays quietly across the bar.

Once the crate is finally empty, you pick it up and gather the other empty crates before asking Cid what she wants to do with them.

“Just leave ‘em outside, somebody’ll take ‘em.” She waves a hand, heading back to her office.

You nod, making your way to the exit but when you reach the first step, you pause. “So who was it?” You don’t bother turning around, figuring she probably won’t give you an answer anyway. After what she told you, you don’t blame the guys for asking for a break, and the anger toward yourself is starting to subside, too. You just can’t help the curiosity.

“God, you don’t give up, do you, kid?” She sighs, “All of ‘em.” The door hisses shut.

You let out a quiet, warm laugh when you feel your eyes well with tears. Shaking your head with a smile, you propped the crate on your knee to brush them away and made your way up the stairs. You set the crate down and brush your hands on your pants, and just as you begin to let out a sigh a heavy clap to your shoulder nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“Hey, we got a surprise for you!” You turn to see Wrecker holding up a crate, and Omega not too far behind running to you from Hunter’s side with a small bag in hand.

“Hmm,” you try peeking into the top of the crate but find it’s closed, a true mystery, “do they sell mantell mix in bulk?”

Omega catches up and holds the small, half-full bag up for you to take. “No, and the surprise isn’t ready yet. But, we did get candy!” You can’t help but laugh before taking the pouch from her. “We ate some already, but we wanted to share the rest with you.”

“Yeah, sorry, we were practicing that thing you showed us!” Wrecker smiles, shifting the crate to one hand to sheepishly rub the back of his neck.

Your smile couldn’t be warmer, “Well let’s get inside, you can put that crate down and practice some more.”

“Do not encourage him.” Tech sighs, but you catch that smirk as he walks past the three of you and down the stairs.

“He’s just jealous,” Wrecker laughs, following Tech into the parlor, “come on, Omega!”

“Good to see you smiling, Y/n,” Echo nudges you as he makes his way into the parlor.

Just as you’re about to head in yourself, Hunter stops you. “Cid tell you?”

“I wore her down.” you shrug, smiling as you turn to face him.

“We’re just worried, you’re obviously capable, but Echo’s right,” he sighs, leading the way down the stairs to join Tech and Echo at the bar, “it takes a toll. This job’s not easy. Jumping in too fast will only burn you out.”

“I am. I mean, as alright as I can be, after taking down two pilots.” You try to laugh but it sounds empty, and the sad smile he gives you in return makes your heart sink. You’re struck with an overwhelming urge to fix it, to make his smile happy, to ease all of their worries. “Hey, Tech, what’s the rest of the rest of that schedule like? Any free time?”

He scans his datapad for a moment before listing off a number of odd jobs, “However, I can reassign some of your tasks if you’d prefer to use this time to prepare for the next mission, mentally, while maintaining a healthy workload.”

“Thanks, but what if we knock everything out tomorrow, then we can all take a day off,” you propose, looking between Tech and Hunter, “y’know for mental health or whatever. Lean into the whole vacation thing.”

Tech looks to Hunter for approval, and Hunter looks to you with an arched brow before nodding, “I’ll get to work preparing an updated schedule.”

“What are you planning?” Echo asks, trying to hide a smirk behind his glass unsuccessfully.

You grin, looking between Hunter and Echo, “What are your thoughts on camping?”

[yandere-wishes]

💔Rotten Love💔 //Twisted Wonderland Yandere Idia Shroud X Yandere Eliza X Reader// Part 1

GIF made by the amazing @flowerofthemoonworld. Okay, so this story is really going to have a Persephone x Reader x Hades vibe to it. If we can get this to 160 likes before July 12 than I’ll release part 2. For now, my goal is to make it a 4 part story with a bonus 5th fluff chapter. Also for this story reader will be GENDER NEUTRAL.

WARNING: Gore, Angst

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There was always a cold, nostalgic air in the Ignihyde dormitory, a sort of homey sensation that made Eliza's heart skip a beat. Sure the dorm was quiet and secluded, unlike the ghost kingdom, there was barely anyone to talk to. Most may have even described it as "lonesome" and "boring". But to princess Eliza who had waited more than five hundred years to be with her prince charming, it was unadulterated, homespun bliss. Of course, there was still something missing, a tiny puzzle piece that refused to fit in with the rest of its kind, a stubborn little piece it was, yet all too important to paint the picture of her perfect life. That mulish fragment came in the form of her newly wedded husband, Idia Shroud.

"Idia~"

The "young" princess sang as she skipped over to where her "husband" was sitting, his posture crooked, like that of a scrunched up cat's. His long slender fingers where typing rapidly on that bizarre rectangular device that he all too attached to. Way too attached to, for Eliza's liking.

Eliza nuzzled her visage into the crook of the bleached-skinned boy's neck, taking in his smokey, ash-like sent. Her icy colored arms wafted over his shoulders, enclosing them his a tight embrace. Her fingers dangled over where his heart was, feeling tiny fast-paced pulses that sent a pleased blush to her face. "Idia let's go for a walk near that river. Please, my love! You haven't left this room since the reception!"

The taller male barely turned to look at her, preferring to instead to keep his eyes locked on his glowing blue screen. "Still busy Eliza" his cold dead voice was always so sharp and monotone whenever he spoke to her. It felt like someone was reaching into her rib cage and squeezing her decaying heart. Her voice cracked into a thousand tiny shards, as she tried to form a comprehensible answer. He might as well have told her to die again and rot in the deepest parts of hell. He doesn't love me....he'll never love me. The relation was like a heavy chronic toxic gas levitating overhead. Easy to overlook but still there, always there. Idia didn't move, if Eliza's arms weren't wrapped around his shoulders feeling every breath he took, she might have mistaken him for a statue. No, not a statue, she thought, some sort of sculpture of an ancient Greek God. A divine being set in stone resting in an altar, waiting for reparations and benedictions. 'I'd gladly pray at your feet every day. I'd sacrifice everything I had just for you to smile that charming smile at me'. The ghost thought to herself.

For an endless minute, the darkroom fell into a thick, suffocating silence. Neither Eliza nor Idia moved both too scared of breaking some invisible glass wall they had put up around them. However, no amount of serenity could dispose of the awkwardness, and annoyance Idia was beginning to feel. "You know" the lord of the dead began "maybe you should talk to the principle about join the school full time. It would give you more to do than breathing over my shoulder" despite Idia's tone harboring no malice, Eliza still flinched in shock. Her body going rigid, stiffening as if she was going into Rigor Mortis again.

HE DOESN'T WANT YOU HERE!

The voice in her head screamed,

HE HATES YOU!

Louder...

WHY CANT YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE

"Please stop" she whispered

YOU DON’T DESERVE YOUR PRINCE!

"If that's what you want" she finally replied in a broken voice.

"I'm... I'm only saying it for your sake," he muttered in a coaxing tone.

Deep down a delusional part of her wanted to scream that he was only saying all those harsh things for her own well-being. But she was still lucid enough to not believe those fallacies, imaginary words...Eliza perceived that her beloved prince Idia saw her as nothing more than a nuisance.  One that he was far too eager to get rid of. 

She couldn't bear the conversation any farther. Painfully slowly she peeled her arms off from around her so-called lover. In that taunting minute, Eliza swore she could feel billions upon billions of sharp needles piercing every piece of her dead body. She lingered in place staring at Idia's glowing, blazing hair. She didn't want to leave, she wanted to spend every second of her dead life with him! Touching him, kissing him, loving him! But he wouldn't love her! Why didn't he love her!! Without a customary goodbye or any form of acknowledgment, Eliza flew to the door. Swinging it open just a crack, wishing to slam it so hard that the whole underworld dorm would feel it. But alas she was still royalty and there was a politeness beaten into her every action. In the end after much debating, she closed the damn door quieter than a mouse. With a broken heart and eyes full of tears, princess Eliza began to hover up onto the surface of the school grounds.

WHY DOESN'T THAT SELFISH BASTARD LOVE ME!

A simple blaring thought that reverberated through Eliza's nonexistent skull as she marched through the glowing green halls of Night Raven College. Unlike Ignihyde, the rest of the school still felt rather alien and terrifying to the girl. She'd only been in the cafeteria for a short amount of time. Only to finish up her official marriage to Idia. After the marriage -and much persuasion from his friend with grey hair and glasses-  Idia had carried Eliza in the traditional manner a groom must carry a bride, to the hall of mirrors and straight to Ignyhde. Neither of them had left Idia's room since then.

It was a rather short memory but one that always placed a smile on Eliza's face. Rather than remembering the halls, Eliza had been all too bewitched by Idia's shy golden gaze, his bloody red face, and his kissable thin blue lips. Such a darling memory that she would always cherish within her rotten heart.

