#panic induced amnesia

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about how canon it is that Logan's cptsd and truama is so bad that his brain quite literally just DIPS sometimes like in days of future past when he blinks out and Charles is the one who calms him down.

How he grabs charles up and growls at him that he dosn't know who he is, where he is, or how he got here. He sees one of his best friends in the future and screams "What the fuck is that!?"

Charles and Hank just look at him like bruh weve been over this already. He says "Ill handle this," while looking at Logan when talking to Hank, then tells Hank to go stop Erik.

Logan recognizes this as Charles having authority over this big blue beast of a man, somewhat submitting to his word, litsening that he is infact 'Logan' and that he's spent the last couple of days with them (establishing that they are friends not foe) and then- in the most pathetic way ever- Lies to him. Tells him he's on "really bad acid"

Logan is still very spooked but just gives a little nod.

This is the quickest I've seen ANYONE gain his trust when in states like this other than Jean and Kurt, who was stupid enough to bear hug the feral woods man charging at him with his claws out.

Kurt is one of the few people without telepathy (even though Charles sacrificed his for his legs) who can get to Logan very quickly with minimal damage.

And I feel like... Wade might be just as stupid. He's so stupid that Logan would growl at him, shove a fist full of knives right through him, and Wade would just stand there like "ouch. Anyway- what's got you all riled up, peanut?"

So he'd do it again. And again. Annndd again.

When he finally does think Wade is dead, he just gasps and sits back up. "Look if this is about what I did with your toothbrush-"

Logan could decapitate him, and still he would just chase after his head like, "Aaw not cool man, do you know how much it hurts to put this thing back on? 3 days of neck pain, that's what."

It would both freak logan out and confuse him enough to become grounded, that shock factor of "what the fuck just happened???" enough to regulate his heart.

Logan would stare at him, baffled, watching as he sits there and tries to reattach his head. He'd look at his bloody claws, look at the mess on the floor, blink a few times, and honestly might start batting at his head with pure curiousity.

"Oh my god, you're such a cat."

How was he talking still? Maybe he was sleeping. Yeah, that's it. He was dreaming. This was a dream.

The only real issue he would have is keeping Logan inside the apartment until he calmed enough to realize that this wasn't a dream- this is real- you just decapitated your room mate.

Because god knows that once you set a feral wolverine free? You won't find him again until he wants to be found, which can be weeks, months, years even.

He needs that soft authority. The type that's built on mutual trust and respect. The type where he has the ability to leave and return at his own will. The moment you try to pin him down, tell him that you have higher authority due to some made-up rank, that's when you lose him. Logan subconsiously has an animalistic based sense of authority and hierarchy.

Charles had "control" over this blue beasty creature, and to Logan, that means he's head hancho in that moment. It makes Logan recognize that there's a reason, too, seeing as Beast could easily destroy such a scrawny pathethic looking man, right? It's only natural for his systems to lay out like this. Having constantly battled for "dominance" with Victor also plays a part.

Despite being in the military for so long, hearing someone is captain does not add up in his head unless they deserve to be captain through strength or size. It's why while Wade (who technically is stronger than him) dosn't show agression to "prove" his status, Logan realizes that his claws being usless plays a big part.

It's like when you go to fight a battle in a video game only to realize that your fire powers do absolutely no damage on the fire based enemy, if anything, fueling it by giving it more fire.

A "aw shit sorry fam my bad" type of submission such as wolves do. While usually related, juvenile males will still try to prove dominance with the top male only for the top male to quickly remind them why they are boss in which case the juvenile wolf will be like "Damn sorry- My bad original gangster I was just being silly"

Logan also needs a reason to stay. Charles telling him that logan has stayed with them makes Logan believe he should stay with him longer.

He needs that beacon. And right now?

That talking head that he's pushing around on the floor is pretty entertaining.

"...how are you talking?"

"Oof look wolvie I love you're embrassing your true self but let's not open that can of worms The comics are contradicting, and by rights, I shouldn't be able to control my limbs anymore, but I can. Now- be a big, strong kitty cat and give me back to that handsome man over there, will ya?"

His body is just casually sitting there with his arms out, wanting his head back.

".... i'm so fucking high."

"I wish. If you were high on catnip you wouldn't have sliced me to bits."

"Heh... you're funny."

"Aawww!! Really?"

".... what happens if I punt your head out the window?"

"Woah woaH WOAH PEANUT LETS NOT GO THAT FAR! SAFEWORD!! I NEED THE SAFEWORD!"

But alas. He fogot the safeword.

This has been your PSA that safewords are important. Be safe, kiddos.

[tabbytiger]

The way I have to deal with this for the rest of my life. Also the fact that this can actually damage your brain.

[dreaming-medium]

No Contact

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort

Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.

A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3

—————————————————————

No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process. 

No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None. 

He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.

Hell, it might even make you worse. 

It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward. 

But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star. 

It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?

You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did. 

He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party. 

He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.

But he wasn’t. 

A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.

Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle. 

For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.

He was the last to know. 

After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.

Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup. 

Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup? 

You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible. 

It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup. 

Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing. 

Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out. 

He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn… 

He never got to see you. 

“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?

“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”

A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”

Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped. 

Does that mean…?

No…

“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“

The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”

Chan was suddenly in a chair. 

When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.  

“It’s not forever, son.”

Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.

Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

He gets it now. 

The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly. 

Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.

Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?

Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?

“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”

It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort. 

You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.

It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him. 

Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them. 

God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.

How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?

5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift. 

He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to. 

Mice would get to it before you did. 

His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin. 

All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.

It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved. 

Just like him.

It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces. 

He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time. 

Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.

Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of. 

Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together. 

There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his. 

You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM. 

This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return. 

It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much. 

Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now? 

Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before. 

Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago. 

You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you. 

To him too. 

It’s the library where he first met you. 

The same library Chan finds himself in front of now. 

He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside. 

Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working. 

Absolutely not. 

The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful. 

There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet. 

Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were. 

His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves. 

There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it. 

On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face. 

Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option. 

When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head. 

Your eyes met. He was a goner. 

How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you. 

Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.

Maybe you’re not working today? 

No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere. 

Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway. 

He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. 

His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time. 

Empty. 

You-less. 

If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks. 

What a moment. 

Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?

He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio. 

Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.

“Can I help you find something?”

His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone. 

Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch. 

His throat immediately tightens. 

There you are. You. Beautiful you. 

Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger. 

“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?

You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something. 

Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”

No.

“Yeah.”

You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”

He knows. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin. 

Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows. 

You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”

Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug. 

He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.

But—

“If you need anything, let me know.”

You start to walk away.

Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please. 

His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!

“W-Wait!” he says quickly. 

You turn around with a curious look. 

“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”

He knows. You collect different translations of it. 

“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”

With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics. 

He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months. 

You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies. 

Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you. 

The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day. 

Y/N, please. 

“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book. 

Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry. 

“Thank you,” he whispers back. 

You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower. 

From foot to foot, your weight shifts. 

You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?

“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”

It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you. 

You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them. 

Y/N, please. 

“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself. 

Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck! 

Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world. 

Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite. 

He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks. 

He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow. 

Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it. 

He knows everything. 

“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained. 

You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?

“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”

Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes. 

“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out. 

Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments. 

After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper. 

“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”

Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you. 

Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”

Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him. 

Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in. 

Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.

“Chan,” he answers softly. 

“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him. 

Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth. 

“You too, Chan.”

And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus. 

—————————————————————

A bad idea was going into the library that day. 

An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going. 

And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him. 

And the worst part? You said yes. 

So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date. 

How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how. 

Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings. 

His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother. 

“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything. 

“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone. 

“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous. 

“How are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”

Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth. 

“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”

His jaw clenches. Now or never. 

“It’s with me,” he blurts. 

Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth. 

“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”

He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you. 

“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself. 

“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused. 

She’s right. What if you don’t? 

“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”

Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”

—————————————————————

“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table. 

Yes, you have. 

“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water. 

“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”

He looks back down at the old menu. 

This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town. 

The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late. 

“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu. 

He’s more nervous now than on the first date. 

“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile. 

A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”

It was your favorite. 

“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu. 

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“‘Cause of your allergy.”

He stops. 

You stop. 

He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy. 

His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”

Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”

You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”

He definitely did not say something. 

Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before. 

The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.  

You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe. 

A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you. 

Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks. 

You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully. 

“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”

He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused? 

“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you? 

“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick. 

Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?

“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”

He licks his lips and opens his mouth. 

Your phone rings. 

A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest. 

Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”

“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock. 

A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet. 

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”

Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance. 

—————————————————————

It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park. 

“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”

You already have. 

“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket. 

“Changbin sounds like a blast.”

He was your favorite before.

“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”

And you have. 

A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation. 

Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it. 

With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side. 

You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings. 

Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours. 

The brightest smile stretches over your face. 

God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.

He can’t help it.

He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk. 

“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease. 

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”

Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now. 

“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”

“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”

Another laugh from you. 

“Shameless flirt.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you. 

Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe. 

It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago. 

He wants to kiss you so bad. 

Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?

Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop. 

“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin. 

Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident. 

It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago. 

The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features. 

Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch. 

His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up. 

Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that. 

You’re always so enchanting.

Is this a good idea? 

Is kissing you the best option? 

But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?

Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop. 

One look into your eyes quells that anxiety. 

Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside. 

He can’t take it anymore. 

Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.

But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach. 

He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers. 

It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t. 

He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips. 

But he is. 

He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss. 

How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers. 

Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again. 

Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose. 

God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good. 

His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer. 

He immediately stops. 

Why is your face wet?

Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression. 

You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?

Your eyes open and you look at him confused. 

“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?

“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.

Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears. 

“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”

Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused. 

Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window. 

Every muscle in your face is twitching.

What’s happening?

“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob. 

Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident. 

Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?

Please. 

Slowly, your hand falls from his. 

Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.

Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own. 

“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time. 

He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore. 

But you do.

“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“ 

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You know him. 

“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”

Chan. Not Channie. 

He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation. 

Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs. 

“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”

Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over. 

The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you. 

You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.

“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”

You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared. 

“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”

Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming. 

“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.” 

How is your voice so even?

Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck. 

He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him. 

“I—“ he starts but you cut him off. 

“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.

“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest. 

More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow. 

“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”

Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest. 

Him. You’re talking about him. 

Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying. 

Nothing has ever hurt this bad. 

You know him. You just don’t know it’s him. 

Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”

Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it. 

You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest. 

That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter. 

“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”

A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling. 

A sob tears from his throat. 

You grip his hand tighter. 

“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat. 

“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”

Oh, god, Y/N.

“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”

He breaks. 

He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm. 

He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you. 

Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist. 

Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.  

Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out. 

You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline. 

Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it. 

Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you. 

“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”

Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.” 

Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat. 

“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”

Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs. 

Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face. 

“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Channie. You called him Channie.

He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair. 

You’re still crying. Both of you are. 

“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest. 

All he can do is cry. 

Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night. 

The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over. 

Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.

You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong. 

“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.

“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”

He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently. 

“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”

Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you. 

"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."

His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.

The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.

It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.

But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.

The burn is soothed.

“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”

His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”

“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”

Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws. 

You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it. 

His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle 

“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”

“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

🎃⁀➷ 31 days, 31 tropes for Whumptober *ੈ✩‧₊˚🕷️🍂

1. hypothermia

2. bleeding out / exsanguination

3. intubation

4. field amputation

5. strangulation

6. gunshot wounds

7. hallucinations / delirium

8. bruises

9. broken bones

10. induced coma

11. drown / hypoxemia

12. blood seeping through bandages

13. panic attack

14. hidden injuries

15. vomiting

16. hyperventilation

17. severe burns

18. character going into shock

19. heatstroke

20. allergic reactions

21. psychological trauma

22. stab wounds

23. asystole

24. infection / character’s blood or wounds become septic

25. character getting poisoned

26. amnesia

27. force feeding

28. night terror

29. surgery / vivisection / autopsy

30. electrocution / shock therapy

31. character haunted by ghosts of a.) their victims whom they’ve killed, b.) people they failed to save, c.) their loved ones, d.) their enemies — the choice is yours

TAP HERE FOR; 31 DAYS, 31 SPOOKY PROMPTS FOR WHUMPTOBER

[jeewrites]

🌈 Sunshine & Rainbows 🌈

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader Equalizer 2 AU: What if Dave survives the fall from the watchtower?

WC: 10.1k (whoopsies) Rated: Explicit, minors do not interact

Content/Warnings: Dave is divorced from Carol (no kids), reference to previous smut, Dave gets a few nicknames, reader is also an assassin but sassy, reader has a nickname and hair that can be pulled, mention of traumatic injuries to Dave, medical jargon, discussion of physical therapy, stalking/murder/torture not described, please remember I had to google “How to preserve an eyeball” for this fic, is murder a love language?, arson, treadmill hate, use of daddy just once, no y/n

A/N: My first Dave fic and my first fic challenge! I got ‘amnesia’ to pair with Dave for @burntheedges's Roll-A-Trope Challenge! I had so much fun trying to wrap my head around Dave as someone who leans towards fluff and feels, so I hope you enjoy my take on our favorite murder daddy. Thank you to @bloviating-vy for being the best beta-reader and encouraging me to write fics in the first place. Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Roll a Trope Masterlist

It’s the pain that wakes him. Every part of his body screams. The tight stretch of skin, itchy and hot. Bruises to the bone. Bones shattered. The sun shines too bright despite the curtains. The increasing beep of the monitor is too loud. How is it possible to hurt like this?

He hears the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of voices just above the screaming of his body before a shadowy figure appears. He can sense them to his left, but not see them. Is this how he dies? Drowsiness steamrolls him and he slips back to a blissful drug-induced unconsciousness.

It’s been 48 and a half hours and no check-in from Dave. You stare at the burner phone, willing it to beep or ring. Anything. But there is no text. No call. Just the flick and snap as you flip the phone open and close.

Dave has never, ever missed a check-in. Has he come close to the 48-hour deadline after an op? Sure. But never late. And never this late.

You’re not exactly in panic mode yet because it’s Dave, one of the most ruthless and effective killers you know. But you can’t help the anxiety starting to build in your belly and another feeling you can’t quite pin down. It’s not like you love him. But god isn’t he a good fuck, perfect for blowing off steam between covert ops. 

And he understands what you do. He understands you and you understand him. Plus, he was the only one who ever almost got a jump on you when a client hired both of you without telling one about the other. That was almost a clusterfuck that ended up being the best fuck of your life.

The burner phone stares back at you, silent. Fuck it. Now it’s time for you to do what you do best. Find people. Find Dave. 

The doctor keeps calling him John — as in John Doe. While he can’t for the life of him recall his name, he knows definitively, John is not his fucking name. He’s also tired of talking. He doesn’t have any answers, just more questions piling on top of the questions the doc, a psychiatrist, keeps lobbing at him. Everything still hurts, a dull, perpetual throb throughout his brain and body punctuated by acute pain if he happens to breathe wrong.

He’s in a different building since the last time he awoke in crippling pain. This place seems like a public-run long-term health care facility out in the boonies instead of the large hospital downtown he was in before. The doctors and other health care professionals seem harried and perpetually understaffed. While his room is relatively clean, the decor is dated, all the walls a sickly yellow or green. And everything smells strongly of disinfectant. It could be worse, he supposes, at least it’s clean here. 

The psychiatrist leans forward towards him, “Let’s call it a day and let you rest. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

He grunts in response.

Something in his gut tells him to be wary of this doctor, of sharing too much if he ever remembers a goddamn thing. He knows he can trust his gut when it comes to reading people. Watching a steady flow of doctors, nurses, aides, social workers, and janitorial staff in his room, he doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows when someone is trustworthy or a threat. He can read body language at the most minute level with startling clarity.

The head nurse Kathleen is no nonsense and won’t tolerate any bullshit. Nurse Sally does the bare minimum and has sticky fingers. Gotta keep an eye on that one. He likes the neurologist who doesn’t sugar coat things. He’s pretty sure his physical therapist, Ryan, is secretly a sadist.

The night nurse, Brian, is a steadying comfort, always checking on him, “Doing all right, boss?” in the quiet loneliness of the evening. Brian alleviates the pressing annoyance of not knowing his own name by constantly switching up nicknames for him. Calling him buddy, champ, or hot stuff much to his amusement. 

He also knows someone tried their damndest to kill him and make it hurt in the process. Gouged out left eye, stabbed between the ribs, sliced tendons, broken bones, internal bleeding, wrapped in a myriad of bruises and tossed from a significant height. He’s been told repeatedly what a miracle it is that he survived at all, washed up on the beach on the brink of death before being found.

For now he bides his time, giving his body the opportunity to heal and recover. He knows he won’t get far in the current condition he’s in after the multiple surgeries and months and months in the ICU. In physical therapy he can barely manage to walk a few steps without assistance, and he’s still adjusting to the eye patch and the use of his remaining eye. He’s relatively safe for now, he thinks, identity a mystery and off the beaten path. Although a small part of him wonders why no one has come to find him. Did he not have family, friends, or anyone who missed him? 

Dave doesn’t make it easy on you to find him. Of course he doesn’t. Before he went private, or over to the dark side he liked to say, he made sure to replace all of his biometrics in various government databases with false ones. You have to go old school and retrace his steps from the sparest details he did share with you. Brant Rock the text message had read.

You find Resnik, Ari, and Kovac in the local morgue shortly after the hurricane blew through. Kovac and Ari are identifiable easily enough, but Resnik takes a moment, having most of his face blown off. It’s a shame about Kovac and Ari, they were good enough guys and you didn’t mind working with them on occasion.

But that bastard Resnik had once joked, thinking you were out of earshot, what a good fuck you’d be and you were so vulnerable with only the four of them around for miles and miles. You had slid the safety off your weapon at the same time you heard Dave threaten to rip his balls off through his throat if Resnick dared to try anything with you. You were planning to do worse, but hey, it was the thought that counts, right? That was when you knew you could really trust Dave. Resnik, not so much. 

As you approach the next cold locker, for a moment you can’t breathe, suffocating in the thought that the next body you pull is going to be Dave. But to your immense relief, it’s not Dave. Dave isn’t in any of them. It’s not until you slip out of the morgue into your car a few blocks away that you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You allow yourself to sob, forehead against your steering wheel. Crying, such an unfamiliar sensation. Where was he?

It takes you nearly two weeks to find Dave. Listed as a John Doe at the big trauma center downtown, you disguise yourself as a nurse and sneak into his ICU hospital room late one night. Nothing prepared you for his condition. 

“Did Mac do this to you, Yorkie?” you whisper as you trace your fingertips along the ashen skin of his forearm. It seems like the only part of him that is uninjured. The only sound in the room is the hiss of the ventilator and soft beeping of the heart rate monitor reminding you he’s actually alive. Barely. He’s unnaturally still for a man always on the move. You gasp softly when you take in his face, his beautiful face marred with wounds and a patch covering his left eye. Your chest tightens as you turn away to collect yourself.

Refocusing, you pull up his chart. The more you scroll, the more your rage builds at Mac or whoever did this to Dave. Your Dave. Severed tendons and ligaments, shattered ribs, crushed vertebra, multiple stab wounds, ruptured spleen, so much internal bleeding it’s a miracle he’s even alive. What the fuck happened?

He is in no condition to be moved. No matter, you think. While he heals, you are going to hunt down who did this to him and exact revenge. Excruciating revenge. Before logging out of the system you program it to send you any alerts to changes in his condition or if he’s moved to another facility.

Before you leave, you take one last look at Dave, gently run your fingers through his soft brown hair, marveling at how peaceful he looks despite the myriad of tubes plugged into him. You almost make it out of the room without shedding a tear until you really see his nose. Broken, shattered, scarred. Even if you don’t love Dave, you love his beautiful, strong aquiline nose. The way he’d nuzzle it into your neck in rare, soft moments. Press it against your mound when he pulled pleasure from you over and over. The quiet moments after you were both sated and sleepy, and he’d let you trace his brow, the strong curve of his nose, his plush lips, as he anchored you against him.

You are going to fucking destroy whoever did this to him.

The doorbell footage at Dave’s apartment confirms that Mac is the culprit behind Dave’s injuries. 

The Robert McCall visit. The tense conversation outside with Dave and his guys and Robert. The false cheerfulness, the underlying tension bubbling underneath in the clench of Dave’s jaw, the threat from McCall to Dave and the guys, “The only disappointment in it for me is that I only get to kill you each once.” You bristle with barely contained rage at his words.

Good thing you know enough about the human body to resuscitate it. Looks like you’ll just have to give Mac a lesson on how to kill someone over and over. How unfortunate for him.

The most popular bets to his previous profession are linguistics professor or foreign service.

He discovered his fluency in Farsi when he overheard family members of another patient speaking it in the hallway outside of his room. It took him a moment to realize he understood what they were saying. Shortly after, he overheard several nurses conversing in Spanish and realized to his amazement he understood them too.

“Wonder what else you can speak, professor,” Brian the night nurse muses as he pulls out an assortment of chocolates in a gift tin. That’s a new nickname. “Here, have some French chocolate. Someone gifted them to me when they were discharged.”

He reaches for one gingerly, focusing on the pincer grip to pick a chocolate up. It has been a struggle learn how to use his entire body again once it healed enough to be subjected to OT, PT, talk therapy, and other forms of torture.

He frowns at the sweetness of the truffle as he takes a bite. 

“No good?” Bri asks.

“Too sweet,” he mumbles. “But thanks.”

Belgian is better, he thinks to himself before pausing. How does he know that?

Brian grins at him before setting down the tin and checking his chart, “That just means more for me, champ.”

Glancing at the tin, Dave stifles a sharp inhale when he realizes he can read the French printed across the lid.

Discovering or rediscovering who he is has been… interesting. Some of the discoveries raised his spirits, like discovering his impressive ability to guess who was walking into his room based on the sound of their gait or how much a person weighed within a few pounds. Some discoveries though left him questioning what kind of person he really was. An emotional rollercoaster he’s ready to get off of immediately. If only he could just fucking remember!

