#pushing feelings down and carrying on because it makes you seem stronger but oops again! the feelings are still there

[nebulousbren]

Steven Universe is so good actually

[jeongjaebae]

Maybe we'll just keep fallin'

⇢ Juyeon x reader, 3.4k, exes to lovers ⇢ A reunion at an amusement park reminds you of what it feels like to fall.

You've never hated Eric more than at this moment.

He gives you a big smile right when he sees you walking towards where the group is gathered near the entrance of the amusement park, and then runs towards you with his arms stretched out to squeeze the breath out of you.

"Hey," you greet with an attempt at a smile, hoping he doesn't notice the way your mood suddenly falls. "Long time no see."

"Y/N, I've missed you so much!" Eric's hug is even tighter than the last time you've seen him—a clear indication that he's been working out in college because those arms are even stronger as they lift you in a spin that takes you by surprise.

This amusement park trip would've been a perfect excursion on this perfect sunny day; a reunion of friends after a few years and a number of kilometers apart. And you had indeed been looking forward to it up until this point, having excitedly packed your bag and planned your outfit the night before.

However, no one had told you that he would be here too.

You knew it wasn't Eric's fault for inviting the both of you though, for he probably doesn't know about what happened. And when you join the rest of the group, it becomes quite obvious that none of them knew about it. It's as if they were all frozen in time, in the same spot as they stood all those years ago, back when your memories of this very amusement park had been overflowing with feelings for him.

It's not Eric's fault because Juyeon's Instagram remains untouched. Still filled with old pictures of the two of you long after what happened.

"It's nice to see all of you again," you say as you reach the others, looking at each of them one at a time. You wanted nothing more than to avoid looking at Juyeon the entire day, but it's something you couldn't get out of if you wanted to keep pretending everything was fine.

Juyeon was the first one you'd spotted from afar, having immediately recognized his all too familiar figure. But up close, he seems to have changed quite a bit. Like Eric, he definitely bulked up and is no longer super skinny, and then there's the way his skin glows and how his hair falls into place perfectly even with the wind blowing against it. And who wears such nice clothes to an amusement park? He's so stupidly perfect and unaffected that it pisses you off. The only thing that gives you a bit of satisfaction is seeing how he immediately stiffens after seeing you.

Maybe it would be easy to remember that he's no longer the boy you once loved when he seems so different now.

"Alright, let's go!" Eric shouts.

You knew that it was going to be a very long day.

***

"What's wrong? You don't like rollercoasters anymore?" Jacob asks. He raises an eyebrow at the way you eyed the ride all too warily.

You'd joined the line with the rest of them but there's a sense of dread in your steps that hadn't been there before. And while it wouldn't be your first time on this ride, the huge drop no longer seemed as appealing as it once did. Maybe you've developed a bit of a fear.

"I just hate the feeling of falling now," you say, then shrug when Hyunjae shoots you a strange look. "People change, I guess."

When your eyes flicker over to Juyeon intentionally, he's already staring at you.

Sometime while in line, the others all pair up with their seatmates, leaving you and Juyeon at the back together. Maybe it would've reminded you of the time they intentionally left you together when trying to set you up, but things are different now. It annoys you now.

You sigh. "Let's just get this over with."

As you climb into your seat with Juyeon following right behind you, suddenly you get an idea.

"Here, let me get this for you." You shoot him a smile before grabbing the safety bar and pushing it down on him as far as it would go, locking him into the seat with a click. It's much tighter than it needs to be and probably digs into his stomach if his grimace is any indication. Perfect. "Enjoy the ride!"

Then you walk out the other way. Leaving him without a seatmate on the rollercoaster.

A look of utter disbelief spreads on his face and you simply laugh before heading to the exit, where you would wait for his ugly photos to come out. Not that he could ever be ugly, but one could still hope.

As the rollercoaster takes off and he's still glancing at you looking betrayed, there's no time for guilt. Because he was going to go on the ride anyways, you tell yourself. What difference did it make whether it was with or without you? And besides, strapping him in tighter could've been to ensure his safety; it's almost funny how the things we do for the people we love actually end up hurting them the most.

Several minutes later, Juyeon comes back with his hair dishevelled and a frown on his face. Bothered, but still silent. You count that as a win because unfortunately for you, his photos turn out looking just fine. In fact, they turn out all too similar to the set you once carried around in your phone case—the same ride and the same expression, only the seat beside him hadn't been empty in that one.

He doesn't say anything as you take out your phone to quickly snap a photo of the preview on the screen, calling him ugly the entire time anyways.

The loud noises and flashy lights in every direction try to grab your attention as heading to the next ride has you walking through all the carnival games in the park. Prizes are dangling at every stall, the smell of colourful snacks and the cheerful voices of children filling the air. For a while, you don't mind it when Juyeon falls into step beside you at the back of the group.

Until his hand accidentally brushes yours. And his touch sends you reeling.

"You okay?" his eyes flash with concern. He hangs back to wait for you while the rest of the group continues on without notice.

"Yup," you slap on the most dazzling fake smile you could muster. "Never been better."

It was a close call; for a second you thought your resentment towards him faltered like your feet did.

They've stopped at a beanbag toss game where Hyunjae points out how much Sunwoo looks like the raccoon plushie hanging in the section of prizes, and Changmin is taking bets that Sangyeon's bad luck would make him lose every game he plays. Juyeon bets against it. You bet for it.

The man running the game gestures dramatically, beckoning your group over. "See something you like? Step right up! Only three tickets to win the biggest prizes in the entire park."

Normally you would've walked away. Everyone knows that carnival games are rigged so there was no point in wasting your tickets, but once again, an idea occurs. Three tickets to get a chance to hit your ex? Hell yeah, you were definitely in.

The man gives you a wink as you go to hand in your three measly tickets, with Juyeon following closely behind. You had a feeling he would participate too, though you don't know why.

As you settle into your spot at the counter, you realize that the booth is quite empty. None of your friends are there anymore, somehow having disappeared so suddenly without a trace—leaving you alone with Juyeon once again.

"Why are they always putting us together," you mutter under your breath.

"Because they don't know about—"

"Yeah, no shit." You roll your eyes at him. Why was he answering a rhetorical question anyways? "Whatever. Let's get on with the game already."

When the game starts, Juyeon is oblivious beside you as he concentrates on the distance to the target. Competitive as usual, you assume, though this time it wouldn't be for the purpose of winning you a giant plushie like he did before. And the old you might've tried to get a good score to impress him, but the new you isn't like that anymore.

You almost feel bad when you take a step away from the booth and gaze at the back of his head. There's a sense of hesitation because does he really deserve this? Getting your revenge when he's not even looking is a little too harsh isn't it? But you quickly wipe those thoughts away. One beanbag to the head isn't going to make up for all the times he promised not to break your heart yet ended up doing it anyways.

Juyeon whips around and gives you a hard stare after your beanbag successfully strikes the back of his head and then lands at his feet. Bullseye!

"Oh, did I hit you?" Your voice drips with a sarcastic sweetness. "Oops, sorry."

The rest of your beanbags are tossed messily without really caring where they land now that you've accomplished your goal, and his shots seem too distracted after getting hit.

He remains impassive as the two of you find your way back to the rest of your friends who appear just as suddenly as they disappeared.

"That was a nice shot." Hyunjae gives you a high-five. The way Juyeon glances at him sharply almost makes you burst out laughing. "Too bad you didn't win a prize."

You don't tell him that it might be even better than winning a prize. "You saw that? But where did you guys go?"

"Oh um, Eric kind of had an emergency. In the bathroom." Hyunjae gives you a wry smile then takes off before you could ask more.

You stick with Sunwoo for the rest of the day, clinging onto him so closely that he has no opportunity to leave you with your ex again. He occasionally gives you questioning glances and you feel slightly embarrassed; it wasn't your intention to make things awkward, but surely your friends should've all sensed something strange by now? Surely they couldn't still see you and Juyeon as a couple?

The last jab you took at him was on the spinning teacup ride, a final ride at the end of the day just as the sun was setting. The rest of your group had split themselves equally into two teacups, leaving no room for the two of you though you could see through the way they intentionally sprawled themselves across the seats to fill up the space.

So once again, you were left with Juyeon. But this time, you don't complain because you had another plan up your sleeve.

As soon as the ride starts along with the horrible carnival music, you're grabbing the wheel at the center and turning it as fast as you could. It makes the teacup spin and spin, round and round until the rest of the world is a blur of lights and colours around you. Somehow it makes the teacup feel all too small. It's as if you and Juyeon were the only ones existing as everything else blends together.

"Y/N, stop," he shouts at some point, but you pay no attention as your hands continue to move the steering wheel mechanically. "You're going to get dizzy!"

And he's right. Because eventually the teacup slows to a full stop, but the world continues to spin and prevents you from getting to your feet and walking out.

"Are you okay?" Juyeon reaches for you then pulls back at the last moment. "Why did you spin it so much?"

Just seeing the way he looks perfectly fine standing there makes you feel the contents of your stomach churn. His perfect face and his perfect hair and his perfectly indifferent expression. Had your plan backfired? At this point, could anything you do even affect him the way his presence affected you so much?

You attempt at getting to your feet again and it just barely works this time. "Ugh, why aren't—you dizzy—"

"You spun it that hard just to get me dizzy?" Juyeon's voice gives no hints to what he's thinking.

"Shut up."

His touch stings when he ends up wrapping an arm around you, holding you up as you walk out of the ride together. Usually you would've thrown him off and pushed him away, but in your state of trying not to die, you give in and let him guide you to a pavilion with some picnic benches.

"Sit here."

It's quieter here when you're out of the crowd. A little easier to breathe. You focus on the way the air tastes, cooler now that the sun has gone down but still lingering with the sweetness of cotton candy from a nearby vendor. The world slows down and finally stills under your feet, and the waves of nausea quickly recede.

"Why are you doing all this?" Juyeon blurts, and you can finally see something underneath those unreadable eyes of his. The whole day he's put up with your antics without ever saying anything, but now you could see the blaze the lies just beneath the surface.

It feels like a taste of victory.

"Doing what?"

"You know what."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say carefully.

He gives an exasperated sigh, pacing around in front of the bench you sat at. "Do you hate me that much?"

"I—"

Yes, you wanted to say. Because hating him has never left your mind for the past few years. Because you did want to resent him. To hurt him the way that he hurt you when he decided to cut off all ties with you so your long-distance relationship wouldn't hold you back during college. Maybe he'd thought it was the right thing to do but it was such a stupid reason and he was so stupid and—it all hurt. So yes, maybe you'd imagined getting your revenge someday when you met him again.

But doing all those things today didn't make you feel any better and seeing him like this is different from what you'd imagined.

Juyeon's steps finally stop, and he sits down on the bench beside you. "If you do, it's okay. I get it. I would hate me too."

A silence settles in between you and the crickets in the background are almost too loud. The last of the sun's fading glow surrender to a blanket of darkness that contrasts with the warm glow of the fairy lights in the small pavilion. Being here in any other context might be romantic. It reminds you all too much of what happened the first time.

"Why?" you ultimately ask despite already knowing the answer. "Why would you hate yourself?"

"For hurting you. For even thinking that we'd be better off apart because the past four years have only made me miserable with regret," he admits. "So yes, hurt me. Let out your pain." He pounds on his chest a couple of times and then stretches his arms out, waiting. "I can take it. Just don't hurt yourself."

"Juyeon..."

The amount of times you'd wished to hear those words over the years. He did call that one time, though your roommates had taken your phone and blocked him before you could get a chance to find out what he might've said. It was something that you'd wondered about during the times you'd drank a little too much, when you'd cried over nothing, when the feeling of falling had become falling into the depths of darkness instead of falling in love like it once was.

Maybe now, you're finally getting your answer.

Your fists are weak where they collide with his chest repeatedly, one after another, as if doing so would make his heart hurt as much as yours did. And he just takes it.

But then he's wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close until you give in. Until you completely melt against him. Until there's the warmth of his body against you and the tears that slip down your cheeks land on his shirt.

"Y/N, you have no idea how much I missed you," he whispers, breath coming out against your hair where he runs his hand through like he did before. "I'm sorry. For everything."

His scent enveloping you as he holds you, the dim glow of lights above you—it all reminds you of what happened all those years ago at this very place. It had been the same park and the same friends as today, but the exhilaration was from the way he grabbed your hand to pull your closer, not from being up high in that swing ride. The dizziness you'd felt was after he kissed you for the first time, and not from some spinning teacup ride. And when had the heart fluttering feeling of falling been from falling in love, and not simply from a rollercoaster ride?

But soon you do find yourself falling again.

It's not like the first time he kissed you here, when sparks fly and the world spins and your heart pounds so hard you thought it would burst. This time when his lips are on yours and he fits against you so perfectly, it's like coming home after being too far for too long. Everything feels so familiar yet new, like rereading your favourite book and rediscovering all of your favourite passages as you relearn each line and curve of his body. He may be different from what you remembered from all those years ago, but the way his gentle hands cup your cheeks, the brushing of his knees against yours, the way you can taste the salt of tears and faint sweetness of cotton candy on his lips. Everything is still so distinctly him, something that even the space and time between you couldn't ever change.

"Lee Juyeon," comes out in a whisper against his lips as you pull back to catch your breath, "you're so stupid."

"Only when it comes to you." He breaks into a smile, the first genuine smile that you've seen all day and it seems to light up the world. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. Even if it takes me the rest of my life."

"You're making this sound like a proposal."

Juyeon gives a choked laugh. "Um, not that I would be against it, but let's take this one step at a time first, yeah?"

And when you look at him, truly look at him, this time you can see the same boy you loved for all these years. You let those eyes draw you in and finally let yourself sink into the memories that you kept pushing away and burying. There's a tinge of pink on his cheeks and they're hot under your fingertips as you reach to pull him in again and—

"It's about time," a booming voice suddenly interrupts, making the two of you spring apart. Eric claps as he walks into the pavilion joined by the rest of the group, a mischievous smile on his face.

"It only took them all day," Sunwoo rolls his eyes. "I was dying over here when Y/N started following me around. Totally deserve an Oscar for my acting today."

"Hey, that's not true! I definitely noticed you giving me weird looks."

It's not surprising that your friends had known about the breakup after all, though you just hadn't expected them to have known even before this trip. The deja vu takes you back to the last time you were here, how your first kiss as a new couple was nearly interrupted by Eric's cheers and Sunwoo's expressions of disgust.

"Before you start freaking out—no, nobody told us," Eric says. "Nobody needed to because it was so obvious. We only pretended to not know in the hopes that you'd finally put each other out of your misery."

"And while it's good that you guys did, the highlight of this trip has got to be watching Y/N bully Juyeon all day," Hyunjae bellows and nods towards Juyeon. "I don't know what you did to deserve that, but you probably deserved it."

Soon there are sounds of laughter filling the pavilion and it makes your heart feel full in a way that you hadn't felt in a long time. As if there had been a weight you didn't even know you had on you, and now it's been lifted off your shoulders and you finally feel light enough to join in with their laughter.

As fireworks fill the night sky and Juyeon intertwines his fingers with yours on the walk back, it quickly becomes clear that the falling back together was as easy as it had been the first time.

[ahsokasleftbicep]

Name and Soul: Chapter 1

Alright everyone here is the first chapter of the series. Apologies for the delay, I had a lot of editing to do. I hope you enjoy it!

@mqgriett

Crosshair x F! reader

Word Count: 3440

Warnings: Amnesia like stuff. Language. Bad Batch SPOILERS: DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU HAVE SEEN THE FIRST EPISODE OF THE TV SERIES!

It’s odd how quickly things change on the battlefield. This kind of change you never expected. You and the Bad Batch met about a year after the war started and with your sharpshooting and other combat skills, Hunter offered that you join their team. You got along with most of the group very quickly, with the exception of Crosshair. Over time, after a lot of sneers and eye rolling, the two of you grew closer. After a particularly grueling mission, both of you admitted how you felt and now the two of you barely went anywhere without the other. You were the perfect duo, with both of your skills combined, missions went without a hitch almost every time.

The group had been called to the planet Kaller to assist Master Billaba. Her padawan, Caleb, you believed his name was, led you and the boys to his master. That’s when it happened… that change, the shift in the air. The troops turned on the Jedi and fired on her. Order 66. Caleb bolted, running off into the woods, sliding down hills with a certain hatred in his eyes that you had never seen in someone so young, so… innocent. You, Hunter, and Crosshair ran after him. The woods were so peaceful compared to the chaos everywhere else.

It was quiet and Caleb seemed to disappear. You looked around and saw him in the trees. “Hunter, Crosshair, I found him.” While Hunter tries to convince the kid to come down, Crosshair aims at the kid. “Crosshair no!” You tackle him down into the snow.

Caleb runs off, Hunter yells out, “Crosshair, what are you doing?”

“Following orders. Get off me Y/n.” Crosshair shoves you off him before getting up.

You follow him, an angry look on your face. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“I’m following my orders. We need to find that Jedi.” The man walks off, you tailing behind him.

“Crosshair, we don’t even know what the order is.” You grab his hand, “Just wait until we know what’s happening.”

He turns his head towards you before scoffing, “Fine.”

Good soldiers follow orders. Crosshair mumbled that before Hunter sent you back with the others. When all of you got back to the ship, Tech explained that all the clones had been ordered to execute the Jedi. Saying that they committed treason and tried to kill the Chancellor. The war was just somehow over. None of it made any sense. According to the sergeant, Caleb died in a fall. You all got ordered back to Kamino, offloading and heading to your barracks.

“Hunter let that Jedi kid escape, or do you want to keep lying?” Crosshair sneered.

Hunter gets up, “I don’t like to think of executing our commanders as an objective.”

“An order is an order, Hunter.”

“Since when Cross? You’ve never been one to follow orders, why are you starting now.” You raise your voice to the two men. Everyone goes quiet.

“Don’t act noble y/n, you’re as much to blame as Hunter is for letting that Jedi escape. I could have gotten him if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“He was a child!” You walk up to him, glaring into his eyes.

“He was a traitor!” Crosshair pushes you back before continuing to clean his weapon.

You speak up after a while. “This doesn’t make any sense. General Billaba and her battalion have been in numerous battles, serving alongside each other for years.”

Echo speaks up this time, “How could they turn on her like that?”

“Because of the regs programming. It’s been documented that the Kaminoans inhibited the functions of clones to engineer them to follow orders without any question” Tech explains. “They manipulated everything, Crosshair’s sharpshooting and Hunter’s enhanced sense. And of course my exceptional mind. I assume that we are immune,” Tech glances at Crosshair. “at least, most of us.”

All personnel report to the staging area for a briefing on the state of the Republic.

--

You felt so out of place in the staging area, surrounded by clones that felt off to you. Their mannerisms were different, more robotic. You were drawn back at attention when Chancellor- no Emperor Palpatine began speaking.

....And the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated. The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed. But I assure you. My resolve has never been stronger! In order to ensure the security and continuing stability…

… the Republic will be reorganized… into the first Galactic Empire!

“Galactic Empire?” You look over to your team in confusion. Sudden cheers ripple across the room, the other clones celebrating like it's the greatest thing in the world.

--

Tech and Wrecker were arguing at the table. You kept looking at Crosshair, he was acting odd, well more that usual. He’s still acting like a prick, so that’s a good sign. He let you sit next to him, so that was good too. But he kept rubbing his head, like he had a migraine of some kind… so odd. You nudged his thigh.

“Are you feeling well, Cross? You look sick.”

“Thanks for the compliment, y/n.”

“You know what I mean... tell me what’s going on.”

“Just a migraine, don’t worry about it.”

“An Imperial’s been sent to evaluate the clones.” Hunter speaks as he sits down.

“What kind of evaluation?”

“Hopefully not mental. Clearly we’d never pass that… well, maybe y/n could.” Tech nods his head to you.

“Oh I doubt it, with all the stuff we’ve been through together, I’d probably fail.” You take a sip of your water before something catches your eye.

Omega shifts awkwardly, “Hello again. Omega. From earlier?.... in the corridor.”

“Yeah, kid. We remember.” Hunter raised his eyebrow at the child.

Hunter was about to ask about the kids parents before a couple regs interrupted. “Check it out. The defect squad’s got themselves a recruit.” Before you can react, Omega throws her food at the clone. Hunter tries to diffuse the situation, but you didn’t get your throw in so you grab your tray.

“Y/n, don’t.” Crosshair attempts to grab your wrist but just misses you.

“Don’t worry, Cross. I won’t miss.” You wink at him.

“Hey Wrecker, let's show the kid how it’s done, yeah?” You aim before to throw the tray at the clone. “Oops, my hand must’ve… slipped.”