But as the minutes ticked away and Eliza passed hallway after hallway all identical to one another, she soon began to wish that she'd paid more attention to the whereabouts of the school's rooms and offices. The headmaster's office seemed to be missing from this endless maze. Behind every corner was the same tiled floor, candles lit by a mystical green light and windows so large they put the countless classroom doors to shame. Every few minutes a crowd of students would pass by, disappearing behind another wall withing second. No one noticed her, which was rather odd considering she was the only female in an all-boys school, her purple dress and feminine curves were proof enough of that. "I guess this is the result of being a ghost, wandering the land of the living" She whispered hopelessly to herself. "You're invisible when you're me..."

The eighth turn that Eliza took brought her to a small cluster of peculiar students. Some donning ears and tails like those of wild beasts, while the other had odd features resembling Ortho's limps. Metallic and reflective. They were laughing at something, attentions enclosed within their small groups. A measly thought flew into Eliza's head, why not speak up? Raise your voice and ask where she could locate the headmaster of this complex establishment.

"Excuse me."

“....”

Silence

None of the boys turned to her, they just continued with there chatter. Eliza opened her mouth to speak once more when she -rather unwillingly- picked up stray words from their conversation.

"It's not fair!" A tall lanky one with striped ears and tail whined

"Yeah! How come that useless shut-in gets to get married to a cute girl !" the second one was even taller, with thick furry grey ears that reminded Eliza of a wolf.

"Look man I don't know what Idia has that makes him so damn lucky! He's a useless wimp..." A Bold statement made by the one with metallic features.

Eliza was sure they continued bashing Idia but the phantom pain of blood coursing through her ears droned them out. How dare such hooligans speak ill of her beloved husband! Her fingers flexed in a robotic-like movement, stretching open than closing once more. Around her tiny flame-like spirits began to materialize, cute and cheery with big eyes and smiling mouths...until they noticed the distress of their mistress. the tiny things took a look around, grasping the situation from the loud words of the boys as well as Eliza's grim expression. Slowly the little flames began to merge with one another. Fusing into a large ax with a burning end. The weapon floated down to her hand, positioning itself smugly between her ghostly digits.

Eliza's eyes locked with the backs of the boys, she didn't know how this would work, could the ax could even harm the living? It may just phase through them as if nothing had happened....or it may price through there flesh and bones, tearing them in two. Hosting the ax up over her shoulder with both hands and taking a shaky step forward, Eliza lunged towards the first boy. In a swift flick of her wrist, the blade of the ax was pushing through the Ignihyde student's back. Splitting ceaselessly at the skin and urging past muscles until it reached the creamy colored bones. Eliza didn't stop there, her arms still pushing forward trying to get the heavy ax to break those pesky osseins. He had to pay for what he said! No one was permitted to speak ill of her one true love! A satisfying crack filled the air followed by a choir of screams. Only when the ax had finally resurfaced on the other side, covered in plasma and the remnants of organs, did Eliza turned her attention to the other two students. There eyes where enormous staring at her in disgust and fear...and something else. Something that -although it revolted her to her very core- she wished Idia would look at her with that same look in his eyes. A look of want, a look of need, pure lust, yet the welcoming sort ONLY if it was coming from the person you adored so much.

The blue-haired ghost didn't move, her semi existent body felt overworked. Everything hurt! Or at least she thought what she was feeling was the ghost equivalent to human pain. "Why.." her voice glitched at every syllable, like a broken cassette player. The two boys didn't answer instead taking shall strides backward. "WHY DID YOU SAY SUCH AWFUL THINGS ABOUT HIM!" in a split second, anger over ran Eliza's boy once more, dragging her and the ax forward until the blade came in contact with one of the animal eared men's neck. Slicing it so it flung backward, crashing onto the ground with loud "thud" then rolling around in its own gore. The last man stand, the one with monochrome ears pushed his palms forward, a pathetic attempt of shielding himself from her wrath. "W-we..we d-d-did...didn't-t mean...mean any..offense...honest!" His voice creaked as tears gushed from the corners of his eyes. "You're...you're just so...so...pretty...beautiful even...and...and...Shroud well...we...well, he's a loser who w-w-wouldn't kno--" his words were left half-finished, as Eiza's ax severed through him diagonally.  

Her heart was pounding much too fast, that it was beginning to make her feel sick. Her legs finally gave up, sending her crashing onto the blood coated floor.  Her bare knees dug into the red liquidy substance, finding an odd comfort in the warm human ichor. Eliza didn't know what to do, or even where to go. If she went back to Idia like this he would surely use it against her, Ortho was too young to be introduced to such a carnage...and she didn't know anyone else! "I'm all so very doomed" she sobbed as transparent tears trailed down her eyes.

"Hey" A distant voice spoke up. "What's wrong with her?" another voice, this one more high pitch and raspy. Eliza tore her face from her hands looking up at a group of three strangers and a cat...no, not strangers, she recognized the orange and blacked haired boy. They both had tried to crash her wedding. But the other person was new, they had a gentle look in their eyes, a welcoming stare that the princess longed for. "Hey ghost bride," The orange-haired boy spoke up, "need some help with your mess?" Eliza nodded meekly. Her body still limp and voice still too frail to speak. The last person, the one that had unexpectedly piqued Eliza's interest extended a hand towards her. And with only a scrap of hesitation, Eliza gripped it.

"Come on, we'll help you out!"

💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 

Tags: @yandere-romanticaa​ @ghostiebabey​ @lovee-infected​ @mermaid-painter​ @firemelody4​ also tagging @twstpasta​ and @delusional-obsessions​ cause I know they're huge Eliza fans.

[pink-peony-princess]

Thank you for loving me/S.M

"Baby, time to get up hon, you've got work in an hour," Shawn whispered in my ear, peppering kisses from my brow down to my chin. His calloused fingers- from his favourite hobby- the guitar- running up and down my arms.

"Mmm, morning," I smiled leaning up to meet his soft kiss.

"Is that coffee I smell?" I asked, sitting up slowly, pulling my (Shawn's) favourite over-sized sweater off the arm chair at the side of the bed and standing up only to be pulled into my favourite spot in the world, Shawn's warm embrace.

"Do you really think I'd be so silly as to wake you without the coffee pot at the ready?" he laughed, kissing my temple again, before taking my hand and leading me down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Both Shawn and I worked for the City of Toronto Fire Department, me as a recently qualified paramedic, and Shawn as a firefighter and paramedic. It had been a tough few months for me, the job was demanding and taxing, but I loved it, and I had Shawn and all my work mates to help guide me.

"Sit," he pointed to the barstool where a cup of coffee in my favourite mug and omelette was waiting.

"Ahhh I love you!" I groaned, flopping down in the chair, shovelling a piece of the fragrant food into my mouth.

"I take it it meets your expectations," he laughed, coming to sit next to me.

"Exceeds!" I mumbled around the next mouthful.

Am hour later and Shawn had dropped me at my station, before headed off across town again to his station.

As I made my way into the station the familiar sounds of saws, engines and various other equipment- once so threatening now seemed to welcome me home.

"Hey El." my work partner and paramedic in charge Jo called, coming to meet me at the locker room door.

"Morning, how are Eli and Felix today?" I asked referring to her two little boys.

"They're okay. Eli had a meltdown before school this morning at having to get out of bed, but once I reminded him that Mummy can't go to work and save people if he doesn't get up and go to school all was well. I swear if the kid doesn't become a firefighter or a paramedic himself one day I'll walk to the moon!" she laughed.

"Aw, he's so sweet, it's so cute how you're his idol, speaking of don't we have that school group coming today?"

"We were supposed to, but due to budget cuts'" she rolled her eyes "the department is no longer able to fund it, apparently it's too expensive and labour intensive to have people out of action."

I sighed," How are we supposed to encourage the next generation of they can't see it for themselves. I mean I became a paramedic because my school had a field trip to a firehouse."

"You're preaching to the choir here girl, you're preaching to the choir." she laughed, turning and walking out. I went about putting my stuff away before heading to the kitchen/common room where we all spent our time inbetween calls.

The day turned out to be a slow one and by eleven o'clock I was doing laundry- (only having been called out once) when Mo one of the longest serving fire fighters and overall cool dude appeared by the door.

"You've got a visitor El, there's someone waiting for you it on the apparatus floor."

"Thanks Mo, " I smiled, putting the clothes I had been folding down and heading out the door.

When I got to the apparatus floor, I was slightly shocked. There was Shawn, leaning casually against a Pilar waiting for me a brown bag in one hand- a bunch of sunflowers (my favourite) in the other.