Aside from being able to read people insanely well, he’s put together that he’s a bit of a control freak and likes things neat and orderly. The bullseye tattoo on his left hand had one nurse guessing that he was an olympic sharpshooter, but no olympian in recent memory remotely looked like him. He knew he had been found in a camo pullover and cargo pants, or what remained of it. Another nurse guessed that perhaps he liked hunting for sport. After all the speculation around the bullseye tattoo, Brian started only referring to him as killer. Curiously, he didn’t seem to mind that nickname. The wedding band tanline made him wonder if he is recently divorced or actually married, but took his ring off for more nefarious reasons. Was he a cheater? Did he have kids? What kind of man was he? 

The strangest discovery came the first time orange slices appeared on his lunch tray. He found himself comforted by the smell of citrus as he ate them. Relaxed even, for the first time since he woke up. And also inexplicably aroused. His body had been so broken it had been months since he felt any tingle or whisp of desire, the feeling so unfamiliar it shocks him. What kind of kinky shit was he into?

That night he dreams of rain forests and citrus, relaxing in a familiar embrace he can not name. He wakes up the most refreshed he’s felt since he woke up in the ICU, body screaming in pain. And yet still he can’t explain why.

Sweat pours off of him as he grips the side rails of the treadmill. The PT room is absurdly bright and cheerful for the types of torture it routinely sees.

“You did great, man,” Ryan, his favorite physical therapist, praises. “Going to be running marathons in no time.”

He just grunts in response. He hates running. This he knows in his bones. Hates it. But he has come a long way from barely managing a step with assistance to walking on the treadmill for the first time. A stupid long painful way.

A sudden frustrated yell across the room jerks his attention to one of the newer patients across the room just as an exercise ball is flung in his direction. He reacts before can think, ducking and moving, assessing in a split second the source of the danger and prioritizing three different options in subduing the threat. He misjudges the distance of a table corner, bruising his hip as he dashes by. Damn his depth perception issues, he thinks. Just another thing to work on.

He surprises himself when he finds himself expertly pulling the patient off balance into a chokehold until security arrives. His body knows exactly how much pressure to put to neutralize the threat without killing him. Why does his body know this? Christ.

“Holy shit, man!” Ryan exclaims, helping to pull him up from the ground. “Where’d you learn to do that!”

“Can’t remember,” he groans as he feels his body protest the sudden intense movement. “Think I set myself back with that stunt.” He slumps over in a chair as sharp pain shoots up both his arms. He allows Ryan to fuss over him before one of the aides brings him back up to his room in a wheelchair. One step forward, three steps back it feels like.

It’s not until he’s settled into the privacy of his own room with a healthy dose of painkillers does he start to tally all of his mysterious abilities. He rubs the itchy scruff growing on his face with irritation. He hasn’t had a proper shave since he got here. And he probably won’t, at least not until his fine motor skills get better to do it himself. The staff are just too overworked here. He huffs to himself. He’s probably more of a danger to himself than anyone else right now. 

With all his language skills, keen sense of observation, and now apparently mad jiu jitsu skills, what did it add up to? Who the fuck was he?

In the weeks following your visit to see your Dave in the ICU, knowing he has a long road to recovery gives you the time and space to track and hunt Mac. In true Dave fashion, he didn’t give you much to work with, just one single conversation about Robert McCall, but that is all you need.

Shortly before Dave missed his check in, he let you wrap yourself around him as the big spoon after having his way with you. He was uncharacteristically spooked, he told you, after running into his former team leader while out on a run. Robert McCall, Mac, was presumed dead. Dave swore he saw him die that day over seven years ago, setting off a chain of events leading to Dave going private with his guys. The impact of Mac’s death, the grief and the disillusionment that followed after leaving the service. 

You knew about the job in Brussels—Susan—and the difficulty Dave was having tying up loose ends. Especially now with Mac resurrected from the dead and digging into Susan’s murder. He briefly mentioned Mac showing up at his apartment and confronting him and the guys a few days after the unexpected reunion. The doorbell footage you found confirmed this conversation.

You asked him if Mac was now a loose end.

Turning to face you, his eyes darkened with affirmation, “But I have a bad feeling about it, Sunshine.” 

Mentally you beat yourself up for not pressing Dave more about this bad feeling at the time because you were too busy preening at the pet name. It marked the first time Dave ever met you at your place, raising an eyebrow at your maximalist design choices. It’s like a rainbow and unicorn threw up in here, he had grumbled. Too bright, so sunshine-y. You’re just jealous your place looks like it was decorated by someone allergic to color, you had quipped before he hauled you over his shoulders into the bedroom with a growled I’ll show you jealous, Sunshine.

You tried to smooth the furrows between his eyes. “Can I help?” you whispered before pressing a kiss to the curve of his nose.

He tensed before pulling back to look at you, “No. Don’t want you anywhere near him, baby. Mac’s a killer. He — he taught me everything I know.”

You protested but the look he leveled you with ended the discussion even if you wanted to push back and insist. 

“You’re helping right now,” Dave consoled you, laying you back and slotting himself between your legs. “Reminding me I have this to come home to.”

The brief realization he had referred to you as home, quickly disintegrated at the pace he set, burying himself in you, sliding deep into the place only he could reach— the place you think of as his. He left early the next morning, pulling a black beanie over his head before kissing you goodbye. “See you in 48, Sunshine.” 

You believe Dave when he said Mac was a killer, the best he knew. So you are meticulous in your tracking. In rare form, you make sure your contingency plans have contingency plans, even if you prefer flying by the seat of your pants. You only allow yourself to feel the quiet thrill of the hunt in order to keep the raging fury that threatens to make you slip up at bay. You summon patience you didn’t know you possessed as you slowly lay your trap and draw Mac in. 

Robert McCall has a weakness for damsels in distress. And for extracting his own sense of justice in situations he came across, serving as sole judge, jury, and executioner. It rankles you to see him decide the fate of others, to right a wrong according to him and him alone. 

But who are you to judge him when you decided to be his judge, jury, and executioner? So you lure him in and give him exactly what he always looked for. In the end, he is just like any other man really. A talented man, a ruthless killer sure, but he could never match your cunning combined with your wrath, your fury at what he did to Dave. 

You keep the feelings at bay as you set the trap in motion until he is soundly in your snare. And even then, you don’t let the rage get out of control because you know your weakness in close combat. You won’t give him an opening to escape or kill you because you can’t stay cool and collected.

By the time you’d laid your trap for Mac, you got a ping from the hospital notifying you of Dave’s transfer to a long-term rehab facility. You pat yourself on the back for the perfect timing. Execute the target and then go check on Dave.

In the end, Mac isn’t that much different from any other kill you executed on the job. Just more satisfying in the end. You did it for Dave, afterall. Your Dave.

He decides that even if he doesn’t like the colorful scrubs the new nurse aide wears, she seems trustworthy enough, even if he struggles to get a more accurate read on her. It’s the first time he’s had trouble reading anyone since he woke up. So he sets aside the puzzlement as Brian introduces him to her. Maybe it’s because of how pretty she is, beautiful really, and how attracted he is to her, a pull that takes him off guard.

“Hey Killer, want to introduce you to our new nurse aide,” Brian says, gesturing to her as she stands a bit shyly next to him. “She’s gonna be helping me out so I don’t feel like a vampire all the time with these night shifts.”

“Killer?” she blurts out making an incomprehensible face before hiding behind a small smile.

“Gives me a reputation. I don’t mind.” He shrugs, smirking at the nickname. “At least until I figure out my real name, no one’s going mess with me. Nice to meet you…?”

The aide makes a funny noise in her throat as he extends his hand to shake hers. She recovers quickly as she takes his hand in hers. Something flickers behind her eyes, something warm, familiar before it fades away as she murmurs her name, Sunny, and tells him to let her know if he needs anything. The pull towards her strengthens as soon as his hands envelope hers, so soft and warm, that he doesn’t want to let go. Something feels so right at her touch. He murmurs her name before she pulls away to make the rounds with Brian.

You aren’t prepared to see Dave. You thought you were. You mentally talked yourself through it before you made your way up to his room with your new supervisor, Nurse Brian. You memorized everything from his chart, and know that he still has severe amnesia, still struggling with remembering anything at all, but nothing prepares you to be in the same room as him and not have a flicker of recognition across his face. His remaining deep brown eye levels a coolness at you that you haven’t seen since the first time you met and tried to kill each other. 

This is bad. After everything, the missed check-in, the frantic searching, the revenge-ing to avenge him, the utter lack of recognition across his beautiful face cracks something in you. You barely recover enough to shake his hand and leave his room upright, telling Brian you have to go to the restroom before meeting any other patients.

Tears prick your eyes and you try to calm your breathing, not wanting to face the tsunami of feelings crashing down on you. When did these feelings for Dave get so out of hand? 

You haven’t needed anyone since you cut off your abusive family and left home to find your way in the world. You learned to be alone, thrived at working alone in a corner you carved out for yourself. You filled your home with art and color and brightness after you realized you had the power to make your own sunshine. Who else would? Definitely not your shitty family. 

And plants. So many plants, your bedroom painted a shade of deep, lush green. Filled with plants. It was like your own personal rainforest. So what if you worked in the dark, creeping in the shadows, a killer for hire? It didn’t mean you had to make it your whole damn personality.

Oh, but Dave. He was the unexpected cherry on top, a force of nature who brought more exciting ops to your life, along with mind-numbing pleasure. Intermittently at first, then regularly. You liked the control you’d cede to him after months of dancing around each other, building trust, moving from fucking in seedy motels after ops to his place or yours. The way he could fuck your worries and stress straight out of your pretty head. Apparently something had shifted without you realizing. Pesky feelings.

Fuck. You care. More than you were willing to admit before Dave almost died. You were too full of rage to feel anything else. You convinced yourself that the revenge you sought when you hunted down Mac was exactly that. Revenge. But now that the rage and fury had ebbed, you face down the why behind your need for revenge, realizing you did what you did because you cared. About Dave. Maybe you lo — lov — Fuck. What if he never remembers what you had together? What exactly did you have with him before, anyway?

He looks good though, even with the patchy scruff and fading scars across his face. The slightly lost expression on his face. Even if you can sense his discomfort in his body, in the way he sits by the window pretending to read a book. He looks so different, skin warm and golden, so alive, from the last time you saw him in the ICU. And his nose, the nose you love healed after all, healing back into its original strong curve.

As much as you want to run back into his room, yelling his name and shaking him until he recognizes you, telling him everything, you know you have to steel yourself for this next part, to allow him to heal and remember at his own pace. Wasn’t that what the doctor had written in his chart? Pushing him too hard will have less-than-ideal outcomes. 

You sigh as you wash your face and take a deep breath. This part of the journey is going to be infinitely harder than finding Dave and killing Mac. But at least now he has you to help him jog his memory and watch his back. You lift your head up to walk out of the restroom, refusing to acknowledge the question prickling down your spine. What if he never remembers you’re his Sunshine?

It storms the first night of your shift, winds howling as you make your rounds and tend to the patients assigned to you. You do most of your menial work with one eye watching Dave, learning his routine and keeping tabs on him. It comforts you to know that he has a genuine rapport with nurse Brian, and has been making significant progress in his physical therapy. You get a sense he doesn’t trust the psych doc very much and has been frustrated at recovering his fine motor skills from the nerve damage in his arms. Must be why he doesn’t shave much, you think to yourself. The facility he’s in is fine for a publicly funded place, but you can tell the staff is overworked and underpaid. Your hourly wage is laughable. And everything is painted in this drab yellow that is an insult to the color. You’d read in his chart that the local precinct had put out feelers trying to identify the resident John Doe without much luck. You hope the luck holds out long enough for Dave to heal sufficiently so you can break him out of here before someone who shouldn’t find him does.

The bright flashes of lightning and roaring thunder keep you awake in the wee hours of your shift, strong winds whipping tree branches against the building, even as the patter of rain threatens to lull you to sleep. As you walk the sterile corridors, passing by Dave’s room you hear him yell out in panic, in fear.

It’s all you can do to stop yourself from sprinting into his room, ready to take out whoever is attacking him. You realize in the darkness of his room, illuminated only by a small night light, Dave is alone in his room, still asleep.

You realize he’s having a nightmare as you watch his eye work beneath his eyelid as he mutters, “Show yourself. Show — Show yourself Mac…” before trailing off. His face winces in pain as he jerks under the covers, panting to catch his breath before flinging his arms around like he’s trying to throw a punch.

For a moment you’re frozen, unsure of what to do as you realize he’s likely reliving his last encounter with Mac in real time. Careful not to use his real name, you put a firm hand on his arm to calm him, hey hey hey, to wake him up before he strangles himself in his sheets. As you make shushing noises he jerks the arm out from your grip, grabbing a hold of your throat before gasping awake, right eye wide in terror.

He apologizes profusely once he really wakes up and gets his bearings. It’s the same dream that haunts him every time it storms outside. Bubbling up from his subconscious every time it storms. He’s up high on a tower or lighthouse by some body of water. Rain whips across his face as the waves crash against the shore. He’s impatient, livid, but also… scared? Somehow he knows the before version of him would never admit the last thing.

He’s waiting for someone who is a danger, a threat. What’s taking so long? He remembers yelling, calling a name, Mac, — who is Mac?— before the dream shifts and he’s in indescribable pain. The most pain his body has ever felt slashes through him, punches into his ribs before he’s falling, falling, falling. It’s the icy cold that wakes him every time, shocking him back to consciousness. But this time he wakes up looking into the eyes of the pretty new aide with one of his hands clutched around her throat.

Well, this isn't the first time he’s had his hands around your throat. The dirty thought skitters across your mind, although that situation is preferable to this one. The thought amuses you, even as you start to feel the oxygen deprivation. It is a nice memory though, you think, being bent over your sink while Dave took you from behind. Arching you up with the tug of your hair to watch him in the mirror. It was after the one time you were almost late for a check-in and he was punishing you for it. For making him worry. If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late, Sunshine. Simpler times, you think. 

You inwardly sigh and try to figure out how to get out of his chokehold without hurting either one of you. You settle for anchoring one hand to the one on your throat and twisting out of his grip while leveraging his elbow as gently as you can manage to avoid setting him back in his recovery. 

He’s still gasping for breath as you try to soothe him with your voice, now scratchy from his grip. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” you comfort as you pat his back.

He starts apologizing immediately, a litany of shit, I’m so sorrys, until you level him with your best stare and quip, “I see where you get your nickname from, Killer.”

He stops long enough to bark out a laugh, before asking again if you really are okay. 

“I should be asking you that,” you respond. “Seems like a hell of a dream.” You see him retreat back into himself, at whatever horrors had surfaced in his mind.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you venture, sliding a hand over his. It’s clammy and cold. You feel him start to pull away before stopping.

“I think it’s what happened… before,” he finally answers with a thick swallow, looking away. “No one needs to hear that shit.”

You squeeze his hand for encouragement. “Try me.”

To your surprise he does. After Dave recaps his nightmare as best he can, his hand still in yours, you begin to think that you let Mac off way too easily. Shoulda tortured him more before pulling the plug, you frown internally. Because holy shit, that man really put Dave through the ringer. 

“Thanks for — for listening, I think it helped,” Dave squeezes your hand and looks at you with a surprisingly soft expression. Soft Dave, you never thought you’d see the day.

“Of course, Killer,” you squeeze his hand back before offering to get him some water. He accepts and hesitates as if he wanted to ask you something else. You stand but linger by his bedside giving him a moment.

“Will you — will you stay? Just for a bit, until I fall asleep?” 

After you get him some water, you stay — your hand in his — until he drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

He decides he likes Sunny, not just because she’s pretty, but because she keeps him on his toes with her quick wit and dark sense of humor — to match his own he learns — that makes the days go by faster. Just another thing he learns about himself that just brings more questions than answers.

He can’t help smiling as she checks in with him for the day, wanting to know if he needs anything. “Brought you a present,” she smiles at him so brightly it leaves his brain stuttering to respond. “Your room is so boring, figured you could use a plant.”

She places it by the window before turning with a look to see if he approves. He does. He doesn’t know why but the little green thing feels familiar, a comfort like home. He scratches at the irritating scruff on his cheek before finding his words to thank her. 

“I have some extra time today, do you need a shave?” she asks, like she can read his mind. “Looks itchy.”

“Yes. Please.” The look of relief on his face must be palpable because she immediately leaves to grab a razor and shaving cream. 

The thought that she could read him so well, as if his mind is an open book screams to the front of his mind. His stomach twists at the thought. A creeping suspicion fills him as she approaches with the razor. What if she actually knows who he is, but he just doesn’t remember her? It would explain the inexplicable familiarity that came whenever she visited his room. What if the sunny personality is all an act and she’s actually a cold blooded killer sent to finish him off? Perhaps he should be more suspicious of her. He’d only known her for a week and she is the only person he couldn’t get an accurate read on. 

His chest constricts at the recurring fear that someone had wanted him to hurt badly before trying to kill him. It really was only a miracle he survived. And now he was willingly allowing this stranger into his personal space with a sharp object. Could you kill someone with a disposable razor? Not ideal, he thinks, but possible.

“Everything okay?” she asks him as she sets up the side table with shaving accessories. 

He hesitates, conflicted with his most recent revelations as she moves closer to him.

“Look, if I was going to sever your jugular a disposable razor wouldn’t be my first choice,” she dramatically rolls her eyes at him before looking at him for consent to start.

He lets out a nervous giggle, a sound he’s pretty sure he’s never made in his entire life.

“Not my second, third, or fourth choice either, okay?” she continues. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m not the one with the nickname ‘Killer.’” 

She has a point. And she did just bring him a plant. And comfort him after one of his ridiculous nightmares the very first night she was here. If there was a moment when he was most vulnerable, that was her chance. He pushes away the feelings of suspicion and nods, allowing her to get started.

He couldn’t help leaning into her touch as she gently washes his face and smoothes on the shaving cream. The way the fading light from the window caught the flecks of colors in her eyes as she focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t help but think how cute she looks with her furrowed brows, all her attention on him. He decides the odds are low she was there to kill him considering how careful and gentle she is. He closes his good eye and allows himself to enjoy himself. Who knew getting a shave was such an intimate experience? He could feel himself relaxing under the warmth of her touch and the delicate scent of her citrus-y shampoo wafting across his nose at this close proximity. Something tugs on his mind at the scent, but she interrupts the thought.

“So what do you think, Killer?” she asks.

As he cracks open his eye, he realizes she’s holding up a small mirror. Time slows down at the same time his heart rate speeds up as he takes in his clean-shaven reflection. It’s like he suddenly remembered why he walked into a room after forgetting all this time.

His name is Dave. Dave motherfucking York.

When he says his name out loud, you let out an audible gasp you tried to cover as true surprise.

“This is huge! Dave, do you — do you remember anything else? Last Name?” You blurt out. 

His lips briefly purse before his face flickers just for a moment, his tell, before he shakes his head no. 

Liar. You immediately know he’s lying to you. He fucking remembers. You can see the cogs whirring in his brain, assembling all of the new information he unlocked when he looked at his reflection.You busy yourself tidying up the shaving accessories, watching him from the corner of your eye, hoping that he recognizes you.

It’s coming back to him, you can just tell from the way he’s holding himself up now, even just sitting in the chair, his posture is different. The lost expression is gone. The calculated, commanding presence of the Dave York you know is emerging right before your eyes. 

Dave York is remembering.

He startles you when he speaks to you again, low and almost menacing, “Don’t tell anyone else. I’m not… ready to share yet.” His expression flashes dark at you.

Ah yes, the patented Dave I’m-telling-you-not-asking-you York.

“Of— of course. Take all the time you need,” you respond.

The next time you glance at him, he has that expression on his face where he’s assessing someone, assessing you, deciding if they are a threat or not. Great, the last thing you need is Dave trying to off you before he remembers who the fuck you are. 

“I promise. I’m not going to say a word,” you try and reassure him. 

He offers a nod, a dismissal really, before turning to look out the window, back to whatever memories may be emerging from the abyss of his mind.

You’d think that Dave remembering would be a good thing, but unfortunately the feds figure out who he is at the same time. You’re on shift, loitering by the nurses’ station when you see two nearly identical government looking guys turn the corner into the wing of the facility just after dinner. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, you think. And they reek of federal agents. FBI, specifically. Shit.

Dave has been more withdrawn since remembering his name. Brooding by the window. Typical Dave. You keep up your act, checking on him and chatting with him, hoping really for any glimpse of recognition, but still none so far. You can tell he’s still assessing you, trying to decide if you really are just a peppy aide or dangerous foe waiting to strike.

You busy yourself nearby as the feds chat with Brian, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Wait, that guy’s wanted for murder AND treason??” Brian exclaims. “But he’s so… docile.” You quietly snort to yourself at that word being used to describe Dave York.

“And a whole list of other things, but those are the big ‘uns,” one of the feds responds.

They continue to chat with Brian, trying to determine how much Dave remembers and what condition he’s in in order to transport him.

“Psych notes still say he doesn’t remember very much. But physically he’s actually almost ready for out-patient rehab,” Brian scans the electronic chart.

“Gotta put in the transfer ’n get him to our medical facility,” Tweedle Dee nods to Tweedle Dum. “We’re going to post someone on the floor to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“Well, as long as they’re discreet,” Brian warns. “Don’t want to disturb the other patients on the floor.”

“Roger that,” Tweedle Dum responds before pulling out his phone to make a call.

The agents nod at Brian before walking back down the hallway. You see them briefly stop outside of Dave’s room before continuing on their way. 

Well, it looks like you’re breaking Dave out of here whether he remembers you or not. This should be fun. Hopefully he doesn’t try to kill you in the process.