All hell breaks loose and punches are thrown. Echo got knocked out, when the boys got up to go get him, you walked by Crosshair. Here goes nothing.

“Crosshair?”

“Hm? What is it?”

You grab his hand and pull him into a hall. “What happened on Kaller? Tell me what happened.”

“I told you, it’s just-”

“Why are you lying to me?” You pull his hand, drawing him closer.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, it’s you all. You’re the ones who refused to carry out the order.”

“An order to kill a child, Crosshair.”

“That child was a traitor to the Empire.”

“But a child nonetheless.” You retort.

“You don’t understand, none of you do. Just drop it.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. Crosshair, you’re worrying me.”

The man looks down at you, he looks so lost. “There is nothing wrong. I promised I would never lie to you when I proposed.” He tugs at the delicate chain around your neck, fiddling with the ring that he gave you just weeks before.

You look at him, skeptical, “And you’ll tell me if something is wrong? Cross your heart?”

His lips tilt up, “Cross my heart.”

--

Echo told you all about Tarkin. When you all started heading towards the training facility, the shock troopers stopped you.

“Y/n L/n? Admiral Tarkin has asked you to sit out of this battle simulation.”

You furrow your brows, “He’s asking me to not train with my team?” You look at Hunter and shrug, “I’ll be watching, I guess… Be careful, something doesn’t feel right.”

Wrecker speaks up, “Oh don’t worry Y/n, we’ll be fine!”

When you arrive at the observation deck, you are greeted by Lama Su and who you assume is Admiral Tarkin.

“Ms. L/n.” The prime minister greets you in a monotone voice.

“Prime Minister, may I-” you were interrupted by Tarkin.

“We can dismiss formalities, begin the simulation. Ms. L/n, you will be answering some questions for me.”

“....Of course, Admiral” You stand next to the man, watching the boys go through the course.

“What is your opinion of this team, L/n?”

“My opinion, sir? Well they are the best group I have worked with. Their skills are the most impressive I’ve seen.” You speak as you watch Crosshair take out the tower cannons. Wrecker is having the time of his life by the looks of things. So far so good.

“Switch to live fire.” Your blood runs cold, live fire? What is going on here? You watch the new droids take their place down below, Wrecker got hit and you tensed, unaware that Tarkin noticed your worry.

“And what of your relationship with these clones?”

“My relationship sir?” Your eyes catch onto Crosshair in the tower, moving to run out the door when he almost falls from the tower. Tarkin didn’t miss that either. He turned his head to you, an eyebrow raised.

“Surely you’re aware that relationships within the military are forbidden, especially with these… clones.” The bile in his tone made you sick, you wanted to punch him.

“I’m not sure what you’re suggesting Admiral, but I can assure you that my relationship with my team is strictly as comrades.”

“I’m sure of it then. I will be sending Clone Force 99 on a mission. I ask that you stay in Kamino during that time. And one more thing.” Tarkin turns to you. “Did your team carry out Order 66?”

You grit your teeth, “Yes sir, the death of the general and her padawan were confirmed, was that not clear to you?”

“Only the death of General Billaba was confirmed, a counter report was filed by one of your own says otherwise.” Tarkin turns and walks out. “That will be all Ms. L/n, you are dismissed.”

Once Tarkin was out of sight, you ran back to the barracks. You rush in, seeing the boys, frustrated looks on their face. “Who’s that Imperial bastard think he is?!”

Echo turns, “Y/n! Are you alright? What happened?”

“He questioned me about you guys. Asked of my opinion… and of my relationship with you all…”

“That bastard,” Echo clenches his fist, “He knows everything about everyone. He’s got it out for us.”

You look at Crosshair, “Tarkin said that one of us filed a counter-”

The door slides open and the devil himself walks through, “That was quite an impressive display, Nala Se claims that you are all more capable than an army.”

Hunter steps forward, “You have a mission for us, sir?”

“Yes, a group of insurgents in the Onderon sector. They must be dealt with. Unfortunately, Ms. L/n will not be able to join you. She will be staying here on Kamino while you complete this task.”

--

You help Tech load the last bit of supplies on the ship. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll stay in the barracks until you come back.”

“It shouldn’t take us long. If everything goes according to plan that is.” Tech says.

You smile and walk down the ramp.

“Y/n.” Crosshair calls you over.

“Yes Cross?”

He takes your hand and runs his fingers over your wrist, avoiding your eyes. “There’s something-”

“Crosshair! Let’s go!”

He looks back at you, apologizing. You squeeze his hand, “It’s okay Crosshair, we can talk about it when you come back.” You lean up and kiss his cheek. “ Be careful, okay.”

“Okay, y/n.” He pressed his lips to your temple before climbing up the ramp. They take off and you turn around, finding Omega behind you.

“Hey, uh, Omega right?”

“Yeah! And you’re y/n.” You can’t help but notice the worry in her features.

“Is something wrong?” You lean closer when the child just nods

“Kamino isn’t safe anymore, we need to get out of here. Something is going to happen, I just don’t know what. But the boys aren’t safe here.”

You kneel to her height, “Okay, I believe you. Something has been off ever since the order was declared. Keep quiet for now, okay. When the boys come back, we’ll figure something out.” Omega nods and runs off to Nala Se.

--

“Y/n!” Omega rushes into the barracks.

“Omega! What are you doing here?” You walk up and close the door. “Oh hey AZI.”

-“Ms. L/n. Omega, Nala Se instructed us to stay in the medical wing.”

“You guys can stay, think of it as a research assignment.” You smile at the girl.

Omega and AZI are looking around the barracks when troopers come to the door.

“You are not authorized to be here.”

You speak up, “Omega is fine, I’ll keep an eye on her.”

The trooper turns to his partner, “Pack up their gear and take it to the hangar. You two, you’re coming with me.”

“We’ve done nothing wrong, and you are not touching our stuff. Back off!”

The troopers grab you and Omega.

“Let go of her!” You struggle against his grip, then everything goes black.

--

You groan and open your eyes.

“Y/n! Are you okay? They hit you a-and then threw us here!”

You grab Omega’s hand. “Slow down, I don’t know what’s happening, but you need to stay calm okay?”

The door slid open, revealing the batch, they were missing their armor. “Guys!”

“Y/n, what happened?” Hunter helps you off the ground. Crosshair just rubbed his head and walked to a corner.

“I don’t know, they just threw us in here.” You rub your head. “What are you guys doing here, what happened to the insurgents?”

Hunter pauses, “They weren’t droids, they were people. There were children and elderly. We didn’t hurt them.”

From the corner, Crosshair interjects, “Because Hunter went soft, he had us disobey orders.”

“What? Crosshair, they were living people.” You look at him, confused.

“We’re locked in here because of him. First the padawan, then Gerrera. You’re becoming a liability, Sergeant.”

“Enough.” Everyone looks at you, “None of this is helping us get the hell out of here.”

--

After Omega spoke to your fiance, you quietly sit next to him. “Crosshair, I know you’re the one who filed the report.”

“How smart you are, y/n.”

“You don’t have to do this. You would never do this.” You're interrupted by the man that threw you in here.

“CT-9904, you’re coming with us.”

Hunter jumps up, “Oh, no, no, no. We stay together”

“Stand down!”

“Crosshair!”

“I said stand down!” The trooper shoves you back into the cell.

--

As Crosshair puts on his armor, he notices a chain with a ring around his neck. He doesn’t remember who or what it’s for. Help me, please. Don’t hurt them. Don’t hurt y/n.

Tarkin approaches him, “CT-9904, the prisoners have escaped from the brig. Make sure they don’t leave this planet.”

Crosshair tucks his helmet under his arm. “Yes, sir.” Good soldiers follow orders.

--

You tighten your hand in Omega’s as you run through the halls to get to the hangar.

“All right, this way. Let’s make this quick.”

Tech runs to power up the ship, and the hangar door opens.

You tighten the grip on your rifle, “Omega, get down. Do not get up until Hunter says so, okay?” You look up and see him.

“Crosshair, it’s me. I-”

“Crosshair?”

“Best stand down, Sergeant.” His eyes flit over to you. “You as well.”

“Lower your weapon.”

“Y/n” Hunter looks at you. You nod and raise your rifle.

“I can’t do that Crosshair. I’m sorry. I’ll come back for you, I promise.”

One of the troopers fire, blaster shots flying everywhere.

“Omega, go!” You yell out. You glance back and see Crosshair take aim at Hunter. A shot fires, knocking the rifle out of his hands. Omega. You take aim at his rifle when he tries to grab it again and fire. Crosshair shoots up as you run to the ramp, grabbing Omega and throwing her inside. Crosshair kept firing with his pistol, you returned fire, but did not hit him. You couldn't hurt him.

--

After the Marauder got into hyperspace, you sat down in Crosshair's room, your shared room. You fiddle with the necklace when the door opens, revealing Omega.

“Hey, are you okay?” The mattress bends a little.

“Yes… no, I’m sad and confused.” You feel tears welling in your eyes but blink them away. Omega looks at your necklace and points at it.

“What’s that?”

You smile softly at her. “It’s an engagement ring.” You chuckle at the confused look on her face. “It’s something that a person gives to someone that they love so much, that they want to spend the rest of their life with them. Crosshair gave this to me.”

“So he loves you and you love him?” The girl scoots closer out of curiosity.

“I love him very very much. I miss him very much too.”

“How did you two meet?”

You raise your eyebrows. “You really want to know?” The girl nods enthusiastically. “Well, it’s actually a pretty funny story. Before I joined the batch, I lived off the grid. When the war started I joined a local militia on Batuu, I was a sniper like Crosshair. Kept innocents safe, took out droids. One day there was a larger group of Seperatist droids causing trouble, I got sent out to look around and take them out.” You look over at Omega and she nods. “Things didn’t go exactly as planned, and a couple of civilians got caught in the middle. A droid was about to take a shot and my rifle had jammed. So I just ran towards it and tackled it. At the same time, someone shot me in the leg. When I looked back, I saw Crosshair standing on a building, all tense. Well, he was grumpy that I blocked his shot and he carried me back to the ship. After I healed up, Hunter offered me a spot on the team. And I’ve been with them ever since.”

The girls eyes widen. “So you’re a sniper too? Can you teach me?”

“Teach you? What, to shoot?” You look at the girl in surprise.

“Yes! I want to help however I can. Can you teach me? Please?” Omega got on her knees and bounced on the bed.

“I’m not the best-” You sigh, “Okay, okay. We can ask Hunter tomorrow.”

“Yes! Thank you, thank you!” Omega hugged you, smiling.

“Of course, why don’t you get some rest. You’ve had a long day.” You pat her head. “You can sleep in here until we set something up for you.”

“I’m not tired though.” She could barely hold her eyes open and she kept yawning.

“Sure you aren’t. Come on, bed time.” You pick the girl up and lay her in the bed across from you. You tucked the blanket around her and got up to leave, but she tugged on your hand. “Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“We’ll get Crosshair back, I know it.” She lets go and closes her eyes.

You crouch down and smile softly, “I know we will too, Omega.”

--

Crosshair sits on his bunk, staring at the necklace in his hands. He looks again at the engraving on the ring. O'r gai bal runi.

“What the hell does that mean?” He grumbles and turns the ring in his hand. I don’t remember why I have this. That women… y/n… she had the same ring around her neck. Who is she? Crosshair puts the necklace on the side table.

He rubs his head, furrowing his brows. Fight back! Fight back dammit! Get out of here!

“Shut up already…” Crosshair climbs into the bunk and stares at the ceiling before closing his eyes.

Everything hurts. NO! NO! Don’t let me hurt them again… I can’t hurt my brothers. I can’t hurt her. Y/n, y/n, please don’t leave me. HELP ME!

“Crosshair!” You shoot up from your bed, gasping for air. You look around wildly in the darkness. I heard him. I swear I heard him.

A small voice calls out, “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“I- Yeah, I’m alright, just had a bad dream. Go back to sleep Omega.”

You lie back down in your bed and grab your necklace, moving it around in your hand. We’ll find you Crosshair, we’ll bring you home.

[dancingwiththeplanets]

Relief

Paz Vizsla x fem!reader 

     masterlist

Summary: “I know that we’re strangers but something really awful has happened to me and I need you.”

A/N: highly recommend listening to “everything i wanted” by billie eilish before reading because that is just the vibe.

Warnings: angst, ruminating, lots of dialogue, mourning the death of a parent, deals with depression and anxiety, soft!paz, a big brute with an even bigger heart

Word Count: 11k (oops)

---------------------

“Death changes people, it brings some people together, pushes other people apart...” You remember your buir’s words as if they were spoken to you just yesterday. They were the words he said on the day of your mothers funeral. “...but you and I, we do not let such things hurt us. We are stronger together, my ad’ika, we can only get through this together. Yes?”

“Okay, buir.” You said. Your wide, 5 year old eyes not fully comprehending the situation.

He nodded, pained, and whispered, “That’s a good girl,” before leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead and departing to the ceremony, your small form in tow.

He was right, death did change people. You remember seeing him in pure agony, as much as he tried to hide it from you. Your aunts and uncles would always be over, consoling him, distracting you, oftentimes just having you stay with them so your father could grieve away from your eyes.

But he never let it hurt your relationship. No, he was the best buir anyone could dream of. Your buir.

He was a proud man, respected and admired by all the warriors in the covert. Fierce, honorable, diligent and selfless. He would and did do anything for anyone. And the tribe respected him immensely. They even elected for him to be the Alor on more than one occasion, and he practically was. But he refused the title again and again, preferring to do all the work without carrying any official status. Even so, he certainly inherited the same amount of respect that the actual Alor had.

“All of the privilege and none of the responsibility.” He would tease, winking at you as the two of you would sneak out of the kitchens or any other ‘off-limits’ part of the covert, everyone turning a blind eye to your buir and ad’ika antics. Mainly just because they respected him too much to chastise you.

Truly though, he was a very respectable man. He trained the little ones, led hunts and security protocols for the covert, found lost Mandalorians and brought them home to the tribe. He dedicated his life to building the strongest and most operational covert that Mandalorians had seen in years. And he did it all for you. All so that you would have a safe place to grow up, so that you would lose as few brothers and sisters, and as few aunts and uncles as possible. So that you wouldn’t lose anyone just as suddenly as you’d lost your mother.

But he never prepared you for the day you would lose him.

The two of you were unimaginably close, so close that now you regretted ever developing a relationship that strong with him even if he was your father, because look at what it got you.

How were you supposed to go on? What was your life without your buir? What was this covert without your buir?

You look around the room, dozens and dozens of armored warriors here to pay their respects to your father, his body already having been buried.  The tears leak out of your eyes without reserve as you hold tightly to your friend's hand, scanning the room for the comfort of your boyfriend. “He’ll be here soon” She whispers, though you sense doubt in her voice, “I’m sure of it.”

------------------------

You’re not sure what time it is, only that you’ve spent yet another restless night collecting tears in your pillow. Your booted feet pad down the deserted hallway of the covert. It’s aboveground, hidden beneath the treelines of a dense forest on a nearly desolate planet. It’s beautiful, unlike most every other secret covert that exists, though very few do. It has bulletproof glass paneling all around to allow for light to peek in through the trees. It’s warm and inviting instead of cold and gloomy.

“We need a home. Not a prison.” Buir had said.

You wince, face contorting in pain at the memory of him sharing the design with you. He had a dream. He wanted to live the way he used to, on Mandalore. Embracing nature and training warriors in the traditional way. He wanted your small tribe to grow into the hundreds. And that it did, well, to just over a hundred at least.

The most recent tribe came in from Nevarro, about seven months ago. He’d managed to track them down and get into contact with their Alor. Though some members of their tribe were reluctant to merge- they always are- they soon decided to join forces with your own, strengthening your numbers. Plus, they got to move to a much more beautiful, safe, and spacious planet.  

Regrettably, you hadn’t gotten to know many members of the new tribe still. They were...different. Still pleasant from the interactions you’d had with them at least, good sense of humor and all, but they were devoted to the old ways of Mandalore, conservative, reserved, passionate. Most unusually they didn’t arrive with any women in their tribe, aside from their Alor. For some reason odd, universal reason, Mandalorian women were hard to come by. It was a troubling issue that distressed many people in the tribe, in any tribe. It felt like a curse on your people. But this tribe literally had only one. They obviously cherished and admired her immensely, they made her their Alor.

Also, their creed didn’t allow for them to remove their helmets, a drastic difference from the one you had sworn that didn’t even require you wear your armor all the time, though you and most everyone almost always did. You were still Mandalorian; Training, honor, armor...they were still as big a part of you as your soul was to your body. But everyone around here knew your face, and vice versa, even if you did spend most of your life behind the shield.

This week however, you couldn't bring yourself to put it on once. Hell, you didn’t even bother with your flight suit. You just stayed locked up in your tiny room all day and night, only leaving when you were forced out by your friends. “It’s for your own good,” they would say. You suppose they were right, but no matter how good of friends they were to you right now, their company seemed to make it all worse.

A part of you wanted Collin, your boyfriend of two years, but he seemed to disappear from sight every time you caught his eye, an action that made your friend, Brie, chase after him in a rage the last time. He had been so blatantly obvious. You were in tears, yet again, mourning your father, yet again, when you caught the flash of his grey armor slip past your crying form in the common room. The hurt you had felt was unimaginable. The betrayal. You know that your relationship was strained as of late, but this, the death of your father, how could he not be around for you? Even if just as a friend?

So here you were. Another sleepless night, another late hour gone by without the noisy comfort of the of the tribe at work. Your head was pounding from the tears, the dehydration and the pain. The kriffing pain.

This time you couldn’t do it. You couldn't stay trapped within the dark walls of your room any longer, quickly pulling on something decent to wear in the late night or early hours of the morning- you didn’t know what time it was- before mindlessly wandering the covert.

Empty. It must be smack in the middle of the night. Well, at least you could sulk freely, allow the tears to escape without worrying about what a blubbering mess you must look like. A part of you was thankful, this was...kind of nice? There was nobody hovering around you. No visors following your every move in pity or concern, waiting to catch you when you break. You did pass one or two guards patrolling the halls, but you avoided them as best you could, hoping to avoid being questioned.

You finally take a moment to sit, hiding yourself beside some phony shrub in the corner. You’ve wandered to the dining hall. You look around, hoping to distract yourself with the silent chatter of the five or so warriors lounging around, probably on break from late night duties. Your eyes finally resting on a group of three of your vods sitting around, talking. They’re from the new tribe, well, most recently new.

You don’t know any of them particularly well, least of all the heavy infantry warrier whose figure commands your attention. He spends most of his time with the higher ups or teaching the foundlings, and you fall somewhere there in the middle. But he’s broad and robust and by maker if he doesn't captivate your attention.

You listen to the quiet echoes bouncing around the spacious dining hall. There’s hardly anybody here, it must be so early. You groan, to you it just feels unbearably late.

You don’t know how long you sit here, hidden behind the leaves of the plant, hazy eyes focused on the blue warrior. You just sit, staring, he’s...peaceful to observe. His arms are crossed over his chest, leaned back comfortably against his chair.  He huffs at something one of his brothers says, you can barely hear it, but you see the shake of his shoulders before he adjusts his posture and a small smile pulls at your own lips for some reason.

You shake your head. Is this wrong? You think, averting your eyes away from Paz’s form. You feel guilty for some reason, you mind reminding you of Collin. The guilt impacts you painfully for a moment, adding to the feelings of loss and exhaustion before you shake the thoughts away.

No. You think, eyes squeezing shut at the new wave of emotion hurting your already distraught mind. I’m just people watching. Not admiring. This is allowed. This actually feels...kind of nice, it’s allowed.

You permit your gaze to return to Paz and his friends, watching them nod at another couple of Mandos who pass by.

There was something so...comforting about Paz. You don't even know how you can think that? You don’t know him.

You watch his attention shift to his boots which are sprawled out in front of him, heels resting on the hard floor. He kicks his feet out a little bit, watching them wiggle from their movements. His action again tugging the teeniest of smiles to your lips.

You feel a small and brief glimmer of warmth in your chest, though quickly replaced by a pain that pinches from your gut to the back of your throat. Tears gloss over your vision before you’re able to fight them away with slow, deep breaths. It feels as though your body is chastising you for daring to feel a degree of happiness so suddenly.

No. You cower away from the invisible being hurting you, eyes squinting shut again.

You yearn for the slight relief and warmth to return. You need it. It just...feels so damn hard to breathe like this.

The anxiety, the fear, the distress. It just won’t leave you alone.

You don’t even realize what you’re doing until you’re already out in the open. You’d abruptly stood from your hiding spot and started walking toward the source of relief, before nearly choking on air realizing what you were doing.