"Shawn... What are you doing here?" I asked, still stunned.

He beamed running and picking me up.

"I had to come speak to chief Hachette about an arson case so I thought I'd surprise my girl. Do you have time for lunch?" he asked just as Jo walked out, stopping in her tracks. She looked so surprised I thought she was going to faint for a minute.

"And who's this?" she asked with a smile, coming over to stand in front of us where Shawn was still holding me.

"Jo meet Shawn." As soon as I said it I knew it was a mistake. A mischievous grin came over her face and I suddenly felt sick at all the intimate details I'd shared with her about our relationship on long nightshifts-mostly under duress, but still.

"Right so we're going to have lunch before we get another call," I spoke quickly, tugging at Shawn's arm to get him to walk before Jo had an opportunity to embarrass me.

"She seems nice," Shawn commented as we found a quiet spot to sit in the grass behind the firehouse.

"She is," I agreed as he handed me a turkey and Brie sandwich from my favourite deli downtown.

Half an hour later and lunch was done all too soon, duty unfortunately calling for Shawn leaving me alone to face the scrutiny of Jo.

"Girrlll, OMG, he's fiinnnee El. I hope you've locked him down cause I want me some of that," she spoke a million miles a minute running to catch up with me a la I made my way back into the common room and through to the laundry to finish folding the clothes from earlier.

"Well, speaking of," I dug around in my breast pocket, pulling out the engagement ring Shawn had proposed with over the weekend on a mini getaway to the Hamptons.

The scream that left Jo's mouth was louder than expected and sent the whole house into a frenzy. Mo and several of the other firefighters including Tiny and Bug to come running.

When they realised there was no actual issue they turned around grumbling about how we'd pulled then away from the basketball game theyd been placing bets on.

"So when, how, where all the details," she demanded grabbing my arm and jumping up and down. Just the thought of the romantic evening Shawn and I had spent made me giddy again.

However before I got a chance to response the bell went off overhead signalling an incoming call

"Main to 41... Possible GSW, 56th and Main."

I sighed.

It was probably some gang related drug issue again there were plenty of lovely people , but that side of town had a reputation.

"41 responding," I spoke into the radio on my shoulder l before running to the trick, jumping in and flicking the switch to the lights and sirens.

When we got to the scene all was well at first, the cops were already there assuring us it was safe to enter, however just as we were about to leave having treated a minor self inflicted wound a man brandishing a gun leapt from a concealed closet.

"Give me all the drugs you have b*TCH." He yelled before either Jo or I could take in what was happening.

"You know we can't do that sir," Jo spoke calmly. Moving to try to assess the man, who's head was bleeding heavily.

"I said give me the f*cking drugs b*TCH ."

He yelled again, storming towards me. The next few seconds were a blur, I heard a shots, there was immense pain in my abdomen and leg and then I crumpled to the floor, whacking my head in the process.

"El, El. Omg, stay with me." Jo panicked.

"41 to main we have an officer down, urgent assistance required for a GSW, EMS required now!" she shouted down her radio.

"Hurts," I gasped as the initial shock wore off and the pain hit, everything seemed to ache, my leg, my ribs, my head. The room was spinning and I was having trouble breathing no longer able to keep track of the flurry of activity.

Somewhere in the chaos,I'm not sure how long after the incident I heard his voice, Shawn's voice and at first I thought I was dreaming, but I managed to open my eyes and there he was, looking down at with with so much fear.

"It's alright baby, I'm here now, we're going to fix it up, you'll be just fine. Can you tell me where it hurts?" he asked.

I went to move, instinctively seeking his comfort, but he stopped me, and I instantly wanted to cry, more than I already was.

"You have to stay still Princess."

I let out a loud groan as he placed an oxygen mask over my face.

"El? Can you hear me?" I grunted, the effort of actually forming words seeming too hard right then. I could feel hands all over me, and as much as I just wanted to be left alone, I also knew , they were trying to help me.

"It hurts," I cried again.

"I know it does honey, but you're going to be okay. I'm here, and so is Connor and Jo, and we'll look after you, and then when we've got you all comfy we'll take you to get all fixed up, how does that sound?"

"Okay, lets get her onto the bed, and then we can assess her from there," Connor suggested, appearing by my side, with a back board and neck collar that Jo had brought over.

"Okay, we're going to roll you onto the board El just let us do all the work okay?" Shawn said.

I let out a serious of screams as they rolled me, gripping Shawn's gloved hand like my life depended on it.

"We'll get you sorted yeah?" Shawn tried to reassure me as they strapped me onto the bed so I was safe, and then starting to push the gurney out the door and towards the entrance of the ambulance which was no more than ten metres away.

"Shawn ," I whispered, tears falling down my face, mixing with the blood which I could feel was congelling on my face.

When we were in the ambulance Shawn and Jo attached me to the hundreds of leads which I was so used to attaching to others while I lay there helplessly.

"I've started some morphine," Jo patted my arm gently as Shawn pulled a blanket over my body as I drifted off into fairy land.

Ten minutes later and we were pulling into the emergency bay.

The automatic doors opened, where we were met with a hoard of staff, ready to assist, the first person being Brian, Shawn and my mutual friend and colleague.

The look of horror on his face when he saw that it was me on the gurney was unsettling.

"She's a priority one, bed four, resus," he directed Shawn, following behind. " What do we know?" He asked, starting to attach monitors and leads to me all over again.

"GSW on scene, while responding to an incident on the other side of town. Wound to leg and abdo, possible broken ribs and concussion." Shawn reeled off.

I wasn't aware that they'd even assessed me, clearly I'd lost consciousness at some point and I wasn't even aware of it.

I lay there mulling over this lapse in memory, letting the chaos wash over me like a wave.

The last thing I was aware of was Brian shouting orders at the floods of nurses, and Shawn standing helplessly in the corner, red-faced from crying, before everything went black.

"Ah, can you turn the lights off!" I groaned as I came to again, reaching to rip off whatever annoying piece of wiring was sitting over my face "My head hurts," I added as a dull.ache consumed my thoughts as Shawn's worried face came into view, his frame helping to block out the blinding light as he bent over the bed.

"Oh thank God I was so worried," he cried kissing me with so much force I forgot to breathe, making the monitor go crazy for a second. "How are you feeling he asked, stopping me from pulling at the thing on my face which turned out to be oxygen tubing

"What happened?" I asked,. I remembered the main.events but the rest was fuzzy, whether from my injuries or from the drugs I had no doubt been plied with I wasn't sure

"You were shot while on-call, drug exchange gone bad, you scared me so bad baby," he whispered, brushing hair out if my face as Brian made his way into the room clearing his throat to announce himself.

"Hi El, it's good to see you awake, how are you feeling?" He asked coming to check a few things on the monitors before flipping my chart that sat at the end of the bed open.

"So as you know you had two gun shot wounds, one to your left let and one to the abdomen, luckily for you they were both clean shots and we didn't need to do anything other than clean and irrigate the areas and stitch you up. You did however manage to fracture three ribs when you fell as well as sustaining a sizable concussion.

"So what does that mean work wise?" I asked. Shawn must have sensed my nerves, because he was sure to keep a hand intertwined with my, the other tracing soft patterns up and down my arm.

"We'll unfortunately, during the fall you fractured your tibia, which has left you in a cast, and pretty well imibilised, I'm sorry to say you'll be relying on this big guy-" he slapped Shawn in the back, "for the next week at least while everything settles.

You'll be in a cast for at least six weeks and off work from a minimum of two weeks with rehab worked in. Rest up El, give me a yell if ya need anything," he spoke to Shawn as he left the room.

"I'll lose my job," I cried, the thought of not being able to do what I loved terrified me.

"No you won't Brian said you'll be sore for a bit and need to rest, not that you'd lose your job, besides now you'll have a real reason to boss me around, I'll be your slave". He laughed covering .me with a blanket and lifting my bung leg to rest it in a pillow.

Besides when you're well enough there are some people who'd like to see you.

"Get some rest and we'll work it all out when you wake up.

True to his word, he helped me with everything, toileting, showering (which proved to be a challenge with the cast), dressing, getting up and down stairs, making breakfast, lunch and dinner, and forcing me to take pain medication when I was too stubborn to admit I needed it.

By the end of the first week though, I was miseeable,.not used to doing nothing but sitting in my behind.

"You my dear, need to get a coat on we're going out!" he announced, coming over with said coat and helping me to stuff my arms in.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"SSH, it's a secret," he grinned, before carrying me to the car and making sure I was all buckled up.

Half an hour later and we were pulling up to the firehouse, where a few of the guys were sat outside playing cards as we made our way (me hobbling haphazardly on crutches) into the firehouse

"Hero in the house!" Mo called out and they all came running.