Dave senses something is off before he even sees the two feds walk by his room on the way to the nurses station. He knows they’re there for him. By their gait and posture, they don’t seem like they’re in a particular rush to storm his room, so he bides his time, even as he slips a scalpel up his sleeve. He can’t run. All he can manage is a quick walk with a limp. There’s no way he can run fast enough or long enough to evade two federal agents, even if they look like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Fuck, he thinks. He should have pushed harder in PT. 

He resumes sitting by the window, angling himself into a better position to attack if they decide to take him in today and waits. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. 

He holds his breath when the agents walk by his door again, pausing for just a moment. He makes sure to observe them so he’ll be able to identify them again if, when, they return. Fuck, he needs to come up with an escape plan. 

He lets out a sigh of relief as they walk away. What the fuck is he going to do? Where is he even going to go? He’s sure he doesn’t have much time, a day at most. Of everything that has returned to him, he still cannot remember any of the safe houses or stashes of money/fake IDs he’s sure he has… somewhere. 

Remembering has been… more bitter than sweet. His rough childhood and divorced parents both deceased, his own divorce from Carol, the stint in the military, black ops, the DIA, before going private. Then it all gets hazy. Were the dreams about Mac real? But how could they be if Mac was dead? Was Mac actually still alive? Remembering all of the heavy stuff was like grieving it all over again, all at once. It was fucking depressing.

As he shuffles to the bathroom to splash water on his face to help him think more clearly, he hears someone walk into his room. By the sound of the light stride, it’s the pretty aide that still talks to him even if he almost strangled her in his sleep. What if she’s making the move to kill him now, after all this time, because she saw the feds coming to take him away? As she rounds the corner, he moves out of instinct, pinning her against the wall with a forearm to her neck, scalpel out and ready. 

She lets out a squeak as he expects, before he cuts off her airway. What he doesn’t expect is her to roll her eyes at him as he presses a scalpel to her jugular.

You aren’t sure when Dave got a hold of a freaking scalpel, but it doesn’t surprise you in the least. Of course he found something sharp to play with.

“Why the fuck aren’t you scared?” he demands. “You got a death wish or something??” 

He eases his forearm off of your throat, but still holds you pinned against the wall. You inwardly sigh. In another time and place, this would just be foreplay, but right now the scalpel is still just a little too close to comfort. Probably shouldn’t push it with him, not too much anyway.

“That’s what you want to ask me, Yorkie?” you croak. You decide on no sudden movements though, in case it spooks his hand to twitch in the wrong direction.

He frowns at the pet name. Right, he never told you he remembered his last name. Oopsies. 

“You’d never hurt me,” you whisper. “At least, the Dave I remember wouldn’t. Not — not unless I liked it.”

Your eyes search his brown one, for anything, any recognition, but still none comes. Why are you tearing up? It’s not like he’s crushing your windpipe anymore. 

“How do I know you’re not the one trying to kill me?” he growls. Well, at least he sounds like the Dave you love. Love? Wait, what??

“Don’t you think if I wanted to kill you, I woulda done it the first night?” You roll your eyes again. You’re getting impatient now, if anything just to have the pointy blade removed from the vicinity of your neck. Maybe you could have done without the eye roll though.

His brows are still furrowed and you are so tempted to raise your hand and smooth the double crease away with your thumbs. You miss the way he’d melt under your touch, even if he’d never admit to liking it. He stares you down for a handful of breaths before you see the moment he makes a decision that reflects across his face. 

The moment he shifts the blade an inch away, you pounce, leveraging the blade away from him and reversing your positions. Shoving him up against the wall, you flinch when you hear his head smack the wall a little harder than you prefer, even if you know you’re not strong enough to hold him there very long. You press the dull side of the blade against his inner thigh, right at his femoral artery.

“This bring back any memories, Yorkie?”

He blinks hard a few times, as if he is surprised to find himself pinned against the wall by you. He glances down at where you have the scalpel pressed against his inner thigh before looking back up again and you brace yourself because you think he’s about to fight you off. Then you realize he’s looking at the plant you left on his window sill and then back at you, really looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

His eye widens as he softly inhaless, “Sunshine?”

The citrus bodywash, the plants, all the fucking plants, the too colorful scrubs. His Sunshine. Unlike all his other memories that came back gradually in waves, with you it was like a switch was flipped and he went from not knowing you to now remembering everything. He feels a surge of emotion — relief, excitement, desire — but the most prominent is trust. He has someone he can truly trust, who knows him, again. 

All it took was a scalpel to his femoral artery. Figures. How he met you is a core memory after all. 

He feels you lessen your hold on him, tucking the scalpel away, eyes wide as you pull away from him in disbelief. But he doesn’t want you to be further away from him, he wants to keep you close. And so he tugs you flush against him.

“Say my name again,” you ask, eyes still wide.

He brushes a thumb across your soft cheek and takes in your bright, discerning eyes. “My Sunshine.”

“You really remember,” you whisper, pressing your face into his chest for a deep inhale, before looking back up at him. “I missed you so much, Yorkie.”

He just looks at you, takes you in, tracing the outline of your lips before pressing his mouth to yours.

You and Dave don’t get much of a reunion, a single kiss, before you hear footsteps approaching. By the sound of the gait heavily favoring the right side, it’s your supervisor Nurse Brian. You immediately move, pretending to prop Dave up over one of your shoulders like you’re helping him to walk before Brian turns the corner.

“Everything okay here, Sunny?” Brian calls out as he approaches.

“Yep, all good. Just helping Killer here back from the bathroom. Looks like he… tweaked his knee pretty bad in PT,” you respond, trying to hide how breathless you are from one kiss. Dave gives you the most dubious expression before you elbow him in the side and give him a look that says just go with it okay?

Dave has never been a fan of improvisation like you, preferring his contingency plans having contingency plans, all neatly laid out in his cute little spreadsheets. Which… you can appreciate. You love a good spreadsheet, but sometimes flying by the seat of your pants is just so much more… fun and exciting. Maybe this is why the two of you make such a good team, a bit of intense control and structure and, well, a lot of whatever it is you feel like doing in the moment.

You can tell the moment Dave decides to play along when he drops a chunk of his weight on you and you nearly stumble trying to keep the both of you upright. You keep up a rambling monologue at Brian as you settle Dave back into his bed while Brian shuffles awkwardly around the room, obviously trying to herd you out of the room. Your spidey senses tingle — something is about to happen. Before you leave the room, you surreptitiously slip the scalpel back to Dave and give him the most reassuring look you can manage. 

Just outside Dave’s room Brian finally spills the news that the feds got approval to transfer him later tonight. Perfect, you think. Just enough time for a bit more improvisation to break Dave out of this place. And get you out of here too. If you have to give another sponge bath or assist with another bowel evacuation you might start killing people.

“Turns out Killer is actually a killer,” Brian whispers, shaking his head. “I’ll be damned. Just make sure you don’t go into his room by yourself anymore.”

Boy, do you have news for your supervisor. 

During your next break, you comb the facility looking for something to create a distraction. A big one. As you pass by the PT room, the small row of treadmills call to you and a burst of inspiration hits you. Yorkie will be so pleased. He hates running.

The fire is a lot bigger than you expected. Apparently all the foam roller things in the PT room are also highly, highly flammable. Piled together by the treadmills you rigged to spark, you didn’t expect it to make quite the towering inferno it did. But you know what? Mission accomplished. 

In the chaos of the fire alarm and subsequent evacuation, you sneak Dave off in a wheelchair (and the plant you brought him, gotta save the little guy too!) and into a car you had borrowed before you started your very brief career in healthcare. Parked in an alleyway cleared of cameras, you almost giggle at the getaway going so well. The only person you had to kill was the fed left to watch Dave’s floor. Yorkie, on the other hand, is still tense with apprehension apparently.

“We’re not clear yet,” he growls as you flip on the radio and peel out of the alleyway.  

“Don’t make me tranq you,” you threaten with a smile. “Raining on my brilliant plan.”

He grumbles something unintelligible while pinching the bridge of his nose, but keeps quiet as he looks out the window as Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car comes on over the radio. As the miles roll by, it occurs to you that it’s the first time he’s been outside of a hospital or facility in almost a year and the uncertainty of the future, now on the run, sobers you up a bit for the rest of the drive. 

It takes a subway, a bus, and a boat, and another borrowed car, before you make it back to your place. You didn’t want to give the feds a chance at tracking either of you, so you took the extra long, long way home. You’re both quiet most of the journey, only communicating when necessary when switching modes of transportation. 

The only time he asks you anything is when it starts to rain, water streaming along the wide windows of the bus. He whole body jerks when he remembers something he wanted to ask you, “Mac. Was he the one who… Is he — is he alive? Or dead?” You can hear the absolute terror in his whispered confusion.

You slide a hand over his to calm him, “He was alive. He didn’t die all those years ago.” You can feel his entire body tense even more. “He’s gone now though, Yorkie. Can’t come after you anymore.”

He stares at you, stiff as a corpse.

“I took care of him for you, baby.” You pat his hand, willing him to take a breath and relax. 

He continues to look at you, wanting an explanation, but you’re not about to confess to murder and torture on a bus, even if it is mostly empty. 

“Later, Yorkie,” you murmur as you snuggle up next to him, hoping he will finally relax. There’s still a way to go before you both get home.

He crashes immediately after getting to your place. You can tell he’s overexerted himself and is likely in more pain than he’s letting on. Still too wired from being on high alert and making sure Dave was okay on the long trek home, you curl up in an armchair by the bed and just watch him sleep. Perhaps you’re afraid if you take your eyes off of him for a moment, he’ll vanish again. 

There’s a warm shaft of light emanating from the bathroom, casting soft shadows around the room, highlighting the outline of his form, those broad fucking shoulders and soft brown hair. He’s so still you’d rush to check for a pulse save for the slow steady rise and fall of his chest.  

Even with all the progress he’d made in physical therapy, he still has a ways to go. You push aside the concern and anxieties of tomorrow to appreciate that he’s warm and safe in your bed right now. Your eyes trace his face, those plush lips you’ve only gotten to kiss once since he remembered you. Following the arch of that nose you love to the two deep furrows between his brows. How does someone look so grumpy even in their sleep? It delights you.

When you can’t take the distance, however short, from Dave, you slide into bed as slowly as you can. He’s usually such a light sleeper, but he doesn’t move an inch. You gently smooth a thumb between his brows until you feel him melt. You close your eyes and allow his steady breathing to lull you to sleep.

“You’re going to cook? Breakfast?” you almost fall out of bed as you try and untangle yourself from the sheets, still half asleep. Who is this man and what has he done with Dave York?

He grumbles something before raising his voice, “I miss real eggs. That place only ever made the powdered shit.”

You shrug and gesture at him to knock himself out, while you busy yourself with making coffee. Coffee always first. Then food. This is the correct order of things. As you hear the fridge door swing open, you feel Dave freeze, standing stock still while letting all the cold air out. Ugh, Dave.

“Sunshine…” he seems to be at a loss for words. “Why the fuck do you have an eyeball in your fridge?”

“Oh, I forgot!” you exclaim. “It’s your welcome home present, Yorkie.” 

His head pokes out from behind the door and he frowns, “You know it can’t replace the eye I lost right?” 

“Oh, I know. It’s what’s left of Mac,” you explain as you slide by him to grab the oatmilk for your coffee. The eyeball stares down at you, suspended in formalin, from its clear jar on the top fridge shelf. “Eye for an eye right?” 

He just looks at you and then at the jarred eyeball in the fridge, and then back at you, speechless.

“Well, except he’s dead and you’re not.” You smile and shrug as you finish stirring the milk into your coffee and take the first blessed sip, extra pleased with yourself. “You’re welcome, Yorkie.”

“Fuck baby, sometimes you scare me you know that?” 

You just smile at him, looking so at home in your colorful kitchen with his tousled hair and grumpy expression before you go to sit on one of the kitchen island stools. “I think that’s exactly why you love me.”

He rounds the island counter and cages you in with his arms. You take in his handsome face, so handsome it’s sometimes hard to breathe, as he just takes you in. He finally rumbles, “Yeah, I guess that’s why I do.” 

“Yeah?” you look at the floor at the admission, swiveling back and forth on the stool, not quite ready to look at him again.

He tilts your chin up with one hand, “You really take care of Mac for me? All by yourself?”

You consider reminding him that you offered to help in the first place, but somehow an I told you so felt like it would ruin the moment. You just bite your lower lip instead.

“Mmh hmm.”

“Why, baby? I — I almost died,” he presses. “He coulda killed you! You didn’t know then if I was even going to make it or not.”

You frown at this. Did he not understand?

“And I’m still so — so broken. Never going to fully recover and be who I was. Not worth anything to anyone anymore.”

He definitely does not understand. And you haven’t had enough coffee for this conversation. You quell the urge to roll your eyes as you grasp the front of his shirt and pull his face down level with yours.

“Yorkie, that’s exactly why I killed him.” Your words are firm even if you feel yourself shaking at what you’re about to admit. “He doesn’t get to try to kill the person I love and get away with it.”

His eyebrows shoot up at your disclosure, that pesky L-word. Should it really be a surprise at this point though? After everything? Even if it terrifies you to admit out loud. You did all of this because you love him. Your Dave.

“After I — I saw you in the hospital, everything Mac did, there wasn’t another option,” you murmur. “You mean everything to me, Yorkie.”

Dave forgets about the stupid eggs as he drags you back to bed and reminds you exactly why you love his nose so much. Fuck, you missed this. 

You suppose from one assassin to another, there’s no declaration of love like getting all murder-y and revenge-y for them. It might as well have been a proposal of marriage. Even with so much uncertainty about your futures and how much rehab Dave still has to go, you figure as long as he doesn’t start trying to back seat assassinate, you’ll both be fine. You’ll take care of your Yorkie until he can be Murdah Daddy again.

[wangxianficfinder]

I'm in the mood for...

July 15th

~*~

1. For the next itmf I had 2 requests

A) Wei Wuxian not being okay after his 3 months in the burial mounds. Like, not just being mean, I want him to barely be holding to reality, maybe some amnesia, but for him to be bad to a concerning point

B) Wei Wuxian feeling isolated

Thank you! ♡

1A)

🔒 At heart by apathyinreverie (M, 36k, WangXian, WIP, Dark LWJ(Ish), Amnesia, WWX gets to be Not Okay after the BM, Hurt WWX, Recovery, Caring, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, some definite manipulation, but not everything is as it seems, not nearly as dark as the tags make it sound, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, kind of, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, WWX Goes to Gusu, Possessive WWX, WWX happily atticwifing away, Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, ridiculously self-indulgent) LWJ finds WWX in the Burial mounds and he heals slowly. Has Amnesia, doubting the reality and malnutrition as focus points

they who refuse to be blessed by sysrae (E, 7k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Golden Core Reveal, Developing Relationship, wwx can have a little scurvy, as a treat, Bathing/Washing, Confessions, Sharing a Bed) things happen and lwj gets to take care of wwx immediately after finding him, noting all the damage his time in the mounds has done

🔒 between the shadow and the soul by Reverie (cl410) (M, 22k, WangXian, JYL/WQ, JC/NHS, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family, Dark WWX, Feral WWX, Memory Loss, Magic, Magical Realism, Protective LWJ, Protective JC, Protective JYL, Grief, BAMF WWX, POV Alternating)

🔒He knows He knew Once by StarClearWaters (Readoutloud) (G, 6k, WangXian, Temporary Amnesia, Resentful Energy, Burial Mounds-Induced Amnesia, Blanket Permission, POV Multiple, Not as angsty as it sounds)

1B)

Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Grave dirt by esama (T, 92k, wangxian, canon divergence, necromancy, demonic cultivation, farming, found family, pre-slash, politics, Fix-it of sorts, yilingwei sect au)

Having Enough (of your foolishness) by makexianxianhappytoday (T, 18k, WangXian, Hurt WWX, YLLZ WWX, BAMF WWX, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiang Family Bashing, Canon Divergence, CSSR and WCZ Live, Yunmeng Jiang Sect Bashing, JYL Lives, JZX Lives, (but what are the consequences), JC Bashing)

~*~

2. [ITMF ask] Are there any fics where the resentful energy from the Burial Mounds (physically? Mentally? Metaphorically??) love wwx and try their best to help him survive? Especially when they still recognize wwx in mxy's body after the whole 13 years thing

Mud on Your Feet by AvoOwO (Not Rated, 59k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Nightmares, Sentient Burial Mounds, Burial Mounds, Possession, Panic Attacks, Night Terrors, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Good Sibling JC, Hurt WWX, Soft WangXian, Feels, Blood and Injury, Hallucinations, Delusions, JC Loves WWX, Insomnia, Good Sibling WWX, Sleepwalking, Sleeptalking, LWJ just wants to sleep with his husband, Protective JC, WWX Sees Dead People, LJY pulls through, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses, PTSD, Post-Canon, YLLZ WWX, resentful energy, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, WWX is tired, LWJ literally just wants to sleep with WWX again is that too much to ask for??, Soft JC, Yunmeng Siblings Feels)

Devil Flute Upon Graves, Wei Ying by cloudyrobinwrites (jwyoomi) (M, 18k, WangXian, HuaLian, JYL/JZX, MXY & WWX, Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Angst, Hints of Fluff, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Sentient Burial Mound, Ghost WWX, Future Calamity WWX, Pre-WangXian, what if wwx actually died when he first fell into the burial mounds and came out as a wrath level ghost, he has a murder of crows like HC's silver butterflies, grab some popcorn watch him spiral, WWX is Not Okay, He'll get better I promise, Canon Divergence, WWX is a Calamity, WWX is not having a fun time, the burial mounds is a tiger mom, how to motivate yourself to finish mount tonglu: think of LWJ, hualian are WWX's emotional support parents, deity JYL, Deity JZX, Good Sibling JYL, JZX is So Whipped, Heavenly Emperor XL, but like forced he doesnt want to be on the throne but fate is like lol nope, Xuanli Raise Jin Ling as They Should, dont worry the MCD refers to the canonical character deaths theyre fine, The Burial Mounds Wants More Kids, what happens when a ghost king gets thrown into a murder mystery, WWX picked up MXY and decided he'll be his student now, MXY managed to summon a calamity level ghost what a guy, WWX disguises himself as a rogue cultivator) It's a MDZS/TGCF crossover in which the Burial mounds is an actual character

~*~

3. itmf fics with the wei family. any where cssr and/or wcz are alive and taking care of their baby, or ones where wwx has a sibling! ty!

Building a home by R95irth (T, 586k, WCZ/CS, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-it, Angst with a happy ending, Family fluff)

Cartwheels In Cloud Recesses Series by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 23k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, CSSR and WCZ Live, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans)

The Different Paths We Tread Series by Admiranda, Rynne (T/G/E, 345k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR and WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Different First Meeting, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Drama, Fluff, Strangers to married, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Minor Violence, Case Fic, There Was Only One Bed, Getting Together, First Kiss, Meeting the Parents, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, WWX Is a Good Big Brother, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Blood and Injury, Yiling siblings, Married WangXian, Wangxian's Baby Fever, POV Outsider, Twin Jades of Lan Dynamics, PWP, Desk Sex, Inappropriate Use of Gusu Lan Forehead Ribbon, Light Bondage, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Anal Sex, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, LWJ Has a Biting Kink, Anal Fingering, wwx's debatably self-lubing asshole, xxc and cssr meet, WWX is a Lan, WWX is Xiao Xingchen's Shizhi, Non-Graphic Depictions of Donkey Childbirth)

~*~

4. Back again with a hand out, begging! Love you all so much! This is an ITMF request: Jiang Cheng-centric groundhog-day AU? I've seen a few with WWX but I'd love one with Jiang Cheng being put through it! (no JC bashing, prefer canon era) @kimboo-york

~*~

5. Is there a Cloud Recesses Study Arc fanfics where they see the future in the classroom? @tjrc18

Wei Wuxian’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good First Meeting With His Future by Enigmatree (T, 3k, wangxian, Time Travel, Cloud Recesses, YLLZ WWX, POV Outsider)

~*~

6. Hello! I'm making an 'im in the mood for' fic request! I'd really like to read a fic where Wangxian adopt Xue Yang and give him a good childhood :D

Also if there are any ships with xy, i have a STRONG preference for songxuexiao

🔒 if you can’t beat them, recruit them by moeblobmegane (T, 228k, Wangxian, NHS & WWX, WWX & WQ, Time Travel Fix-It, Conspiracy, Spies & Secret Agents, Team as Family, Found Family, Burial Mounds, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Pining, Morally Ambiguous Character, Rumors, Politics, Developing Friendships, Good Uncle LQR, Demonic Cultivation, YilingWei Sect) He gets taken in as a son/disciple together with MXY into the sect WWX is totally not creating on accident

Unstoppbble by Immortal WangXian (Mr_Pervert) (M, 85k, WIP, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, NingSang, QingJue, Immortal LWJ, Immortal WWX, Good Parent YZY, Good Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Good Person XY, Evil JGY, Travel Fix-It, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Bottom JC/Top LXC, Bottom NHS/Top WN, Supportive NMJ, YLLZ WWX, Possessive LWJ, Protective LWJ, Fluff and Crack, Shameless Smut, Action/Adventure, Mpreg) Time travel fix it where Wangxian pick up XY when he's 6

Alternate by Hanashi_o_suru (M, 60k, WIP, WangXian, Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Established WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Third Person Limited, WWX is a Tease, mentions of rape/non-con, Sporadic and Random Updates) Also a time travel fix it fic where they pick up XY while he's a child. Another plus: he started ironically calling WWX A-Niang and now it's stopped being ironical. It happens

~*~

7. Hello everyone! This time I will use the "I feel like..." section because I would really like fics where only Wei Wuxian is a time traveler and helps everyone live while she wins back her husband! I really just imagine hijinks and fluff. Thank you very much for your effort @makolashida

And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together) may have more angst then they are seeking but it fits the other requirements.