Holy shit, you gasp, It’s too late to stop walking. You’re already out in the open, and you’ve made it well into their field of vision. If you stop, they’ll notice you.

Kriff, kriff, kriff, kriff, kriff.

The anxiety is burning in your chest again. Your steps falter before you stop, you’re not even sure what you’re doing anymore.

What you do know is that now you’ve caught the attention of the Mando sitting next to Paz, whose visor now watches your frozen form in the middle of the hall. Your heart beating loudly in your chest as you stand there motionless, eyes wide and breathing faltering at having been detected.

You must look absolutely deranged.

But of course, it had to get worse. Noticing the stillness of their friend, the other two shift their attention to see what’s silenced him.

Three visors. There are now three visors on you. Staring down your shaky, frozen form.

You can’t walk this off, you can’t play it cool. They’re already looking at you, you’ve stood still here now watching them for now who knows how long.

What do you do?

Kriff.

You recoil slightly, crossing your now shaking hands in front of you, hoping they wouldn’t notice your trembling palms.

What the hell is wrong with you? Relax. You’re a Mandalorian, just think.

What is the least horrible way out of this?

Carry it out. Whatever it was that you were doing, whatever mission your subconscious had led you on, just execute it.

You breathe in a shuddery breath, placing one foot out in their direction and hesitating before allowing the other to follow its movements.

Geez, walk much?

It’s so quiet in the empty hall, only 5 or 6 other Mandos out on the other end, so each tap of your feet is as audible as that of a bantha on crackling ice as you make your way to them.

“Okay, vod’ika?” One of them asks kindly. You recognize the maroon helmet from up close. Ramsey?

Ramsey, you think.

You nod slightly, suddenly remembering how out of it you must look. Eyes puffy and red, lips swollen, hair in disarray. You feel even more anxious to desert the mission than before, resigning to just get it over with and face the object of your desire.

“Paz,” you say, internally groaning at how pathetic and fatigued your voice sounds. “May I please speak with you for a moment?”

Kriff, what’s the plan now, di’kut?

The question directed at him takes him aback, but his posture instantly straightens. “Of course,” He says, rising from his seat.

You blink back a little as he stands to his full height. Have you ever been this close to him? Surely not, you would remember the feeling of being towered over like this. Paz hesitates, waiting for your instruction. Osik, were you just brazenly sizing him up right there? Great, and now he must think you’re intimidated by him.

Abort, abort, abort.

He tilts his helmet at you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You move for him to follow, which he does. You try to move as far away from the others as possible without being terribly obvious in hopes that they won’t overhear your conversation.

“Is.. everything alright?” He asks once you’ve guided him a safe distance away.

“Yes.” You say instantly, eyes locked on your hands. “I-I mean, n-no.”

This is weird.

What have you done?

You force your gaze up to meet his, noticing his visor tilt in concern. He no doubt already knows what’s troubling you. Everybody in the covert knows about your father’s passing, there was a ceremony for kriffs sake. Paz was probably there.  

Your lip trembles suddenly, embarrassed, and instantly you’re cursing yourself for having put yourself through this. With everything in you, you squeeze your eyes shut and look down, the only way you know you’ll be able to ward off the tears, though you know your conduct is a dead giveaway as to what you’re trying to do.

He says your name, and there it is again, relief. Fleeting and short-lived, but making that one small breath easier to inhale than the rest.

“I’m so sorry,” You whisper in frustration. Opening your eyes to see his feet having moved closer to you than they were before.

Always concerned with the wellbeing of his tribe. You remember. That’s what this big brute is known for anyway, right? You can trust him.

“No,” He says, his tone soft spoken, a sharp contrast to his intimidating form. “Take your time.”

You take a deep breath, nodding your head at the floor before forcing your eyes up once again.

Always maintain eye contact. It’s a show of respect. And you always show your superiors that you respect them. Your dad's words remind you to keep your head level to Paz’s. Or...at least as level as it can be to Paz’s.

The reminder that you are indeed speaking to an alor’ad stirs up new nerves in your belly, you were falling apart in front of a captain. Worse, a Vizsla, Mandalorian royalty.

“Um,” you eventually sputter out, collecting your thoughts. “Well I...I kind of have a weird request.” Your murmur.

Are you going to faint? It feels like you’re going to faint.

“Okay,” He nods to indicate you have his full attention, “What is it?”

“Um,” Your voice wavers, suddenly feeling very shaky and lightheaded again, and incredibly annoyed that you didn’t just opt to put on your helmet for the sake of hiding your face. Only...it makes it really hard to breathe when you already feel like you can’t get enough air. And pulling it off every five minutes to clean your face of newly gathered tears was difficult.

He says your name again, this time slowly raising a hand to your shoulder. You exhale in relief when you’re met by his touch. “Hey,” He says, “It’s okay, what do you need?”

You take another calming breath, soothed by the weight of his hand that hasn’t left your shoulder. “Well first, are-are you busy today?”

What a stupid question, you think. He ranks high up in the chain of command, of course he’s busy. Not to mention, it’s probably, what, 5 a.m. right now? And he’s sitting in the dining hall. He certainly didn’t wake up this early because he didn’t have something to do.

“Not at all.” He assures with a shake of his helmet.

Sure.

You dismiss the obvious lie, staring his blue visor straight on. You can see your pathetic, teary-eyed reflection staring back at you in the space where his eyes would be.

He wants you to tell him what’s wrong, you remind yourself, just do it.

Using what remaining courage you have, you open your mouth to speak. “I...I know you don’t know me that well. I don’t really...know you either. I-I don't even know why I’m here asking you this right now. But, um,  my-” you choke on your words, confidence diminishing “-my dad is dead, and I’m hurting and afraid and feeling completely unlike myself. I don’t know when the last time I slept was or if I’ve eaten anything in the last couple of days. I just know that-that something really awful has happened to me and I know y-you and I we-we’re practically strangers but right now I just n-need someone and I r-really want that person to be you-”

You hadn’t even realized the flood of tears gushing down your cheeks or the defeated sobs suddenly shaking your body until you were pulled into a pair of arms, his arms.

Strong, protective, shielding arms.

You hear the gentle sounds of Paz shooshing you, his hand pressed to the back of your head and cradling you in a comforting manner.

“I’ve got you, cyar’ika.” He hums, voice light and sweet like honey.

You almost don't mind the heavy sobs racking your body for a moment.

Sweetheart. He called you sweetheart.

You feel his body stir above you, either looking around or else...motioning something to someone. “Hey,” He whispers, keeping your head tucked into his arm, “Come over here with me.”

He guides you away from the dining hall where no doubt, despite your best efforts, whoever was in there had both seen and heard you throw your fit. At the very least catching your sobs at the end.

Ushering you around the corner to an empty hallway, he helps you down on a bench, sitting next to you. Your sobs slowly subsiding to small sniffles under the gloved hand moving soothing circles up and down your back.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, allowing you time to gather yourself. Once the wobbliness in your breathing evens out to a calmer, drawn out, pace, he asks again, “What can I do, vod’ika? I’ll help you, just tell me what you need?”

You nod your head, electing not to rub the abused skin around your eyes that was being continuously irritated by tears. “Could you maybe, stay with me today?” You ask timidly.

“Yes,” He responds instantly, “Yes, of course. Wh-what would you like to do? How can we...divert your attention?” He attempts to sidetrack the word distract, acknowledging that his word choice probably doesn’t make much a difference. “Is there anything on your agenda today?”

“N-no.” You sniff. “All my responsibilities this week were redistributed to other people. I have nothing to do.”

He hums, considering your words.

“But um,” you offer, “I suppose it would be good to take a shower.” You chuckle lifelessly, tugging at the unwashed ends of your hair.

You see his form tense beside you, and your eyes widen in horror in realising your error.

“O-oh maker, no. I was kidding, cause I’m a mess and all that’s - kriff - that’s not at all what I was insinuating-” You panic, fumbling for words.

He chuckles lowly beside you, raising a hand up to ease your stammering, “No, it’s okay. I understand. Allow me to...escort you then?”

“To the-” You swallow, cheeks no doubt pinkened by the encounter, “You really don’t have to I wasn’t seri-”

“Self-care is important.” He says, rising to his feet. “It’s the start of a new day, and it’s early enough that you’ll likely have the entire washroom to yourself. C’mon,” He extends an arm out to you. You contemplate taking it for a moment, briefly, again, considering Collin.

Who isn’t here.

“Really?” You ask, stunned both by his willingness to wait outside the washroom while you shower and his consideration of your privacy.

He lifts his elbow again in response. You rise from your seated position, hand hesitantly grabbing a hold of his arm as he lowers it back towards his side, making the gesture less obvious to prying eyes.

You hold onto the crease of his elbow, your other hand mindlessly joining your other so that you practically hang onto him. He tugs you forward, and you begin walking at a comfortable pace.

“Thank you,” You say, sounding stunned again. “I...I can’t imagine that when you woke up this morning you thought you’d be babysitting a stranger.” You mumble, embarrassed.

He huffs, “You are not a stranger,” then he says your name, again. Honey, pure honey.

“You are a member of my tribe,” He continues, “Even though we do not know each other well, I still care about you.”

You blink back your surprise at his words. This man truly is honorable. Caring and considerate and selfless. A big brute with an even bigger heart. You can’t stop yourself from looking up at him, nearly gaping at his words. “You care about me?” You ask.

He hums, looking at your wide eyes staring up at him. 

“You don’t even know me.” You mutter as he looks away. You can’t possibly care about someone who you don’t know. 

“I’m observant.”

You hesitate, feeling another foreign feeling flutter in your belly. 

“Observant?” You challenge.

His visor looks back down at you, your puffy eyes swimming with curiosity. You want him to prove it. 

He takes a tentative breath, hoping you’ll allude his suspiciously observant behaviors of you with the fact that he was trained to be hyper aware of his surroundings. He speaks slowly, “Your favorite food is vegetable pie, probably because it’s a main course, but also sweet. You like to busy yourself with your hands, often tinkering with whatever small, broken objects you manage to find around the covert. Every morning, you head to the training room early to run your own drills and stretch before everyone else arrives. You have a boyfriend, Collin I believe, who you like to align your chores with so you can do them together, except for cleaning the kitchens, which you always try to switch off with somebody else.”

Your eyes stare unblinkingly at his profile. “How-how do you know that?”

“Because kitchen duty is always crossed out under your name on the chores chart, and a different chore is always handwritten underneath.” He says, unable to contain an amused laugh. He opts to only remark on the last of his observations.

You slow to a stop, feeling suddenly incredibly ashamed. “Wow,” You say in admiration. “I-”

You can’t think of anything to say in response, you don’t know anything about him. And here he was telling you that not only does he care for you simply as a member of his tribe, but he actually knows things about you.

You’re overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness, “Paz- I’m...I’m ashamed to say that I don’t even know what your favorite color is.”

He barks out a laugh, surprising you. “Are you concerned with what my favorite color is, cyar’ika?”

“Yes.” You answer, perhaps a silly amount of gravity. “Upon hearing all the things you know about me that most others don't, I mean I’m...I’m touched Paz.”

His tilts his head, visor lingering on your face a moment, and you’re sure that while it was a somewhat silly conversation, he can see the annoying little pools of water that gathered in your eyes again.

He’s silent for a moment. “My favorite color is brown,” He says.

“Brown.” You reflect.

He nods, “It’s warm, soothing.”

“Okay,” You say, hand reaching for his elbow again. “Brown. I’ll remember that.” You squeeze his sleeve in promise.

“I’m sure you will,” He smiles. Or at least you think he does. It sure sounds like he does.

You continue walking on in silence, only passing one other vod in the spacious hall. You’re fairly certain that the Mando approaching does a double take as he sees you clinging to the heavy infantry warrior, but Paz just gives him a nod as you pass in silence. It’s still terribly early. Or late, to you at least. For it to be early you would have had to have slept in the first place.

Your pace is slow, and you wonder if Paz notices the utter exhaustion plaguing your body.

Oh. He must, you think upon catching a reflection of yourself.

Kriff, you look about as good as you feel.

He stops outside your room so you could run in and bag some clothes, before you venture down to the washrooms. You walk comfortably in silence, despite having enjoyed some distracting conversation with him, it feels like the most you’ve spoken all week, and it was tiring, though not unpleasant.

“Could I, ask you something?” He hesitates, clearing his throat. Noting that you keep your eyes glued to the space in front of your feet. “Where is your...uh, Collin?”

He should be doing this. Paz reflects. Taking care of you.

You raise your eyebrows at the floor. “Sleeping I’m sure.”

“Well yes,” He says, “But why hasn’t he been, you know...around?”

His brows furrow at his own words. Well done Paz, you di’kut. First the poor girl’s dad dies, then you offend her by asking why her boyfriend hasn’t been taking care of her. Let alone the fact that you just made it known you’ve noticed his absence. That did not come out at all how he wanted it to.

He’s surprised by a little laugh emitting from your lips. Small and half-hearted and barely audible, but by maker if even then it isn’t one of the prettiest sounds he ever heard.

“Cause..” you sigh, searching for the answer. “-cause he’s an asshole.” You mutter, blunt as the truth leaves your lips.

Oh.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have overstepped-”

“It’s okay,” you mumble, “what’s one more thing in my life..”

Paz is silent for a moment. You’re surprised your eyes haven't welled with tears again. Lately it seems like they prefer looking through a blurry lens rather than a clear one. But maybe a part of you expected this with Collin. Your relationship isn’t what it used to be. For the last six months it seems as though his interest in you has slowly diminished. It takes having something fun and interesting for him to seem excited about spending time with you. Cause maker forbid anytime you try to just sit and hang out with him you enjoy yourselves, he’s always got some excuse on hand to get him out of it.

“No,” Paz insists, interrupting your ruminations. “I’m sorry. Perhaps he thought space is what you wanted?”

I think space is what he wanted.

You don’t answer, arriving to the washrooms. Being the only two people in at this hour, the echo of his heavy armor clinks around the wide space. You pass door after door of the enormous shower rooms. Kriff, this is weird. Why was the first thing you thought of when he asked you what you would normally do to shower? I mean sure that was true, but certainly you could have forgone this item on your agenda for the sake of being...proper?

You glance at your passing figure in a mirror and flinch.

Although.

Maybe you...need a shower.

You must have showered within the last few days, right?

“Okay,” Paz says, breaking the silence. “I’ll wait out here.” He says, standing in the communal space with sinks and benches. “You just, take your time vod’ika. Let the water...freshen you up or, soothe you or..some shit.”

Your frown abruptly turns into a wide smile as you giggle.

Victory. He thinks.

His breath hitches behind his own helmet. Kriff, you have a lovely smile. How had he never noticed your smile before?

“Thank you, Paz.” You say, retreating to a random facility and briskly closing the door.

You lean against the door once it’s shut, the ghost of a smile still on your cheeks.

He’s really just going to stand out there. Just so that you know he’s there, that you’re not alone.

“Wow.” You whisper, soaking in the warm feeling in your stomach. It feels like forever since you’ve felt that, giddiness.

You move to turn on the water, slowly stripping yourself of your clothes. You were still wearing your nightshirt from your fruitless sleep endeavors. It was nothing indecent, just a plain, black, elbow-length shirt. Luckily, you had had enough sense in you to pull on a sports bra before you abandoned any notions of sleep, lazily just slipping on some green cargo pants over your leggings before wandering aimlessly through the covert.

You look comfortable but...certainly not like a fierce Mandalorian.

You try your hardest to wash the gloom off your face, focusing your attention on the mission at hand in hopes of keeping distracted. Now you remember why you’d been putting off showering. For some reason, whenever you’re buried under the protective warmth of the loud, secluded shower, at least since it happened, you started to-

The first sniffle comes before you sense its approach, and within seconds your body is shaking in silent sobs.

“Shit.” You whisper.

Pull it together, it’s okay, just breathe. Paz is out there, you don’t want him to hear you.

Your tears blend together with the water running down your body from the shower, making it impossible to discern what is the result of your own pain and what procured it.

You let out a silent whimper, quiet enough that thankfully, you’re sure Paz couldn’t have heard.

Breathe. It’s okay, you’re okay.

No. I’m not okay.

I’m all alone.

“Stop it.” You scold yourself harshly, your soft breath echoing only in your ears.

You are not alone.

Someone is here for you.

Paz. Paz dropped everything to take care of you.

He’s right outside that door, waiting for you.

You take another moment to compose yourself, allowing the last few suds to wash down your form before turning the water off. You quickly dry yourself off and pull on your change of clothes, now wearing a blue sweater and leggings. You didn’t even bother bringing a flight suit. What’s one more day of not suiting up. But at least you’ve still got your boots.

You walk to the mirror, sighing once you get a good look at yourself.

Great.

Swollen, red, angry eyes stare back at you with a red nose to match.

Fuck. You shove all your things back into the sack, giving your hair a final few shakes with the towel before moving towards the door.

It swings open, and you’re met with the sight of Paz leaning against the opposite wall. Arms crossed, one foot propped up against the wall. His visor turns in your direction as you emerge from the chambers. He hmphs, observing your appearance.

“What?” You ask, hesitating to step closer.

“I like the color.”

You look down at your sweater, unknowingly having sported a blue in the exact same shade as his armor. You hide your gaze in your chest, mumbling a half-amused, “Oh.”

“It signifies reliability, did you know that?” He asks.

You still don’t meet his gaze, but smile. Makes sense.

“It is very fitting for you.” He finishes.

You finally look up at him. For you? He believes you to be reliable? “Oh, th-thank you.” You stutter, feeling truly flattered by his compliment.

His visor tilts silently back and forth on your features as you step up at him. He notices your freshly irritated eyes.

“Are you-”

“-it’s nothing.” You interrupt, shaking your head.

“I um,” You shift awkwardly from foot to foot, trying to lighten the mood with an obviously forced smile. “I tend to emerge from showers with angry eyes, at least, as of late.”

Paz’s hand surprises you as it reaches up, gently cupping your elbow, so swiftly you’re not even sure he meant to do it.

“Not angry, mesh’la,” He mutters, “sad.”

Your mouth gapes open slightly, not having expected such a remark from him. He seems slightly distressed by his own slip of the tongue as well, immediately tensing.

His mind is reeling, guilt flooding over him like a tidal wave in a storm. He feels as though he crossed a line. He’s supposed to be caring for you, distracting you, not calling you beautiful when you already belong to someone else.

“I’m-”

“What the hell is going on here?”

Both your gazes snap up in the direction of the source.

Standing under an archway, halfway between the entrance of the washrooms and you, is Collin.

Your breath hitches, “Collin.” You breathe out.

Paz’s hand jerks instantly from your elbow, hanging tensely by his side.

Collin says your name questioningly, taking another step towards you. He’s wearing his armor, but his helmet hangs down by his side. Blonde eyebrows furrowed suspiciously at the two of you.

“I said,” he repeats, “what is going on in here?”

“Nothing.” You say instantly, taking a step away from Paz.

Well that was a suspiciously guilty maneuver.

Collin eyes Paz for a moment, whose form hasn’t moved even an inch since Collin interrupted you both. He closes the distance between the two of you, but still stays a generous space away.

“What are you doing down here at this hour?” He questions, eyebrows furrowed tightly together.

“I..I couldn’t sleep.” You say.

“Again?”

Again? Your father died not one week ago, does he really expect you to be sleeping soundly?

“Yes it’s- been difficult to find the right headspace for rest.” You answer. “I thought perhaps a warm shower would help alleviate the uneasiness.”

His eyes flick to Paz before quickly landing back on your own, suddenly morphing his face into one of concern. His posture loosens slightly and he reaches towards you, showing you more affection than he has in months. “Well, are you okay? You don’t look very good.” Collin says.

Your frown deepens, suddenly you feel very offended. 

“Yeah? Well I look the way I feel, wise guy.” You snap, startling both of you by your outburst. His hand retreats from your space, moving to clench and unclench by his side.

“I’m sorry,” He scoffs after taking a tense breath, “Have I done something wrong?”

“Collin-” Paz’s voice breaks his role as an audience member to your discussion, polite but still warning in his tone.

“-No, I am not speaking to you.” Collin spits out, “I’m speaking to my girlfriend. My girlfriend who you were getting awfully close to in the privacy of this empty washroom.”

Your heart is thumping in your chest. He’s right, this certainly was not a good look. It was highly irregular for you to be up so early. And here you were alone at an ungodly hour with a man who wasn’t your partner. Kriff, how could you be so stupid? You should have known that Collin would stumble in here at this time, he does early morning flight training every week, today must be his lesson. It must have slipped your mind, or maybe you’d forgotten his schedule. Had he even shown you his schedule?