"I'm so glad you're okay. You scared me girl." Jo sniffled coming to hug me.

"Ouch still a little sore." I laughed leaning into Shawn for support as she blubbered all over me.

"Well sore is better than the alternative.

If it weren't for this one," she pointed to Shawn "you'd be dead."

"You've got yourself a keeper,"Mo added with a smile.

"Well if Mo approves it must be true." I agreed. "I think I'll keep you." I added, causing everyone to laugh.

"Thank you," I whispered to Shawn when the others were out of ear shot.

"For what?" he asked.

"Just for being you and for loving me," I shrugged, snuggling futher into his embrace, feeling greatful just to be alive, let alone call this wonderful human mine.

[pinkpeonyprincessblog]

Thank you for Loving Me

"Baby, time to get up hon, you've got work in an hour", Shawn whispered in my ear, peppering kisses from my brow down to my chin. His calloused fingers- from his favourite hobby- the guitar- running up and down my arms.

"Mmm, morning," I smiled leaning up to meet his soft kiss.

"Is that coffee I smell?"I asked, sitting up slowly, pulling my (Shawn's) favourite over-sized sweater off the arm chair at the side of the bed and standing up only to be pulled into my favourite spot in the world, Shawn's warm embrace.

"Do you really think I'd be so silly as to wake you without the coffee pot at the ready?" he laughed, kissing my temple again, before taking my hand and leading me down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Both Shawn and I worked for the City of Toronto Fire Department, me as a recently qualified paramedic, and Shawn as a firefighter and paramedic. It had been a tough few months for me, the job was demanding and taxing, but I loved it, and I had Shawn and all my work mates to help guide me.

"Sit," he pointed to the barstool where a cup of coffee in my favourite mug and omelette was waiting.

"Ahhh I love you!" I groaned, flopping down in the chair, shovelling a piece of the fragrant food into my mouth.

"I take it it meets your expectations," he laughed, coming to sit next to me.

"Exceeds!" I mumbled around the next mouthful.

Am hour later and Shawn had dropped me at my station, before headed off across town again to his station.

As I made my way into the station the familiar sounds of saws, engines and various other equipment- once so threatening now seemed to welcome me home.

"Hey El.", my work partner and paramedic in charge Jo called, coming to meet me at the locker room door.

"Morning, how are Eli and Felix today?" I asked referring to her two little boys.

"They're okay. Eli had a meltdown before school this morning at having to get out of bed, but once I reminded him that Mummy can't go to work and save people if he doesn't get up and go to school all was well. I swear if the kid doesn't become a firefighter or a paramedic himself one day I'll walk to the moon!" she laughed.

"Aw, he's so sweet, it's so cute how you're his idol, speaking of don't we have that school group coming today?"

"We were supposed to, but due to budget cuts'" she rolled her eyes "the department is no longer able to fund it, apparently it's too expensive and labour intensive to have people out of action."

I sighed, "How are we supposed to encourage the next generation of they can't see it for themselves. I mean I became a paramedic because my school had a field trip to a firehouse."

"You're preaching to the choir here girl, you're preaching to the choir." she laughed, turning and walking out. I went about putting my stuff away before heading to the kitchen/common room where we all spent our time inbetween calls.

The day turned out to be a slow one and by eleven o'clock I was doing laundry- (only having been called out once) when Mo one of the longest serving fire fighters and overall cool dude appeared by the door.

"You've got a visitor El l, there's someone waiting for you it on the apparatus floor."

"Thanks Mo, " I smiled, putting the clothes I had been folding down and heading out the door.

When I got to the apparatus floor, I was slightly shocked. There was Shawn, leaning casually against a Pilar waiting for me a brown bag in one hand- a bunch of sunflowers (my favourite) in the other.

"Shawn... What are you doing here?"I asked, still stunned.

He beamed running and picking me up.

"I had to come speak to chief Hachette about an arson case so I thought I'd surprise my girl.Do you have time for lunch?" he asked just as Jo walked out, stopping in her tracks. She looked so surprised I thought she was going to faint for a minute.

"And who's this?" she asked with a smile, coming over to stand in front of us where Shawn was still holding me.

"Jo meet Shawn." As soon as I said it I knew it was a mistake. A mischievous grin came over her face and I suddenly felt sick at all the intimate details I'd shared with her about our relationship on long nightshifts-mostly under duress, but still.

"Right so we're going to have lunch before we get another call," I spoke quickly, tugging at Shawn's arm to get him to walk before Jo had an opportunity to embarrass me.

"She seems nice," Shawn commented as we found a quiet spot to sit in the grass behind the firehouse.

"She is." I agreed as he handed me a turkey and Brie sandwich from my favourite deli downtown.

Half an hour later and lunch was done all too soon, duty unfortunately calling for Shawn leaving me alone to face the scrutiny of Jo.

"Girrlll, OMG, he's fiinnnee El. I hope youve locked him down cause I want me some of that." she spoke a million miles a minute running to catch up with me a la I made my way back into the common room and through to the laundry to finish folding the clothes from earlier.

"Well, speaking of... " I dug around in my breast pocket, pulling out the engagement ring Shawn had proposed with over the weekend on a mini getaway to the Hamptons.

The scream that left Jo's mouth was louder than expected and sent the whole house into a frenzy. Mo and several of the other firefighters including Tiny and Bug to come running.

When they realised there was no actual issue they turned around grumbling about how we'd pulled then away from the basketball game theyd been placing bets on.

"So when, how, where all the details," she demanded grabbing my arm and jumping up and down. Just the thought of the romantic evening Shawn and I had spent made me giddy again.

However before I got a chance to response the bell went off overhead signalling an incoming call

"Main to 41... Possible GSW, 56th and Main."

I sighed.

It was probably some gang related drug issue again.there were plenty of lovely people , but that side of town had a reputation.

"41 responding," I spoke into the radio, before flicking the switch to the lights and sirens.

When we got to the scene all was well at first, the cops were already there assuring us it was safe to enter, however just as we were about to leave having treated a minor self inflicted wound a man brandishing a gun leapt from a concealed closet.

"Give me all the drugs you have b*TCH." He yelled before either Jo or I could take in what was happening.

"You know we can't do that sir," Jo spoke calmly. Moving to try to assess the man, who's head was bleeding heavily.

"I said give me the f*cking drugs b*TCH ."

He yelled again, storming towards me. The next few seconds were a blur, I heard a shots, there was immense pain in my abdomen and leg and then I crumpled to the floor, whacking my head in the process.

"El, El. Omg, stay with me." Jo panicked.

"41 to main we have an officer down, urgent assistance required for a GSW, EMS required now!" she shouted down her radio.

"Hurts," I gasped as the initial shock wore off and the pain hit, everything seemed to ache, my leg, my ribs, my head. The room was spinning and I was having trouble breathing no longer able to keep track of the flurry of activity.

Somewhere in the chaos,I'm not sure how long after the incident I heard his voice, Shawn's voice and at first I thought I was dreaming, but I managed to open my eyes and there he was, looking down at with with so much fear.

"It's alright baby, I'm here now, we're going to fix it up, you'll be just fine. Can you tell me where it hurts?" he asked.

I went to move, instinctively seeking his comfort, but he stopped me, and I instantly wanted to cry, more than I already was.

"You have to stay still Princess."

I let out a loud groan as he placed an oxygen mask over my face.

"El? Can you hear me?" I grunted, the effort of actually forming words seeming too hard right then. I could feel hands all over me, and as much as I just wanted to be left alone, I also knew , they were trying to help me.

"It hurts," I cried again.

"I know it does honey, but you're going to be okay. I'm here, and so is Connor and Jo, and we'll look after you, and then when we've got you all comfy we'll take you to get all fixed up, how does that sound?"

"Okay, lets get her onto the bed, and then we can assess her from there," Connor suggested, appearing by my side, with a back board and neck collar that Jo had brought over.

"Okay, we're going to roll you onto the board El just let us do all the work okay?" Shawn said.

I let out a serious of screams as they rolled me, gripping Shawn's gloved hand like my life depended on it.

"We'll get you sorted yeah?" Shawn tried to reassure me as they strapped me onto the bed so I was safe, and then starting to push the gurney out the door and towards the entrance of the ambulance which was no more than ten metres away.

"Shawn ," I whispered, tears falling down my face, mixing with the blood which I could feel was congelling on my face.

When we were in the ambulance Shawn and Jo attached me to the hundreds of leads which I was so used to attaching to others while I lay there helplessly.

"I've started some morphine," Jo patted my arm gently as Shawn pulled a blanket over my body as I drifted off into fairy land.