~*~

8. Hi! This is for ITMF

A) WWX has a chronic illness but not a sickness like cancer. What i want is he was sick in the past and recovered but if he does something his past illness will come again or something like The Porcelain Lotus of Yungmeng by The Feels Whale (miscellea) or 🔒A Burning Cold by MountainRose

B) WWX wants to fix JFM and YZY marriage (because he thinks that it was his fault they always fighting) and JYL or JWY says "you cant fix something that never been whole before" Or something like that or saying that its not WWX responsibility to fix that @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

8A)

misunderstood 'verse by sysrae (M, 7k, WangXian, Modern, College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, getting hit by cars, Past Child Abuse, Friends to Lovers, Abusive YZY, Caring LWJ, Injured WWX, partial hearing loss, the real OTP is everyone x therapy) modern au wwx is deaf on one eat because of a past experience

A Bad of Nibs (Nibs are Bad) by Enk (M, 17k, WangXian, Quarantine, Slice of Life, Friends to Lovers, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Fluff and Angst, Mild Sexual Content, Found Family, Vague Canadian Location, JYL Lives)

~*~

9. hi! for the itmf, idk if this is specific but any modern au fics where wwx is estranged from the jiangs for some reason either during or before the fic, a-yuan is his kid (adopted or biological) and the jiangs don’t know about him, and they reconnect? thank you for the work!

🔒moonlight falls Series by RoseThorne (T, 19k, WangXian, Modern AU, Corporate Espionage, Family Fluff, Adoption, Bad parent LQR, Pre-JC & WWX Reconciliation, Dissociation, Mental Health Issues, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Found Family, Emotional Constipation, Communication Failure, JC is Bad at Feelings, JC is Trying, WWX Needs a Hug, POV WWX, POV Third Person, Implied/Referenced Sex, Food Sex, Reconciliation, Psychological Trauma)

~*~

10. itmf fics where wwx discovers evidence that lwj is in love with him. like maybe wwx discovering his floorboard stash and finding his painting of lwj, or alternatively, smth like letters, diary entries, song lyrics, lwj’s own art for wwx, or self-insert fanfic. things like that! @nalalie

Ever Thine, Ever Mine, Ever Ours. by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 3k, WangXian, Immortal LWJ and WWX, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Well it could be a Bittersweet Ending, Love Confessions) Immortal WWX finds a poem immortal LWJ wrote in the 13 years he was dead. It's a love poem

rather cruelly used and rather reserved by x_los (M, 13k, wangxian, sugar daddy (slightly), case fic, domestic horror, architectural horror, gift giving, happy ending, getting together, confessions) is perfect for it

~*~

11. I’m in the mood for no-war AUs about wangxian getting together post CR study arc. Just want to read about how these two might have figured it out without the stress of war and growing up too fast! Thanks in advance!

Dazzle Like a Diamond by Tsukimiko_san (T, 4k, WangXian, Dragon LWJ, Crow WWX, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, No Angst, ok maybe a tiny sprinkle of angst but like, usual LWJ thinking WWX is just teasing him, it doesn’t last long, Getting Together, they are both so whipped, Boys Kissing, Courting Rituals) iirc there's not even a mention of war on this one, but I do have to warn that it's crowxian and dragonji

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious) Fits both 11 & 12. It's a no war AU (mostly - there is some conflict between the Wen & Nie, but WX's role is solely helping refugees) set shortly after CRSA where WX get together. There's also a subplot about WWX setting up a charitable venture to help Yiling's street kids

💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Jiāng Family Friendly, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX)

Orchids in Lotus Pier by Vamillepudding (G, 21k, wangxian, canon divergence, romantic comedy, pining, protective JC, friends to lovers, misunderstandings)

For you by 10thNoNamePerson (T, 16k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Canon Divergence, No War AU, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Jealous WWX, Soft WangXian, Teenage LWJ/Teenage WWX, No Sunshot Campaign)

Straight at the Sun by diamondbruise (E, 33k, WangXian, Canon Universe, no war though, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, Misunderstandings, First Time, Anal Sex, wwx desperately wants lwj's attention, lwj desperately wants to marry wwx, Miscommunication, Jealousy, in abundance, Happy Ending, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX)

~*~

12. Itmf fics that deal with wwx caring about kids (esp canon era), adopting fostering having an official or unofficial ward, looking out for street children in any way he can even in little ways as a kid etc

🔒❤️ Joy In the Midst of These Things Series by Glitterbombshell (T/G, 53k, WangXian, Angst with Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Teacher WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff) wwx teaches Lan kids stuff

the low sky, raining over by chibilwj (thelogicoftaste) (M, 37k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Kid Fic)

❤️ Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste for williedustice (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, 🔒[PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)

He never had a plan, he just went with the flow by CrazyGeek_TheGachatuber15 (Not Rated, 65k, WIP, XiYao, WangXian, Gusu Lan Elders Bashing, LXC Bashing, LXC gets his shit together, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Dynamics, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Are Bad at Communicating, Twin Jades of Lan Dynamics, WWX is Good With Children, Water Spirit WWX, Deity WWX, Good Sibling JYL, Protective NHS, Scheming NHS, BAMF LSZ, Angry LSZ, Good Friend LSZ, Demonic Cultivator LSZ, but not really?, WWX Creates a Sect | Yiling Wei Sect, accidentally, MXY Lives, JRS Lives, OP WWX, Deity LSZ, Inventor WWX, slight OOC behavior, Canonical Character Death - WWX, Future Character Death, Canon Divergence) In it WWX founded an orphanage before the war and is now, after his death, gathering homeless children to bring there and visits them when he's not traveling. The last few chapters were about it, kind of (currently has 9 chapters)

🧡 Vow by draechaeli (E, 216k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, BeliefGod!WWX, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, Pregnancy Kink, Mpreg, minor male lactation, Consensual Non-Consent, Light Bondage, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con because JGS, Mentions Canon Typical Incest, Canon Typical Violence)

~*~

13. Hi! I love this blog. I was looking for fics where LWJ considers his love wholeheartedly rejected and/or unrequited and as the reader, you feel his pain viscerally. I’ve found some fics like this which I adore like - “it’s always open” by Scarlettstorm, “heart at ease” by Diamondbruise and “A little late (but can I come home anyway?)” by Anobtra (animeobsessedtrash) - but am always interested in more!

Thank you!

~*~

14. helloooo! could i have time travel fanfics where they DON'T end up in their younger bodies? that's it. they teleport as they are, in their future selves. the future can be from whichever arc and teleported to any arc in the past. whichever canon is fine, angst is fine. i'd prefer it completed and somewhat humor but i'll take whatever i can get. i trust this blog's fine tastes. c:

i just really want fics where they co-exist with their younger selves because i don't know how to tag it separately from the "wake up in their younger self" fanfics. thank you very much! @lovewly

💖 From the Future for the Past by friedchickenlord (G, 27k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, First Love, Love Confessions, Fluff and Humor, accidental time travel due to one husband malfunctioning array, teen wangxian meet adult wangxian, Happy Ending, adding extra chapter, in this household we hate JGS, in which WWX love library pavilion, (in a way) Yiling Laozu x Hanguang Jun, Denial, Mutual Pining) Adult LWJ finds himself in the CRSA era due to a mishap with an array

River Stones by littlesystems (M, 18k, WangXian, Time Travel, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study arc, Junior Quartet, Oblivious WWX, Suffering LWJ, Voyeurism) Both CRSA-era WWX & LWJ go forward in time & meet post-canon WX

there's a story on Tumblr with JC who time travels. I don't know how to link it, but you can find it on this blog under fic compilation -> non AO3 (the second one is Tumblr) and then by scrolling all the way down to the master post from Shana storyteller. The fic is just titled "Time travel Jiang Cheng" (link is to the latest part - mod c)

Song of Joy and Regrets by HelloKitten (Not Rated, 134k, wangxian, hualian, WIP, TGCF, Angst, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, characters watching their series, Time Travel Fix-it)

Key Differences by pupeez4eva (T, 5k, WangXian, Humor, Dimension Travel, Crossover, Drama!WWX meets Novel!WWX, Public Confessions, Post-Canon) sort of fits in that it's Novel Wei Wuxian meeting Drama Wei Wuxian, resulting in hilarity.

~*~

15. Hi Mods! Can I get SongXIao Fic recs please? Like main pairing SongXiao fic recs?

~*~

16. Itmf a fic where wei wuxian adopts a 2nd child (or more). So it's not just a-yuan. Esp if it's a developed oc. Ex: twelve moons and a fortnight (oc a-shui), please take this radish (xue yang), mxy, others, etc

~*~

17. hiii!! itmf!! is there any modern au fics where wei ying makes lan zhan jealous on purpose?? @yesibest

Wei Ying's Favourite Customer by QueenofThyme (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern, Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista WWX, Jealous LWJ, Texting, Fluff, Flirting, Mutual Pining, Multi POV)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[synismet]

I am always swooning over how brutal and unforgiving Alva Lorenz is as a hunter.

His weapon is one of the most painful to be hit by imo, being that it is scolding hot copper. The tip of that cat's tail is not black for aesthetics, it's been burned black from the heat from the Eye of Darkness. Being smacked by a sharp, jagged, burning hot metal object is so, ohhuuh my GOD.

Every single part of his abilities and his weapon are meticulously planned and crafted to serve a specific purpose: to judge and debilitate survivors. He puts them in a situation where their actions could very well define the survival of their friends, that they are responsible for what happens to them. Alva sees himself less as a human being, and more as an inevitable force of nature. To himself, he is Inevitability, he is the constant. He will kill the survivors no matter their actions, no matter how selfless they may be, or how selfish, his judgement on them does not change.

But yet, he still tests them, he pushes them to the very brink of insanity through guilt and exhaustion. He turns their only way to freedom into what could very well get them killed. Turning the machines into electrical hazards that shock their hands, ionizing their bodies much like Alva himself is. They inflict themselves with Alva's greatest tool against them, and bring in a constant fear of not knowing when they will experience another painful electrical shock. He makes them stomach the responsibility of easing their comrades pain in exchange for self sacrifice and pain. Will they selfishly run and avoid all the charged ciphers? Or will they accept the responsibility they have, the risk? Is taking that risk worth it? Is it better to save themselves? To run? To avoid pain? The only path of survival against The Hermit is self sacrifice and suffering.

To take in that pain, to endure the constant unpredictable shocking, even as it incapacitates their bodies. The constant shocks I would imagine induce nausea, vomitting, muscle failure, amnesia, electrical burns, involuntary movements, breathing difficulties, disorientation, and more. Each shock being a high voltage hit to their entire nervous system, and their mind. The longer the game goes on, the worse and worse the physical and mental condition gets of the survivors from the constant electrical torture. Alva knows this. He knows how this affects them, and that is why he makes sure his connection prolongs that suffering, anxiety, and panic for as long as possible.

He wants to push survivors to their very limits, and beyond it. He wants to force their darkness out for him to see them bare for what they truly are. He wishes to expose the selfishness and greed of human nature and then punish it as he sees fit. Alva's hunting style is closer to methods used in "advanced interrogation techniques." Than an actual hunter. He tortures survivors until they show or give him what he wants to see. He believes all of humanity to be below him and his deity, he wants to desperately be proven wrong, but his ego tells him that will never happen.

Alva does not even hunt them with urgency, he calmly follows them and watches their every move, even lazily chasing them as if always confident they will fall to their own human weakness. Their struggle for survival means nothing to him, to see their strife to be alive is just a means for him to prove his own theories of human nature. I imagine that realistically, Alva would be more "stealth" oriented. His ability to appear in different places suddenly would disorientate anyone, coming around dark corners or appearing somewhere the survivor did not remember him being, and then being helpless to run as his power paralyzed their body. They can do nothing but watch him attack them, hit them, beat them and bleed them. They can not do anything. Their fate was in the hands of their allies, and their allies if choosing selfishness, chose to sacrifice them.

He is like panther slowly walking up to a helpless lamb, the little lamb broken and unable to move because the mother decided to save its own life, leaving the little lamb entirely defenseless to his claws and teeth. The panther trailed the mother for so long, that her mind broke and her panic and fear made her abandon her young, and all she can do now is watch her baby be ripped to pieces and wait for the panther to come for her next.

Anyone would be pushed to be their worst after being tortured so much, like how prisoners will confess to a crime just to stop the beatings. Alva's release s tier was not a prisoner warden with torture tools for no reason. [that whip is sexy falls over.]

To torment others while holding onto false hope that they will pass his "trials" all the while he actively pushes them to the brink of death, and then to give them false hope of survival, of salvation, is so incredibly sadistic. He is not just scaring them, or chasing, no, he is ensuring every single part of their mind, body, and soul are tortured and given false hope. Alva will always deny that he is being self indulgently sadistic. He will claim divine right, say that he is their savior, or that their own human nature is to blame, and not him. But he is guilty of indulging in his own wants and desires.

There is a reason that Jack of all people commented on how Alva likes to "Play with his food."

[orcasoul]

Remember Cyar'ika Part 1

Okay here goes. This is my first fanfic ever. I'm by no means a writer but hopefully someone will enjoy this Din Djarin story...

Summery: Reader and Din are in a relationship and have been tracking bounties together. She gets injured during a hunt and has amnesia and can't remember her life with Din. Din promises to be there for her no matter what.

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, use of Y/N

Italics indicate inward thinking

Word Count: 3,620

You slowly open your eyes but everything is hazy. The intense ringing in your ears is accompanied by the sounds of blaster fire. Realising you're face down you lift your head only to be greeted by a blinding pain shooting from the back of your skull to your forehead and slowly everything turns black. You open your eyes again, this time to a bright and airy room. It takes a minute for the blurry vision to subside and to be able to focus. Your limbs ache like you've never felt before and your head feels like it's been stood on by a Bantha. The soft beeping of a monitor and the smell of disinfectant tells you that you're safe in a medcentre. "Cyar'ika?" You slowly turn your head to where the voice is coming from. "I thought I'd lost you." The voice is raw with emotion which only added to your confusion as to why this strange, black T-shaped visor is hovering over you. Maybe he's a doctor? But why would a doctor be on the verge of breaking down? No, this man is clearly concerned about you.

The longer you study the visor the more you begin to panic. Am I supposed to know this man who clearly knows me? All you know is he is a Mandalorian as evident by his Beskar armour. He gently raises a gloved hand to caress your cheek but you instinctively flinch away from such an intimate touch from a complete stranger. As you do his hand stops mid reach and you see his shoulders tense as he clearly wasn't expecting such a reaction. "Wh... what's wrong, Cyar'ika? It's okay, you're safe now. I'm here." You reply with stunned silence and confusion, unable to process what is happening and you begin to hyperventilate After a few seconds the Beskar clad man tries to calm you. "Y/N, you're in a medcentre. You're going to be okay, just breath, slowly." He begins to breath in and out slowly to encourage you to copy him. After calming your breathing to a steady rhythm you notice his hands gently holding your shoulders and again, you feel the need for personal space and shuffle away from his hands.

The hurt and confusion is evident from this man, even with a helmet covering his face. "Wh... who are you? What are you doing in here?" "What?" his tone becomes almost frantic. "What do you mean?! Do... do you know who I am?" Looking at him wide eyed, you shake your head no. "Am I supposed to know you?" "Y/N it's Din!" "Who...?" The panic intensifies. "What's going on? I don't know you. How did I get here?" The panic becomes too much and you start to feel light headed as your hearts pounds in your chest. The low hiss of his helmet fills the room as he quickly takes it off and fixes you with a concerned gaze, unable to speak and clearly stunned by your reaction to him. As you look into his deep brown eyes you notice his expression changes from confusion to heartbreak as he realises the gravity of the situation. "I'm going to get the medic, I'll be right back."

He puts his helmet back on, turns on his heel and swiftly leaves the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts, trying to piece together the events that led to this moment. But you can't remember anything and again confusion leads to panic. You try to sit up but the room begins to spin and you find yourself clutching at the back of your head where you can feel bandages and slight swelling. It's at that moment the 'stranger' who doesn't act like a stranger returns with the medic. "Y/N I'm Doctor Tepu. You're at Gazno medical centre in Mos Eisly. You've sustained a serious head injury and we had to put you into an induced coma while waiting the swelling to go down. How are you feeling?" "I..." your breath catches in your chest and for a moment you're not sure how to answer. You want to say you're okay but you're not. You're terrified at this moment. "I Don't know..." you murmur in a weak and shaky voice.

"Some degree of confusion is expected at this time," the doctor states in a very matter of fact tone. "But as the swelling continues to decrease you'll find it easier to manage." "Doctor?..." you say wearily while eyeing the man beside him. "Who is this man and why does he say that he knows me?" The doctor glances between you and the Mandalorian, his face filled with concern. "You see! This isn't normal. You didn't say anything like this could happen." The Mandalorian's voice is desperate now. "She doesn't remember me!" The doctor calmly insists they talk outside your room while you get some rest. Such an impossible fear right now, you realise as you quietly cry into your palms that are now covering your face. Between deep, shuddering breathes you hear fragments of their conversation. "Brain injuries are very complex. This could just be temporary while she recovers." "And it it's not?! You need to do something, help her, please!" he shamelessly begs the doctor. The Doctor gives him a sympathetic look. "We're waiting on the results from her latest scan and we'll go from there."

Slowly the door opens and your attention is brought back to the Mandalorian. As he slowly sits down beside the bed and removes his helmet you can't help but stare, shock and fear still written all over your face. "I need you to tell me everything because I can't remember a fucking thing!" Frustration threatens to burst out of you in tears yet again. The sombre looking man takes a deep breath. "I'm a bounty hunter. My name is Din Djarin. We've been working together for the past six months collecting quarries. The last one went... wrong, and you got seriously injured. You're lucky I got you here when I did." He looked at you, hoping you'd start to remember but continued, "And we... uh..." he looked uncomfortable now, "We're together." Your eyebrows shot up at that revelation. "You mean like together, together?"

All He can din is offer a weak smile and a nod. Your head feels like it's going to explode! What the hell? How can I not remember a man I've been with for the last six months? This is all too much. "I'm sorry but... I don't know you," your voice cracks as you say it. You don't know what's worse; The fact you can't remember him, what you were to each other or the look of utter devastation across the face of a man who clearly cares deeply for you and you heart begins to break for him. Feeling completely overwhelmed by the situation you turn away form him and lie down, explaining that you need some time alone. His voice is clearly pained as he responds, "I'll come back later, once you've had time to rest."

Din feels a torrent of confusion, anger and heartbreak as he steps outside into the unrelenting heat of Tatooine's two sun's. He blames himself for what happened. If he'd gotten to you sooner then that Twi'lek wouldn't have had a chance to throw that grenade and for that he'll never forgive himself. He slammed his fist against the wall causing passers-by to stare at his outburst, while he was to consumed by grief to notice or even care. He recalls the doctor's words, this could be temporary, and he clings to that hope like it's his lifeline. "Dank Farrik!" he cursed in frustration. "I'm so sorry, Cyar'ika. I let this happen." He made a silent vow at that moment; to support you and look after you, no matter what. After returning to the Razor Crest to bring you some fresh clothes, he walks to the market to buy you some essentials for your stay in the medcentre.

Upon his return the medecentre Din is greeted by Doctor Tepu, who has the scan results. "Hi Y/N," the doctor greeted warmly as they both enter your room. "We've received your results and I'm sorry to say that the healing process has been slower than anticipated but you will make a full physical recovery in time. However, amnesia is very unpredictable and at this stage it's impossible to tell if it'll be permanent." You blink to hold back the the tears, feeling numb and exhausted. Din's heart aches for you and he suddenly feels angry with himself for failing to protect you. This is all your fault! He mentally berates himself. The doctor continues, "With rest and plenty of fluids you should be well enough to be discharged in a couple of days. I'll let you get some rest now." Din takes the seat next to your bed. "I'm so sorry, Cyare. I should have protected you. I failed you," his voice trembling, he reaches for your hand. Even though you don't know him you allow him to hold your hand, hoping it will provide some sort of comfort to him. "I'm going to do everything I can to help you through this, I promise," Din declares to you, determination in his voice.

Four Months Later

You wake to the ceiling of the bed chamber and the same hope rises in you as it has every morning since coming back to the Razor Crest. Hope that today something about the ship or something about Mando (as you've started calling him) might jog your memory. You didn't want to admit it to yourself but you have felt that hope slightly diminish over the past couple of weeks. Surely by now something should have seemed familiar but so far every day has been a frustrating disappointment. It's been hard for Din too. From the moment you returned to the Crest (as suggested by the doctor, who believed the best way to help the recovery process was to go back to your normal routine) Din has done everything possible to make things easier for you as you adjust. He even insisted you take the cot while he slept on a sleeping mat in the cargo bay.

You feel guilty even now, knowing you are on a soft bed while he has to endure the cold cargo bay on a less than adequate mat but no matter how many times you try to convince him to take the cot instead, you've learned by now that when his mind is made up, there's no changing it. After using the fresher you ascend the ladder to the cockpit where Din is busy plotting a course to the next bounty. "Good morning Mando," You say as you sit next to him in the co pilot seat.

Din once asked why you called him Mando, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Everyone we meet calls you Mando-" you begin, but are cut off, "Yes, but not you," he replied as though it should have been the most obvious thing. "I just think... it's probably for the best as I don't know you that well and..." you stop suddenly, realising what you had just said must have punched a hole through his heart, as his shoulders slumped and his helmet tilted down slightly. You knew even with the helmet on his expression is one of hurt and sorrow. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that-" you begin to ramble until Din delicately placed his hand over yours, the warmth of his skin seeping through his leather glove into your hand. In a soothing voice he said, "It's okay Y/N. If you want to call me Mando I understand. I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable." You look into his inky black visor with teary eyes and nod gratefully.