No. No, he hadn’t. When was the last time you even saw him? Surely a few times a day but had you even shared a moment of substance together since the funeral? You’ve gone to him for comfort yet you can’t remember how any of those interactions went. He dismissed you, or offered you a peck on the forehead before changing the subject.

Come to think of it, how dare he come in here angry with you for anything. If anything, you should be the one who’s angry. Paz was right, where has he been?

“You’re right.” Paz says, shocking you and Collin both, your gaze quickly snapping in his direction. “I shouldn't have reached for her. But I was only trying to comfort her, I swear to you that is all. Regardless, you need to relax.” He speaks calmly, the warning back in his tone.  

Collin huffs, taking a menacing step in Paz’s direction. He always was arrogant. 

Your eyes widen, “Collin-”

He rasps out his next words in with a snarl, cutting off your attempt to de-escalate the situation. “Listen here, vod-” He spits, but not before being cut off by a startling quick grab to the front of his chest plate, yanking him forward.

Collin’s heels barely graze the floor as he looks directly up at Paz’s visor, who seems to have grown another six inches, the two quite literally helm to helm.

“You do not address me as your vod in such a manner of disrespect.” Paz growls, his voice sending a harsh shiver down your spine, slightly in alarm, slightly in...something else.

Your breath hitches, frozen as you watch the scene unfold. If you’re too frightened to move, you can’t imagine how Collin feels. Although...maybe a small part of you wishes you did.

“Jare’la,” Paz scoffs, shaking his head. “I am your alor’ad. And I do not tolerate a lack of respect. If you are confused about your place, then I will gladly show you where it is. Tayli’bac, vod?” He spits the words out menacingly, challenging Collin to oppose his authority.

“Elek! Elek, alor’ad!” Collin stammers, “N’eparavu takisit!”

Paz huffs, visor staring Collin down a moment longer before releasing him, shoving him back in the process.

He stumbles to catch himself, grabbing onto the side of the sink for leverage. You’ve never seen him look so...cowardly.

He looks to you, taking a moment to gather himself. Your eyes are still wide, mouth agape as you just stare at him in disbelief. He wets his lips with his tongue, seeming to swallow down another remark, eyes darting to Paz before returning to you. “So, that’s the way it is, huh?”

You’re speechless, “I- I don’t..”

You contemplate the severity of the moment, what’s at stake. Your silence is answer enough, you decide, before opting to look down, relinquishing your chance to speak. With it goes your willingness to explain, to try and salvage whatever pathetic excuse of a relationship you thought you had had with him. “I’m sorry, Collin.” You say, unsure of the words as they leave your mouth.

You hear only the sound of heavy breathing. Two sources of heavy breathing, and neither of them are coming from you. Then, a sound akin to that of a growl. You look up to face him again, only to see his focus on the man beside you. Paz looks back at him, unmoving, domineering, daring him to overstep.

Was Collin challenging you, or Paz?

Was Paz simply defending you or...challenging Collin? And for what?

You feel another spike in anxiety, suddenly feeling as though you were observing a mating duel, a challenge over possession of a lioness, a female...not...terribly uncommon in Mandalorian culture, though nonetheless offensive.

“That’s enough.” You whisper, though with enough exertion to be heard by both males.

You see Paz’s visor turn to face you out of the corner of your eye, but you don’t move, keeping your gaze averted to Collin.

He stares Paz down for another moment before meeting your eyes, saying your name with a stiff nod, and uttering a “Goodbye,” before briskly leaving the room.

You let out an exhale once he’s rounded the corner, catching your breath. That was it.

You’ve lost him.

You stare at the empty door, at the ghost of the shadow where he once stood, waiting for the tears to fall. You feel heavy, you feel distressed, but perhaps not anymore than you already had. There’s not a swirl of emotion in your gut nor rising in your throat that compels tears to swim in your eyes again.

You hear your name being called once, twice. The third time, you look up, much higher up than you’d expected to, at the imposing figure now standing directly above you.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly.

You hold his gaze, watching your reflection blinking up at him. He doesn’t move, waiting for your response to his question. Your gaze drifts down slightly and to the side, staring at the plain wall behind him, before reconcentrating your focus.

“What um,” Your voice comes out somewhat both hoarse and mellow, quiet as you continue, “What should we do next?”

------------------------

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Paz was guilt ridden. Surely he could have let the little brat mouth off to him one time to spare you from getting hurt. But no, he just had to go and threaten the kid right in front of you. It was just instinctual. He would have done it without restraint any other time to any other member stepping out of line, but upon reflection, maybe the whole thing was his fault. Collin had walked in on you two nearly close enough to embrace. Of course he was pissed. And then, he degraded him, ordering him into submission right in front of your eyes.  

You didn’t blame him. Not in the slightest. I mean, what did Collin expect? He straight up challenged the alor’ad. It was foolish and insulting, and quite honestly Paz wouldn’t have been out of line to clock him then and there. But you suppose he was holding himself back for the sake of your wellbeing, not wanting you to watch your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - get pounded on while you were already in such a state.

“Yes.” You say, emitting a heavy exhale. You really were.  

The halls have started filling with armored warriors, the covert finally beginning to come to life with a sunrise shining through the trees and early risers popping up.

“Vizsla!” Someone shouts, the two of you turn to see Stephan jogging towards you.

“Hey,” He says, walking once he reached a comfortable earshot, “We missed you on that perimeter run. Was surprised you didn’t show up, is everything-?”

His voice trails off, visor finally ticking in your direction. He seems a little taken aback by your presence, or rather that you were within Paz’s company.

“Vod’ika,” He finally says. “What are you doing with- uh, I mean, how are you?”

“What am I doing with Paz?” You smile, “You don’t think I could handle a perimeter run, Steph?”

His helmet ticks back in surprise at your banter, “N-no, vod’ika.” He says, looking at Paz and huffing in amusement. “We’ll gladly have you join us on the next one.”

“Sure.” Paz nods.

“So…” Stephan continues with uncertainty, “How-how are you?”

Couldn’t make it thirty seconds in without having that question thrown out at you.

You hesitate, the frown slowly returning to your face. Should you answer truthfully? Lie? How are you? 

“I’m…”

You seem stuck on the word. Did you choose a word? What word are you even looking for?

You’re still talking. You remind yourself.

Shit, now you look like you’ve shut down.

You feel a hand rest on your back, blinking forward from your gaze that had somehow been drawn down towards Stephans boots.

“We were just heading to the kitchens.” Paz responds, you tilt your face in his direction without raising your eyes, keeping them glued to the space in front of you, ashamed.

“Okay, yeah.” Stephen says hastily, “Well, uh, Jay made some really good morning muffins, vod’ika, and they’re still warm I bet.”

You nod your head in acknowledgement, offering a pitiful smile, “I’m sure.”

Poor Stephan, it’s not his fault you were like this. He’s just checking in on you, and here you are making him feel bad for asking about your wellbeing. It’s just a question.

Kriff, why are you so weak?

You conceal yourself back in your thoughts, sure that you look absent with glazed over eyes. But you can't bring yourself to care. That’s the weird thing about feeling so desolate, you just don’t have the energy to hide it sometimes.

You hear the foggy exchange of words between the two warriors, simply choosing to retract yourself from the conversation and instead focus your attention on the gloved hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

Stephan’s modulator rises to a more upbeat tone before stepping forward and offering Paz a light slap on the arm as he passes, evidently dismissing the two of you to carry on with your business.

Paz’s form shifts to watch Stephan leave before turning to you. “Okay?” He asks.

“Okay.” You nod.

He hums, sounding unconvinced as he lightly nudges you forward again, letting his hand drop from its place on your jumper.

No... come back.

You walk side by side in silence, trying to get him to walk a step ahead of you so you can follow. But anytime your step falters purposefully to give him the lead he slows his own, silently insisting you walk side by side. Instead, he steers your direction with fleeting contacts. A hand pulling your arm, his gloved fingers tapping your shoulder. You’re happy to let him guide you, appreciating the delicate touches in direction.

Feeling a sliver of life breathed into you at each one.

The touches stop far sooner than you need them to upon arrival to your destination. You notice you’re heading towards the mess hall again, feeling discomfort at the idea of seeing more of your vods, or worse, having a repeat of your public meltdown you’d had just a few short hours ago.

You’re more alert now, having picked up on the light buzzing from the dining hall. There’s probably quite a few people out there now. And you’re not sure you’re ready to face another wave of concerned and attentive brothers and sisters.

“Paz-” You say, ready to object, but not before you’re steered off to the side, scarcely missing exposure to the hall full of bustling Mandalorians.

Instead, Paz opens a door and gestures for you to walk through, which you do.

Oh. The kitchen.

You’ve been in here many times, but not often during the day. Jay keeps a tight lockdown on the kitchen, only allowing his apprentice to be in here during the working hours of the covert. He’s got a considerable number of Mandalorians to feed, yet he prefers to tackle the challenge alone. Usually kicking anyone out who pops in to help, scolding them for messing up his rhythm.

He has no problem allowing people to make their rounds of kitchen duty though, but that only consists of cleaning up the space once it’s shut down for the night. Mopping, washing, organizing...he tends to lock up all the good treats and hide away the key, making the task totally not worthwhile for you.

Of course, being the daughter of the unsanctioned Alor and all, you had special privileges. One of them being you could hang around the kitchen without Jay kicking you out every time. He still did, but he gave you more leeway than the others if you stayed out of his way and only snacked on the scraps he wasn’t saving.

The door swings shut behind you and you round the corner, the clink of your armored warrior just behind you.

Whoa, whoa. You stop yourself. Your?

You catch sight of a red Mandalorian viciously attending to something on the stove. “What are you two doing in here?” Jay shouts over his shoulder, turning back to his frying.

Paz looks around the empty kitchen, “I heard a rumor about morning muffins.” The deep rumble of his voice saying the words prompts a breathy giggle from your lips, catching his attention, before he continues to glance around for the treats.

Jay huffs, motioning with his wooden spoon to the corner, “Over there. Take one and get out.”

“Thanks,” Paz says, his hands lightly resting on your shoulders from behind and nudging you forward. “Nice attitude.” He mumbles for your ears, an amused smile still lingering on your lips.

“Nice signet.” Jay scoffs, evidently having heard, “Or lack thereof.”  

“Nice apron.”

“Okay- get out of my kitchen.” Jay says, looking up from his dicing.

You surprise yourself by letting out a lively laugh. Paz’s hands tighten over your shoulders at the sudden sound, feeling damn near enamored by Jay for having caused it.

He looks to Jay and gives him a grateful nod, who nods slightly in return, so as not to be caught by your gaze, before returning to his work.

You make your way to the tray of muffins in the corner, boldly sitting down on the couch in front of the fire. Exactly where you and your dad would sit and enjoy the freshly baked cookies or cake made by Jay that morning, the small area being off limits to everyone else in the covert.

Paz is certain Jay would have snapped at them to get away from his personal space if it weren’t for you. You’re sat next to him, gazing at the fire that Jay lights every morning to warm the frigid kitchen.

“For you.” Paz says, handing you a small muffin with a napkin wrapped protectively around it.

You smile at him, accepting the gesture, just allowing it to slowly warm up your fingers in your lap. The movements of the fire captivating your attention as the flames dance in the soft lighting.

“Cyar'ika.” He says softly, the word sending a shiver down your spine. “You really ought to eat something.”

You look to your side again, taking in Paz’s appearance on the tiny couch. Its small size having forced you to sit right up against each other. The leg closest to you is propped up and over the other comfortably, his knee resting elevated slightly above your own.

You wonder if you clink your knee against his own if his hand will slip off it and land on yours.

A silly thought, you think, amusing yourself.

His tilting visor alerts you that you’ve been shamelessly gawking at him. Twice in one day.

“I- um,” You stutter, averting your gaze. “I’m not terribly hungry, Paz.”

He hums, “Well it’s a good thing you’re not terribly hungry because all you’ve got there is a teeny muffin.”

“Yes, it would appear so.” You smile, still making no movement to eat it.

Paz breathes in a slow, contemplative sigh. Guilt starts to flood your senses again, he’s done so much for you today, why can’t you just do this one thing for him?

“Tell you what,” he offers, your eyes rising to meet his visor, “You eat that muffin, maybe have a little bit of tea, and I’ll tell you about the time your vod and I went to Jabba’s Palace.”

Your eyes widen, and you boldly swing your hand down to grasp his arm as you straighten. “The Hutt story?” You choke. “You’ll tell me the Hutt story?”

Paz’s modulator rumbles as he chuckles, knowing he’s got you entrapped by a golden exchange.

He nods, “I’ll tell you the untold and widely sought-after story about the time Devin and I went to visit the Hutts-”

“-Deal!” You squeeze his arm, still gripping tightly from earlier.

“Yeah,” Jay utters, his looming figure now standing directly behind you both, “Kriffing deal.”  

“Get out of here.” Paz huffs, shoving Jay back over the arm of the couch. He doesn’t argue, but you see his retreating form adjust the volume settings on his vambrace.

Paz shifts back cheekily with his arms spread around the couch. He gestures to the uneaten muffin on your lap, waiting for you to uphold your end of the deal.

You sigh, unwrapping the baked good. But the thrill of getting to know the story that caused such an uproar in the covert shoo’s away the discomfort, replacing it with a slightly giddy feeling.

You take a bite, looking at him expectantly. He just scoffs, gesturing again to the tiny muffin in your hand. “C’mon, that thing is like the size of a whistle bird, you finish that before you get the story,” He says, with much emphasis on the “before.”

Fair.

You down the muffin faster than you thought you could, much too excited to finally hear the secret tale. You were going to have bragging rights around this place forever. Paz shakes his head at you, lightly laughing, “So that’s all it takes, huh?” He nods to the empty napkin in your hand.

You ignore him, knowing he knows full well the value of this information. Whatever it was that happened when those two visited Jabba’s Palace, Devin had come back damn near afraid of his own shadow. It took months for him to pull himself together. Your vod would literally jump at the sound of an egg cracking open, reaching for his blaster and slipping up on his grasp. It was kriffing hysterical to you and everyone else in the tribe. And you assumed you weren’t really being malicious. Paz had been there too and returned unscathed, and laughed all the same. And even though he teased Devin to no end about it, he swore he’d never tell a soul what happened, so up until this point, nobody knew what it was. But here you were.

Paz turns over his shoulder, “Hey Jay,” He says politely. “How about a cup of tea for your vod’ika?”

“What am I your maid?” Jay retorts.

“You are the cook.”

Jay mutters something under his breath, but you don’t pay him any mind, having heard him fill up a pot of water immediately upon Paz’s request.

You avert your gaze from Paz’s helmet as soon as he turns to face you again. You look to the fire, biting your lip as a smile slowly grows on your face. It crosses your mind that you feel not only okay in this very moment but actually...happy. The fleeting moments of relief you’ve been feeling all morning, small moments of peace jumbled in with all the sadness and the anxiety, were all because of him. This man who you did not even know three hours ago. Who let you cry in his arms, who stood guard outside the washroom while you showered, who defended you, called you sweetheart, made sure you knew he was always there with you. The same man who now sat next to you on the couch you weren’t allowed to sit on in a kitchen you weren’t allowed to be in. Your smile grows wider, and in your peripheral you’re very aware of his visor still staring at you.

“What?” Paz chuckles.

“Nothing.” You giggle, tears gathering in your eyes. But for the first time today, first time all week, forming not in pain but in relief.

“What is it?” He insists, still playful in his tone. His knee nudges you as if to prompt a response.

A tear slips down your cheek and he leans forward instinctively, his hand finding yours in your lap without hesitation. “Mesh’la, what is it?” He asks again, this time void of all silliness, concerned.

You shake your head, your small smile still present, but certainly reflecting more of the emotion you were feeling.

You place your other hand on top of his own that covers yours, trapping his gloved fingers in your two hands, before looking up at him.

“Just, thank you Paz.” You say, admiration and gratitude dripping from your voice.

------------------------

He likes your voice, he decides, it sounds so sweet, like pure honey.

His eyes are lost in yours behind the visor, watching another tear slip down your delicate cheek. He can hear the relief in your voice. The pure relief and admiration. Admiration? Do you feel admiration for him? He sure hopes you do, otherwise you might find it weird that he’s staring at you for so long. Kriff, he should stop staring at you. But look at those eyes. Those wonderfully expressive eyes that aren’t looking angry or sad or pained, but warm. He feels ensnared by your gaze, a light smile trailing your features, a sprinkle of tears sliding down your cheeks. He watches one slip down the shape of your cheek, rounding your nose and lips before forming a teardrop on your chin. He watches it glisten, unable to bear letting it fall. Mindlessly, he raises a gloved finger to catch it.

Your breath hitches at the contact, and his finger hovers under your jaw before sliding up to catch another.  

Your eyes flit back and forth along the dark shade of his visor, searching, wondering what his eyes look like, head tilting unconsciously into his glove.

He takes the gesture as permission, slowly lifting his thumb, his palm, his whole hand up against your cheek.

You both feel suspended, his hand frozen caressing your cheek. Your eyes have dried up now, carrying a glow of wonder in them. His head tilts slowly and unknowingly to the side, almost like he can’t hold up the weight of his helmet a second longer.

The sound of approaching footfalls brings you back to reality, Paz’s hand drops from your cheek and your faces turning towards the source that dared to interrupt your moment.

“Geez, no need to cry about it, I’ve got your tea.” Jay quips, perfectly deescalating the tension of the moment. Making it a point to show you he was minding his own business.

“Um, thank you.” You mutter, still coming back to the present.

“It’s sleepytime tea.” Jay says, “Ground with dandisonyl.”

“Dandisonyl?” You ask, more alert, “That stuff is rare and expensive.”

“And strong.” Paz huffs.

“And expensive.” You insist again, looking down at your tea. “Jay, why would you waste this on me?”

He leans down against his forearms, now looming over your shoulders. His smug nature radiating off his posture alone, “Now, and this is just an observation, but you look kriffing tired. And that there,” He gestures to the cup of earthy smelling tea you’ve placed on the table in front of you, “That’s sleepytime tea. And you, vod’ika, of all people, look like you need some serious, quality, sleepytime.”

His statement ends with a pinch to your cheeks, and it’s your turn to aggressively shove him backward, causing Paz to let out a sweet laugh.

“Paz,” You say, looking to the only superior present, “He wasted good, expensive herbs on me. That stuff can be used medicinally.” You say with reprimand in your voice.

Paz surprises you by shrugging, “He kind of did use it medicinally.”

“Oh, alor’ad.” You chastise, using his official title to remind him of his role here.

He shrugs, using his whole body for the movement, before picking up your cup and placing it back in your hands. “I suppose you’re right, alor’ika.” He teases, “So you’d better drink it all so as not to let it go to waste.”

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of the tea. With your nose nestled into the cup you miss the silent exchange of approval Paz gives Jay.

Readjusting your position so that you’re facing the fire again, you turn your head towards Paz, taking another sip of your tea, it is surprisingly good. “Get on with the story then.” You command, grinning at your victory.

“Okay.” Paz says, grunting as he adjusts himself to sit comfortably once again on the small couch, opting this time to keep one arm swung over behind your head. You smile in content, looking down sheepishly at your tea and having a bit more.

“Well, it all started on the ship. I mean before we even got to Tatooine. Devin, being the utreekov that he is, forgot to bring the kriffing-...”

You listen intently to his story. He’s using his hands as he talks, passionate and perhaps a little dramatic. He’s taking extra care to include all the details, probably indulging in the fact that you and, undoubtedly, Jay, are paying him your absolute, undivided attention. You sip at your tea, the taste warm and comforting alongside Paz’s sweet voice. Your eyes are getting heavier, and you blink at the burning feeling stinging your eyes from the light of the fire, deciding that you’ll be able to listen better with your eyes closed, and gently placing the empty mug on the table.

“So, finally we get to Jabba’s palace. And Devin’s already a nervous wreck after that encounter with the Trandoshans, and-”

His voice carries a hint of thrill in it. You wonder if he feels exhilarated in finally getting to tell this story. Your lips twitch slightly, content that he’s trusting you with it. 

Feeling heavier on one side, you allow your head to swing slightly in his direction, snuggling more into the embrace of the couch.

You notice his words trailing off, realizing you weren't paying much attention. Hearing only the sounds of the crackling fire in front of you, you slowly force your eyes open.

Paz’s head is turned down as much as it can in his position. And though you can’t see his visor, you’re certain he’s staring at you.

“Keep talking.” You mutter, resting your head back again.

You hear the sweetest breath of a chuckle sound from beneath his helmet, which you suddenly realise you're very near to. “Close your eyes again.”