Ten minutes later and we were pulling into the emergency bay.

The automatic doors opened, where we were met with a hoard of staff, ready to assist, the first person being Brian, Shawn and my mutual friend and colleague.

The look of horror on his face when he saw that it was me on the gurney was unsettling.

"She's a priority one, bed four, resus," he directed Shawn, following behind. " What do we know?" He asked, starting to attach monitors and leads to me all over again.

"GSW on scene, while responding to an incident on the other side of town. Wound to leg and abdo, possible broken ribs and concussion." Shawn reeled off.

I wasn't aware that they'd even assessed me, clearly I'd lost consciousness at some point and I wasn't even aware of it.

I lay there mulling over this lapse in memory, letting the chaos wash over me like a wave.

The last thing I was aware of was Brian shouting orders at the floods of nurses, and Shawn standing helplessly in the corner, red-faced from crying, before everything went black.

"Ah, can you turn the lights off!" I groaned as I came to again, reaching to rip off whatever annoying piece of wiring was sitting over my face "My head hurts," I added as a dull.ache consumed my thoughts as Shawn's worried face came into view, his frame helping to block out the blinding light as he bent over the bed.

"Oh thank God I was so worried," he cried kissing me with so much force I forgot to breathe, making the monitor go crazy for a second. "How are you feeling he asked, stopping me from pulling at the thing on my face which turned out to be oxygen tubing

"What happened?" I asked,. I remembered the main.events but the rest was fuzzy, whether from my injuries or from the drugs I had no doubt been plied with I wasn't sure

"You were shot while on-call, drug exchange gone bad, you scared me so bad baby," he whispered, brushing hair out if my face as Brian made his way into the room clearing his throat to announce himself.

"Hi El, it's good to see you awake, how are you feeling?" He asked coming to check a few things on the monitors before flipping my chart that sat at the end of the bed open.

"So as you know you had two gun shot wounds, one to your left let and one to the abdomen, luckily for you they were both clean shots and we didn't need to do anything other than clean and irrigate the areas and stitch you up. You did however manage to fracture three ribs when you fell as well as sustaining a sizable concussion.

"So what does that mean work wise?" I asked. Shawn must have sensed my nerves, because he was sure to keep a hand intertwined with my, the other tracing soft patterns up and down my arm.

"We'll unfortunately, during the fall you fractured your tibia, which has left you in a cast, and pretty well imibilised, I'm sorry to say you'll be relying on this big guy-" he slapped Shawn in the back, "for the next week at least while everything settles.

You'll be in a cast for at least six weeks and off work from a minimum of two weeks with rehab worked in. Rest up El, give me a yell if ya need anything," he spoke to Shawn as he left the room.

"I'll lose my job," I cried, the thought of not being able to do what I loved terrified me.

"No you won't Brian said you'll be sore for a bit and need to rest, not that you'd lose your job, besides now you'll have a real reason to boss me around, I'll be your slave". He laughed covering .me with a blanket and lifting my bung leg to rest it in a pillow.

Besides when you're well enough there are some people who'd like to see you.

"Get some rest and we'll work it all out when you wake up.

True to his word, he helped me with everything, toileting, showering (which proved to be a challenge with the cast), dressing, getting up and down stairs, making breakfast, lunch and dinner, and forcing me to take pain medication when I was too stubborn to admit I needed it.

By the end of the first week though, I was miseeable,.not used to doing nothing but sitting in my behind.

"You my dear, need to get a coat on we're going out!" he announced, coming over with said coat and helping me to stuff my arms in.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"SSH, it's a secret," he grinned, before carrying me to the car and making sure I was all buckled up.

Half an hour later and we were pulling up to the firehouse, where a few of the guys were sat outside playing cards as we made our way (me hobbling haphazardly on crutches) into the firehouse

"Hero in the house!" Mo called out and they all came running.

"I'm so glad you're okay. You scared me girl." Jo sniffled coming to hug me.

"Ouch still a little sore." I laughed leaning into Shawn for support as she blubbered all over me.

"Well sore is better than the alternative.

If it weren't for this one," she pointed to Shawn "you'd be dead."

"You've got yourself a keeper,"Mo added with a smile.

"Well if Mo approves it must be true." I agreed. "I think I'll keep you." I added, causing everyone to laugh.

"Thank you," I whispered to Shawn when the others were out of ear shot.

"For what?" he asked.

"Just for being you and for loving me," I shrugged, snuggling futher into his embrace, feeling greatful just to be alive, let alone call this wonderful human mine.

[thesummoningdark]

Okay, while I love everything you write I think for the DVD commentary I'd like a behind-the-scenes look into chapter 3 of At the Edge of the World. The entire fic is lush and gorgeous but I'm a sucker for the bits where Goody and Sam interact, and with the easy, sure steadiness that Billy brings to this experience that's so harrowing for Goody and would love your additional thoughts on either/both. -The Anon Formerly Known As Thrillingest

So this took forever. I’m happy to do more of these DVD commentaries (you can hit me up over on my writing sideblog!) if anyone’s interested, but I’d appreciate it if any further requests are for scenes rather than whole chapters. A chapter takes too long to do.

Anyway, answer below the cut~

When I originally set out to write this fic, the first neural handshake was what I’d actually been prompted to write (as a christmas present for @b-r-a-h iirc). It grew and took on a life of its own in the writing, but even so, that one scene was always going to make or break the whole fic. I spent a lot of time working on getting it just right.

It’s late enough by the time he finally leaves the kwoon that he doesn’t expect to find Sam in his office; he hesitates before going looking for him at all. But the prospect of another night stewing is unbearable. He doesn’t trust himself not to have lost his nerve by morning if he doesn’t commit to this now.

The shatterdome is quiet as he makes his way through. The overhead lights, motion-activated, flare one by one as he passes and settle into a steadily glowing trail behind him. It does nothing to quiet the sick unease simmering under his skin, feeling painfully exposed as his footsteps echo loudly in the silence of the bare corridors. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say. He can’t shake the conviction that there’s no choice he can make here which won’t turn out to have been a horrible mistake.

I was very pleased with the description of the shatterdome late at night, of how the quiet makes Goody feel so much more exposed and on edge. This opening part of the chapter was all about really showing his unease and how trapped he feels by the situation.

He hesitates in front of Sam’s door. Raises his hand; lowers it again.

He takes a deep breath, swears, and knocks.

These two lines work very well as punctuation to the scene, I think, slowing things down and underlining Goody’s hesitation. The short, sharp phrases are very different from how I normally write prose from Goody’s point of view - it’s actually a lot more like how I’d write Billy, oddly enough - but I like the sense it gives of these jerky, aborted movements and Goody second-guessing himself.

There are a few endless moments of silence before the sounds of movement emerge faintly from the other side of the door, a few muffled thumps and the quiet shuffle of footsteps. Goody hears the hollow clunk of the lock sliding back, but somehow it still startles him when the door swings open, his heart in his throat as he takes a step back and meets Sam’s tired eyes.

“I’ll do it,” he says in a rush before Sam can ask why he’s here. Sam regards him solemnly for a long moment before nodding.

“Good.”

“…I have some conditions,” Goody clarifies in a more measured tone, something sick and shocked crawling feverishly over the back of his neck as the magnitude of what he’s just agreed to tries to sink in. He pushes it away.

Sam sighs, and glances up and down the corridor before stepping aside. “Why don’t you come in.”

Writing this fic was the first time I really got to write interactions between Sam and Goody, and honestly, at first it was a little intimidating. Their conversation in the first chapter was the first time I’d ever written Sam period. I pretty much wrote this fic sequentially from start to finish, so by this point I was a lot more comfortable in their dynamic. I really love the ease between them, the sense of history in how well they know each other. A lot goes unspoken in their conversations because of it.

The Marshall’s quarters are larger than most others in the shatterdome, designed with the thought in mind that the occupant would be entertaining visiting dignitaries and the like. Still, it would take an impressive stretch of the definition to call any of the living quarters homey, and Sam’s have a certain barren neatness about them that speaks of a man who doesn’t own enough to clutter them, or spend enough time there to generate other mess. It’s very clearly a space where someone comes to sleep, not to live; there’s a distinct lack of personal touches. Save one.

Tacked to the back of the door is a single photo, unframed and a touch singed along one side, depicting a laughing family. Goody looks at it for a long moment before lowering his eyes out of some vestigial sense of respect. They all have their ghosts.

He sits on one of the spartan sofas, his gaze catching on the neat stacks of files spread out over the coffee table. Some he can identify; repair and maintenance records, duty reports, cadet evaluations. Others he doesn’t recognise at all. It’s truly startling, the amount of paperwork an organisation like the PPDC can generate in a day. “Has no-one ever told you it’s unhealthy to bring your work home with you?” he asks lightly. Sam snorts.