"Did you sleep well?" He asks with a tilt of his helmet and a soft tone that instantly eased any anxiety you woke up with. "Yes, thank you," you smile at him, "But I wish for once you'd take the cot." "Wouldn't dream of it," he brushed off your offer again. You knew he would but you wanted to try anyway. "We're headed to Naboo this time," he informed you in his low monotone voice, while placing a holo puck on the control panel. "It's an easy target that should pose no danger." You nod knowing he's only taken low risk missions since your accident, not wanting to risk getting killed and leaving you all alone in this galaxy. The depth of the love you can see and feel he has towards you is overwhelming sometimes and you can't help feeling guilty that you don't feel the same (or that you can't remember that you feel the same). And even though he tries to hide his emotions under all that impenetrable Beskar there have been times when you've seen his cool demeanour start to crack.

The times when he hasn't heard you approach and he's lost in his thoughts and obvious sadness only to shake it off and become the stoic Mandalorian he always presents when he realises you're there. There have been instances when he has absentmindedly called you 'Cyar'ika' or 'Meshla' and apologised when he saw awkward you felt. You assured him there's no need to apologise and that you know this is hard for him too. "You know Mando, the doctor said to go back to our normal routine," whatever normal is, you inwardly huffed, "But taking the low risk bounties isn't what you used to do by the sound of it, and I know you're doing it for me. I feel like I'm holding you back and-" Din quickly turned in his seat to face you. "You've never held me back from anything. You are my priority and I'll always put you first and be here for you. If that means taking safer bounties I'm happy to do it." The sincerity of his voice helped to slightly ease the guilt you constantly feel.

Sometimes you feel it would be better for him if you left and he could move on with his life. You're brought out of your thoughts by the roar of the Crest's engines as Din starts it up ready to depart. His gloved hand hovers over the control buttons and for a split second you feel an overwhelming desire to reach out and hold his hand, as if your hand belongs in his. You have a brief visualisation of running your fingers tenderly over the blue triangle adorning his gauntlet, tracing the shape. Is this a memory or just a desire you have now? You decide to keep this to yourself, at least for now because the last thing you would want to do is give Din false hope. Once you'd landed on Naboo Din shut the engines down and began his preparations to track down the quarry. It's a Nautolan wanted for jumping bail while awaiting trial for smuggling charges.

"Y/N, I want you to wait for me in the cantina while I track him down." You nod as this is the usual way things go lately; he hunts and you wait. There have been times when you've wanted to accompany him, feeling strangely drawn to this kind of lifestyle, but Din vehemently refused every time since he almost lost you. He'd told you once that you used to do these jobs together and that you were more than capable of working alongside him, but since you have no memory of your past exploits into the dangerous world of bounty hunting he didn't want to risk your safety. So for his peace of mind you agreed to stay behind every time. It's the least you could do for him.

The cantina is bustling with all kinds of people; Twi'lek's, Quarran's, Aleena's, Toong's etc. Such a mixed bag. Sitting at the bar you can't help but enjoy the atmosphere as a band of Biths play their various instruments and happy chatter and laughter fills the air. You order a glass of Bespin Sparkle and lazily tap you foot to the rhythm of the band. An hour later the room abruptly turns silent as the Mandalorian enters, turning heads and eliciting quiet whispers as he walks through the crowd with the confidence you've grown to admire. "You're back sooner than I thought," you smiled, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Told you it would be an easy one," Din replied with a tone of smug satisfaction to his voice, gesturing to the Nautolan behind him, cuffed and head held low. "Come on, let's go back to the Crest," Din insisted softly, as he faintly places his palm on the small of your back to lead you out, and you can't help the butterflies you feel in your belly at his feather light touch. Whenever he shows care and tenderness like this it makes you feel safe and you can't deny that over time you have become attracted to him but you would never act on it because again, you don't want to give him false hope.

It's late when you arrive back at the Crest and Din wastes no time in encasing the quarry in frozen carbonite. After eating a ration pack for supper you bid Din goodnight and retire to the sleeping chamber. You're not sure how long you've been asleep when you suddenly jump up, gasping and shaking! You can't remember what you dreamed about but you're sure you heard the sounds of blaster fire. Not knowing if you dreamed it or if it came from outside you nervously open the door to the bunk and notice the ramp is open. It's never open this late and a pang of worry spreads through your gut. "Mando?" you call out; no answer. Cautiously walking outside it's evident there's no danger. You must have dreamed it. The woodland surrounding the Razor Crest is bathed in the silver glow of the moon and the only sounds you can hear are the nocturnal creatures that have emerged.

Looking up at the stars you feel a sense of peace wash over you as you get lost in the wonderment of how many more worlds there must be that are too far away to discover. You're suddenly brought out of your reverie by a flash of silver reflecting the moonlight in the not too far distance of the treeline leading into the woodland. As you squint to focus you realise Din is making his way into the woods. You decide to wait for him to return and sit on the ramp, looking back up at the ocean of stars, and listen to the insects and forest creatures going about their business. After a while of waiting for Din, you begin to grow concerned, wondering why he hasn't returned yet. He couldn't have gone too far, you think to yourself and decide to check the area you saw him walk into. As you slowly approach the treeline you are halted in your steps by an unfamiliar sound. Your heart sank as the realisation hit you. It's Din and he's crying.

His voice sounds un-modulated and you realise he has taken off the helmet. The lack of the enhanced senses of his helmet must have been the reason why he didn't hear you approach, that and the intense grief he's currently lost in right now. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to protect you Y/N. I miss you.... so much!" Din hasn't felt this depth of loss and despair since losing his parents as a child. He's at a complete loss, knowing there's nothing he can do to help you and his heart feels heavier every day. But he will gladly bare this grief if it means keeping you safe. How he longs to reach out to you and hold you in his arms again, stroke your silky hair and whisper softly into your ear as you sleep, feel the intimate and loving connection you have both shared time and again, but as time goes on he feels the possibility slipping away into oblivion. It's absolute torture to love someone so deeply and not be able to tell or show them. He sighs and leans his head back against a tree, trying to clear his mind by focusing on the sounds of the world around him, trying to calm down before he makes his way back home.

The last thing he wants is for you to see him like this but little does he know you've just witnessed him in his most desperate and vulnerable state and it was agonising to hear. You've never heard so much pain and anguish in anyone's voice like you just heard in his. Clutching your hand over your heart you quietly turn and walk away. You feel as though your heart just broke into a thousand pieces, all for him. Tears stream down your cheeks as you walk back to the ship. Entering the sleeping chamber you close the door and fall onto the mattress, burying your face into the pillow. Suddenly all those repressed emotions from months of guilt and the despair you'd just witnessed from Din, along with the heartbreak you feel at causing him this pain erupted from deep within you and you screamed into the pillow, staining it with your tears that just won't stop flowing! After a few minutes you manage to compose yourself as the tears begin to ease but not stop. You close your eyes and take a deep breath as you are hit with a sudden clarity; You have to leave him, for his sake.

Part 2

[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds - Chapter Nine

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count: 9146 Rating: Teen Summary: Despite a messy evening which led to you waking up in an opulent hotel which you have no memory of falling asleep in, memories of kind brown eyes and breathless kisses soon come flooding back to soothe your soul. Your relationship deepens as the two of you spending time together whenever your busy schedules allow. But one night, a turn of events causes you - despite Din's reassurances - to wonder if everything you have been working so hard to build together has just come crashing down around you... Content Warnings: Alcohol consumption, description of hangovers, alcohol induced memory loss resulting in brief panic and some smooching! Author's Note: This was so much fun to write, although I am teetotal now so putting myself back into the headspace of being hungover was kind of weird. I've never woken up in just a swimsuit, though... although I did once fall asleep on a box of McNuggets which I found squashed under my pillow lmao. BUT more importantly, our dear reader finally has her own nickname. Hope it was worth the wait! Also completely unintentionally, releasing this almost coincided with Lunar New Year which is fitting given some events in this chapter hehe. It's the Year of the Dragon which is meant to be very lucky! Happy New Year! 🐲 Hope you enjoyed this one. Reader and Din's relationship is really starting to develop now and I'm excited to continue editing and writing their story!

9. Have I Known You Twenty Seconds or Twenty Years? - (Reader's POV)

The first thing that alarmed you when your eyes fluttered open was not the pounding in your head, nor your adverse reaction to the light that was streaming in from a curtain that had not been closed fully. No, it was the sheer luxuriousness of your surroundings. The hotel room was unlike anything you had ever seen before. How did you end up here? The furnishings, like the opulent chandelier in your room and the sheer scale of your bed – which was far too big for one person, an entire family could have fitted into it – made you feel intensely out of your depth. 

Then, you lifted the soft sheets that were covering you and peered down to ascertain your state of undress. The jolt of anxiety that was sent straight to your stomach when you saw what you were wearing almost sent you sprinting to the toilet because of how shocking it was, but mercifully, the sensation quickly passed. Somehow, it seemed that you had woken up in an impossibly high-class hotel, the opulent surroundings were completely alien to you, and you had never before witnessed such an embarrassment of riches. 

And to your horror, you had woken up here dressed in nothing but a swimsuit. A garment that you had no memory of dressing in…

Amongst the panic, your mind started racing with questions. You attempted to move your head off the pillow but soon groaned and your head abruptly fell back onto the impossibly soft surface. That slight movement alone had sent an excruciating shock of pain shooting somewhere behind your eyes.

As you adjusted to the various sensations as your body gradually awakened, the next thing you noticed was how your mouth felt as though it had been viciously attacked by sandpaper. Combined with the bitter taste that lingered on your lips, it only indicated one culprit: alcohol. That explained your combination of symptoms and amnesia.

You lay there for a few moments and struggled to piece together the events of the previous evening, beginning with when Din had picked you up after work. You remembered that part perfectly clearly…

* * *

Noticing the unmistakable outline of your date, complete with his dark curly brown hair, immediately made you feel calmer as you stood at the top of the steps that led you out of the museum. You began descending the stone steps, heaving your overnight bag with you as you went, before you placed your bag and weary body down on the bench next to him.

“Hi, Din,” you smiled after you finally emerged from the stunning building you were lucky to work in and took your seat by his side. You tried your best to sound far happier than you were. The last thing you wanted to do was to worry the man who had promised to take you on another incredible date. 

It seemed as though Din had been quite happy to sit there and watch the world pass him by, looking on as visitors of all ages and nationalities filed out after another busy day at the museum. So much so, that he seemed a little taken aback by your sudden presence at his side. Fortunately, his expression soon brightened and his lips curved into a smile as he greeted you. You adored the way your name sounded when Din’s voice said it, the way his mouth moved around the syllables. 

Din noticed you staring at his mouth for a beat longer than was appropriate and as he leaned in, you realised that he had read your lingering gaze on his lips as a desire to be kissed. You weren’t one to refuse and you certainly welcomed his enthusiasm as you sighed contentedly when Din’s lips met yours. You couldn’t help but smile against his lips, still a little in disbelief that you got to kiss this ridiculously handsome man. It was the first genuine smile that had spread across your features all day. 

Then Din pulled away and you couldn’t help the way your face dropped back to the weary and drawn expression that you had been wearing when you sat next to Din on the bench. You averted your gaze nervously and played with the hem of your shirt, hoping that Din wouldn’t question your mood. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin the plans that he had made for the two of you. You felt Din shift next to you and you looked up at him, offering a weak smile in an attempt to reassure him. 

“Are you okay?” Din asked, the concern instantly apparent in his deep, rich voice. Despite your best effort to put on a brave face, it seemed that Din knew you well enough to notice that your smile did not quite reach your tired eyes. 

“I’m fine…” you sighed and then paused. You had vowed to be as honest as possible with Din, and you knew there was no point in putting yourself through something that you didn’t want to for the sake of pleasing him. You decided to be upfront about how difficult you had found work this week, hoping that he’d understand since he seemed to have an equally demanding job.

“It’s just been kind of a hard week with work. We’re a bit understaffed at the moment and one of the managers has been putting my team under a bit more pressure than I can handle currently,” you explained as you massaged the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Din offered, “but I hope you’ll enjoy the evening I planned for us. I thought I could show you to my hotel and you could change there if you wish before we head out for dinner,” Din suggested, but you could not find it in yourself to pretend to be enthusiastic about sitting in a fancy restaurant that you would probably feel wildly out of place in. You sat there in silence, contemplating how to play it. You never wanted to lie to him, but would he accept your honesty or think you were rude?

Your inner turmoil had not gone unnoticed by the man at your side though, as before you could make a decision the comforting sound of Din’s deep voice was reverberating through your ear drums once again. 

“Unless there’s something else you’d rather do?” Din suggested, thankfully putting you out of your misery.

“Look, Din, to be honest with you: I had a terrible day,” you sighed. “I have no doubt that you have an incredible evening planned for me, but this entire week has been awful and I’m exhausted. I just… I would feel out of my depth at a fancy restaurant right now,” you admitted. The thought of pulling on fancy clothes to dine somewhere surrounded by snobs with pretentiously worded menus was causing you to feel more than a little queasy. 

“That’s completely fine with me. I’m sorry to hear you had a hard week, I don’t want to do anything that would push you out of your comfort zone,” Din said and you exhaled and visibly relaxed, all fears of disappointing him had vanished. 

“I would love to show you to this noodle bar around the corner. It isn’t fancy, no steaks wrapped in gold leaf or whatever, but it’s honestly amazing. I know the owners, they make the best dumplings and noodles you’ve ever tasted,” you suggested, hoping that Din was convinced. 

“That sounds excellent!” Din nodded enthusiastically. “Honestly, I'm not exactly at my most comfortable in places like that, either. I asked for a reservation there because I thought it was the proper thing to do when dating someone. Taking them somewhere fancy, you know.”

“Exactly! I think with the right person, you can take them anywhere and it feels like the best thing in the world. I had so much fun with you and Grogu on those stupid swings at the zoo a few weeks back, I think that’s far more ‘us’ than a fancy dinner,” you admitted and Din laughed at the memory. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would have had fun and I’m flattered you thought of me for something like that. But I’m just far more comfortable in places I’m familiar with. I can’t stand pretentious menus either, why do things always have to be drizzled in or on a bed or something? At my noodle place, you just go in, give the numbers of what you want and that’s that. No fuss.”

“Well, that sounds very low effort and relaxing. Perfect,” Din smiled at you. Your insecurity proved to once again be unfounded. “I am in complete agreement with the pretentious food menus, by the way. I’ve been exposed to a lot of them in my uh… recent line of work. Before that, I just saw food as fuel and didn’t understand how people could get so caught up in it. And I still don’t to be honest.”

“Oh, good! You know, when I heard your background, I mean… When I first walked up to greet you at the museum I thought oh great, here’s another person with more money than sense, to rent out an entire museum that has free admission,” you admitted, amused by how wrong you had been. “I knew you were different, though… especially when I saw you with a baby. Well, at first I thought you were kind of selfish because he wouldn’t even remember it! But I get it now. I get you know. We’re far more alike than I first thought…”

“We really are. But we really need to communicate better, don’t we?” Din smirked. “It seems like we’re pretty similar in preferring a quiet life and also in not doing things by the book.”

“I think so,” you smiled, grateful to have found someone who was seemingly so on your wavelength. “You don’t need to do anything extravagant, expensive or fancy for me to have a good time with you, Din. I enjoy your company regardless.”

“Thank you, that means a lot. So, noodles?” Din said as he stood to his feet and reached for your hand, pulling you up off the bench and linking arms with her as the two of you walked down the London streets towards the noodle bar.

* * * 

Your head was still pounding, your vision blurry as the opulent surroundings seemed to be swimming around your head. At least you had remembered that it had always been the plan for Din to bring you here. He had offered to spend a couple of days with you in central London, in this luxurious hotel to treat you after a hectic week of work.

With that settled, you tried your best to focus on trying to recall the events of the previous night, but the dull ache made everything far too painful to concentrate on for too long. Your memories were hazy, but amongst the white-hot pain that was pulsing behind your eyes, you thought you began to recall some things…

You remembered kind brown eyes peering at you over a table filled with noodles and later, a stroll through a park. There was a taxi at some point and lots of giggling in a hot tub. That probably accounted for the swimsuit, at the very least. And then you remembered just how wasted you had been, all of the embarrassing things you had surely said to Din. The strings of syllables came flooding back to you, words and actions that made you cringe so much that it sent a stab of terror to your queasy stomach. 

At that moment, you wanted the ground to swallow you up, fantasising about the bed you were in falling through the floors of the hotel until it was swallowed up by a gigantic sinkhole that had magically appeared in the Earth’s crust. Unfortunately, that did not happen. Things were not going to be that easy. You were an adult, you had to sit here with the consequences of letting yourself get so wrapped up in the giddiness of the reality that you were dating Din and he was treating you to a stay in such a luxurious hotel. 

The shame came in droves, the questions assaulting your fragile head from all crevices of your pain. The anxiety was almost overwhelming. What must Din think of you? You groaned. And then you panicked. Had you and Din done anything the previous night? You were that wasted, you truly couldn’t remember. 

You wondered if he was suddenly regretting inviting you here, certain that you had made an idiot of yourself and that he was now remembering the age gap between the two of you. He was a father, after all. A man with his own life and responsibilities. In comparison, you were just an immature child.

You reached your trembling hand over to your phone which was thankfully right next to you on the dark wooden nightstand. Even though you knew she would likely be asleep, you needed to rant to Ria about what an idiot you were. She would surely offer you some sympathetic words and light teasing that would cheer you up. As you grabbed your phone, the harsh white light of the screen made you groan and recoil in pain at such a violent assault on your fragile senses. 

For some reason, seeing the picture of you with Mando on your lockscreen made you feel almost tearful. Memories of a happier time when you had pushed through your fears and resembled a functional human being. You wondered what Mando would think of your behaviour, he would surely be disappointed at your lack of control. Mando seemed so certain, so deliberate in his actions and always in absolute control. You groaned, it was ridiculous to feel bad for letting down a man who didn’t even exist when there was a man in the suite next door who was real and probably disgusted at you.

Before opening your messages, there was another app that you felt yourself incapable of avoiding. Despite fearing what you would find there, you couldn’t resist opening your camera roll and looking through your photos of the previous evening, hoping that they would absolve your tortured, anguished brain of any guilt and panic that Din hated you.

The photo that stood out to you the most sent real tears spilling down your cheeks, for the real man that you saw there. It was a photo of Din that you had snapped from across the table. The location was the tiny, cosy noodle bar where you had headed at your insistence. He looked so handsome, the warm glow of the lights bathing his dark features. Din’s brown eyes practically twinkled, even through the screen. 

It was then you noticed the culprit for your current state, right there on the table. It was a bottle of baijiu, that potent beverage which had caused your temporary amnesia. With its square shape, blue label and the colourless liquid inside, it almost looked like a bottle of medicine. It had not cured any ailments though, far from that.

You stared at the picture of Din some more. Then you remembered. Oh, you remembered. The conversation came flooding back to you in vivid detail…

* * *

A warm ache settled somewhere in your stomach. The bottle of baijiu was practically empty and it had evoked a warm, fuzzy feeling in you that your date appeared to also be experiencing. You and Din sat together in the noodle shop, giggling at whatever it was that had amused you so much. Whatever it was must have been pretty funny, given the way your ribs were aching. But you couldn’t remember… baijiu had a habit of making everything equally hilarious and forgettable in equal measure.

The lethal libation had been on the house. Mrs Lau, the owner of the shop who always greeted you with a smile whenever you visited after work, had placed the bottle on the table with two glasses when she realised one of her regulars was here on a date. She grinned and wished you much happiness together. The strong, Chinese rice wine had certainly helped the two of you lose your inhibitions slightly, as you sat there in the dim light of the small restaurant, both breathless after your latest fit of giggles. 

“Diiiiiiiiin,” you sighed. “You have such a pretty face, with those big brown eyes… it’s, like, unfair,” you whined, gazing at him adoringly as you grabbed his stubbly chin and cheeks with your hands.

You noticed the way Din’s cheeks grew hot underneath your touch as he looked down at the table, blushing furiously.

“Fuuuuuuck. I’m drunk,” you observed, eyes suddenly widening in horror at your predicament.

“You certainly are, sunflower,” Din sighed, then cleared his throat as though he had not meant to let that affectionate nickname slip.

“Sunflower?! My name isn’t sunflower!” You slurred, giggling loudly.

“No, but you remind me of one,” Din admitted, shyly bringing his hand to the back of his neck.

“Because I’m awkward and wobbly?” You said theatrically flailing your arms around.

“No. Because you’re vivid, bright and you stand tall, just like a sunflower,” Din smiled at you softly, but there was a seriousness, despite the intoxicating liquor, to those soulful brown eyes, too.

“Shit, you’re so cute,” you said, placing your hands on his cheeks and squeezing the flesh there between your thumb and forefingers, like one might do to a cute baby. Except Din Djarin was not a baby. He was a grown man, one that suddenly seemed concerned for your welfare.

“Maybe we should get some fresh air and perhaps a coffee before we head to the hotel?” Din suggested, grimacing slightly after the thorough pinching you had just given his cheeks.

“I’m fine!” You said, perhaps a little too quickly for Din’s liking.

“You just admitted you’re drunk!” Din laughed, folding his arms and rolling his eyes playfully.

“A bit,” you shrugged. Then you burped. Loudly. You clapped your hand over your mouth, eyes widening in horror at your lack of decorum before exclaiming “Excuse me!”

But Din just laughed at you again. He was probably silently wondering what he was going to do with you and maybe concerned at the optics of taking someone so drunk to such a high-class establishment as the hotel that he had booked for the two of you.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I do need that coffee,” you finally conceded.

“I think so,” Din agreed, raising an eyebrow at you. 

Din stood up from the table and settled the bill with Mrs Lau. Your head was swimming and the sounds felt a little distant, but you gathered that the owner of your favourite noodle spot seemed to approve of how handsome your date was. You smiled as you heard the two of them interact, Din thanking her for the drink… even though it had rendered his date a giggling and slurring, uncoordinated mess. 