“No, I wanna listen to the story.” You mumble, your low energy blending the words together.

“You can only evade sleep for so long sweetheart.”

“We’ll see.” You challenge, eyes fluttering closed against your will.

“Yes, we will.” He whispers. He’s silent another moment, admiring you and your peaceful expression with a smile on his face before carrying on with the story, speaking much more softly than before. The light humming of his voice is soothing, and you notice it growing quieter and quieter, yet the feelings of security and warmth and relief all stay with you.

Paz looks towards the fire as he speaks, trying to draw out the story as long as he can. He feels the light weight of your head resting against his shoulder, not daring to move a muscle and disturb your peaceful slumber.

It’s still early in the morning. Behind the fireplace and through the density of the thick wall, Paz can hear the covert coming to life. And while their days are just starting, yours has finally come to a peaceful end. He listens to your serene breathing through the long pauses he takes in his story, knowing that really, he’s only telling it to Jay now, who notably moves through the kitchen swiftly and with as little clicking and clanking as he can muster.

“-And so, that’s what happened on Tatooine.” Paz whispers, looking at your parted lips and lightly closed eyelids.

The fire casts a harmonious glow on your face, making your features look warmer, livelier, serene.

You look utterly angelic.

He remembers how you crumbled in his arms not five hours ago, pained and distressed and lonely. You sought him out even though you didn’t know him, not knowing how much he’d admired you from afar. To see your normally light and radiant face masked with such despair, he couldn’t bear to see it again.

He watches your sleeping form take a staggering breath, your body relaxing into its position, nudging your face further into where it fell on his shoulder. He dares to let the arm wrapped around the couch lower slightly, so that it rests comfortingly around your form.

“Sleep, cyar’ika,” He whispers. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

He hopes his silent promise is enough to soothe your sleeping form, listening to your breathing even out to a more peaceful rhythm.

“I’ll be here for as long as you need.”

---------------------

Translations:

Alor - chancellor Vod’ika - little sister Osik - shit Di’kut - idiot Jare’la - stupidly oblivious of danger / asking for it. Alor’ad - captain Tayli’bac, vod? - Do you understand, mate? (menacing) Elek! Elek, alor’ad! - Yes! Yes, captain! N’eparavu takisit! - I’m sorry (lit. I eat my insult) Alor’ika - little leader Utreekov - fool, idiot (lit. emptyhead)

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a/n two: They both think the other person’s voice sounds like pure honey.. 🥺

also we need more Paz x reader content on Tumblr my dudes. 

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Taglist: @wandsmith​ 💖

[yeojaa]

finders keep hers, iii.

read parts one and two!  the long awaited conclusion!  i’m sorry it turned into a friggin’ novel.  i hope it does the first two parts justice, though.  these kids are...  idiots.  i love them and you (and also the best beta reader @hobi-gif​)!  💖

pairing.  jjk x named f!reader.  rating.  explicit, ofc.  tags.  this is...  really soft at certain parts.  and then really raunchy at others.  oops?  but fr - mainly fluff with some smut at the end.  you might need a filling.  wc.  5.4k.

You’re buzzed into the building without a moment’s hesitation, the kind concierge with the gummy smile and greying temples beaming at you as you enter.  “Nice to see you, Miss Lee.”

“You too, Mr. Choi.”  A grin of your own is offered, gym bag hiked higher over your shoulder as you pause to chat.  You’re in no rush.  “Is he home?”

“I don’t believe so.”  The sudden look of disapproval that colours the older gentleman’s features is almost comical, reminiscent of a disparaging parent.  It’s the same expression you’re greeted with nearly every time you visit.  “He left in a town car yesterday afternoon and I don’t think he’s been back since.  That boy’s going to get himself in trouble one day.”  As if Jungkook didn’t already - as if it didn’t follow him around, glued to the bottoms of his Italian leather shoes.

“Tell me about it.”

“You know…”  There’s that twinkle in Mr. Choi’s eyes again - the one that tells you he’s about to repeat the same words he always does when he catches you alone.  “A nice girl like you could get him to settle down.”

Your response is what it always is - a scoff and a laugh rolled into one.  It careens off your tongue, ringing in the spacious lobby.  “I don’t think anyone will ever get him to settle down.”

How true that is, you’re not sure.  For your sake, you try not to think about it too much. 

The old man is undeterred though, shrugging his narrow shoulders beneath the neat uniform he wears.  It’s a little loose in the chest but immaculate otherwise, tie knotted in a classic Windsor and collar ironed perfectly.  He levels you with that shrewd stare of his but says nothing further, simply engaging you in an unspoken staring contest. 

Sometimes, you wonder how much he sees.  How much he knows .

You break before he does, tearing your gaze away and blinking rapidly.  He laughs, full bellied and deep from the chest.  “Get on upstairs, Miss Lee.”  You aren’t offended by the dismissal.  “It’s always nice chatting with you.”

You remind yourself to bring him chocolates the next time you’re by.  The ones with hazelnuts, because those are his favourite. A fact you only know because you’ve helped your best friend pick up a box for him every Christmas, writing the card and having him sign it right before it gets left behind the desk.

Actually, you helped Jungkook with a lot of things.  Always had.  It was simply the nature of your friendship - passed down by your parents and forged stronger by childhood playdates, your fair share of teenage squabbling, and college hangovers so bad they’d created an unbreakable bond.  

Whenever he would need you, you’d be there - whether that meant picking him up at 4 AM from the airport because he wanted “some shitty fast food and to see you” or helping him pick gifts for Mother’s Day.  There was no task too small, no moment too inconsequential. 

Unconditional love, they called it. 

It’s why you have no problem swanning into his apartment with the extra key you’ve had since he moved in, kicking off your trainers and tucking them neatly alongside the rows of black leather and expensive sneakers.  

You do so much for him that you take where you can, indulging in all of the luxuries you’ve never been afforded.  Unparalleled view, stupidly expensive toiletries, a damn jacuzzi tub . 

You pull your sweater over your head - truthfully, one of Jungkook’s from college that you’d never felt inclined to give back - and toss it over the back of a barstool on your way into the guest suite.  Your bag follows shortly after, deposited at the foot of the bed that exists as a rotating welcome mat to your and Jungkook’s circle of friends.  

The rest of your clothes - sports bra, shorts, thong, socks - are stripped, folded, and tucked into the laundry bag you keep handy.  You know you could leave them here and Jungkook’s housekeeper would take care of it, but you’ve never been too comfortable with that.  Different upbringings.

The spray is like sweet relief the moment you step beneath the rainforest shower.  It’s the perfect temperature and pressure, melting the sweat and tension from your bones.  

But it isn't why you’re here, so you make quick work in the glass enclosure, scrubbing your body bare and lathering and conditioning your hair into a squeaky clean mess.  Any other time, you’d just spend a good half hour standing beneath the head but you’re feeling particularly indulgent today.  

Call it a spa day, courtesy of one Jeon Jungkook. 

You don’t bother to dry off, water splashing across the floor as you step from the shower and sink into the spacious tub that overlooks the heart of Seoul.  Diptyque bath oil encapsulates the room in a bubble of sweet almond, similarly branded candle burning on the ledge.  The jets release a steady stream against your tired back and legs, massaging your limbs into jelly. 

You can’t help the sigh of utter relaxation that rolls off your tongue, sinking into water in the same instance your shoulders do.    

This is what dreams are made of.  Anyone who says differently is an idiot and a liar. 

“When are you going to tell her?”

You’re not expecting the voice and it breaks the silence like a thousand pound weight, shattering the calm and nearly startling you enough for you to knock your head on the edge of the tub.  

There’s no reason for you to be surprised.  Not really.  This isn’t your home, after all.  You aren’t entitled to any sort of privacy.  

It doesn’t matter, though.  The discomfort in your chest is unfolding regardless, lodging rocks in your throat.  

Because it’s a female voice.  Lilting, soft, draped in familiarity.  Not someone brand new.  

Your heart stutters at the realisation.  The rush of blood against your eardrums is so loud you momentarily wonder whether they can hear it all the way in the living room.  They must be able to - it’s practically deafening.  You can’t even hear the rest of their conversation.

Their conversation .

Which seems to have ended, leaving only silence.

You suddenly remember your shoes, your sweater.  Traces of you littered throughout the apartment that isn’t yours.  God, you’re an idiot.  He was going to kill you - or she was.  You’re not sure which is worse.

You’re reaching for the fluffy white towel on the rack when you’re scared near half to death yet again.  This time, by your best friend who cuts an imposing figure in the doorway, broad form resting casually against the frame.  He looks surprisingly unbothered, curls pushed back from his forehead by a pair of sunglasses and arms folded over his chest.

“Jesus!”  The shriek comes four octaves higher than it normally would, pitching into the open so loudly you wince.  “You scared me!”

You can’t help the way you peek past his shoulder for a sign of the girl he’d brought home.

“Enjoying yourself?”  There’s something amused dancing in the darks of his eyes, his mouth curving around the same emotion as he steps into the bathroom.  You’d be bothered if he were anyone else, unnecessarily long legs carrying him to you in three strides.  

“I didn’t know you were home.”  You can’t quite meet his stare, still far too distracted by the mystery woman.  Had he left her on the couch?  Maybe his bedroom as he snuck you out?  What excuse could he come up with?

“Didn’t know you were home either.”  

He’s made himself comfortable right on the ledge of the tub, marked fingers dragging lazily through the still-scalding water.  He doesn’t seem terribly in a rush.  That puts you on edge.

Was he going to hide you in here? 

“I wanted to relax after my run.”  You don’t owe him an explanation - not really - but you offer it anyway.  You figure you need to, when you might’ve ruined his Sunday morning romp session.  You can’t bring yourself to address it, though.  The words just won’t come, sitting on the tip of your tongue like thorns.  It hurts to swallow. 

Jungkook doesn’t further the conversation - a first for him.  He’s normally a chatterbox.

The silence stretches on.  Suffocating.

You force yourself to speak, staring down at your hands that are slowly pruning beneath the water.  “Should I… go?”  The way it comes is feeble, soft, uncertain.  You hate it.

By the look of surprise on his face, he does, too.  He cackles suddenly, like a goddamn witch.  “Why?”

Heat floods across your cheeks.  You wish you could blame it on the bath or the steam that still collects on the mirrors.  It pulls high over your ears, colouring them tomato red and embarrassed.  Surely, he knows why.  

When he repeats himself, it’s harder, without any of the laughter from before.  

Rather than answer, you wave a hand through the air, fingers wiggling.  The universal sign for you know .  It should be enough - you hope it’s enough.  Your ego won’t let you verbalise it.  

“Suddenly mute, baby?”

It isn’t quite mocking - teasing, maybe - but it stokes the fire that burns in the pit of your stomach and licks uncomfortably at the organ in your chest.  You don’t even look at him as you nearly spit the words, petulant and far more bothered than you should be.  “You’ve got a girl here.”  

A laugh that isn’t quite a laugh comes, swathed in velvet and coloured blue.  The effort you make to not shoot him a glare is herculean.  

He’s still snickering when he speaks.  “You mean my sister?”

“Your sister?”  It’s more surprise at yourself that has you whipping to look at him, bewilderment tossing all other emotion out the window.  Because his sister was practically your sister.  How had you not recognised her voice?  You feel silly all at once, the embarrassment from earlier fading into reticence. 

“Yeah.  I spent the night babysitting the twins.”

You sometimes forget how much Jungkook loves children - especially his sisters’.  It’s hard to reconcile the family man he effortlessly transforms into when he spends most of his waking hours playing the perfect part of unaffected bachelor. 

“How are they?”  You ask because you care - you adore Minseo and Minhyuk - but also so you can move the conversation along.  The last thing you want to do is dwell on your mistake.

“They’re good.  Getting big.”  He’s got that smile on his face - the one that’s softer than any other, with deep lines at the corners of his eyes.  Reserved especially for the people he cares about most.  Your favourite sight.  “You can come with me next time.  Minnie asked about you, anyway.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest.

Being liked by peers?  Great.  Being respected by your superiors?  Rewarding.  But being loved by children?  It was in a league all its own - better than ice cream on a hot day.

“Sure.”  You can’t keep the grin away.

That is, until he speaks again, circling the conversation back.  “So, were you jealous?”  His ability to piss you off is uncanny.  It’s like it’s written into his genetic code, each molecule of his body tasked with ruining your day. 

“No.”  It’s meant to be a scoff.  It’s not very believable.

“You sure, princess?”  The fingers on your chin are wholly unnecessary - he’s got you caught in his stare, locked in place with nowhere to go.

“Yes, Bunny .”  You know how much he hates the nickname, only tolerating it because it’s you.  You can’t deny the pleasure that comes at the sight of his jaw tensing, muscle jumping in agitation.  Just as he’s your weakness, you’re his, too.  “Now let me finish—”

He cuts you off, sharp and unrelenting:  “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”  

“You heard me.  Get out of the tub or I’m pulling you out myself.”  Risen to his full height, he’s an imposing figure.  Even worse, there’s something you can’t read in his expression - something that has your nerves firing wildly.  Your heart rattles around in your chest, uncertain.  

He leaves you without another word.

You scramble out of the bath as quickly as your confused limbs allow you, knotting the towel beneath your arms.  You’re not quite sure what to do next, caught between pulling your clean clothes out of your workout bag and demanding an answer from your sphinx of a best friend.

What the hell was his problem? 

Your impatience wins out as you’re tugging a brush through your hair, fumbling uncharacteristically through knots until you’re too frustrated to continue.  You’re ready to tear into him when you storm out of the guestroom;  you’ve got a barrage of insults on your tongue, proverbial gun cocked and ready to unload.  

They melt away when you spy him on the couch, neatly wrapped bouquet laid across the coffee table.

“Come here.”  It’s not a request so much as a demand - commanding and soft all at once.  A small part of you wants to fire off a rebuttal;  that part dies when he repeats himself, louder this time. 

The seat you take beside him is begrudging, a good foot of space held between your bodies.  You fiddle with the hem of your towel, turning a loose thread over and over your index finger. 

“What?”  It’s snippy, discontent - kerosene on the fire that burns beneath Jungkook’s skin.

“Watch it,”  he retorts, though there’s no acid to his words.  Frankly, he sounds more frustrated than angry, more exasperated than pissed off.

That makes one of you.

Only he can bring out this side of you - brusque and biting.  “ You watch it, Bunny.”

Fingers find the bridge of his nose, a gesture you don’t see very often.  Guilt blooms behind your ribcage as he rubs at the tension between his eyes.  For someone who has it all, he looks like he’s a moment away from losing it. 

“You’re a brat, you know that?”  

“Takes one to know one,”  you retort, not unkindly.  

“You’re making this really hard,”  he snaps in the same instant he all but throws the overwhelming bunch of flowers at you.  

You nearly drop them you’re so surprised.

“What are these for?”

“You.”

“Me?”  

“Did I stutter?”

If you weren’t so busy studying the arrangement of florals, you’d have some witty comeback.  As it stands, you’re preoccupied by the pretty bunch of peonies and tulips.  You wonder what he’s done wrong - why he’s found it necessary to soften the blow with your favourite flowers. 

Your thoughts drift back to his sister’s words:  when are you going to tell her?

All at once, you want nothing more than to leave.  You don’t want whatever heartbreak is about to come.  You’re not ready for it.  

“Listen—”

He cuts you off, again.  “I love you.”

You’re not sure how your face looks.  You imagine you could look up flabbergasted in the dictionary and you’d find a photo of your expression right now.  “What?”

Jungkook won’t quite look at you, intently focused on an indiscernible point against the far wall.  When he speaks the words again, they’re full of uncertainty - but not in the way you expect.  The confession is as believable as any you’ve ever heard - he really does sound like he loves you - but somehow, it’s draped in dread and held aloft by hummingbird wings.  “I love you.”  

He’s nervous, you realise in amazement. 

“Come again?”  

He meets your stare then, brow knitting with unease.  He doesn’t say it again, though.

“Are you messing around with me?”  You don’t mean it how it comes - a little accusatory.

“I’m not an asshole.”  Except both of you know he certainly can be.  You don’t call him on it, though, opting instead to peer curiously at him, hands fisted around the bouquet in your lap.  “I talked to my sister.  She…”  He shrugs once, an almost helpless roll of his shoulders.  “She told me I was an idiot.”

You’re not surprised by that.  Lina had always been the one to give it to him straight.

“She said I would lose you if I didn’t get my shit together.”  There’s a bit of childish petulance that works its way into each syllable - he hates being told what to do.  “Said I needed to tell you or I’d regret it.  Which is stupid, because we’ve been best friends forever and she’s younger than me so what does she know—”  He must realise he’s rambling, something he never does.  “But—”

“But?”  Quiet, hopeful, coaxing. 

There’s a warmth in your chest - illuminating and golden and so bright it hurts to think about.  It grows with each moment that passes, spurred on by the look in his eyes and how they find yours.  

Hesitation pulls the silence a beat too long.  The light wanes.  You wonder if the moment has passed.  

And then he continues, a little more earnestly.  “Was she right?  Am I going to lose you?”

You’re not entirely sure what he’s asking.  You don’t think he even knows what he’s asking.  You try to answer anyway, as honest as you can without pinning your heart directly on your sleeve.  “You’ll never lose me.”

“You know what I mean.”  

Did you?  “You’ll never lose me.”  You’re the one repeating yourself this time, just that bit harder.  

“Then say it.”  Again, not a request.  A prayer, perhaps.  Ardent and needy - a world away from the Jeon Jungkook you know.

You don’t hesitate.  “I love you.”

He doesn’t either - upon you so quickly you don’t have time to blink or think.  

How he kisses you now feels different.  More .  It’s like being consumed entirely - changed from the inside out in ways you never thought possible.  Where he touches, sparks fly, filling you like stars in the night sky.  Lava rolls over every inch, dragging heat and want and need from the soles of your feet to the tip of your nose.  You’re gasping rather than breathing, clawing against the front of his shirt and twining your fingers into the strands that curl over his nape. 

“You never told me you could kiss like that.”  It’s lacking coherence, made by a partial inhale and wild, wondrous eyes.

His response is a laugh and another kiss, forceful and adoring and utterly devastating.  “Shut up,”  he mouths against your lips, tongue licking over your teeth and gums like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you.  Hands follow in the same amorous motions, tugging and pulling and aching for you closer;  the tips of his fingers sear white hot heat over your hips, the small of your waist, the delicate bones of your ribcage.

“I’m serious...”  You really are - far more than you should be.  You’d been missing out on this ?  It’s incomprehensible.

The sound he makes is more of a growl, playful and resounding in the cavern of his chest.  It rattles your own, sending your heart on a downward spiral into the pit of your stomach.  His nose traces the column of your throat, soft lips guiding him further until he’s mouthing hotly over the bare skin of your shoulder.  Tongue teases, delves ever so gently into the dip of your collarbone, and swipes back up, laving over the maroon that peeks around the edge of his teeth.  You can’t help but keen, holding him so closely you wonder if you’re suffocating him.

“So am I.”  Each syllable is punctuated by another nip, another nibble.  It seems like his goal is to bloom roses across your skin - a wreath to welcome him home, made by his own touch.

You don’t mind.  

“Say it again,”  he demands, hopeful and unashamed from his place against your neck.  

The admission comes easily, as if it’s always lived on the tip of your tongue.  “I love you.”  

“Again.”  You’re not ready for the way he stares at you - like he’s never done before.  Like he’s seeing you for the first time and he’s awestruck.  “Say it again.”

“I love you.”  Hands find the familiar contours of his face, thumbs brushing over the hollows of his eyes, over the beauty mark that sits front and centre beneath his lip.  Each graze follows a repetition of the confession, as if you might burn the three simple words beneath his skin - write it into his DNA like he’s written into yours.  “I love you.  I love you.  I love you, Bunny .”

He holds you close - so tightly it feels almost as if he’ll crush you - and captures your mouth again.  It’s more gentle but just as lovesick.  A thousand unspoken words spill from his tongue to yours, swallowed whole with greed you don’t bother to hide.

“I need you.”  It’s whiny, framed by a pout that could end wars and paired with doe eyes so wide and innocent you almost want to roll your own.  

“You have me.”

“Do I?”  There’s a very deliberate roll of his hips, denim of his jeans rough against the exposed softness of your inner thighs, hands manoeuvring over the partially covered swell of your hips.  The press of his fingers is purposeful, digging tension into every inch.  As if he might transfer some of the unadulterated need that thrums through his veins, turning his heart to jelly and brain to mush.

“Since when do you ask?”  You have a point.