Some nice little set-dressing pieces of characterisation for Sam here. It doesn’t come up in any detail, but I imagine that he would have lost his family in a kaiju attack sometime before meeting Goody/joining the PPDC. That very clear sense of what he’s fighting for and why is something I consider to be pretty central to Sam’s character. I like having the old family photo there as a nod to his backstory - it crops up in the polyamory fill from KTT as well.

His room being fairly spartan is another hint at his character - very focused, all business - but it also handily doubles as a way of reinforcing the uncomfortable nature of Goody’s situation. The scene just wouldn’t feel quite the same if Sam’s quarters were cosy and welcoming.

“You mentioned conditions,” he says, sitting down opposite Goody and reaching for a gently steaming mug.

“Privacy,” Goody replies without hesitation. “And for it to be kept quiet. I’d rather not have an audience for this. And what a failed handshake would do to morale is the last thing the shatterdome needs right now.”

“We can arrange that,” Sam says, giving a nod, and Goody hadn’t even realised he was anticipating a fight until suddenly the tension is flowing out of him at the easy agreement. He sighs and sinks a little deeper into the sofa, scrubbing a weary hand over his face. Some part of him had half been hoping for an argument, for a refusal, but…here they are. For better or for worse, this is happening.

“For the record,” he says, “I’m still not convinced this is going to work.”

Sam considers him for a long moment. “So why agree?”

“Because…” Goody shakes his head, swallowing the sudden bitter taste at the back of his throat, some choking tightness wrapping around his chest. “Because in six months or a year, some green pilot pair riding a shaky drift are going to die in that damn jaeger.” He can see it clear as day from inside and out. The alarms screaming in the red-lit cockpit, the searing shock of the connection being violently severed; the roar of chaos over the radio back in the LOCCENT before everything goes abruptly, horribly silent. “I don’t need another what if to carry around.”

It was important to me in writing the first half of this fic to really work through Goody’s motivations: why he’s initially reluctant, and why he ultimately agrees. The progression from wanting to run from this to being willing to stand and fight even knowing how it’s likely to end for him is a parallel to canon I really wanted to keep. In a way this whole fic is about how he comes to that decision in this particular universe.

“I know the feeling,” Sam says quietly.

Goody gives him a thin, exhausted ghost of a grin. “Remember when we were young and bold and going to live forever?”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “No.”

Have I mentioned that I really enjoyed writing their interactions?

Perhaps unsurprisingly he doesn’t sleep well that night. He can feel the enormity of the decision he’s just committed to hanging over him, a frozen tidal wave poised to come crashing down if he dares acknowledge it. He dozes restlessly and wakes often to the lingering claws of formless nightmares, a cold sweat on his skin and his heart beating too fast in his chest, fighting his way free of tangled sheets in a panic. The darkness of his quarters is heavy and close.

He finally gives up on sleep entirely sometime before dawn. A few of the night shift are haunting corners of the mess hall; he keeps his head down so as to not inadvertently provoke a conversation through eye contact as he pours himself a coffee and walks out again with tin mug in hand. On autopilot his feet carry him to the gantry behind the loading docks. The ocean is invisible somewhere in the inky blackness below, the steady crash of breaking waves drifting up out of the darkness. The wind plucks at his coat and snatches away the smoke from his cigarette as he exhales, watching clouds scud by above in the pale moonlight.

Slowly the sky starts to lighten, dawn breaking somewhere behind the clouds. Goody flicks away the spent end of his cigarette, sighs, and heads back inside.

I always enjoy writing Goody alone with his thoughts. As I’ve said before, writing from his point of view makes it easy to lend a poetic bent to the prose, and in this kind of context you end up with this lovely evocative melancholy air. Especially when coupled with the imagery of the cold, stormy sea that crops up so much in this fic.

He considers breakfast for token moment, but even the thought of food has the knots in his stomach tightening nauseously; he drops his empty mug off in the slowly-filling mess hall and instead traces the familiar path up to the kwoon. A few diligent souls are already warming up beside the sparring mat. Goody does his best to ignore them as he skirts the opposite edge of the kwoon and makes his way to the door of the attached office.

Billy is sitting at his desk, an empty mess hall tray by his elbow and a mess of papers spread out in front of him. A hint of surprise flickers across his expression as Goody enters.

“Twice in as many days?” He raises his eyebrows. “Did you make some kind of late new year’s resolution?”

Billy’s sense of humour delights me. It’s something we only really see brief glimpses of in canon, but I’ve really enjoyed fleshing it out a little more in writing him. It’s an interesting contrast to Goody, who tends to use a self-deprecating sort of humour to deflect; Billy uses humour in a more pointed way.

Goody chooses not to dignify that with a response. He takes a moment to close the door behind him before taking a deep breath and saying with no preamble, “I agreed to it.”

There’s a drawn out moment of silence.

“…you talked to Chisholm already?” Billy asks, carefully noncommittal. His expression is unreadable.

“Yes.” Goody pauses, his gaze dropping a little as he considers his next words. “….I’ve asked for it to be kept quiet.”

There’s the soft rush of a sigh from the other side of the table, followed by the creak of a chair; Goody glances up to see Billy standing. He circles around and twitches the blinds aside to look out into the kwoon.

“You still don’t think this is going to work,” he says.

Goody gives a small shrug. “I’d rather be prepared if it doesn’t.”

“And if it does?”

Even before they ever actually drift, Billy and Goody know each other very well, and it comes through in the way they talk to each other. Especially about important things. There’s a lot that goes unspoken because it’s already understood. They get straight to the point..which would be the case anyway, I think, but it’s particularly pronounced here because Goody is still in that mode of powering through as much of this as he can before he loses his nerve.

Something icy crawls down Goody’s spine. It seems a touch ridiculous, now he suddenly has cause to admit it aloud, but he honestly hadn’t given any thought to what would come next if they were successful. He hadn’t seriously entertained the possibility that they might be.

If somehow, against all reason and experience this works, if they make it through the joint drop sims and every other test and barrier between them and that conn pod…he’ll be a pilot again. He’ll be back out there facing the kaiju. Just the thought is enough to have the sick stirrings of panic clawing their way up his throat.

It made sense to me that, being so caught up in all the ways the handshake could go wrong and what happens if it does, Goody hadn’t even stopped to seriously consider the possibility that it might succeed, much less think about what he’ll do if it does. He can’t let himself think about what happens if they succeed, because that’s the only outcome worse than failure. If trying to drift again is bad, trying to pilot again is so much worse. He’s found himself backed into a catch-22 where there’s no good outcome, and a lot of what I was trying to do with the first half of this chapter was to really get across his sense of dread.

A firm hand lands on his shoulder and he starts, blinking wide-eyed at Billy, who’s suddenly beside him. His expression is calm, but there’s a spark of something in his eyes that Goody doesn’t know how to read; something implacable and determined, something fierce enough to be alien after so long without allowing himself the luxury of hope.

“Goody,” he says, steady and certain in a way that brooks no disagreement. “We’ll figure it out.”

Goody takes a deep, steadying breath and gives a shaky nod. Billy’s right. What happens will happen, and while he may lack Billy’s confidence that they’ll be equal to whichever challenge comes of it, he can’t let himself get tangled up in anticipating it when it’s going to take everything he has just to get through what’s coming next.

The next few days are nothing but the gnawing unease of anticipation, part of him desperate to have this over and done with, another hopelessly wishing he could put it off indefinitely. It’ll be a relief for it to be over, even if he already knows that relief will be tainted with an old, familiar kind of shame. But to get it over with, he has to get through it, and some nagging voice at the back of his mind is constantly whispering that maybe he can’t. He doesn’t know if he has another handshake left in him. He’s so, so tired of wondering every time if this trip down the rabbit hole will be the one that finally breaks him.

It’s not something I chose to dig into a lot in this fic, but this paragraph right here is actually a very important insight into where Goody’s at in this place in time. It’s not that he doesn’t want to move on from the trauma of losing his copilot, or that he couldn’t do it under the right circumstances, but he’s trapped in this cycle of having to relive it and be traumatised anew every time he tries to enter the drift. He’s in this limbo space where he wants to move on but he can’t. He’s not being allowed to.

In a way, his psychological situation parallels his real life one very neatly. He’s not a pilot any more, but his experience is too useful to waste, so he’s still a part of a jaeger program. The fight his copilot died in was a long time ago, but he can’t heal from it when he’s still having to relieve it. Both leave him in a situation where he can’t do anything to help himself where he is, but he can’t distance himself either.