You emerged into the fading light of the warm London night, blinking slightly as your eyes adjusted to being back outside and leaving the warm glow of the restaurant behind. You laced your arm through Din’s and rested your hand on his strong, muscular arm, smiling slightly. Somewhere, deep down, there was a self-aware part of you that realised that taking care of you in your intoxicated state was probably not how Din had envisioned the evening unfolding. But you couldn’t bring yourself to feel so guilty. You felt as though you were floating through the air, not just from the liquor but from the realisation that Din was all yours. He was so breathtakingly handsome and here he was, wanting to date you. It thrilled you, sending electricity pulsing throughout your body. The knowledge that this magnetic man was attracted to you, wanting to spend time with and treat you to luxurious overnight stays in fancy hotels was a heady prospect. One that you would never stop being grateful for.

The two of you strolled through the quiet, residential North London streets, your overnight bag slung over Din’s shoulder as he insisted on carrying it, ever the gentleman he was. It was a warm summer evening and there were a few people around, enjoying their Friday evening in the city. But this was not the hustle and bustle of central London and it was pleasantly busy, rather than being overwhelming. 

Eventually, you came to a large park with plenty of space. There was a food truck still open and Din went to get you a coffee, to help you to sober up as you took a seat on an available bench, swaying slightly and grateful not to be weighed down by your bag as you wandered to the bench on unsteady legs. You looked around and waited for Din to bring the dark brown caffeinated liquid that would hopefully go some way to sobering you up…

* * *

A firm, even knocking sound at the door brought you back to the present. 

Mercifully, you did not have to torture yourself over what Din thought of you for too much longer. The comforting, soothing sound of Din’s voice sounded on the other side as he informed you it was him. Despite the initial wave of calmness that hearing his voice brought, your stomach soon dropped in anguish once again as you remembered that he was probably coming to admonish you for your actions, to tell you that you had disappointed him and embarrassed him in such opulent surroundings. That your dates had been fun but you were too much of a child for someone like him

It made your heart ache all the more when he appeared in the room, his dark brown hair slicked back and wet from the shower he had presumably just taken. He was wearing a tight, black henley and dark grey jeans. In the soft light of the sunny afternoon that was streaming in through the errant section of blinds that you had failed to close properly last night, he was truly breathtaking. His shoulders looked impossibly broad, the material of his shirt straining as it struggled to envelop his muscular frame. Din was certainly a sight for sore eyes.

“Good morning. Or afternoon, rather,” Din smiled at you as he approached your bed.

“Hi, Din,” you croaked out, mouth still dry as you struggled to look him in the eye. You opened your mouth to begin a string of profuse apologies that you were sure you owed him, but the rich sound of Din’s voice cut you off before you could manage to get a word in. 

“How’s your head?” Din asked with a slight smirk.

“I… it hurts,” you sighed, barely meeting his gaze. 

“Good job I brought you these, then,” Din offered, holding out a glass of water and a pack of painkillers. You gratefully accepted his offering.

“Thank you, Din,” you said as you appreciatively took the pills and gulped down the water. It was the greatest beverage that had ever passed your lips, you were convinced. 

“You’re welcome, it can’t be much fun,” Din said, almost wincing as he noticed your level of discomfort after making such a small effort as taking some pills.

“It isn’t,” you agreed. “But I have no sympathy for myself, this was entirely self-inflicted.”

“It was, but not without a little encouragement from Mrs Lau and me, with the baijiu,” Din smiled. “I’m glad you’re finally conscious. Mind if I sit?”

You nodded with a shy smile to where Din was pointing as he took a seat on the edge of the impossibly enormous bed. It was the most comfortable bed you had ever slept in. It was almost embarrassing how vast the thing was, how luxurious the soft, silken sheets were. You felt certain that it was going to make returning to your poxy single bed in your flat tonight somewhat unbearable. Yet, equally, there was something stiff and uncomfortable about it. It didn’t feel as homely as your little bedroom. Despite the opulence, it would never hold a candle to how safe and warm you felt in your bed at the end of a long day, beneath your beloved Mando poster. 

“I’m so sorry for getting so wasted, I must have made a fool out of myself,” you said apologetically. “I don’t know what you and the other guests must think of me…” you admitted, feeling your cheeks warm in embarrassment. 

“Well, you were pretty drunk,” Din sighed, and you felt your heart constrict at the hint of disappointment you were sure that you heard there. “But, I know that I’m not mad at you. Plus, I think these walls are soundproof… so I can’t imagine any of the other guests would have even realised how much you indulged in the baijiu.” Din said, reassuringly.

“But I thought we went down to the spa?” You questioned, unable to shake the memory of the hot tub that you were sure you had.

“The spa?” Din asked, confusion sweeping across his features. 

“Wait. I swear I remember a hot tub?” You asked, frantically.

“Yes, but that was here in your suite, in the bathroom. It’s a sophisticated bath with jets and some other cool features. When you realised that, you insisted that you had to get in to wash, I quote: ‘You and your clothes,’” Din recalled, raising an eyebrow at you. Thoughts of that hole in the earth’s crust that you yearned for returned. “I managed to persuade you to change into the swimsuit you had packed after I told you about the spa here. Luckily you did so and when I returned to the bathroom, you really went to town. Including splashing me until I got in alongside you,” Din said with a chuckle.

“Din… I’m so, so sorry.” You said, in disbelief.

“Don’t worry about it!” Din exclaimed. “It was honestly hilarious. I haven’t laughed like that, until my ribs hurt, for a long, long time.”

Visions of Din without his shirt on in the bathtub next to you came rushing back. Memories of breathless kisses, laughter and grazing your hand along his tanned, muscular skin. You would have felt a pang of desire, were it not for the sheer embarrassment of the fact you had behaved like such a child in front of him. Knowing that you and Din had been in such proximity in a state of undress left you with another burning question, one that you were unsure you wanted the answer to, but knew you needed to ask.

“Did we uh…” you cleared your throat slightly, unsure of how best to phrase it. “Where did you sleep?” You added, your voice barely above a whisper. 

You didn’t want to ask him directly about whether you had slept together, but fortunately, Din understood the implications of your words and you didn’t have to press him for more details. You couldn’t imagine that he would have taken advantage of you in that way. But then again, you had not known him for too long…

“After putting you to bed, I went back to my own suite and slept in there with Grogu. You were uh… pretty wasted and I didn’t want to take advantage of you,” Din said solemnly. You believed him entirely and let out a deep sigh of relief that he had behaved exactly as you would have expected. You didn’t have a way to respond with words yet, so Din moved to reassure you further. “Please, don’t be too upset or embarrassed. I’m not mad at you. I’m just glad that I had my own room so you didn’t disturb Grogu. There’s no harm done. It was a Friday night, and we both overindulged a little. I had a great night with you.”

“Thank you, but I am still mortified,” you groaned, grabbing a pillow and holding it over your face. Try as Din might to reassure you, your embarrassment was not going to dissipate that easily. 

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, sunflower,” Din smiled, using the adorable nickname he had informed you of the previous night. “Honestly, I had a great time with you. I enjoyed our meal in the little noodle bar far more than some fancy restaurant. The hot tub was fun too, I’d like to revisit it with you, now that we’re both sober…”

“Thanks, Din,” you smiled up at him, feeling significantly less embarrassed than you had when he had first entered the room.

“Plus, now that you’re sober, I did want to do….” Din leaned in and joined his lips to yours in the most gentle, almost timid, kiss. “...This,” Din whispered as he pulled away from you and rested his forehead against yours, smiling softly.

You exhaled sharply at the contact. You marvelled at his gentle touch, despite his hulking, muscular form. A muscular form that you once again remembered you had seen with your own eyes the previous evening in the bathroom, your eyes drinking him in hungrily as he had torn his soaking shirt off and swung a toned leg over to join you in the hot tub. You remembered too, the sloppy breathless kisses that you had given him as you sloshed around together in the warm waters. Clearly, Din was not mad at you. He had not taken advantage of you. Sure, he probably thought you were a little strange, but wasn’t that kind of true? And wasn’t Din himself more than a little unconventional? You tried not to panic and just let yourself enjoy the moment that was happening between the two of you.

“Din, my breath stinks!” You giggled as he pulled away from the sweet kiss.

“I don’t mind,” Din said sweetly, a smile that made the little crinkles at the edge of his eyes more pronounced. “But… Why don’t you get yourself ready and then we can think about sourcing some food? We can either go out. Or, I hear this hotel has pretty fantastic room service with all expenses charged to my company’s account…”

“Sounds perfect,” you purred like a contented cat, leaning up to kiss his stubbly cheek.

“Okay. See you soon, sunflower,” Din leaned down to give you one last kiss before he left.

You were embarrassingly giddy as he left. Not least because of how handsome he looked in the tight black henley he was wearing, which pulled at his broad shoulders and chest in all the best ways. No, you were so amazed by how comfortable you felt around him. The previous day when Din had met you outside of work, you just knew that you couldn’t face a fancy restaurant with all its pretension. So many times in your life, you would have felt terrified to vocalise your true emotions. You would have pushed aside your discomfort for the sake of satisfying others and not hurting their feelings.

Yet, the way Din had looked at you, his brown eyes regarding you as though you were the most remarkable sight in the entire world, you knew that you could vocalise how you truly felt to him. You just wanted to hang out with the man who had such kind, gentle brown eyes that had been the object of your daydreams near-constantly since the first time you had laid eyes upon him in the entrance hall of the museum. 

It seemed that Din wanted the same for you, to be comfortable and happy with him. You were communicating your feelings surprisingly well which was a change from all of your other relationships, talking about those things did not always come so naturally to you. Yet, somehow, with Din… it just did. You had just clicked with him in a way that you couldn’t quite explain. He felt thrillingly new and comfortingly familiar all at once. The way he had just spoken to you, the gentle kiss that he had given you, it was intoxicating – as intoxicating as the Chinese liquor you had overindulged in the previous evening. You didn’t want to mess this up.

You tried not to overthink what had happened between the two of you the previous night, tried not to devote too much of your energy by driving yourself crazy by trying to fill in the gaps of your memory that had been filled by the almost full bottle of champagne that you remembered drinking when you had made it to your room while Din went to check on Grogu. Drunk you did not remember things for a reason. It was better to take Din’s word for things and not stress yourself out over what had come before.

Now, you would enjoy the rest of the day in the company of the man who made your heart soar whenever you were close to him. You were determined to push those distressing, depressing thoughts about your drunken antics to the back of your mind and trust Din’s word, that he was not mad at you and that you had nothing to worry about. You couldn’t wait to brush your teeth and have a shower to hopefully feel more human before you went next door to greet your boys.

But not before you had pulled out your phone and texted Ria, though. She wouldn’t believe all that you had gotten up to… 

[ilovemando] 13:14: riaaaaaa… so i ended up in a hot tub with din last night

[thisistheslay] 13:15: BESTIE?! SPILL IT ALL RN!!

And you did. Your best friend was more convinced than ever that the man you were dating was involved with some type of organised crime. You just laughed it off. If Din was hiding such a big secret from you, then he must have been the greatest liar who ever lived.

* * *

You spent the next couple of weeks seeing Din whenever your schedules allowed. He had come to your neighbourhood a couple of times and you had had dinner together, or taken Grogu to the park. He was still slightly vague on details of where he lived and worked, but you tried not to overthink it. If he was the boss of an organised crime gang he was a very caring, sweet and handsome boss of an organised crime gang and you were not inclined to bite the hand who fed you. Din had treated you to nice meals in restaurants close by, but now you felt like it was time to repay the favour, by treating Din to dinner. 

You had never professed to be the best cook in the world, but cooking a meal for someone you loved was one of your love languages. You wanted to show your affection and appreciation for everything Din had done for you by making him a nice meal in your cosy little flat. Regardless of Din’s line of work and how lucrative it evidently was for him, he was still a long way from home. Even though you hadn’t discussed any friends and family that Din had, apart from Grogu, you were sure that he must miss them, if he even did have any. Din seemed like a naturally caring person with a lot of love to go around, it seemed impossible that he would not shower his loved ones with affection.

Din had never really talked about friends or family and you had not pushed him for details, sensing that his silence must be for a reason. Perhaps it was too painful to think about how far from home he was. So you did not broach the subject, even if you were a little curious. 

It was the main reason that you wanted to welcome him into your home and cook a nice meal for him, but it was not your only motivation. Besides that night in the hot tub, which was initiated by you while drunk, you and Din had not done much physically together yet, besides some passionate goodnight kisses outside restaurants or your flat when he had dropped you off. Things had never been able to escalate as he always needed to return home to be with Grogu. But tonight, Grogu would not be around – he was being cared for by Kuiil at Din’s cottage. It would just be the two of you in your flat. Tonight, you hoped that things would finally change.

Your meal preparations had gotten off to a shaky start once you had realised that in your haste to return from work and begin cooking, you had forgotten to pick up your favourite cheap wine and a slightly more indulgent cheese to serve with the pasta on the way home. Fortunately, you lived in an enormous city and the nearest shop was less than a two-minute walk away so you had managed to grab the missing ingredients without setting yourself behind schedule too much. It seemed a bit intense to have a to-the-minute schedule, and you supposed it was really, but you could be so scatterbrained sometimes that it seemed a necessary step for the two of you to have a nice evening together. With a detailed list of everything, you could fully relax, safe in the knowledge of when every course needed to go in the oven to be ready. It kind of felt like something from one of those awful reality shows where people took turns to host dinner parties that you watched as a guilty pleasure sometimes. Tonight, you were determined to get a 10 from Din… in every department.

Back home, you began chopping the ingredients and frying them. As you wandered back through the living room, you found yourself stopping and staring at the black screen of your TV. You marvelled at how long it had been since you had watched an episode of The Mandalorian. This was the precise occasion when you would have ordinarily had an episode on in the background. Somehow, the thought of turning it on had not even crossed your mind until now.

The show that had formerly had such a hold of your life seemed to be having diminishing influence as you spent more and more time with Din. You still talked to your internet friends every day, especially Ria, but you had found once you had started dating Din that your thoughts of Mando had slowly been replaced by daydreams of Din’s broad shoulders enveloping you in a tight embrace and the way his kind brown eyes always gazed at you so adoringly. It was probably a positive change, you mused. Living in the real world was undoubtedly healthier than the fantasy world you had occupied with Mando. Nonetheless, you were sure that as soon as the first trailer for the third season dropped, you would return to the height of your Mandalorian obsession. Perhaps you would have even discovered Din’s feelings towards the show then and the two of you could watch it together, cuddled up on your couch. 

You poured yourself a glass of wine as you cooked, sipped it slowly and savoured the fruity flavour as you simmered the sauce. You had cheated slightly, with store-bought garlic ciabatta to start with and tiramisu for dessert. But it had been a long week of work after all and you wanted to be able to spend time with Din once he arrived. You looked at your watch and realised that it wouldn’t be long until he arrived, so you hastily got yourself ready to welcome him, practically vibrating with excitement at the thought of finally having some alone time with the handsome man you were dating.

You were checking yourself over one last time in the mirror, making sure that you were happy with your hair and make-up, when your eyes widened in horror. There were the Mando figures on your dresser in your room that you did not want Din to see. You strode across the room, opened the top drawer and swept them in there with your arm, out of sight. You breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that you had spotted them. You weren’t sure what Din would think if he saw that you had figures, perhaps he’d think you childish. There was your poster too, hanging above your bed, but there was nothing you could do about that. You were less embarrassed about that too, it featured art from the first season which was tasteful and not too immature. Din probably wouldn’t even notice it, given that he was apparently not a fan of the show.

You returned to the kitchen and continued cooking, with one eye frequently drifting to the clock on your oven, counting down the minutes until Din would be with you. You had told him to come at seven p.m. and sure enough, at seven on the dot, there was a knock at the door. You checked your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your hair and shirt slightly, wanting to look your best for Din as always. Then you practically galloped down the hall, towards the door.

“How long have you been standing there?” You asked with a laugh after you had excitedly flung the door open. His timing was too perfect to be a coincidence.

“Five minutes. Didn’t want to freak you out by being early, but didn’t want to be fashionably late because I couldn’t wait to see you,” Din replied as he entered your flat. He placed his arms around your waist and kissed you passionately, you groaned in response, having missed the sensation of his lips on yours after not seeing him for a few days. 

Once you were released from his embrace you were able to take in his outfit choice. You approved of it completely. Din was wearing a light blue button-down shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders due to its form-fitting cut and tight black trousers that showed off his muscular legs perfectly. Somehow, despite the tight embrace that he had enveloped you in, you now noticed that he was also holding what seemed to be an expensive bottle of red wine in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other. You noticed, with a smile, that the flowers he was holding were sunflowers. He was the sweetest man in the world, you were convinced.

“I brought you these,” Din smiled, shyly holding up the bottle and sunflowers so you could get a proper look at them.

“Thank you, Din,” you replied, placing a kiss on his cheek as you took the sunflowers and placed your nose against the soft petals, inhaling deeply. They smelled gorgeous and you were so grateful for how thoughtful he was.

“You look stunning, by the way,” Din complimented you, making a point of trailing his eyes up and down your body so you could see how much he appreciated your outfit.

You weren’t used to going out of your way to make yourself look nice, especially not on a Friday night after a long week of work. Yet you had found that you actually appreciated the routine, that little bit of time you had taken to make yourself look and more importantly feel good. Din certainly seemed to appreciate the effort you had made, given the way he was gazing at you, warm brown eyes darkening with desire. If you didn’t return to the kitchen soon, it seemed that things might escalate before you could serve the meal you had devoted so much effort to. 

“Thank you for the flowers,” you replied as you took the sunflowers and hunted for a vase to place them in. They would be the perfect centrepiece for the small table in front of the window in your kitchen that you and Din would sit at to enjoy your meal.

“You’re welcome, sunflower,” Din smiled, using your nickname freely now, no longer embarrassed after the way he had blurted it out in the noodle shop that evening when you had both indulged in perhaps a little too much baijiu. 

Din followed you into the kitchen as you successfully found a vase and filled it with some water, before placing it in the centre of the table where you would eat. Then you flipped the switch on the kettle so it would boil for the pasta and fished out a pair of glasses for the cheap wine that you had already enjoyed one glass of. It would allow you to chill the bottle Din had brought in the fridge while you made a start on the first bottle.

“You know, you kind of look like that actor who advertises this wine,” you observed as you poured Din a glass, reasoning that you should start with the cheap wine you had bought and work your way up to the nicer, more expensive bottle that Din had brought, to be savoured with your meal. 

“Everyone says that, but I can’t see it myself,” Din said with a small pout.

“Really?” You said in surprise. “Seriously, you do. It’s kind of uncanny, actually.”

“Hmmmm, whatever. I think I’m more handsome though,” Din said, raising an eyebrow as he took the first sip of the wine. You thought you saw him wince slightly at how it burned a little, which seemed a little ridiculous after the strength of the alcohol that you had observed Din drink like it was nothing back at the noodle bar.

“You are,” you smiled adoringly at him from across the kitchen.

It was time to salt the water and put the pasta on. You had thought Din might relax in the front room while you cooked, but you were mistaken. The man seemed perfectly happy to just exist in your orbit as you pottered around the kitchen, making the dinner that the two of you would soon share. It was comforting how much the two of you were at ease in each other’s presence, despite the short amount of time you had known each other. It was hard to believe that it had been a matter of weeks, rather than several months, since you had met Din on that fateful night in the museum, it felt as though you had known him for much longer. Din and Grogu had wormed their way into your heart with alarming quickness.

Later, after finishing your meal – which Din had assured you was delicious – you sighed in contentment as you cuddled up to Din on your couch. The two of you were watching a cheesy rom-com that had been suggested to you on Netflix. Well, watching was an overstatement. You soon lost track of what was going on in the movie. Din’s lips had proved more entertaining to you than the same old rehashed romance movie. You moaned softly as his tongue explored your mouth, his hand cupping the side of your jaw while another rested on the back of your head, the two of you wrapped in a tight embrace. Din’s kisses were rendering you more and more breathless with their increasing neediness, and it was difficult to find a comfortable position on the sofa without sacrificing the closeness that the two of you ached to feel. You decided that it would be best to take this elsewhere. If Din was up for it, of course. 

“Do you want to take this to my room?” You panted, breath hot against the shell of his ear. You had surprised even yourself with your boldness, but Din was seemingly waiting for you to make the first move.

“Show me the way,” Din whispered, his brown eyes dark with lust as he met your gaze.

You stood up from the couch on trembling legs and offered him an equally shaky hand, which Din gladly took. You helped him to his feet, admiring the size of his hand against your own. You were constantly stunned by how impossibly large Din seemed compared to you, with his broad shoulders and looming presence… you wondered if that was true of every part of him. Mercifully, it was a short walk down the hall to your room, where you hoped you would finally have your questions answered. 

“Din, please,” you whined, you wanted him badly as you had barely pulled him into your bedroom before his lips were on yours again.

Your kisses continued for a few more seconds before you found yourself taking the lead somewhat, pushing him against your bedroom door as you kissed him ardently. Despite how much bigger and stronger he was than you, Din seemed more than happy for you to take control like that. You placed your hands underneath his shirt, moving them across his muscular abdomen, admiring how firm yet soft the skin you felt was there. You began to wonder about removing clothes and leading Din to where you had always wanted him to end up since the first moment you ever saw him, your bed. 

But then everything changed.

The moment that had been developing as a simmering heat between you and Din, that tension that had been apparent since he had first walked through your door earlier didn’t just stop in its tracks. It derailed into a ball of fire. 

Your heart sank as you felt Din stiffen all around you and break away from the kiss. You felt terrible, clearly running your hands across his skin like that had been a step too far. But your guilt turned to confusion as you noticed the way his eyes were fixated on a spot somewhere over your shoulder. It was as if Din had suddenly seen a ghost. He pulled away from you immediately, standing to his full height. 