“You’re right,”  his grin is almost lazy, drawing over his mouth in a measured crawl.  “Good girls just do what they’re told, right?”  His grips tightens almost imperceptibly, holding you to him almost effortlessly.  You’ve been in this position a hundred times before but it’s never been this easy - like breathing.

The gasp you offer is all mock affront, hand laid palm-down across your chest.  You don’t miss the way his gaze follows it before ticking lower, unabashed in its admiration.  “Are you saying I’m not?”

“Don’t know, baby.”  The war on your neck has resumed, teeth traded seamlessly for the softer promise of his tongue, the dry brush of his lips.  It’s almost sinful, garnering sighs of affection and need from somewhere low in your throat.  “Want to be a good girl for me?”

You’re not quite used to this version of him - playful and needy and not nearly as demanding as usual.  A part of you wants to draw out the side of him you know is there, hidden just beneath the surface;  the other wants to bask in this, all feather soft and cotton candy sweet.

“Always,”  you return, with a coquettish smile and fluttering lashes. 

“Always,”  he murmurs, tasting it for the first time.  He sounds almost giddy when he repeats it once, then twice, then a third time for good measure.  You think it’ll come again, laughter rolling off your tongue as you stare into the eyes of the boy you love.  Instead, he speaks in a voice full of gravel and grit, all traces of your sunshine boy suddenly swallowed whole by the darks of his pupils.  “Fuck - I can’t wait to have you.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?”  You don’t need to push him.  You like to do it anyway.  It feels right .

“You’re the worst.”  What Jungkook means is you’re the best and I love you and I’m going to fuck you six ways into next week .  What he means is this is the scariest thing he’s ever done but it’s all right because he has you.  What he means is thank you - and how he shows it is through worship.  

On the way to the bedroom, he crowds every inch of you, holding you so closely you wonder if he’s trying to carve himself into your bones.  He’s firm and unrelenting, balancing you against his chest as he smothers every available inch of your shoulders in sweet, sloppy kisses.  He revels in the way you cling to him like you’ve never needed anything else. 

In his bed, he lays you out and strips you bare.  He offers devotion with every pass of his fingers, every trail of his tongue.  He wants you so badly it’s hard to focus on giving you everything you deserve, but he tries anyway.  He sucks love into your neck and over your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers until you’re panting and he’s aching for the same treatment.  

On his knees, he prays at the altar of your body, taking his time to map the constellations on your skin, the memories written into each scar and dot.  His tongue follows the raised flesh that sits across your hip - an unfortunate mishap from a schoolyard dare.  You whine and he nearly cries, soothing over the sensitive spot with hands and lips and tenderness.  He lays kisses on each freckle, each irregular mark.  From your navel to your knee and everywhere in between, he caresses and comforts, turning those blemishes into stars.  

He also teases - subtly, quietly, with wandering hands and focused breaths.  You don’t realise it until it’s too late, your insides molten, your pulse a thunderclap in your ears.  

“Jungkook.”  It sounds more like begging than anything.  Exactly what he wants.

“What’s up, princess?”  Spoken so casually, as if he isn’t between your legs, long fingers tracing through the slick that coats your thighs.  He gazes up from behind too long strands, all wide-eyed and terribly sweet - until he pops a digit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around the taste of you.  “Something wrong?”

“Stop teasing.”  You hear yourself whine but it doesn’t quite sound like you, higher pitched and needier than you’ve ever been.  

“I thought you were going to be good for me,”  he returns with a tut and a push of that same finger deep into your cunt.  He flexes it experimentally, beaming up at you when you clench around the intrusion that’s too much and not even close to being enough all at once.  “You’re so wet, baby.  I just slide right in.”  

As if to drive his point home, he drives another finger in, scissoring them languidly to stretch you open.  It’s such a pretty sight, messy and inviting.  He can’t resist a taste, dragging the flat of his tongue over and around the fingers that continue to fuck into you at a faster pace.   

“ Jungkook! ”  You’re shrieking, bucking against the onslaught of sensations.  A shapely arm immediately cages you against the bed, palm splayed across your hips.  

“Stay still.”  It’s a growl, teeth bared against the sensitive pearl between your legs.  Words are punctuated with the softest pressure - a silent threat that goes no further.  You wonder what he’ll do if he has to repeat himself.  “Good girls listen, remember?”

You’re fumbling across his shoulders, nails digging crescents everywhere you can reach.  You need him so badly it hurts .  “Please.”  

“Please what?”  That patented, stupid smirk cradles his mouth, tongue peeking out as he stares at you expectantly.  “If you’re going to be so demanding, at least use your words.”  He watches the way your eyes roll back into your head when he slots another finger in with the others and curls them against that particular spot that has you seeing stars.  The bastard has the audacity to coo at you.  “What’s wrong, baby?  Can’t speak?”

You’re near wailing, gasping and whining around words that sound like his name.  Angry red lines sprout across his shoulders, his arms - demands carved into flesh. 

He makes a sound, wistful and resigned.  You think - try to think, beyond the pleasure that’s building steadily in the pit of your stomach - that he’s finally going to give you what you need.  You’re almost crying for it, moisture crowding your lashes and threatening to spill over.

Then he withdraws, all at once.

You could scream.  In fact, you do, red in the face and chest heaving.  “I hate you!”  

“No.”  He’s upon you in an instant, insistent and terribly smug.  There’s a playground in his smile, childish laughter spilling into the spaces between you.  “You actually love me.”  He noses at your neck, the heat of his palm searing against your side as he sighs almost dreamily.  “Say it again.”

You answer him with something more than love - frustration and annoyance and so much devotion you can’t keep it out no matter how hard you try.  “No.”

It’s a challenge more than anything.  He knows it;  you know it.

He accepts it readily, just as you expect him to.  

“Say it.”  Enamel presses steady, heavy, into the sensitive spot right beneath your ear.  He mouths over the skin that blows out red and inviting beneath his ministrations, the firm press of his fingers gripping you without hesitation.  You can feel the entire weight of him against you, length nestled comfortably against your core.  He repeats himself as he rocks against you, dragging the swollen, leaking head of his cock through your folds with an agonising slowness that has you clenching around nothing.  “Come on, baby.”

You’re keening, adjusting your hips and grinding against him.  You still won’t say it, hoping to find a rhythm in the quiet that’s punctuated by your laboured breaths and his occasional laughter.

“Just say it and I’ll give you what you want.  I’ll give you everything.  Promise, sweetheart.”  

Framed against the late morning sun, hair spilling across his forehead in curls of india ink, he’s so handsome your heart leaps into your throat.  “I love you.”  It’s a wet confession, carried by a wave of emotion you don’t expect.

“I love you,”  he echoes, sinking into you so gradually you feel like you’re caught in slow motion, all of your focus balanced on the tip of a needle.  

It’s never been like this before.  Each inch is a delicious stretch, filling you and claiming you.  The drag is incredible, your walls fluttering around the intrusion and aching for more.  You bite back a sob, digging into the wide expanse of his back with your nails as your mouth seeks purchase anywhere it can - over his jaw, up his neck, across his shoulders.  He soothes you as he presses deeper, reassurances whispered against your temple.  

“I’ve got you, baby.  Let me make you feel good.”  When he bottoms out, you demand more - somehow, somehow - locking your ankles against the small of his waist. He doesn’t miss the way you clench, so tight around him it almost hurts , when he says those three words once again.  “I love you.”

His lips find yours and he brushes them over and over - a salve for the burn he ignites beneath your skin.  It doesn’t matter that he’s both the calm and the chaos.  Jungkook’s always been everything to you.

The rhythm he sets is unhurried and perfect.  Each snap of his hips has his cock dragging against your walls, filling and stretching you so well;  everywhere his skin brushes yours, you’re alive.  There are a million nerve endings going haywire beneath your skin, flashing bright as holiday lights.  

That’s what it’s like - Christmas morning .  Picture perfect and filled with wonder.

He’s completely smitten when he draws back just enough to see the entirety of you - your fucked-out expression, the rose-wreath he’s wrought around your neck, the sweat that beads between your tits and tempts him to duck his head.  “I love you.”  It’s almost hypnotising - watching you take him, pussy dripping and needy around his cock. 

“I love you,”  you parrot back - or try to.  It’s not very coherent, driven to a point of nonsense when his hips begin to stutter and he makes up for the loss of rhythm by slipping his fingers over your clit in circle eights.  

You’re at your breaking point.  He knows - can read you like the back of his hand - and holds you there, back bowing to kiss you breathless, pressure unrelenting against the bundle of nerves.  

“That’s it, princess.  Right there.”   

The coil snaps at the third pass and there are hot tears streaming down your cheeks, his name spilling off your tongue in tandem with the erratic thudding of your heart.  White spots your vision, entire body electrified as you crash headlong into an abyss of bliss.  You hear him join you with a hoarse whine, a mix of your cum slipping out of you as he rides out his own high with shallow thrusts, mouth open and panting against your shoulder.  

The comedown is hazy, dusted in exhaustion and a thin sheen of sweat.  When he slips from you, he doesn’t go far, tugging you comfortably against his side like you’re not both a little gross.  It’s not the first time you’ve fucked but it feels different.  

“I love you, baby.”  

“I love you, Bunny.”

You realise - it feels exactly like that.  Making love.

[secretobsessionstuff]

Max, I'm loving these fics with the different combinations of sickees/caretakers; it's so much fun to read how your OCs interact with each other in different scenarios! If you're up for doing another one, how about Micah as sickee and Madix as caretaker? Maybe they're out running an errand together when things go south, and Madix the Doctor (oops, I mean Med. Student) has to snap into action? 🖤

I’m sorry that the ending is so abrupt. I hope it’s okay ❤

Alexi had insisted that they do something to celebrate the fact that Micah got a literary agent to take his novel pitch. It wasn’t a small feat, but Micah still felt weird about having people over for a party. Well, it wasn’t much of a party; they only invited Madix and Riley, and Dakota and Blair. Still, it required some planning that was not properly executed by the hosts. Alexi was busy making dinner when he realized that they didn’t have anything in the way of snacks or drinks for their guests.

It was Madix who volunteered to run out to the store for the things they needed. He planned on going alone because that would be faster, but Micah jumped at the chance to get out of the house. It wasn’t incredibly crowded, but it was loud, and the house smelt too strongly of onions and cheese.

Micah hated to admit it, but he was feeling off. He wasn’t much in the mood to entertain all his friends, especially not with the way his stomach was acting up in response to food. But of course, he though that going to a place where he’d be surrounded by food was a good idea. At least the grocery store would provide a break from the conversations. And Madix said he didn’t mind the company.

That’s how Micah found himself trying to keep up with Madix who pushed the shopping cart quickly around the produce section. Micah was in charge of the list, but he could barely read the damn thing. Half of the items were written in french because Alexi was distracted when he wrote it down.

“Should we get a fruit tray?” Madix asked as he leaned on the cart with his elbows.

What was Micah thinking? It was freezing in the grocery store! How was Madix not shivering? And they hadn’t even gotten to the freezer section yet. Now that he was out, all Micah wanted to do was go home. But then he thought about home and all people there, and his stomach let out an audible gurgle. He hugged his torso to quiet the noise.

“Micah?”

“What?” The boy didn’t look up at Madix. Instead, he kept his gaze pointed to the floor as he zoned out.

“Do you want a fruit tray or a veggie tray?”

Madix’s words did not register in his brain. He tried to shake the fuzziness from his head, but it was stuck to his brain like peach fuzz. The sleeves on Micah’s shirt were stretched beyond repair from his desperate attempt to conserve warmth. He rubbed the fabric of his shirt against his mouth out of habit. Vaguely, Micah thought that he should probably answer Madix’s question, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He took a shot in the dark and said, “Yes.”

With both platters of food in his hands, Madix’s shoulders dropped slightly as concern for his friend grew stronger. For a party all for Micah, he didn’t seem very lively. Now Micah wasn’t even making any sense. “Is something wrong? You’re acting…strange.”

Micah shrugged. “I’m a strange person.” He paused, considering if he wanted to tell Madix how he felt. He knew it would be okay if he were honest. He concluded that he did in fact want to tell Madix everything, but he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that to Alexi who went through the trouble of doing something nice for him. The people at his house were there for him, so he could survive a few hours.

Finally, his brain decided to respond. “I guess the fruit tray.”

Slowly, Madix put the array of fruit into the cart, all the while he kept his eyes on Micah. He wasn’t convinced that something wasn’t wrong, but they were on a mission. The next step in the mission was chips so he pushed the cart to the right aisle.

Micah struggled to keep up with Madix’s pace. His feet did not want to move. The best he could do was shuffle along while his friend made a beeline for the chips. The thought of any food made Micah’s jaw tingle from the nausea. The sick feeling in his stomach got harder to ignore the longer that Madix debated over chips. Micah let his friend agonize over the right brand, giving him time to discreetly rub his gurgling belly. But he wasn’t as discreet as he would have liked.

There were indeed many choices of chips, but that’s not what made Madix frown. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Micah’s expression turn into a grimace of pain. Madix didn’t want to push if Micah didn’t feel like sharing, but the boy’s pale skin worried him. He stepped back from the shelves and turned to look at Micah properly. His forehead was wet with sweat, despite Micah’s obvious shivering, and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles. The doctor in Madix wanted to know how many degrees above 100 his temperature had climbed, but he didn’t really need this number to know that Micah was sick.

“We can go back if you want,” Madix tried to say casually so that Micah didn’t feel bad.

“What are you talking about?” Micah looked down at the list in his hands. A wave of dizziness came over him. He felt like he was looking down from a skyscraper. “We still need chips, and wine, and…” The sentence trailed off, partly because Micah was too tired to carry on, and partly because of the way Madix was looking at him.

Madix tightened his lips into a straight line. “You look like crap.” He put his hand of Micah’s shoulder. “You should have told me.”

“I’m sorry.” Micah swallowed thickly. There was suddenly a lot of saliva in his mouth.

“There’s no reason to apologize.” Madix assured him. “Let’s go home.” He turned away to grab their cart and that’s when Micah’s stomach decided to lose it.

Micah found himself hunched over, with his hands on his knees, emptying his stomach in the chip aisle. It all came up from his belly so quickly that he didn’t have time do anything other than bend over and watch as his lunch splattered onto the linoleum floor.

“Oh God, okay…” Madix stuttered, unprepared for the sudden turn of events. It only took a moment before his hand was on Micah’s back. He accepted the new situation before Micah let out a sick burp, followed by another gush of sick. The only problem was that they really should have been moving to the bathroom. Madix waited for this particular wave to be over before leading Micah away.

Micah allowed himself to be dragged through the store, with his hand clamped over his mouth and his belly churning up a storm. He didn’t dare speak because he knew that opening his mouth would be disastrous. Madix led him to the bathroom. Thank God it was single person one. He parted his lips, letting a string of sick fall into the water below. One burp was enough to get the vomiting going again. A harsh retch tore up his throat and caused his muscles to shake from the tension.

“Oh buddy,” Madix said, patting Micah’s back. “You’re really sick. I’m sorry we have to be here.”

Micah spat a thick glob into the toilet and sniffled. He felt like he could move away from toilet for a moment while he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “I don’t feel well.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Madix said while handing over a wad of toilet paper for Micah to wipe his mouth with. “I didn’t realize you felt this bad.”

“Sorry…”  

“No, no, that’s absolutely fine.” Madix said, still rubbing Micah’s back out of instinct. “We just gotta get you home.”

Micah moaned as the colour drained from his face. “Ugh I’m not ready to leave.”

“Yeah, no worries. I’ll text the others and let them know about the change of plans.”

[conceptstage]

“Don’t tell me you can’t handle a little sparring.” Yasha & Beau?

“Come on, man!” Yasha looked up from her harp at the sound of Beau’s loud voice coming from outside the window. She frowned and leaned over slightly to glance through it and see her standing in the grass outside the inn they’d stopped at for a few days. Fjord was nearby, laying on the ground splayed out like a dead body. Yasha hesitated, then pushed open the window, smiling a little at the warm breeze that wafted in along with the sound of Beau’s voice. “Don’t tell me you can’t handle a little sparring.”

“We’ve been at it for an hour, Beau,” Fjord groaned, sounding out of breath. Yasha wasn’t sure that she would ever get used to his new accent. It still surprised her a little bit sometimes. “Just let me rest!”

Beau groaned and rolled her eyes, turning away from his prone body. “You’re no help.” Yasha could tell the moment that Beau noticed her in the window. She grinned and waved both her hands excitedly. “Hey, Yash!” she called, too loud. “Come spar with me!”

Yasha probably should have said no. Beau was already covered in a layer of sweat and she could tell from the second floor that she was having trouble catching her breath. Beau needed a break, Yasha could see that. But what she actually said was: “I- I… Sure. I’ll be right down.” Because she could never say no to that smile and she dread the day that Beau figured out how weak Yasha was for her. She stopped in the doorway to pull her hair up and off the back of her neck and then hopped a little as she pulled on her boots before finally making her way down the stairs and through the tavern on the first floor.

“Hey, Yasha!” Jester called, sitting at a table near the far wall and presumably trying to teach Caduceus how to play Crick Queen’s Call. “Where you going?”

Yasha cleared her throat. “Beau wanted to spar so I… I was just-”

But Jester didn’t need a coherent answer, it seemed. She cheered. “Woo! Kick her ass! She’d like that I think, it would be a good birthday gift. I already gave her mine.”

Yasha froze, her hand on the front door knob. “It… It’s Beau’s birthday?”

Suddenly, Jester blushed and cleared her throat. “Oh, oops? I wasn’t supposed to say. She didn’t want anybody to know. Don’t tell her I told you?”

“I- Sure. Of course.” Then she hurried out the door, nearly running into Beau on the other side.

Beau blinked in surprise but moved deftly out of the way to keep from crashing into her, then grinned. “There you are. You were taking a hot minute so I was coming to getcha. We gonna spar or what?”

Yasha nodded and followed her to the empty patch of grass beside the inn and frowned as Beau stepped nonchalantly over Fjord’s prone body in the dirt. “What about Fjord?”

“Just don’t step on him.” She stepped back into a fighting stance, turned slightly with one fist held up near her face with her elbow in a perfect right angle and the other hanging down closer to her waist. She was bouncing lightly on her feet and taking deep, measured breaths as she calmed herself. “Ready?”

Yasha stepped into a more relaxed stance, both her fists up near her face with her knees bent slightly. “Bring it on.”

Beau grinned and started with a kick to the solar plexus which Yasha knocked away. Beau followed it up swiftly with a spin kick to the side, which Yasha sidestepped. Beau frowned and furrowed her eyebrows. She stepped back out of Yasha’s range and Yasha let her go without trouble, then dropped her hands and narrowed her eyes.

“Why are you going easy on me.” It wasn’t really a question.

“I’m not.” She was. Beau had been out here all day, running laps around the block, doing so many push ups that Yasha felt her own arms start to hurt in sympathy,  then transitioning to one armed push ups for the hell of it. And then, after that, had roped Fjord into sparring on his way home from shopping with Veth. She needed to rest, Yasha could tell by looking at her. But she also knew Beau well enough to know that she’d work herself until she literally couldn’t move and then she’d still try to keep going. “I’m just biding my time.”

Beau didn’t look convinced but she resumed her stance. “Well, counter or something. Come on, come at me.”

Maybe if she ended this quickly, Beau would see that she needed to rest. She moved forward quickly, sweeping at Beau’s feet. Beau jumped up easily and kicked at Yasha midair, catching her in the chest and knocking her back. Yasha huffed and moved back in without waiting. Based on the way Beau was easily dodging her attacks, this wasn’t going to go quickly. Even when it looked like she could hardly stay on her own feet, Beau was a force to be reckoned with. Not that she should be surprised, Beau was always stronger than people gave her credit for.

Yasha knocked away a punch that was heading for her face and was about to retaliate, but she froze when she saw the look on Beau’s face. Her eyes were unfocused and her mouth was hanging open slightly. She stumbled and Yasha rushed to catch her but Beau shook her head and met Yasha’s eyes again.

“Beau…”

“The fuck you looking at?” Beau came for her again, punching at her stomach. Yasha let it hit, then used Beau’s momentum against her to force her backwards. Beau stumbled again, stepping on Fjord’s arm and tumbling back and landing hard on top of him. He groaned, his face in the dirt, but he didn’t move. Beau paused for just a moment to catch her breath and stop the world from spinning, then she tried to stand again.

“Beau-” Yasha cut herself off at the severe look Beau sent her way but she pushed on. It was worth it for Beau to get mad at her if it would get her to rest. “Maybe you should stay down.”

“Noooo…” Fjord groaned.