More than anything else in those achingly empty days, he finds himself seeking out Billy’s company. Perhaps it’s a good sign that the undemanding quiet of Billy’s presence steadies him in a way that not much that doesn’t come in a bottle can these days. But some darker, more pessimistic part of him can’t help but wonder if this is nothing but him savouring the last days of this friendship while he can, before the handshake ruins it.

He feels a pang of guilt for it, occasionally. It seems disloyal even to entertain the thought that Billy wouldn’t be better than that. But he can’t bring himself to believe that anyone could be exposed to the wreckage of his subconscious, and not want to do the smart thing and distance themselves. Lord knows he would if he could.

This comes up a lot in writing their relationship from Goody’s point of view: that he feels it’s a disservice to Billy to think that their relationship is on such a shaky foundation, but he still can’t help but be afraid of it.

The few days they spend waiting seem to last an eternity. But when word finally comes that LOCCENT are ready for them, the only thought in Goody’s head is that an eternity wouldn’t be long enough to let him be ready for this.

The solid warmth of Billy’s shoulder against his is a comfort he desperately needs as they walk into the drivesuit room side by side to be met by a skeleton crew of technicians. He hasn’t set foot in this part of the shatterdome since that last disastrous failed handshake; just the familiar smell of relay gel and oiled metal is enough to have his heart beating faster, a slight tremor shaking through his hands.

Generally it’s a more relaxed process, preparing for a handshake. In a combat drop there would be alarms blaring, the countdown displayed on every screen, running out the seven minutes they have after an event to get into the cockpit and be ready to launch. There’s none of that time pressure here. No rush, although the technicians pride themselves on their speed and efficiency even when it isn’t a matter of life and death. And yet he knows he’s never been this nervous before a combat drop, sick with the anticipation of what’s waiting for him in the conn pod.

He closes his eyes and tunes out the low murmurs of the technicians, clinging to a fragile sense of calm numbness as he lets himself be turned and posed and strapped into the drivesuit. At least there won’t be an audience. Sam has been true to his word about keeping it quiet, hand-picking staff he trusts to run LOCCENT and the drivesuit room, and choosing a time toward the end of the nightshift when the few people still awake will be tired and incurious. However badly this goes, at least he won’t have to deal with stares and whispers following him around the shatterdome for the next week.

The technician at his shoulder gives his backplate one last solid thump and steps away. He sighs, gathers what little courage he has left, and walks forward.

If he thought the drivesuit room was sickeningly familiar, it’s nothing beside the conn pod, the lights of the control panels and the waiting cradle of the command platform. For an endless moment he finds himself frozen in the doorway. He’s never set foot inside Widow Rose before - she was built long after his last drop, and quickly filled by a copilot pair of her own - but knowing that doesn’t help. It’s still horribly, achingly familiar.

Billy nudges his shoulder gently, startling him out of his reverie. He swallows down the pathetic part of him that wants so desperately to find some way, any way of delaying this even if only for a second, and gives a shaky nod. This is happening one way or another. The least he can do is face it with what little dignity he has left.

Obviously any writer’s work is informed by their own experiences, but for me, this part was a lot closer to the bone than most others. In this case I was drawing on my own memories of having to go through with crash escape/sea survival training despite having a massive phobia of water. That feeling of forcing yourself to go through with something you’re desperately afraid of, how badly you want to grab any chance to delay it just a little longer…it definitely stays with you.

“Breathe,” Billy says, low and even. “You’ll get through it.”

“Said the butcher to the cow,” Goody mutters.

Billy huffs a laugh. “I’ll make it quick and painless.”

Despite himself, he can’t help but be lulled a little by Billy’s easy calm, even as he feels a pitiful stab of envy for it. He gives a thin, tired ghost of a smile and nudges Billy’s shoulder lightly in return. If he always would have had to find himself here again, he’s glad at least that it’s Billy here with him. He doesn’t know that he could have faced it with anyone other than Billy by his side.

I really enjoy writing these little exchanges that show how easily they play off of each other, especially in stressful situations. And the lighter flashes of humour that come from their conversations were something the first half of this chapter really needed. 

Harness set for test mode is flashing on the screens as they strap themselves in. Goody’s hands are shaking badly enough to have him fumbling the controllers as he threads his fingers through them, sick unease prickling feverishly over the back of his neck and cold sweat crawling down his skin under the drivesuit. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming fast and shallow; lord only knows what his vitals readout in LOCCENT must look like.

“Pilots on board and ready to connect,” Teddy’s voice filters in tinnily over the comms. Goody sucks in a sharp breath.

“Steady,” Billy murmurs.

“Initiating neural handshake.”

This is mostly an inside joke, of course, but the thought of Teddy as Tendo makes me laugh.

For an endless moment there’s nothing but the visceral rush of sense memory, too quick and tangled to make any sense of, the sudden feeling of everyone opening and unfolding, of the mind flowing out into the space suddenly opened to it. He hears his mother’s voice, sees a fleeting glimpse of her face from a child’s low perspective. Somewhere behind it is another woman’s voice, words in a language he doesn’t speak but somehow understands. A sharp stab of unease; a man’s voice this time, abrupt and angry. Helpless frustration. Silence.

There’s a mirror in front of him and bruises on his face and the taste of blood in his mouth, and pain comes tearing up his flank, alarms blaring in the desperate red pulse of the conn pod emergency lighting, and in the last screaming moments he feels something snap with a brutal whiplash leaving behind nothing, nothing, nothing—

There’s a lot going on here. Some memories, like the image of the red-lit conn pod and the loss of a copilot, are very clearly Goody’s. but a lot of the rest don’t distinctly belong to one or the other - it was a conscious decision on my part to leave it ambiguous which memories are coming from who. I wanted to run with the idea that a flash of memory from one would pull up similar memories from the other, and they’d keep feeding into each other. 

Off the record, the start and the end are Goody, and the middle (everything from another woman’s voice to blood in his mouth) is Billy.

Except that there isn’t nothing. Under it all there’s something solid, an unexpected rock to cling to and keep his head above water while he gasps for air. Just the shock of it, of being caught when he expected to fall, is enough to snap him out of the inward spiral for a precious, fleeting moment. It’s so very little, an eye in the storm of crushing panic. But it’s enough for something warm and steady to wrap in around him, and push back the howling dark.

It’s not the panicked clawing he remembers, the fingers of a doomed attempt to reel him in frantically scrabbling to find purchase on his spiralling subconscious. Instead it’s a mere brush of a touch, nudging him back toward an even keel so gently he might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been waiting for it.

That sea/storm imagery coming up again here. That second paragraph was actually the first part of this scene I wrote, and it’s definitely something I wanted to run with for the whole thing: the idea that rather than trying to keep too tight a rein like previous candidates have tried and failed to do, Billy has a knack for gently nudging Goody at the right moments to keep him from spiralling.

“Billy?” he mumbles uncertainly, his voice cracking. He’s here in the conn pod, but no, the alarms are silent. The lights are a calm, steady blue. The only pain is sense memory.

“Breathe,” Billy says again, just as calm and steady as the lights. “I’ve got you.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and slowly exhales. The rabbit hole is right there, aching emptily like a missing tooth, but no sooner do his thoughts drift toward it than they’re steered in another direction; a flashing school of fish easily startled into darting off by a dark shape slowly cruising by below.

With every step he expects to fall. But the connection stays steady, grounding him in the here and now. The jaeger is alive under his hands, and now he’s not so tangled in the cobwebs of painful memory…she feels different from Aura Blue. Lighter. And Billy is right there with him every inch of the way as he slowly settles back into the old familiar feeling of a jaeger’s heart beating with his, filling the drift with the undemanding quiet he’s always associated with Billy’s presence.

I liked the idea that once he’s been steadied enough to stop that spiral before it starts, Goody actually can more or less keep a handle on himself. Once again that reference to a light touch rather than a tight rein comes up, with bonus sea imagery - a flashing school of fish easily startled into darting off by a dark shape slowly cruising by below.

There’s definitely a turning point here: it’s the first time we really see Goody start to focus in on new things, things that are different, rather than the ways in which he’s reminded of painful memories.

Also fun fact, it took me for-fucking-ever to settle on a name for Goody and Sam’s jaeger. In early drafts it was referred to as “Ash” as a placeholder. It was that deleted scene that came out with Goody at the piano which gave me the inspiration to finally pick an actual name for it.

Tentatively he reaches out, testing the shape of their connection. There’s satisfaction radiating from Billy, pride tinged with relief, and— there, sitting at the centre of it all so deceptively unassuming that he scarcely recognises it for what it is, the cold certainty of what this means for them.