You felt incredibly small and unimportant; suddenly he had gone from looking at you as if you were the only thing in the world to not even being able to look you in the eye. Was this too much, too soon? Or was he just not that into you?

“I’m sorry, did I push you too far?” You said, awkwardly. You felt mortified that you had presumed something that he clearly didn’t want, despite how passionately Din had been kissing you, only a few seconds ago.

“I just… I can’t do this…” Din said, closing his eyes and swallowing deeply, refusing to look at you.

“Din, I’m sorry,” you said, eyes filling with tears. “If you aren’t attracted to me, I get it, I’m so sorry if I was forcing you to do something that you didn’t want.”

“No, not at all!” Din exclaimed, a look of horror in his eyes as he placed his hand under your chin and tilted it up towards him. “You are beautiful. So gorgeous, so funny, so intelligent. I don’t know what’s up with me. Maybe it was the wine… I just…” Din sighed. There was more that he wanted to say, but for some reason, he was holding something back from you.

“Okay, Din,” you said quietly, still unconvinced by his response.

“Look, sunflower, I really messed this up and made things horrifically awkward. It’s nothing you have done, nothing at all. The time I’ve spent getting to know you recently, it’s the happiest I’ve felt for years. Will you please let me make it up to you, maybe come and visit me and Grogu next weekend? I promise I’ll get a handle on things. I promise it’s nothing you’ve done.”

“I’d like that.” You nodded.

“Good,” Din whispered as he leaned down to kiss you softly again. “Please don’t ever doubt how attracted I am to you. You’re beautiful. I had the best time tonight. I love spending time with you, this kind of intimacy is just… it’s new for me, I suppose,” Din sighed in frustration. “I really am sorry about ruining our night.”

“It’s okay, Din. It’s new for me too… or well, I’m out of practice I guess,” you confessed. The most romance you had had for a few years longer than you’d like to admit came in the form of fanfiction, which made the prospect of having a man that you were incredibly attracted to right here in your room suddenly somewhat terrifying, now that the moment had passed.

“I should probably go, I know I was planning to stay a little later but I’m needed on s– uh… at work – early in the morning, anyway,” Din informed you. It sounded as though he was going to say something different than he was just going to be at work, but he had corrected in time and you hadn’t quite caught what he meant.

“That’s fine, Din. Thank you for the flowers and the wonderful evening. I really enjoyed having you over,” you smiled at him, cupping his chin in your hands again.

“Thank you for having me,” Din smiled, kissing you softly.

You walked to the door, hand in hand. Din said he would head downstairs and call his driver. The fact that he had an entire driver at his beck and call and could take a ride whenever he desired was still slightly absurd to you. But you were mostly done with being surprised by the embarrassment of riches that were at Din’s disposal. After all, you were rarely reminded of his financial situation when you spent time with him. Despite everything, Din was still incredibly humble and down to earth. So unlike snooty members of the aristocracy that you had unfortunately encountered several times at work.

“See you at the weekend,” you smiled as you leaned in for one last kiss.

“Goodnight, sunflower,” Din replied. Then he was gone.

As you cleaned the dishes from the dinner party you had to deem it a success, despite whatever had overcome Din in your bedroom. You vowed not to overthink it, you know he wouldn’t want you to do that. He had made it perfectly clear that he was attracted to you. You were excited for the following weekend when he would let you into his life a little more by inviting you to his house. It was a very sweet gesture from him, a sign that he was loosening up a little.

With the dishes washed and stacked, it was time to get ready for bed. As you went about your nightly routine, you found your mind wandering to the warm skin that you had felt beneath Din’s shirt and the way his eyes had darkened with appreciation at the sight of you when he had first walked through the door. 

You pushed the door open to your bedroom and glanced at the poster of The Mandalorian which hung above your bed. You sighed as you shut the door and mourned at how you had been so close to finally ending up in bed with Din. Although you mused, perhaps it was for the best that your first intimate encounter would not be underneath Mando’s steely, unrelenting gaze…

Next Chapter

Taglist: @toxic-seduction @survivingandenduring @readingiskeepingmegoing

[mischiefmanifold]

Diagnostic Criteria Examples Masterpost

This is a series of posts that I'm hoping eventually covers all the disorders in the DSM-5-TR.

**This will be periodically updated as more posts are made. Please come back to the original post to see these updates**

NEURODEVELOPMENTAL DISORDERS

Intellectual Developmental Disorder (Intellectual Disability)

Global Develolmental Delay

Unspecified Intellectual Developmental Disorder (Intellectual Disability)

Language Disorder

Speech Sound Disorder

Childhood-Onset Fluency Disorder (Stuttering)

Social (Pragmatic) Communication Disorder

Unspecified Communication Disorder

Autism Spectrum Disorder (Levels System)

Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder

Other Specified Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder

Unspecified Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder

Specific Learning Disorder

Developmental Coordination Disorder

Stereotypic Movement Disorder

Tourette's Disorder [Tourette Syndrome]

Persistent (Chronic) Motor or Vocal Tic Disorder

Provisional Tic Disorder

Other Specified Tic Disorder

Unspecified Tic Disorder

Other Specified Neurodevelopmental Disorder

Unspecified Neurodevelopmental Disorder

SCHIZOPHRENIA SPECTRUM AND OTHER PSYCHOTIC DISORDERS

Delusional Disorder

Brief Psychotic Disorder

Schizophreniform Disorder

Schizophrenia

Schizoaffective Disorder

Substance/Medication-Induced Psychotic Disorder

Psychotic Disorder Due to Another Medical Condition

Catatonia Associated With Another Mental Disorder (Catatonia Specifier)

Catatonic Disorder Due to Another Medical Condition

Unspecified Catatonia

Other Specified Schizophrenia Spectrum and Other Psychotic Disorder

Unspecified Schizophrenia Spectrum and Other Psychotic Disorder

BIPOLAR AND RELATED DISORDERS

Bipolar I Disorder [Includes criteria for manic episodes and major depressive episodes]

Bipolar II Disorder [Includes criteria for hypomanic episodes and major depressive episodes]

Cyclothymic Disorder

Substance/Medication-Induced Bipolar and Related Disorder

Bipolar and Related Disorder Due to Another Medical Condition

Other Specified Bipolar and Related Disorder

Unspecified Bipolar and Related Disorder

Unspecified Mood Disorder

Specifiers for Bipolar and Related Disorders

DEPRESSIVE DISORDERS

Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder

Major Depressive Disorder

Persistent Depressive Disorder

Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder

Substance/Medication-Induced Depressive Disorder

Depressive Disorder Due to Another Medical Condition

Other Specified Depressive Disorder

Unspecified Depressive Disorder

Specifiers for Depressive Disorders

ANXIETY DISORDERS

Separation Anxiety Disorder

Selective Mutism

Specific Phobia

Social Anxiety Disorder

Panic Disorder

Panic Attack Specifier

Agoraphobia

Generalized Anxiety Disorder

Substance/Medication-Induced Anxiety Disorder

Anxiety Disorder Due to Another Medical Condition

Other Specified Anxiety Disorder

Unspecified Anxiety Disorder

OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE AND RELATED DISORDERS

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder

Body Dysmorphic Disorder

Hoarding Disorder

Trichotillomania (Hair-Pulling Disorder)

Excoriation (Skin-Picking) Disorder [Also called Dermatillomania]

Substance/Medication-Induced Obsessive-Compulsive and Related Disorder

Obsessive-Compulsive and Related Disorder Due to Another Medical Condition

Other Specified Obsessive-Compulsive and Related Disorder

Unspecified Obsessive-Compulsive and Related Disorder

TRAUMA- AND STRESSOR-RELATED DISORDERS

Reactive Attachment Disorder

Disinhibited Social Engagement Disorder

Posttraumatic Stress Disorder

Acute Stress Disorder

Adjustment Disorders

Prolonged Grief Disorder

Other Specified Trauma- and Stressor-Related Disorder

Unspecified Trauma- and Stressor-Related Disorder

DISSOCIATIVE DISORDERS

Dissociative Identity Disorder

Dissociative Amnesia

Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder

Other Specified Dissociative Disorder

Unspecified Dissociative Disorder

SOMATIC SYMPTOM AND RELATED DISORDERS

Somatic Symptom Disorder

Illness Anxiety Disorder [Hypochondria]

Functional Neurological Symptom Disorder (Conversion Disorder)

Psychological Factors Affecting Other Medical Conditions

Factitious Disorder Imposed on Self

Factitious Disorder Imposed on Another

Other Specified Somatic Symptom and Related Disorder

Unspecified Somatic Symptom and Related Disorder

FEEDING AND EATING DISORDERS

Pica

Rumination Disorder

Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder

Anorexia Nervosa

Bulimia Nervosa

Binge-Eating Disorder

Other Specified Feeding or Eating Disorder

Unspecified Feeding or Eating Disorder

ELIMINATION DISORDERS

Enuresis

Encopresis

Other Specified Elimination Disorder

Unspecified Elimination Disorder

SLEEP-WAKE DISORDERS

Insomnia Disorder

Hypersomnolence Disorder

Narcolepsy

Obstructive Sleep Apnea Hypopnea

Central Sleep Apnea

Sleep-Related Hypoventilation

Circadian Rhythm Sleep-Wake Disorders

Non-Rapid Eye Movement Sleep Arousal Disorders [Sleepwalking and Sleep/Night Terrors]

Nightmare Disorder

Rapid Eye Movement Sleep Behavior Disorder

Restless Legs Syndrome

Substance/Medication-Induced Sleep Disorder

Other Specified Insomnia Disorder

Unspecified Insomnia Disorder

Other Specified Hypersomnolence Disorder

Unspecified Hypersomnolence Disorder

Other Specified Sleep-Wake Disorder

Unspecified Sleep-Wake Disorder

SEXUAL DYSFUNCTIONS

Delayed Ejaculation

Erectile Disorder [Erectile Dysfunction]

Female Orgasmic Disorder

Female Sexual Interest/Arousal Disorder

Genito-Pelvic Pain/Penetration Disorder

Male Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder

Premature (Early) Ejaculation

Substance/Medication-Induced Sexual Dysfunction

Other Specified Sexual Dysfunction

Unspecified Sexual Dysfunction

GENDER DYSPHORIA

Gender Dysphoria

Other Specified Gender Dysphoria

Unspecified Gender Dysphoria

DISRUPTIVE, IMPULSE-CONTROL, AND CONDUCT DISORDERS

Oppositional Defiant Disorder

Intermittent Explosive Disorder

Conduct Disorder

Pyromania

Kleptomania

Other Specified Disruptive, Impulse-Control, and Conduct Disorder

Unspecified Disruptive, Impulse-Control, and Conduct Disorder

SUBSTANCE-RELATED AND ADDICTIVE DISORDERS

Alcohol Use Disorder

Alcohol Intoxication

Alcohol Withdrawal

Unspecified Alcohol-Related Disorder

Caffeine Intoxication

Caffeine Withdrawal

Unspecified Caffeine-Related Disorder

Cannabis Use Disorder

Cannabis Intoxication

Cannabis Withdrawal

Unspecified Cannabis-Related Disorder

Phencyclidine Use Disorder

Other Hallucinogen Use Disorder

Phencyclidine Intoxication

Other Hallucination Intoxication

Hallucinogen Persisting Perception Disorder

Unspecified Phencyclidine-Related Disorder

Unspecified Hallucinogen-Related Disorder

Inhalant Use Disorder

Inhalant Intoxication

Unspecified Inhalant-Related Disorder

Opioid Use Disorder

Opioid Intoxication

Opioid Withdrawal

Unspecified Opioid-Related Disorder

Sedative, Hypnotic, or Anxiolytic Use Disorder

Sedative, Hypnotic, or Anxiolytic Intoxication

Sedative, Hypnotic, or Anxiolytic Withdrawal

Unspecified Sedative-, Hypnotic-, or Anxiolytic-Related Disorder

Stimulant Use Disorder

Stimulant Intoxication

Stimulant Withdrawal

Unspecified Stimulant-Related Disorder

Tobacco Use Disorder

Tobacco Withdrawal

Unspecified Tobacco-Related Disorder

Other (or Unknown) Substance Use Disorder

Other (or Unknown) Substance Intoxication

Other (or Unknown) Substance Withdrawal

Unspecified Other (or Unknown) Substance-Related Disorder

Gambling Disorder

NEUROCOGNITIVE DISORDERS

Delirium

Other Specified Delirium

Unspecified Delirium

Major Neurocognitive Disorder

Minor Neurocognitive Disorder

Major or Mild Neurocognitive Disorder Due to Alzheimer's Disease

Mild or Major Frontotemporal Neurocognitive Disorder

Mild or Major Neurocognitive Disorder With Lewy Bodies

Major or Mild Vascular Neurocognitive Disorder

Major or Mild Neurocognitive Disorder Due to Traumatic Brain Injury

Substance/Medication-Induced Major or Mild Neurocognitive Disorder

Major or Mild Neurocognitive Disorder Due to HIV Infection

Major or Mild Neurocognitive Disorder Due to Prion Disease

Major or Mild Neurocognitive Disorder Due to Parkinson's Disease

Major or Mild Neurocognitive Disorder Due to Huntington's Disease

Major or Mild Neurocognitive Disorder Due to Another Medical Condition

Major or Mild Neurocognitive Disorder Due to Multiple Etiologies

Unspecified Neurocognitive Disorder

PERSONALITY DISORDERS

General Personality Disorder Criteria (Alternative Model)

Paranoid Personality Disorder

Schizoid Personality Disorder

Schizotypal Personality Disorder (Alternative Model)

Antisocial Personality Disorder (Alternative Model)

Borderline Personality Disorder (Alternative Model)

Histrionic Personality Disorder

Narcissistic Personality Disorder (Alternative Model)

Avoidant Personality Disorder (Alternative Model)

Dependent Personality Disorder

Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder [Anankastic Personality Disorder] (Alternative Model)

Personality Change Due to Another Medical Condition

Other Specified Personality Disorder

Unspecified Personality Disorder

PARAPHILIC DISORDERS

Voyeuristic Disorder

Exhibitionistic Disorder

Frotteuristic Disorder

Sexual Masochism Disorder

Sexual Sadism Disorder

Pedophilic Disorder

Fetishistic Disorder

Transvestic Disorder

Other Specified Paraphilic Disorder

Unspecified Paraphilic Disorder

OTHER MENTAL DISORDERS AND ADDITIONAL CODES

Other Specified Mental Disorder Due to Another Medical Condition

Unspecified Mental Disorder Due to Another Medical Condition

Other Specified Mental Disorder

Unspecified Mental Disorder

MEDICATION-INDUCED MOVEMENT DISORDERS AND OTHER ADVERSE EFFECTS OF MEDICATION

Medication-Induced Parkinsonism

Neuroleptic Malignant Syndrome

Medication-Induced Acute Dystonia

Medication-Induced Acute Akathisia

Tardive Dyskinesia

Tardive Dystonia [and] Tardive Akathisia

Medication-Induced Postural Tremor

Other Medication-Induced Movement Disorder

Antidepressant Discontinuation Syndrome

Other Adverse Effect of Medication

[sphnyspinspin]

Now that I’m reading The Echo Garden again, my brain has been AUing-it-up since Chapter 7. And now I’ve imagined a TEG AU where they find Strongarm and Sharpclaw from the Last Bot Standing comics… But differently.

I’m in my Strongclaw era okay…

———

Strongarm survives the crash that Rodimus caused when he shot her ship down when they were on Donnokt. And she’s been too damaged and too scared to go against Rodimus’s wishes to not make contact with other Cybertronians since.

Sharpclaw survives being shot by Steeljaw when she jumps in front of the Energon fissure. Rodimus tries to take her, presumed dead, body back to her ship with the rest of her fallen clan afterwards.

Then Strongarm ends up killing Rodimus with Sharpclaw’s help. Though they both feel guilty afterwards, even if they’ve already been aware of their nearly extinct species.

What the two do next is to work together to help Sharpclaw’s clan members back into their ship. But they eventually never wake up from stasis when combined, and they go offline in their recharge. Strongarm then—after lots of convincing—gets Sharpclaw to help harvest enough of the Energon from the planet to be able to get the ship running. After that, they can find other Cybertronians and leave the Donnoktians in peace… It’s what Rodimus would’ve wanted.

But they kept running into trouble with sentient organics on the planet, and a lot of them don’t like Cybertronians. They’ve been doing their best to maintain themselves and their ship and the Energon harvesting while trying to outrun those trying to dismantle them ever since.

Eventually they grew close, becoming good friends. It’s practically the end of the world so they’ve been sharing everything with each other; the highs and the lows. And sharing what all they can remember about their pasts—which isn’t that much—but they probably know each other better than anyone else alive right now.

So they’re making the most of what they got.

It’s until that they’re both trying their best to make their way across the desert with parts from Strongarm’s ship for Sharpclaw’s ship—that a Cybertronian originated ship appears out of nowhere. They both make their way towards the place the ship landed—

—only to see Rodimus there with the crew… A very alive Rodimus, to be specific.

They’re both rightfully freaked out—thinking they’re both having the same hallucinations at the same time—and start to panic. Accidentally drawing attention to themselves, the crew along with Rodimus, notices them and they try to play it off saying that they don’t need any help from them.

The crew knows they’re lying, because in reality they both look like shit to the point of being unrecognizable, so the crew insists they come with them. But because Strongarm and Sharpclaw are both panicking, looking terrible, feeling horrible, and their processors are already taking more than enough damage from long-term heat exposure—they book it out of there.

And not before being able to throw a rock at Rodimus to double check if he’s a stress/heat/trauma-induced hallucination.

They get caught for a number of reasons. One being in a chase they collided into each other and they both went out cold. And now they’re being questioned in the Med-Bay about their names, their whereabouts, their health, and most importantly: if they want to join them on the Lost Light.

It just so happens that the universe has an intense preference for cruel irony, that they end up on a ship that’s co-captained by the guy they murdered.

Now we find the two recently rescued individuals as they navigate the Lost Light and it’s overwhelming community of strangers. All the while trying to decipher whether or not if they’re awake or dreaming, hallucinating or imagining, or alive or dead—and maybe if this is their afterlife. Their haven or their hell.

They still think Rodimus is some kind of metaphysical representation of their Rodimus’s spirit seeking revenge on them.

Not to mention they both practically have amnesia with how little they remember their pasts or even their species’ Great War—they don’t even know if it was over. And if it was they certainly didn’t get the memo.

So from now on, they’re apart of the crew, and they’re both doing their best to fit in whilst standing out. Helping each other to find their place in society. Figuring out who they are and what they want to be. It’s terrifying and exciting and neither of them know what’s going to happen.

Just as long as they remain sharp and stay strong, they’ll be just fine.

———

p.s. I’m probably not gonna take this too seriously. It’s honestly just really fun to think about my favorite crack-ship being apart of the fic that heavily inspired me storytelling-wise. Which just so happens to be within the crack-ship genre as well. It’s hilarious, I know.

p.p.s. I have not read any IDW/Last Bot Standing comics, I’ve only read a LOT of TFWiki bios—and memes—that I’m very confident that I know the basic-basic gist of the LBS plot line enough to alter a few things for this AU.

[growling]

oh wait i forgor. tribe nine beta lol

Zero my angel I'd recognize that voice maybe not anywhere but like in some places

"kuronaka got 10 gold" *EAR BLASTING 9 HOUR LONG FANFARE*

hmmmmmmmmmm.. not saying anything but narrowing my eyes thoughtfully

they're trying to fnaf pizzeria simulator my ass, unfortunately for them I am an incredibly clever smart intelligent wise boy (looked at the art on tweeter)

they put kuronaka in the generic rpg torture dungeons💔💔💔 get well soon

shut the fuck up boyyyy look at the claypot. loook at my claypot boy

jesus stop jumpscaring me if i die my grandma will sue

im calling it now. lady goddess is just zero (and if so: gender win)

$laymate

if it does end up being zero it will be so fucking funny. please. let this manifest. me when i put some random dude in the generic rpg torture dungeons and make him look at claypots forever as form of foreplay also i pretend to be a statue

its that blue hair motherfucker from the promos or whatever

this is so fucking funny im tearing up. im tearing up. also they just implied that i was right. this is so fucking funny. vidio game brainwash yaoi. zero you silly man i desire you carnally

"well its not unusual for this man to do this kind of thing" please tell me more about zero's crimes against humanity .

forgot to mention this earlier but of course the protag has amnesia. not a proper kodaka game without an amnesiac protagonist. this is not a complaint

this is so funny. this is so funny.

redguy yellowguy leave that poor fucker alone. blueguy grayguy why are you just staring tell them to leave that poor fucker alone this is probably not how you approach a dude with amnesia who has been stuck in the generic rpg brainwash torture dungeon for an unspecified period of time

3d time. fuck that boy up guards induce a panic attack in this man

and the torture dungeons were just some random medium sized platform..... help me thats so embarrassing for kuronaka!!

"the village you were saying [sic] were all just drawings on the floor and on the walls!" THAT'S SO EMBARRASSING.... KURONAKA THAT'S SO EMBARASSING......

HE WAS 2 FUCKING YEARS STUCK IN THE GAME LMAOOOOOOOOOO THAT'S SO EMBARASSING FOR HIM

ok. ill stop being mean to him. i promise i will be nice and understanding of his situation from now on. it must be very hard and traumatizing for him.