“I’m fine,” Beau said, she tried to sit up but Yasha watched as her eyes went unfocused and she looked like she was going to be sick. “I’m…”

“Beau… Is this because of your birthday?”

Beau’s eyes snapped to meet hers. “How did you know?”

“It’s your birthday?” Fjord asked, his voice still muffled in the dirt. “Happy birthday.”

Beau ignored him and narrowed her eyes at Yasha. “This has nothing to do with what fucking day it is. I don’t care about my goddamn birthday, I’m not a kid.”

“So you’re not trying to fight your feelings out right now?”

“You’re one to fucking talk!”

Yasha frowned and crossed her arms. “I’m done sparring, Beau. Go inside, drink some water.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Do it.”

“Or what?” Beau snapped. 

Yasha loomed over her. “Or I’ll make you.”

Beau smirked but the hand that she used to push her hair out of her face was shaking. “I’d like to see you try.”

Yasha sighed and crouched down so that she was face to face with Beau, then reached out to take her wrist. Beau tried to take her hand back but Yasha held it fast. “Beau. Please. I realize that this day is hard for you, you don’t need to explain it. Please take care of yourself.”

Beau just watched her carefully for a moment, then licked her lips and looked away. “I… I can’t.”

“Beau, you don’t need to prove anything to me, you can just-”

“No, I mean- I mean, I can’t feel my legs.”

Yasha nodded. “Can I carry you?”

Beau still hesitated, but then she nodded. Yasha scooped her up and listed her into the air. “You alright there, Fjord?” Beau asked, looking down at him.

Fjord grunted. “Fine. I’ll be right behind you.” But he didn’t move. 

Yasha stepped over him and carried Beau into the tavern. She smiled at Jester’s worried frown but didn’t stop to talk as she moved Beau into the water closet. She sat Beau down on the chair there and picked up a rag, wetting it in the basin and then kneeling beside the chair. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, gently using the rg to wipe the sweat off of Beau’s face. Beau closed her eyes and Yasha felt her breath hitch at the sight of water droplets hanging gently on her eyelashes.

“No.”

“Okay. But I’m here, if you change your mind.”

Beau kept her eyes closed and licked her lips nervously. “I just… It’s not because it’s my birthday. It’s the anniversary of the day my dad had Cobalt take me away. I mean, today is both, but the reason that I’m upset is because of the second one.”

“He… He did that to you on your birthday?”

Beau snorted. “To be fair to him, it’s entirely possible that he didn’t know it was my birthday. I found out when I was seven that he didn’t even know when it was and that all the gifts he’d ever given me had been from his assistant. I woke up this morning and I just had so much nervous energy. I didn’t want to think, I didn’t want to do anything except work out. If I could just skip over this day without having to live through it, I would.” She opened her eyes when Yasha pulled the rag way and wiped a stray drop of water off her jaw. “I’m sorry. About giving you a hard time earlier. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not. You didn’t deserve that.” She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, her knees shaking slightly, though she was clearly trying to hide just how tired her body was. “I’m going to get some water. Thanks for the lift.”

“Of course.” Yasha watched her as she left, then sighed and stood up to go help Fjord.

[lynne-monstr]

Writers Month Day 12: Dreams (Malec)

Set sometime between 2x13 and 2x15. This is part 1 of 2. The next part will be posted for tomorrow’s prompt

.

In the days after getting his body back, Magnus clings to his magic.

Keeping his power so close to the surface is draining, but pleasantly so. It’s the burn of a good, hard workout, a reminder of what his body is capable of.

The saucers of tea he summons to his hand are a balm for the childhood hurts that haunt his waking moments. The blue he calls to his fingers is a steady, grounding presence against skin that feels too tight and lungs too small to fully breathe. Alone in his room, he drops his glamour and faces himself in his vanity mirror, feeling a rush of relief when he sees his own warlock features staring back at him.

It’s only at night when it all falls apart.

Using so much magic saps the strength from his body and he can’t fight the exhaustion that pulls him under. He sleeps and he dreams.

He wakes up screaming.

Magnus claws himself upright, the magic he keeps close to the surface sparking from his fingers with nary a thought. It pours from him in waves of red before he realizes he’s not trapped in a cell, not stuck in a body that isn’t his own, not wracked with agony from a rune he shouldn’t be able to bear on his skin.

With effort, he pulls the magic back inside of him but stops before it’s gone completely. He likes the way it simmers beneath his skin. The effect is a little like being wrapped in a blanket, comforting and familiar. It’s enough to steady his racing heart and deepen his breaths until he no longer feels like he sprinted the entirely of the Manhattan Bridge.

Glancing around the room confirms what he suspects. The fancy television that used to hang on the wall is in no less than five pieces. The mirror on his vanity is similarly shattered, along with the china teacup he’d been drinking from this morning. Across the room, there’s a smoking hole in the wall the size of a fireball.

Unbidden, his eyes flick to the bedside table where his phone has been flashing with a text message for hours.

> Alexander (11:16pm): Do you want company tonight?

The text is unanswered.

Guilt wraps around Magnus’ stomach like vines, but the remnants of his trashed bedroom are enough to reassure him. He made the right decision. Losing control next to a sleeping, vulnerable Alec is not an option. The mere thought of it is enough to send his heart racing all over again.

Alec wouldn’t understand. He’d probably try to insist that Magnus would never hurt him, or something equally, naively romantic. For all his Shadowhunter ways, he can be dangerously trusting when it comes to the people closest to him.

Magnus would rather strap himself back into that chair in the bowels of the Institute’s holding cells than knowingly put Alec in harm’s way. If that means hurting Alec’s feelings for a few more days, it’s a small price to pay. Magnus will gladly sleep alone. Once he gets himself under control he’ll explain everything.

Getting out of bed, he summons a double espresso from a bar in Milan and trails a finger across the many books lining the shelves of his office. Half a century ago he’d started playing around with developing a stronger tracking spell. Sometime in the eighties the project had fell to the wayside when he decided becoming a real estate mogul sounded fun and exciting.

He opens a treatise on the secondary purposes of ley lines and gets to work.

.

The next day, Magnus secures a video conference with a cagey warlock in Chile. It’s not quite a breakthrough in his research, but it sends him down an alternate avenue with enough potential to get his blood up. He loses himself in the thrill of the chase. One day turns into two turns into three.

He hasn’t had this much fun in decades.

The subtle vibration of his phone stills his hand where he’s sketching a series of symbols onto his desk in green sharpie. He can see the screen from where he’s hunched over.

Alec is calling him.

A wave of his hand sends the phone careening into his palm with a soft smack. “Alexander,” he says, propping his hip against the table. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It feels strange to ask that kind of question to his boyfriend, but they’ve been tiptoeing around each other since the bodyswap and the DNA fight that came on its heels. Magnus’ recent issues with bad dreams haven’t helped the situation.

He doesn’t mention the unanswered text, and hopefully Alec won’t either.

“Oh, thank the Angel. Magnus where have you been? I was about to send a team to your house if you didn’t pick up.”

Oops, Magnus mouths to himself. “I might have got a bit carried away with some spell research,” he admits. Apparently the one text message from the other day wasn’t the only one. In Magnus’ defense, the last time he got caught up in research, he was single. But that’s a problem for future him to work on.

“A bit carried away.” Over the phone, he can hear the relief under Alec’s fond scoff. “Are you too carried away for dinner?”

Magnus’ stomachs answers for him, growling so loud he’s sure Alec, and perhaps the entire Institute, can hear it over the phone. “Famished,” he answers anyway, echoing Alec from what seems like years ago but is only a few weeks. The thought curls warm around his sternum.

The a slightly awkward pause and then, “I’ve missed you.”

Something deep in Magnus aches at the words. He hasn’t meant to push Alec away but that’s exactly what he’s done. He opens his mouth to try and explain, to somehow sooth the sting of what’s come between them, but what comes out is, “I love you.”

When he hangs up the phone, the notifications of all Alec’s missed text messages from the last few days fill up the top bar of the screen like an accusation. Magnus texts back a string of heart emojis and goes to pick out a suitable outfit.

He has a dinner date attend.

They share two bottles of Pinot Nero and more pasta than even a Shadowhunter on active duty can eat. Magnus feels giddy by the time the check comes, and doesn’t protest when Alec pulls him in to lean against his shoulder as they only slightly stumble out of the restaurant. Alec’s weight is comfortable and reassuring and Magnus realizes with a pang that he’s missed this. The warmth of Alec’s body isn’t the familiar protection of Magnus’ magic, but it’s no less potent. Magnus has the sudden urge to burrow himself into Alec and never let him go.

He doesn’t, but it’s a close thing. Instead, he pulls his magic a little closer to the surface so he can feel it rushing in his ears. He does, however, wrap his arm around Alec just a little tighter.

It’s a warm summer night but despite it being August, there’s a slight nip in the air that makes their nighttime stroll pleasant rather than stifling. The walk also does wonders to sober them up a bit, though there’s still both more than a little tipsy by the end of it.

It’s a perfect end to a perfect night. Except for how he can feel Alec tense up the closer they get to the loft.

“Can I come up?”

Magnus halts, and their linked arms jerk Alec to a stop as well. He can’t remember the last time Alec asked permission to enter. But through the slight haze of alcohol, he thinks back to unanswered text messages and missed phone calls, and throwing himself into decades-old projects on a whim.

They pause like that at the door to Magnus’ building, arm-in-arm in the middle of the sidewalk. “You don’t need to ask.”

“Feels like I do.” Alec shrugs in a way that makes him look uncertain. Uncertain of his welcome, or uncertain of his place in Magnus life?

He lets his eyes slide closed and takes the words like a blow. It’s his own fault, he knows. When he opens them, it’s to see Alec studying him intently. He gestures towards the door. “Please come in.”

They ride the elevator to the top floor in silence.

A wave of one hand negates the need for a key and soon they’re standing in the living room, neither making a move to sit or to pour drinks. It’s far more awkward than that time after their first date. Magnus goes to summons two cups of coffee, except his arm is grabbed before he can complete the gesture.

“Magnus, we need to talk. Have I done something wrong?”

Magnus shakes his head. “No.” He pauses, the flaw in the plan glaringly obvious at this point. He doesn’t want to have this conversation even slightly drunk, but he can’t send Alec home without talking about it. Asking him to take the couch would be just as bad, though he knows Alec would do it without question if asked,

Which leaves the one option he’s been avoiding for days.

There’s a large part of him screaming in terrified protest as he says, “Come to bed. We’ll discuss it in the morning.” But the rest of him aches for Alec’s presence by his side, to be wrapped up in Alec’s strong and safe arms. He got a taste of what he was missing tonight and he’s had just enough wine to weaken his defenses.

He realizes with sudden clarity that his avoidance of Alec these past few days hasn’t just been for Alec’s safety. It’s because Magnus is weak.

Alec raises an eyebrow, but there’s a relieved smile on his face as he reaches out to cup Magnus’ face.  Magnus leans in, eagerly accepting the kiss. Alec’s lips are warm and pliant and stained slightly red from the wine. Something deep inside him settles and for the first time, he has hope that this won’t be a disaster.

Perhaps having Alec by his side will be enough to make the dreams stop.

.

Continued in Part 2

[dreamingsushi]

Eternal Love of Dream - Episode 31

Hey there! It’s been a while since my last recap and I hope everyone is safe.  For many reasons I wasn’t able to keep watching, this has been a really stressful period for me as for so many other people my job is affected by the COVID-19.  In fact at the very moment I might be laid off in the next hours and it’s hard because I gave a lot during those past months, bringing people back home from around the world.  Bringing them back home to safety while I was facing the danger of getting infected and transmit the disease to my family members. I felt really depressed earlier this evening when I first heard about it, because it’s not just a job, it’s a life style, but then I thought that it’s okay.  We are all together in this and we will grow stronger from all of this.  I am going to use all that free time to do stuff I like and that includes giving more love to this tumblr of mine.  And I hope that my recaps once in a while make someone out there smile.  So everyone, please be stay safe, stay home as much as you can, this shall pass.

And now enough with my life, enough with things that worries us, let’s dig into the fantasy of the Pillow Book. I left last episode just right when Donghua is starting to feel something for Fengjiu. In the sense that he is touched that once in his absolutely long life someone doesn’t expect for him to protect them, but even jumped in to protect him.  Something very new and which makes him somewhat happy. He probably also feels less lonely. I believe Donghua must be really lonely actually, he lived for so long, is considered superior to all the other immortals from the Nine Heavens. I would feel left out too if I was him. Well anyways, that’s where we are now.  And I missed the opening theme, I love it so much. Haha. I’m like a granny, always saying the same things.

So Fengjiu and Donghua are now in a badroom and Fengjiu seems to have caught a cold. She’s calling for her mom crying and when Donghua leaves her side, she starts crying louder until he comes backs and she grabs his hand.  When she wakes up, she’s using Donghua as a pillow and she gets nervous, well probably worried that she said or did something, but Donghua just keeps reading his book like nothing weird happened. Well nothing too weird happened, but the whole situation there is weird. She’s embarrassed but still thanks him for saving her from Miao Luo’s spell/poison whatever it is. But it’s not enough to make her forget that he left her in there six months, if he didn’t, she wouldn’t have to be saved. Then she asks him why he didn’t push her away while she was sleeping, if he did, she wouldn’t have tried to “climb”on him again and he says that since she came to him of her own will for once, why would he want to push her away?

Then, when she’s about to leave, she sees a silhouette at the door: it must be Ji Heng, so she tries to hide under the blanket with Donghua and tells him to remind silent so she won’t misunderstand - right if she finds you under the blankets, she won’t misunderstand... - and he’s why would I be afraid that she misunderstands, I think you are the one misunderstanding me and he flips her on the bed as if he’s about to kiss her. Poor Fengjiu, she’s trying so hard to supress her feelings for him, well at least to hide them, and he does that.  That’s too much of a tease Donghua, spare the poor girl, but then again he doesn’t know about her feelings - how could he when she’s acting so cold to him. So he goes to get medicine for her and tells her to lie down properly so she could rest and heal faster. When he gets to the kitchen, he refuses Ji Heng’s help and she looks pretty unhappy that Donghua takes such care of Fengjiu. Jelly girl.

When Fengjiu finally comes back home, Yan Chiwu is so relieved to see her.  They both couldn’t find the pinpo fruit. Oh wow. She’s asking again love advice from Yan Chiwu. I am actually curious to see what he’s going to say. He’s my favorite love expert, definitely. Oh god. Amazing. Best explanation ever. So according to him, Donghua is doing it on purpose to make Ji Heng jealous and hurt her feelings. That’s priceless. Donghua probably doesn’t even know that Ji Heng has feelings for him and if he does, he most likely doesn’t really care about them. That’s Donghua for you.

Siming and Chengyu are thinking about Fengjiu when she was little, they remember how naive and cute she was. Once Zheyan told her that she ate peaches that would make a little baby grow inside of her. She cried so much that he ate the peaches himself to prove him that it wasn’t true and she would look at Zheyan’s belly everyday until she was convinced he wasn’t pregnant. Then Siming worries about Lian Song having his doubts about Fengjiu and also reminds Chengyu that Donghua and Fengjiu used to not have a common fate together.

Donghua pays a visit to Miao Luo. She’s like, watch out, I am about to come out and I saw your weakness, a young lady wearing white. He uses his spiritual energy to strenghten the seal and then leaves while she laughs like the mad woman she is.

Fengjiu sees Donghua coming and escapes from behind using her fox form. Yan Chiwu finally realizes she’s the fox tribe crown princess (not exactly the right term here though). So Donghua asks him how long they have shared the same house and his tells him to switch rooms with him. At first, Yan Chiwu refuses until he realizes that he would be living next to Ji Heng by doing so. And then he’s like hell yeeeeaaah! Poor Yan Chiwu... She’s never going to be yours though... I can feel it, you’re like... too naive, exactly the kind of character that never gets the girl. It breaks my heart. When he tells Ji Heng that they are going to live together, she looks so distressed, even more when he tells her that he used to live with Fengjiu, which means that now Donghua lives with her. Oops. Broken heart much.

Xiangli Meng bumps into Fengjiu and tells her that there is only one season in the Fanyin valley which is winter. It’s a remember not to talk about Alanre who liked very much spring, summer and fall before she died. It’s a taboo subject so he won’t say more. Then she asks about the box he always carries with him but he doesn’t want to tell her about it and runs away.

Fengjiu finally notices Donghua is living next door and confronts him a little bit about it. He says she now has to look after him. He kind of threatens her about letting everything out about how she planned on stealing the pinpo fruit and gets her to cook for him. While she exits, she loses balance on the door thing and Donghua magnificiently catches her in this so weird gesture. Like why is her leg so high up like a ballerina and why does his arm is lifted up like this? Is this the Nutcracker? Are they going to dance ballet? Maybe it’s supposed to look romantic. Intense exchange of looks. She notices his arm is bleeding.

Yan Chiwu is sad and drinks with Xiangli Meng. Xiangli Meng comforts him and asks him what he thinks about Donghua moving next to Fengjiu. He says it must be because Donghua likes her and that they seem to be a match. Chiwu is like so happy: when Ji Heng will be heartbroken by Fengjiu getting together with Donghua, he will be the one comforting her. He’s going to try and play the matchmaker between Fengjiu and Donghua.  Hahaha! He doesn’t need to I think.

Fengjiu brings medicine for Donghua’s wound. She’s not too happy to have to put it on for him herself and asks him how come he let himself get injured by a demon that weak, it doesn’t make sense. Did he do it on purpose to force her to keep him company? And he’s like, do I look this bored and she’s like, euh well yes. He says she seems to hold many misunderstandings against him and asks her what she’s going to do about the pinpo fruit and she says she’ll steal it next month.

The master teacher adds Fengjiu’s name on the list of participant for the competition. It’s thank to Donghua and Chiwu uses the opportunity to try to speak well of him and try to make Fengjiu fall for him. She’s like how come you suddenly don’t dislike him anymore and he’s like hahaha now that he did that for you I realized that I had many misunderstandings about him and you definitely shouldn’t refuse his friendship. And she’s like, well he did help me, let me think about it. She leaves and he hits himself because he feels bad about trying to match his friend with someone she dislikes so much.Then Jielv sees him and because of her, he realizes he was the only one not knowing that Fengjiu likes Donghua, is he stupid enough to believe it when a girl tells him she doesn’t like a guy? And then he’s like so when Ji Heng says she doesn’t like me... And she cuts him saying “no she really doesn’t like you”. That girl is priceless and so precious, I love her. She gave up on Donghua so bravely. She’s perfect.

The episode ends on the trio drinking together, like they always do. I love the three of them together, Fengjiu, Chiwu and Chiwu. They’re like the idiot trio <3

And once again, I am going to talk about the soundtrack. I really love it. I usually skip the openings and endings, but never for this one.  So beautiful **

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 20: Bisect

When the child was born, as with any child, no one could yet tell what was contained inside it.

All he could do, after all, was curl up and sleep. Cry occasionally. Even when he developed beyond the infant stage, still no one could tell. All there was to see was a child, who went about his day like any other. He was curious at all the right things, happy at all the right moments, just as endearing and sweet as your average child.

The first signs didn’t come until eight years. Even then, who could have told? An angry outburst and one punch to a fellow child who he claimed to be making fun of him was hardly odd. For the child looked upon his parents with sad, regretful eyes, just as any child should.

But then the contents slowly streamed out of the container. Incident upon incident over time, more outbursts and fits of anger. Perhaps he’d just grow out of it. Children did things like this. And he hadn’t a day out of the ordinary from any other noble child. There could be no other cause.

His parents waited. And waited. And eventually, began to grow frustrated. “You need to stop this,” they said more firmly than ever. “Every time we tell you to control yourself, it’s like you’re not listening. This is bad, Esredes. You can’t act like this.”

Maybe he was told no. But a child was driven by their impulses, and all of his told him the same collective thing. No, he could not, and would not, stop. There were so many things he needed to explore and know, and being told no made him mad. He didn’t like being held back. It was like a cage! And cages were bad! And every time people pushed back against him, all his impulses told him it was best to fight back.

Fighting seemed right.

No matter what his parents did over the years that followed, he still would not listen. His desire to fight back only grew as he realized just how many unfair rules were in place in the manor. No going out after a certain time. No going here or there. Well, too bad. It was boring to stick to all the places that were fine, and his spirit could not contain its own urge to be as free as the wind.

Rules, rules, rules. All broken like shards of glass. All the while, he only grew more angry at the resistance. No, no one could hold him down. He was going to be free to do what he’d like, and that was that.

Yet when the consequences came crashing down, he still ended up feeling shame. His father’s words from the night before still rung clearly in his head, and he could only stare up and remain silent as his parents told him they’d have to try something new with him.