His own fears are skittering things, slipping away when his thoughts land on them in daylight; leaving only trails of lingering unease behind until they creep back up on him in the silence of his bunk at night. He half expects this one to do the same, but it doesn’t.

You’re afraid too he thinks, the realisation distant and dazed. He can’t see Billy’s smile, but he feels it. Grim amusement. Fatalism. Acceptance.

This was something I really wanted to put front and centre when they drifted: the idea that Billy knows what this means for them just as well as Goody does, but they handle that knowledge so differently that Goody almost doesn’t recognise it for what it is. Goody is the kind of person who tries to ignore his fears until he can’t any more. He’s not well equipped to get his head around the way Billy can look this in the face and accept it.

Goody says you’re afraid too, but he still isn’t quite grasping it. Billy isn’t afraid of this. Not in the same way Goody is. He knows that stepping into that conn pod together ultimately means dying there, but in his mind, he’s already weighed up the possibility and decided that it’s worth the cost. To paraphrase the original Pacific Rim: they’re all going to die one way or the other. He’d rather die in a jaeger.

Goody hasn’t accepted the inevitability of his own mortality; he’s still caught up in wanting to put it off for as long as possible. Billy has. It’s more important to him to die for something worthwhile than to avoid it for a little longer. When you get right down to it, I think this is probably the most fundamental difference in who they are are people.

The readouts on the screens are all in the green, the conn pod humming around them. “Full alignment,” Teddy’s voice comes again over the comms, static crackling on the line. “Handshake holding steady.”

“Congratulations,” Sam adds. To anyone else he might sound perfectly professional, but Goody knows him well enough to know what ‘self-satisfied’ sounds like on him. He’s sure that the fond exasperation that suffuses the link is wholly his, but the answering flicker of amusement is definitely Billy’s.

There is honestly no interaction between Sam and Goody in this entire fic that I’m not delighted by. There’s always such a sense of history and familiarity between them.

The process of disconnecting and powering down passes in something of a daze. It’s been so long since the last time a handshake ended in anything other than a spiral and an emergency shutdown for him that distance has made the standard procedure unfamiliar. It’s calm, matter of fact; clearly routine for everyone present but him. He barely has the presence of mind to follow what’s happening.

Fortunately, little is required of him other than moving when he’s told. In some kind of stunned trance he allows himself to be led from the conn pod and methodically peeled out of the drivesuit, the murmurs of the technicians and the voices from LOCCENT filtering over the radio so much white noise in his ears. […] 

It honestly wasn’t until I hit the end of the neural handshake scene that it really dawned on me how long it would have been since Goody actually experienced a normal disconnection. It isn’t something we see in Pacific Rim either, so unlike the initial connection (most of the procedure for which I lifted directly from the movie), I didn’t have anything to go on. Fortunately under the circumstances it made sense for Goody to be in a bit of a daze, so I was spared the necessity of getting into specifics.

[…]Everything seems distant and hazy and unreal.

Everything apart from Billy.

It’s momentarily disorienting to turn and see Billy facing him when instinct insists that they should be moving as one. Billy tilts his head, considering; Goody notices himself mirroring the motion half a heartbeat after he does it, the two of them still half in sync as they ride out the echoes of the drift. His heart is still racing, hardly able to believe that they really did it. He hadn’t believed it could ever flow that smooth and easy again. After all this time he’d forgotten what it could be like to slip into a solid, comfortable connection.

They’re close, he realises belatedly; enough so to look odd to outside eyes. So soon after the handshake his instincts don’t even question that of course Billy belongs in his personal space as much as he does himself. A day ago he might have felt exposed under that searching gaze. Now it’s nothing but familiar.

This part got written out of order very early on as well. The image of them moving together, still half in sync, was something I had very clearly in my head when I set out to start writing this, and I wanted to get it down before it faded.

“You could have said something,” Billy says after a long pause.

There’s no point in pretending not to know exactly what he’s talking about. A flush creeps up Goody’s cheeks, but he doesn’t lower his eyes. “It never seemed like a good time,” he replies with a small shrug.

It’s strange to think how recently the idea of having every fleeting want and idle fantasy laid bare would have been mortifying. Here and now, still half in the drift, the idea that Billy knows seems as natural and unremarkable as admitting it to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts. There’s no unease, no knee-jerk revulsion. There’s nothing but slightly startled curiosity, and a trace of what might be cautious interest.

I toyed with a few different ways of approaching this conversation, but ultimately I decided that it would have to be very matter-of-fact. How could it be anything else, when they’ve just been inside each other’s heads? It’s not something that’s explicitly explored in Pacific Rim, but I figured that for a little while right after drifting successfully, you’d still be thinking of your copilot as essentially the same entity as you. 

As it says above, the idea that Billy knows seems as natural and unremarkable as admitting it to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts. It couldn’t work any other way, really, or the whole premise falls apart a little. They both know exactly what they’re talking about, how they both feel about it…the fact that Goody now knows beyond question that while startled Billy isn’t opposed to the idea is definitely helping him keep his cool.

One of the technicians clears her throat, breaking their shared reverie, unfazed as only a long-term drivesuit tech can be when their attention snaps to her in perfect unison. She informs them that the Marshal is expecting them for a debrief, and politely ejects them from the drivesuit room to make the walk to LOCCENT.

“I knew you had another one in you,” is the first thing Sam says, smiling broadly.

Goody huffs a laugh and lets himself be pulled into a hug. “We’ll see,” he replies, noncommittal. “One successful handshake doesn’t mean a combat-ready link.”

Sam shrugs. “We’ll schedule a joint drop sim tomorrow. In the meantime—” He gives a wry grin. “—why don’t you give me five damn minutes to enjoy something going right for once.”

“Yes sir,” Goody replies with an entirely spurious dutiful air, throwing a mock salute.

“Very funny,” Sam says, a hint of a smile curling the corner of his lips. “Go on, get out of here. Both of you. Sleep. You’ve earned it.”

I find something about the phrase politely ejects them inherently hilarious. I also enjoy the image of the techs being utterly unimpressed by all this drift bullshit just through sheer exposure wearing the mystique off of it.

As previously noted, I love writing Sam and Goody interacting, and it was particularly nice to write this conversation. It’s the first one in this fic where they’re both happy and relieved, and it gives it a much lighter feel.

The first hints of the shatterdome waking are starting to drift through the air around them as they make their way back down from LOCCENT; internal lights slowly brightening, footfalls and distant chatter in the air as the oncoming day shift begin the sleepy shuffle from quarters to showers to mess hall. No matter what else may be happening, the rhythm of shifts and rotations carries stubbornly on like the slow beat of some colossal heart.

They get a few glances and mumbled greetings in passing, but no-one seems to pay them much mind. After the last few days of aching uncertainty, it’s an indescribable relief to walk through the halls of the shatterdome with the weight of the handshake off of his mind, with the lingering echoes of Billy’s utter self-confidence bolstering him. It’s a relief to find himself not avoiding anyone’s eyes.

It doesn’t feel real yet. Part of him remains convinced that some other stumbling block up ahead will catch them out, that they’ll trip over a reason why it can’t work when they’re least expecting it. He doesn’t know if he’s afraid of it or hoping for it.

The theme of people coming together to form some joint entity greater than the sum of its parts is, of course, a powerful recurring theme in Pacific Rim. It’s most overt in the copilot pairs, but I wanted to throw in these occasional reminders that even the jaegers themselves are just one part of the greater entity that is the shatterdome itself.

The end of this chapter is probably the lightest and most hopeful in tone of any part of the fic, but Goody is definitely still unsure if he’s really prepared for what success means for them. He doesn’t want to have to go back out there and fight. 

“You’re still not sure about this, are you,” Billy says aloud.

Goody gives a small shrug. “As I said to Sam, compatibility doesn’t necessarily mean a link stable enough for combat.” Keeping the drift steady in the calm, controlled environment of a test handshake is a very different thing to maintaining it under the stress and demanding neural load of combat.

“Tell me you don’t think I can hold it,” Billy says, flat and matter of fact. Goody sighs.

“No,” he says. “No, when you put it like that, I suppose I don’t doubt that you can.”

One of my favourite things about Goody and Billy’s relationship, the thing which drew me to them in the first place, is how much trust there is between them. Goody still isn’t sure that he can do this, but he believes completely that Billy can. And he’s willing to trust that Billy can steady him when he needs it.

As I think I’ve mentioned in previous replies, I do struggle with ending chapters sometimes. In this fic I actually did it differently to how I normally would: I wrote most of the fic as if it was a one-shot, and then went back and divided it up into chapters based on where it felt natural to pause. It was a much easier way of doing it, and I think the transitions from one chapter to the next after are definitely improved by it.