LMAOOOOOOO HE LOOKS SO FUCKING STUPID THIS IS SO FUNNY. FUCKING IDIOT XDDDDDDDDD

also buy him brown contacts pls

ZEROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fucking look at him this shit looks biblical. look at him descending onto the mortals. this is fucking jesus imagery

nice robot hands. they're not attached yet but i will force him to become a cyborg no matter how many limbs i must detach from his body

i am not ready to hit unpause. but also im yearning.

wait look at his hand pose.... awww look at him i want him carnally

alright alright whatever im unpausing.......

so 24 city is just named like that because it's the 24th city and they ran out of ideas

24 city must be a shit place to live in, a strong breeze knocks you over and you fall one kilometer onto the pavement

"... but who would have thought that there is such a surreal area here, designed just like a video game?" zero. zero would have. that man is all about vidio game addiction i called it once and ill call it again

and he called him "the masked man" i fucking cant i need t. i need to take a breather okay i cant take this anymore

zero lore listen closely now this will be on the test (instead of listening starts imagining zero touching me in a bus and gets so hrard ii passkdf uout )

Kuronaka likes tea. +1 for Kuronaka I love tea

Zero the robot enjoyer

alright, Iroha is gonna return Kuronaka's smartphone next time and I'll end it here :] twas a pleasure. transcending experience

[e-wills-afterhours]

Yay prompts! Forehead kisses! Palm kisses! Hugs from behind! Soft affection makes me melt

A/N: You want soft Hiccstrid, I'll give you the softest Hiccstrid, my friend. You know how I do. *cracks knuckles* Obviously, I write in my own AU where RTTE never happened. This should surprise no one by now.

Rating: T+

Softly, Tenderly

------

The first few moments of wakefulness could be disorienting. If the night that preceded it was wild, and the sleep was deep enough, one could almost forget who they were and where they had collapsed before they drifted into vivid dreams, almost sure to be forgotten in the morning.

Hiccup found himself staring at the ceiling, putting colorful pieces together in his grogginess, until the wooden beams that crossed above his head and the familiar scent of old pine reminded him that he was home, in bed. Completely unremarkable a thing, by most standards.

What escaped him still was when and how he ended up there. Vague memories of food and drink, song and games, drifted to the forefront of his mind; all lingering thoughts of the Einherjar feast that went well into the night. Berk knew how to celebrate and honor its dead. Mead and beer flowed freely. It was a small triumph he could remember anything at all.

He rubbed his eyes then looked to his left. Toothless snoozed peacefully in the corner of his bedroom, with his large head resting on folded claws. Satisfied that his dragon was accounted for, Hiccup looked to his right, with growing awareness of another warm presence in his bed--which he had not anticipated.

His stomach flipped, and he sat bolt upright. Upon doing so, he realized, beneath his furs, he was completely and unabashedly naked. Also, minus one metal limb.

But the tousled blonde hair, unbound and strewn over his spare pillow, was familiar. The rise and fall of his companion's curves were as committed to memory as her delicate scent of rosemary and juniper, which greeted him like a hug. He could drown in it, let it consume him.

The momentary panic of alcohol-induced amnesia faded into relief and adoration. Astrid was beside him, just as naked and vulnerable as he was. She looked so peaceful, breathing slowly and rhythmically.

Like the glow of candlelight emerging from the darkness, flickers of their night together grew brighter and clearer in his mind: unhurried kisses and confident hands had carried them into the wee hours of the morning. Their clothes lay scattered about his room, her tunic as inextricably tangled up with his pants as their limbs had been, in throes of all their passion and sweat.

He leaned over and brushed haphazard strands of gold from her face, tucking them ever so carefully behind her ear. She was as beautiful when she slept as she was almost every waking moment.

"Astrid?" he murmured, placing a loving kiss on her neck. For good measure, he planted another one behind her ear, lingering a moment longer than he had with the first, closing his eyes and savoring the feel of her skin against his lips.

She stirred, humming to herself with a stretch. He stifled a laugh as a carless fist almost connected with his face. It would not have been the first time, but his reflexes had improved. Taking her wayward hand, he kissed the back of it before holding it safely against his chest, hoping the sudden beating of his heart would not startle her.

"Hiccup?" she whispered thickly, opening her eyes and blinking in bewilderment.

He smiled as she worked through that same initial confusion that he had, putting all the night's fragments into place.

"Good morning, you," he said, pulling her back against him, until their bodies met, oh-so-perfectly.

She did not resist, surrendering to the warmth of his skin on hers. They breathed together, and there was nothing better.

"Good m-mornin'," she yawned as he wrapped his arms around her, releasing her hand. "I almost forgot..."

Hiccup kissed her shoulder and she sighed, sweet and contented.

"Mmn. I'm glad you didn't," he said; he wanted her to recall every blissful moment, and every honeyed word he had told her.

She arched back into him, craning her neck until the tip of her nose brushed his cheek. Tender, fluttering kisses fell along his jaw. One of her hands snaked its way up to his hair, her nails lightly grazing along his scalp, making him shiver. She tugged on the little braids he left there for her, grinning. Only she could ever touch him like that; she had his heart, so she had the rest of him. She laced her fingers with his, of the hand that rested on her belly. Her thumb brushed affectionately over his minute scars and freckles, before she brought his hand to her lips.

"I don't think I could ever forget the things these hands can do," she murmured, before placing a couple of appreciative kisses on his palm. They tickled but left behind a subtle warmth all their own.

He smiled, and they shared a kiss before touching their foreheads together, blonde and auburn bangs mixed together. She turned into him, chest to chest, thighs against thighs, in a relaxed embrace.

"I don't want to go," she admitted, tracing idle patterns over the faded scars that adorned his chest--light, affectionate touches. "This is nice."

"Then don't," he replied. "I certainly won't make you." She felt too good, too right, in his hands.

Astrid shook her head. She sat up and began gathering her messy hair behind her head.

"You know I can't," she said, deftly weaving her hair into a loose plait. Her skill in braiding, particularly when her mind was elsewhere, was awe-inspiring. "People will talk."

Hiccup scoffed and rolled onto his back, arms folded behind his head. "People already talk. It doesn't bother me."

Astrid smirked. She bent over and kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose, which he wrinkled playfully. "It's different for you."

He frowned, cursing the double standard he'd rather not acknowledge. "I know, I know..."

She caressed his face, and he leaned into it. "One day, I won't have to sneak out of here. By then, I bet you'll be dying to get rid of me."

"Impossible."

Her blue eyes twinkled. "Oh, yeah? You won't simply 'get used to it?'" she teased, adopting one of his more common phrases.

"If I'm used to it, then I'm probably dead."

Astrid laughed, and it was a beautiful sound. She threw her arms around him and curled into his side, head on his chest. He did not often have cause to feel like her refuge, because she seldom ever wanted or needed one. In such moments, where she relinquished control and dropped her tough exterior, she gave into the comfortable pleasure of being held by him. He draped an arm around her, trailing his fingers up and down her hip, delighting in the goosebumps that arose with his touch.

"A couple minutes more maybe..." she said, giving him a fond squeeze.

He caught her beneath the chin and tilted her face up so their eyes met.

"As much time as you need," he replied, and kissed her forehead.

And they clung to each other no longer concerned with cheap gossip and the passing hours. All that mattered was the warmth between them, keeping the rest of the world at bay.

[tired-of-being-nice]

the american dream is killing me - masterlist

character intro post is here, but i'm just gonna paste the same information into this lmao

basic worldbuilding summary: Generic Corporate Dystopia Hellworld. characters live in a massive builtup urban sprawl with different sectors more or less owned by various companies. you get basically one choice in life and it's choosing who to sell your soul to. some of these places are worse than others... or at least bad in more interesting ways

title is a placeholder (unless i end up liking it)- it's a reference to the green day song of the same name :)

rest of the info is under the cut!

milo - they/them

the unfortunate protagonist (?). coren's childhood best friend. tried to go undercover with them to find a way to break out of the system but ended up getting sucked in and is now firmly trapped, being slowly ground down by monotony and loneliness. strength: resilience, for better or for worse. weakness: has not slept in like a week.

coren - they/it

milo's childhood best friend! was determined to find a way to rebel and get free. unfortunately the company they chose to go undercover at was doing some interesting experiments and they happened to present an excellent target for guinea pig. they are essentially brainwashed, although it's mostly a matter of induced amnesia and has to be reinforced regularly. they work in employee retention, aka "chasing down anyone who tries to escape and dragging them back". they think this is very fun and they're having a great time :) as long as they can't feel pain. strength: resistance to any level of violence. weakness: crumbles when treated with any kind of gentleness.

ray - he/she

works for the same place milo does. never had any aspirations to get crushed, really, so she's doing just fine. never had any heart to get broken or any willpower to get crushed, so he hasn't lost anything. she has put everything into being the best she can possibly be in hopes of attaining a reward. what the reward is he doesn't know. strength: secret talent for piano. weakness: touch starvation and protestant guilt.

chronological story (with numbers indicating order of writing, and emojis indicating pov! 💚 is milo, 💙 is coren, 💛 is ray. stories connected by commas are directly following each other)

flashback/backstory:

💚 first meeting (#16)

💚 blood-stained tiles (#6, day 14 of febuwhump), who did this to you (#7, day 15), & came back wrong (#8, day 16)

💚💙💛 breaking point (#19)

arc 1 (i'll think of a good name for it later)

💚 man vs. society (#11, conflict whump challenge)

💛 convenience store loneliness (#25, whumptober 11)

💛 panic attack (#21, whumptober day 1)

💚 please tell me someday i'll at least be able to sleep (#23, whumptober 8)

💛 shivering (#28, whumptober 27)

💛 waiting for the bus (#20)

💚 helpless (#1, day 1 of febuwhump)

💙 solitary confinement (#2, day 2)

💙 obedience (#3, day 4)

💙 hide and seek (#4, day 7)

💙 semi-conscious (#5, day 12)

💙 too weak to move (#9, day 18,) & please don't (#10, day 19)

turning point

💙 weapon (#12)

💙 "because i care about you" (#13, day 24)

💛 "help them" (#14, day 26)

💚 not allowed to die (#15, day 29)

💙 rude awakening (#17)

💙 the sound (#18)

arc 2 (i'll think of a name for this later also)

💙 starvation (#26, whumptober 12)

💙 "it's not my blood" (#22, whumptober 6)

💙 "i can't think straight" (#24, whumptober 10)

💙 performance review (#27, whumptober 15)

💛 "who said you could rest?" (#29, whumptober 29)

[themculibrary]

Amnesia/Memory Loss Masterlist 2

part one

at last, my love has come along (ao3) - parkrstark steve/tony T, 5k

Summary: He wakes up only knowing three things: he was familiar with hospitals, his mother was an angel, and he might not know his own name, but he knows that man is Tony. Tony is good, and warm, and nice.

Tony is also apparently his husband. And they have a son. Together, they spend the next few weeks trying to piece his memories together, wondering if they'll ever find them all, and if they don't will they be able to love like they once did?

birth (ao3) - daisy_mooon T, 2k

Summary: Her name is Carol, and she is dying. Her name is Vers, and she has just been born.

Blank Slate (ao3) - sariane steve/bucky G, 4k

Summary: When Steve looks up at him, his eyes are slow to focus on Bucky. Steve sends him a blank look.

“Who’s Steve?” he asks.

Bucky’s heart sinks.

déjà vu (ao3) - lokitty11 steve/tony T, 5k

Summary: "I'm sorry, soldier, but you've got the wrong man," Steve says.

Forget me (not) (ao3) - Myrsky bucky/tony G, 1k

Summary: Every inch of his body hurts. Waking up not-on-his-bed hurts more.

Has he been kidnapped again? Why is he at hospital? Who is that man (not that he isn't gorgeous, but why does he want to hold his hand?) Where are his friends?

[hospital setting, brief mention of a car accident]

I Guess Being Lonely Fits Me (ao3) - ErrorInLoading T, 3k

Summary: "Who...who are you?" He finally spoke. The man immediately froze.

He may not know who he is, or where he is, or what happened, but he did know that the expression on the strange man's face was panic.

Keystone (ao3) - KiaraSayre N/R, 6k

Summary: "Do you remember anything?" the man says. "Do you know who you are?"

He stares, trying to connect himself as he is now to something that existed before. There is nothing, and the concept fits strangely in his head, unsettled and instinctive and repulsive at the same time.

"No," he says finally.

lacuna (ao3) - alcibiades steve/bucky E, 62k

Summary: The Winter Soldier doesn't remember Steve Rogers, but he needs Rogers' help.

OR: The one where Bucky doesn't remember Steve, but falls in love with him anyway.

Memento (ao3) - elle1991 steve/bucky E, 31k

Summary: A deadly virus has decimated the world's population. The lucky ones die quickly. The unlucky ones die slowly - becoming increasingly zombie-like and aggressive.

This is the post-apocalyptic world that Steve Rogers wakes up to, after a 4-month medically-induced coma at a military base - his memory gone.

As food supplies run low, he and a handful of other survivors - fellow amnesiacs Bucky and Natasha, along with the mysterious Dr. Banner - are forced to leave the relative safety of the base.

With their memories gone, they have only their instincts, one another, and mysterious mementos they left for themselves prior to their amnesia - objects that they hoped might one day manage to make them remember who they really are...

Memory (Is a Vital Process) (ao3) - Rowantreeisme T, 3k

Summary: Death: The permanent ending of one or more vital processes.

AKA the angsty as all hell amnesia fic that absolutely no one asked for. Enjoy.

Missing Memories (ao3) - Sillysbarka16 G, 3k

Summary: Peter lost his memories in a battle and wakes to think Tony is his dad.

Tony doesn't correct him.

New Memories (ao3) - STARSdidathing loki/tony T, 10k

Summary: Loki enjoys exploring the other villain lairs as it can provide all manner of information and items to steal. He does not��expect to find Anthony Stark as a prisoner. Nor does he expect the man to act so... strangely.

(Now You're Just) Somebody That I Used To Know (ao3) - AverageMarvelBitch steve/tony, mentioned bucky/natasha, mentioned thor/bruce G, 8k

Summary: Thanks to Loki, Steve remembers everything and everyone, except for Tony.

Tony tries to deal with it until Strange comes back and fixes his partner so they can be together again. And he has to believe that whatever happened with Steve can be fixed, because he doesn't know what he'd do if he lost the man he loves forever.

Reflex Memories (ao3) - sariane steve/bucky M, 34k

Summary: Bucky Barnes never remembers who he is.

That doesn’t stop him from falling in love with Steve Rogers.

Remember (ao3) - thenigotthisfamily (guitarplayer3) T, 6k

Summary: Yelena is injured and can’t remember who Natasha is. The Black Widow finds herself unraveling for the first time ever because of it.

Something (ao3) - wylanvanecks steve/bucky G, 1k

Summary: Living with Bucky is some odd form of torture for Steve. Seeing the man you love look at you and see nothing but another vaguely familiar face was nearly as heart-breaking as losing him had been the first time.

stardust (to remember you by) (ao3) - Tiny_Dragongirl T, 4k

Summary: The ballad of missing memories, fake identities, and driving lessons, told by Peter Parker, one hell of a masochist.

Still Fading Marks (ao3) - Diary clint/natasha T, 5k

Summary: AU. Loki takes all memory of Natasha from Clint. Natasha's POV. Complete.

Tabula Rasa (ao3) - PinkEasterEggs steve/tony G, 6k

Summary: “Tony,” the blonde sighed his name, as if it were a prayer. “Thank God you’re okay. We were worried for a second.”

Tony frowned, staring at the hand holding his own. What was going on?

“I’m sorry,” the teenage boy sniffed, eyes pooling with tears as he stared down at Tony with such a sorry expression that the genius wondered if he was meant to actually feel bad for this kid.

“Peter,” the blonde man gave the teenager a look. It was clear they’d had this conversation a million times. “What have i said? It wasn’t your fault; Dad doesn’t blame you— right Tony?”

Tony cleared his throat, both pairs of blue and brown eyes getting brought back to him. “Okay, this has been fun but who the hell are you?”

When a mission goes wrong, Tony gets hurt and loses his memory. The last 25 years is wiped from his mind and he wakes up in a 47 year old body with a 22 year old mind. Apparently he has a family now?

the gift of forgetting (ao3) - stars2dust G, 2k

Summary: It’s been a month since Strange’s spell. Since everyone in Peter’s universe forgot who he was in order to send the multiversal beings back. But something must have gone wrong, because Peter-Three is still here.

And he doesn’t know his own name.

OR

Peter is struggling after the events of No Way Home and maybe an older brother is exactly what he needs right now.

[teaziecups]

TRIGGER WARNING: All forms of abuse, grooming, mental illness, stalking, paranoia/delusions/etc., self harm, eating disorders and overall saddening topics.

Read this with an open mind.

Summary of Elliot's and (somewhat) Rett's history/lore:

• Early life:

Elliot and Rett was born to an anomaly father and human mother further corrupting both of them and the rest of their siblings(6 including Elliot & Rett). Sadly both have faced all forms of abuse mainly from their father and reactive abuse from their mother. Pushing Elliot to develop amnesia as a way of coping(Elliot doesn't remember this unless therapy intervenes). Rett, however, suprising remembers a great deal of this.

Furthermore, at the age of 13 the family moved to America. It was quickly changed when CPS(or some other form of this) split the family up and deported the parents back to Greece. (Kept the children because they were "Exotic")

● Tween/Early teenage years:

Elliot starts to struggle even more with mental health issues. Falling into self harm/slight drug abuse. At around 14 years old Elliot starts to heavily pick up on the behavior. Elliot's abusive foster parents/group house doesn't help with this and in return Elliot tends to run away and stay outside more often to cope with this issue. Elliot aswell got moved around a lot and sent to multiple mental hospitals. School became a huge issue and Elliot suffered greatly with anxiety. Elliot was heavily troubled and his bizarre behavior made him a massive target for bullying. At a young age Elliot starts to develop more suicidal thinking and attempting it. (Staying with him up until 16-17)

Elliot sadly developed a heavy addiction to the internet and found many flings that ended up taking advantage of him. Once they discarded him, Elliot would find something else to fill in a void within himself. By late 14 going into 15, Elliot meets someone that goes by "Lu-Lu" online and develops a fascination with them. Later turning obsessive and protective of Lu. Lu ended returning the favor. They later on started dating and Lu shows more mentally ill characteristics. Then started to take advantage of Elliot, Lu revealed his real age, putting a worse dent into Elliot's mental health. Lu had ended up being a groomer towards Elliot. After a year of this Elliot broke things off and Lu caused an outrage. During all of this, Elliot develops anorexia as a way to cope/have control in life.

Rett struggled mentally with severe social anxiety and anxiety in general. School was a huge burden and he wanted out of it. Later on he developed severe panic attacks and would get sent to the nurse often until he got meds to help him. Rett sadly self harmed but quickly cut the issue out because of shame and regret. Rett's foster parents never helped with his issues until the school nurses got involved. After this he got helped and got put into different classes to help with this issue. Along with all of this, Rett let's on bizarre behavior and struggles with no filter on his mouth. Saying random and paranoia inducing things.

● Later teen years/Recent times:

Heads up: Both twins end up moving to Canada at different times. Rett ends up going first and sooner later Elliot. Due to the service they both went through to get adoptive parents, they were aware of the twins history. Contacted the adoptive parents and brought the twins together.

Elliot goes through intense therapy to cope with everything. Discovers Ms. Hamilton (therapist) a trusting adult in their life. (Elliot later on gets diagnosed with Schizoaffective disorder Bi polar type 2) Adoptive parents are extremely kind, overly kind. Elliot's paranoia gets increasingly worse by the minute due to this. He develops a paranoid delusion that they want something out of him. While this is the total opposite of what's going on, Elliot develops a more stiffer/stubborn personality by late 15 leading to 16. Elliot gets increasingly angry and hostile. Building up a terrible reputation for himself. Elliot cuts off most of his online internet usage as he sees the online word useless, until school stars up again with him. Even then it's still incredibly limited. During this (a more happier time in his life) Elliot starts to eat a normal amount, then overeating out of pure boredom. Elliot is overweight now.

Elliots reputation carried into school with him, luckily not many or at all many people knew of him. As he is a new student, in a new country, in a place with less than 400 in population. He saw school as a breeze now, he passed most things with ease. Then, he met one of his peers named "Draw", Draw showed an interest in Elliot, but Elliot didn't return the favor. Until Draws behavior shined onto Elliot more and more as the days grew. Elliot decided to take it upon himself to develop a new friendship, it ended up going extremely well. Draw showed such interaction with Elliots interests and was engaged with him. Later on tensions grew within the friendship.

Elliots new aquaried friend turned bitter sweet when Draws enthusiasm towards Elliot started to die out. He finds out that Draw has been engaging in high school gossip/rumors about Elliot, that he didn't like. Draw only wanted to engage with Elliot through an online app called "Frizzbee", this upsets Elliot. As Elliot sees this as a way to talk to him without talking to him at school. As his new girlfriend "Ava" puts it out that she doesn't like Elliot. Ava believes in the rumors. However, through all of this Elliot only stores the inner turmoil and releases it when Draw sends Elliot spiteful messages. Messages that show the deranged and ill side of Draw. Draws facade breaks through messages but Elliot cuts him out of his life when faced with this. Angering Draw and causing a stalker for life, Lu ends up stalking Elliot aswell when he finds his newer accounts.

Rett gets an amazing adoptive family and starts his healing journey once in Canada. Happily living life and aquaring new special interests. Later on attending school, Rett is faced with little to no challenges. People seem to be a lot nicer to him, seeing him as the "quiet kid" and someone to overlook in a not so harmful way.

Both the twins face each other and reunite after many years of seperation. Elliots intense paranoia flares up because he doesn't remember Rett. Amnesia consumes Elliot. Despite this Elliot makes an effort into helping and bonding with his newly gained best friend.

● Future/Later events:

- Elliot gains Blair as a stalker when Elliot doesn't return any of the favors Blair gives

- Peppermint/Basil become his partners. Basil being first than Peppermint

- Draw ends up stalker Elliot up into adulthood

- Lu stalks Elliot more heavily. Sicko.

- Elliot and Rett move in together for College