In the following weeks, they brought in a pair of family friends to watch after the teen. To be with him for far too many moments within the day, always telling him to do this or that. It was infuriating, at first, and he made his resistance known. But they pushed back harder than anyone had before. They did not just eventually let it go like his parents. They really meant it.

Fuck.

As angry as it made him, eventually the anger turned to exhaustion. So long of fighting people. So long of resisting. It made his very soul weary with the weight of all the effort. So the teen finally, reluctantly, tried to listen to their words. Try to really see if they made any sense. Inside his spirit, there was a weak little thing. It had always been there, pushing its influence on parts of him, but it was too weak to be more than a passive influence. Nothing had given it power. Nothing had ever fostered it to grow. Instead, it was held down and terrorized by the much larger force that was in control. It told the small thing it would never be powerful. That the larger part would always be in control, and the owner of the soul was a slave to its whim.

But in the weeks that followed, something finally reached out to the weakling. Suddenly it was being listened to, suddenly it could take part meaningfully. What a wonderful thing it was, to finally have real influence! It never wanted to let this moment go!

So it didn’t.

All though the former powerhouse of the soul protested and fought back, the new emerging force grew strong and fought back. And in the end, won. It could not diminish the power of its enemy, or kill it outright. But it was an equal now, creating a fragile balance. As long as the other was not given the means to resist it, it would remain in control. This soul was its now. And it would not let go of that, not for the sake of the child...

The meeker child that appeared as a result of this went through a much better remainder of his teenage years because of it. Sometimes he had moments of falter, where the other side nearly overpowered for a moment, but the side in charge held it down with all its might.

Oh how perfect its little paradise was now. Nothing could stop it now...

If only it had been smart enough to see it coming.

One day its host had entered his first battle. His first real, true battle. It thought it had been ready to guide him through it, that it would not falter, not for a moment--

And the boy panicked. In all of the motion, all of the noise, too much going on- he had no choice but to panic. And the tentacles of its enemy started wrapping about, pulling it closer.

It was going to regain control, after everything. All would be for nothing, if it did not fight back with all its will! So it pushed back hard against its eternal enemy, and in the end, it retreated. But not before the boy was already dizzy and breathing hard on the ground. Oops. Oh well. It’d handle it better next time...

And better it could handle it, for the first few times. All until the boy witnessed one of his comrades be cut down in front of him.

Oh no.

It froze up. How could it deal with this? There was no logical explanation for something like this, for such agony, such suffering, it--

Was overpowered by its enemy in an instant, the tentacles wrapping around it and pulling it in.

And Esredes could not stop it from happening. All of his training melted away in an instant as he rushed at the opponent without positioning his blade properly, leading to a slash across his chest. But even as it burned, he did not stop. He couldn’t stop as he tore into the person over and over again with his blade, blood spurting out of every opening.

He’s going to die, it thought in a panic as it fought against its enemy. He won’t notice if something sneaks up on him and stabs him! Stop, my enemy, please, you’re going to kill him!

Kill him?

I am only allowing him to do as he needs. You are the one who tortures him by hiding him away from what he really is. Finally, he can truly feel the passion of the battle he so desired.

“Rosemond,” came a voice from behind the man. The voice distracted its enemy for a moment, just long enough for it to free itself from the tentacles and push it away, back into the corner it belonged, and hastily take control again.

“He’s beyond dead. You can stop.”

The young knight looked back at his superior, still heaving from the effort of his deed, before staring upon his work almost in horror. The corpse was almost unrecognizable... Eugh! He hastily scrambled his way off of it, putting a hand to the cut on his chest as the burning got even more painful. “I’m... I’m so sorry, Ser,” he said. “I was careless...”

And then he collapsed to the ground, painting the grass with red.

This is all my fault, it thought as the boy was carried off with the wounded. Had I not faltered, he wouldn’t have been hurt. I need to be stronger. I can’t let that happen again...

But as much as it tried, it couldn’t get stronger. It could only ever be equal to its enemy, stuck in the same delicate balance.

Esredes himself thought it was just him getting used to the art of battling. He would keep trying, and then soon enough, be able to stop these moments from happening. But as time went on, he couldn’t. In some moments, the rush of battle couldn’t be contained in his calm focus. It flooded over him for a moment, and the world narrowed in to his target, the rush of excitement as he sliced such a deserving opponent in half. In those moments, it felt so wonderful. Other times, it was less excitement and more panic. When an enemy wounded him and closed in, he had to keep fighting, in a desperate measure to survive. Sometimes even intense anger made the feeling trigger, his eyes widening more than they usually did as he retaliated against whatever made him feel that way with all the fires of hell.

But no matter what, it was always fleeting, always a quick moment that was broken at the smallest interruption. Yet over all this time, he had become well aware of its merits. Sometimes when it was safe and worth doing, he took his own control over the two’s battle. He pushed what was in control back, and listened to the enemy as it whispered in his ear, playing them into a delicate dance of back and forth until he was satisfied to let it take full control once more as usual. While he would much rather allow the enemy to stop unwillingly taking control of him- it was the best he could make of a feeling that never stopped entirely appearing.

I don’t understand, it said to its enemy. Why do you persist? Why are you still here? Can’t you see you only do bad for him?! He needs to move beyond you!

Oh, you foolish creature, it replied. Are you so blind not to see the obvious? You are fake, artificial. You were born weak, practically nonexistent. I am what is real and what he has always been. He is not a creature of your kind. He cannot be contained and held down by order as so many try and fail to do. At the end of the day, he will always have a desire to destroy. To do what he pleases. He cannot be so neatly contained as he pretends to be, as so many fools fall for the illusion of. I will always be the true side of him.

...Perhaps you will be, the other responded. But I am never giving up. Because he is better without you.

Again, you are so idiotic. Without me, he couldn’t do anything he does. There would be no fire. Just an emotionless and obedient husk.

And yet with only you there is a person who can’t function, it countered. So perhaps we both need to continue to exist like this, in this fragile balance. Perhaps I understand now what your purpose is. But you have to remain contained. And so I will not give up

And so neither of us will give up.

And so the man continues on, in his perpetual quest to see his cause through... For nothing would ever fix the incomplete balance, nothing could see just how delicate it was. They only ever saw either his sadness, or his seriousness.

He would always fight this one little battle alone.

[jack-the-dm]

Pathfinder: Untold Wonders!

Chapter 1: Von and Ali

The firm oak door flung open with such ferocity the wall seemed to lose the battle, cracking at the point of impact. The abode was small, a mere two rooms, kept dark during the night while the residents were away. It was always a work in progress, but a certain someone never made it easy. So many years of living together made it a well known fact that idiot didn’t know his own strength.

“Ali! I’m home.” A thunderous voice boomed.

The reply was instant as the owlbear pelt over a crudely made sofa was flung into the air. The startled girl shot up, her horns catching the moonlight as they bent back along her skull like a natural headband before bending outward an inch at the base of the skull. Her void like black eyes zeroed in on the jolly intruder, “Do you have any idea what time it is?!”

The subject of her rage was an Orc like any other. Or rather, the picture of what the average Orc would look like. Standing three ticks under seven feet and weighing damn near three times the girl was a light green skinned slab of muscle. With two fuzzy straps hooking over his chest and into the belt of his black bull skin shorts, the grizzly bear pelt he used as a means of warmth and camouflage was drawn tight to the back of his neck. An axe hung from its place on his hip, bloodstains forever merged into the metal and giving it a misleadingly beautiful shade of crimson. His yellow eyes were bright and lively even as his younger companion scolded him. Dragged behind him were two deer carcasses, a leg in each hand. He heaved a shrug, “Uh... no?”

The girl, a young Tiefling of fourteen years, pointed a maroon skinned hand to the wall he’d just nailed with the door. Her long black hair hung well past her shoulders and her naturally blackened lips curled into a snarl, showing her sharp pointed teeth. Unlike the Orc, the girl wore genuine clothes purchased from the town twenty-two miles east. She didn’t have quite the same figure as most women her age. Living with an Orc since she was an infant had built up more muscle on her frame than a veteran warrior. She still had a feminine shape, but there wasn’t anything soft about her. “I don’t know either! Because you just broke the gods damned clock again!”

Sure enough, on the floor lay the various gears, pendulums, and annihilated birch casing of their clock. That had to be the fourth one in as many weeks. “Er, my bad. Well, I was going to town tomorrow anyways. Oh! Fern still owes me that favour. We can get a new one.”

“You’re not getting it, Dad. You’ve called that favour in seven times already!”

Oh. Oops. The Orc set a massive hand on the back of his neck, “Right, sorry. Guess I’ll need to pay full price then.”

Her palm slammed into her forehead, “Or you could stop kicking the door in.”

“My hands were full!”

__________________________

As the Orc settled in for the night, having butchered the deer and stowed the meat, a thought lingered in his mind.

‘She called me Dad again.’

It wasn’t as good a thing as most would think it. In his younger years, he’d been a prime raider. He’d killed plenty of people, stolen four times as much, and oh the amount of property damage. He was a true menace. That was the life for him. Not anymore though. He couldn’t afford to. With her under his care, he had to teach her how to be upstanding. He had to learn it himself there. Back when he’d even considered being a nice guy, he’d struck a deal with a local town that seemed to play out well for both of them. He would get as much as he could carry from his pillaging spree, but he wasn’t allowed to kill for it. He could erase the town twice over, but it would be rebuilt with his help come the month after. The townsfolk even began to see him as a neighbour. After about two years of that, he’d taken less to pillaging and more to helping around town. Well, on the crest of the third year, he’d gone to town, axe in hand, only to find it wasn’t there anymore. The friends he’d made and the town he’d come to love were gone, replaced by a burning replica. A flaming tower of a monstrosity was parading through the main road. The beast was a mass of flesh and bone fumbling along on all fours as it tried to avoid crushing the houses its mere presence set ablaze. He hadn’t taken much time to examine the scene, but he’d found her there, a bright red infant wailing among the carnage as he hunted for survivors. There weren’t any except her.

It was a strange course of events. He’d never seen a Tiefling in the small town before, never mind anyone of demonic origin. Last time he’d been there, old lady Meragei, an Elf so old he didn’t dare touch her lest she fall apart, had actually complained about the lack of children wandering about and how it made the place all the more dreary. He hadn’t known what he was supposed to do, but while the creature had its back to him, he took her and ran the entire fourteen mile trek without stopping. After that, things had only gotten worse.

With every day came a trial, every week a gamble on whether either of them would live. He’d done everything he could think of to keep them safe. Now, he was looking across the room at the fruits of his years worth of labour. He could honestly say he was happy having brought her up, but it was always a task. He had to make sure he left out most of the Orc culture and lifestyle. Not all his kind were violence obsessed or went giddy at the thought of blood, but enough were that it was rare to hear otherwise. He didn’t want that. It was bad enough she’d been born with demon blood in her heart, but that didn’t mean anything. Hells, he used to be a raider. Now look at them, two outcasts making a home for themselves.

__________________________

When the morning came, the two of them set out. She swung herself into the back of the cart as her father went to the front. It was small, but well made after seven tries. The Orc, Von, looped the leather straps around his chest and began to pull. As the cart started to shift and crawl down the path, Alissia found that she felt a little happy to be heading to town. It would take the better part of the day and they’d spend the night there, but she’d get to see people again. Being the only Orc and Tiefling for literally miles and miles, Von had set up his hut a long way off from anything and anyone. He’d said he didn’t like getting visitors and that it made the villagers feel safer when he strode into town. She wasn’t sure how much of that was true, but there was plenty he kept from her.

Growing up had been hard. She never wanted for anything, save for a few neighbour kids so she wouldn’t be left completely alone when her father went hunting, but in addition to that she’d grown up knowing they were different. He was green, massive, and a little on the slow side if she was so bold. She was lean, varying shades of red, and sported horns complete with a spaded tail. And her claws. Her fingernails were curved just so anything she grabbed felt them dig in, her toes too. His were not so, usually being down to the nub and usually broken or chipped. While she was certainly glad for them when eating and lacking a knife, it was just another difference.

She knew she wasn’t his daughter, but she didn’t know anything else and he... he refused to tell her anything about the day he found her or where or what circumstances convinced a barbarian like him to become a family man. She should count herself lucky, she knew that, but the lingering secrets kept bothering her.

The ride was mostly spent in silence, her hood down so she could feel the beaming sun on her cheeks. It felt good, really good. She was trying to balance a stone on the flat side of her tail, a sort of workout for it and a means of entertainment as far as she was concerned, when the cart came to a stop.

“Break time.” Von said, his deep voice resonating with a force she could never place. It always sounded like his voice came from his core rather than his throat. His bald head and bare back gleamed with sweat as he sat down on the dirt and put a towel over his face. She was forced to remember her own skin, dry of any moisture yet somehow being soft and near flawless. Just another difference between them. She hopped down over the side, the firm leather soles of her boots meeting the beaten dirt path, “Want me to try?”

He didn’t move the rag, “Ali, I know you want to help but-”

“I’ve gotten better! I’m stronger than I was last month.”

“So am I, Grukmelc. That doesn’t mean I want you hurting yourself pulling this thing.”

Grukmelc. That word again. It meant Fire-child in his native tongue, which she’d grown fairly fluent in. They rarely spoke common, only ever practicing when Von needed a reminder on the difference between bear and pear and likewise words. She crossed her arm in a huff, pouting more out of habit than anything. It wasn’t like he could see much through that. They stood there for a minute or two, neither surrendering their position, until Von got to his feet. She made to get back in, but he didn’t put the straps back on, “You can’t drag the cart, but you can start helping. Put the straps on and pull, I’ll get around back and push if you need help.”

She didn’t care that he’d just called her weak. Everyone was compared to this guy. Alissia beamed a sharp toothy smile and moved into position, looping her arms through the thick straps. They didn’t sit on her shoulders like they did for Von, but she wasn’t about to complain. She grabbed the excess and held it tight to her chest as she put a foot forward.

Nothing moved.

Von ran a hand over his bald scalp, “Mmhmm, thought as much. Alright, keep trying, I’ll push. I’ll match you so it’s your lead now.”

She heard him walk back and slowly the immovable weight behind her began to roll. One step, then another, and another. She continued to push, her shoulders creaking under the weight. True to his word, Von pushed only enough to get it moving. The pace was her own. The harder she pulled, the faster they’d go, but only as much as she could pull.

They carried on with Alissia at the head for a solid hour, sweat finally dotting her arms. Her legs shook with every step, every shuddering breath driving a spike through her chest. When the wagon stopped suddenly, she was jerked back and onto the ground, lungs fighting to get some air. Von’s shadow covered her form completely. He gave her a kind smile, his protruding bottom canines curled slightly, “That’s my girl. C’mon, vuruk, I’ll take it from here.”

Vuruk. Sweetheart. A smile graced her gasping lips. “How far did I go?”

“Half a mile. Not bad at all.”

It was slightly disappointing. She really had gotten stronger, but she was nowhere near the behemoth of a man he was. He’d already covered fourteen miles and it was barely noon, maybe some after. She tried to get back into the cart, but her legs refused. She just couldn’t do it again. She tried to hop again, but her legs buckled. She wasn’t even surprised when a large hand curled around waist and lifted her high into the cart. A different towel landed on her forehead. She’d done some fair work, her limbs asking what in all six hells she’d been thinking. The cart began moving again as she dragged the towel down over the rest of her face. She hadn’t done much, but the effort was hers.

__________________________

Twelve years later...

Von couldn’t help but smile at the memories. It was a reminder of a simpler time and a chance it could come again.

Across from him, Alissia sat with her greatsword in her lap, running a rag across the shining edge. She’d grown so much since then. She was taller than him now, nearly seven and a half foot. Her frame had grown out, her time and effort showing as her lean body had hardened with plenty of muscle. She wore it well though, adding to the height to make her seem like a bigger version of her fourteen year old counterpart. Her hair reached the middle of her back, the horns curving abruptly to follow the curve of her skull and to direct the flow down in a straight line. Her dark eyes had hardened over the years, the void like orbs growing weary of hardship. Her skin had darkened further to match her scarlet hands.

It was a beautiful feeling that swelled in his chest. He’d watched this little Tiefling girl he’d found in the middle of a slaughter grow into a wonderful woman. For so long he was sure she’d grow up to be like him, but his doubts were crushed when she began reading the training books an old Inquisitor had given her. He’d then been worried she’d become a bible thumper, but she didn’t take a god to worship. Instead, she chose to worship her moral code and somehow that had been enough for her to develop the strength of the inquisitions of old. He’d done right by her, raised her how she deserved and gave her as much as he could. She caught him looking at her and gave him a half smile, several stress lines disappearing in the lamp light, “Hey Dad. Sleep well?”

All this time and she still called him dad.

__________________________________________

Sorry for the format! I’m still working with it.

[snarkyowl]

Teach Him To Love

as usual this falls apart towards the end. oops.

“Come on Dark! I really want you to meet him!” Mark calls, a few paces ahead of his younger brother.

Dark coughs, still a bit sick, as he chases after his sibling.

“Mark I can’t run this much, mama and the doctors said-” “Screw what they say! Come on Darkie!” Mark laughs, picking up the pace.

Dark coughs again and runs faster to keep up, still trying to whine in between breaths. Finally they reach the little area Mark was trying to lead them to, and Dark gets to collapse. He gasps and coughs, and Mark starts to get worried. Maybe he really shouldn’t have made his little brother run so much.

Author appears with his usual satchel, but frowns at the sight of some new pathetic whelp with Mark. He steps cautiously closer as Mark helps the boy up, and then realizes with a start that the kid looks almost identical to Mark. Just a lot more pathetic.

“Author! Hey!” Mark greets with his usual friendly cheeriness about him.

Author smiles back awkwardly before looking back to the new kid.

“So uh, who’s this, Mark?” “I’m Dark.” The kid says, and Author is floored by how gorgeous his eyes are.

They’re like Mark’s in shape, but the color is so much darker and holds so much more… potential. Mark is a man of potential, and Author believe that. However, the look in Dark’s eyes is something more than that. Where Mark is only ambitious, Dark has a greed about him as well as a stalwart determination that Mark doesn’t quite carry. Author wonders where that will lead him.

“Author. It’s nice to meet you.” Author says, smiling politely and offering his hand.

Dark stares his hand down before nodding to himself and shaking Author’s hand. Dark’s hand is bony and cold, and Author wonders if he’s always cold like this.

Mark and Author spend the day showing Dark around, and Author learns very quickly that Dark knows very little and yet very much. He’s awkward with social situations despite carrying a cool countenance, and Author wonders why Dark feels he has to always look unshakeable.

Mark seems more than happy to finally have his brother with him on their adventures, and his excitement eventually passes to the other two boys with him. Dark slowly becomes more talkative and asks more questions to the point Author laughs every time he asks a new one, but it’s only a laugh of friendly amusement.

They meet a kind man that sells them each an ice cream cone for very little, his smile is all too knowing and Author appreciates the kindness of someone who understand when kids can’t afford to have delights like this.

Dark is fascinated by the ice cream, and Author has to remind himself that Dark was kept inside for years because he becomes ill very easily. He wonders why his parents are suddenly letting him out, but it doesn’t take long for him to get his answer.

“They think he’s going to die.” Mark says softly, watching his brother nap in the sun.

“Why would-” “The doctor’s said he’s just in poor health. That he won’t ever get any stronger. He sleeps a lot and gets sick even more, they don’t think he has a chance.” “Have they told him this?” Author asks, watching the sad eyes of his friend trail around the small clearing.

“Not to his face, mom wouldn’t allow it. He heard them, though.” “So they’re freeing him only because they think he’s going to die?” “Might as well let him die happy.” Mark mutters, and Author frowns.

“Bullshit.” He decides, and Mark chuckles softly.

“You’re telling me.”

When Dark turns fifteen, Author takes him to the fair. Despite it all, Dark is still kicking. He still has a tendency for getting sick, but damn if he doesn’t do an impressive job of pushing through. His parents still won’t let him attend school because they’re worried he’ll be bullied over the fact he can’t write well because he didn’t start learning to write until he was 10.

Dark perseveres with his brother and Author by his sides, and Author couldn’t be more proud of him. He’s come a long way from the stick of an eleven year old that Author met four years ago. He’s still not the best in ways of physical build, but he’s getting there.

Dark is intimidated by the sheer amount of people, and Author realizes that even with his four years of “freedom,” Dark has continued to live a rather… sheltered life. With a determined huff, Author decides he’s going to start taking Dark out more. Mark has been so busy lately with work and school, but Author doesn’t bother with either of those things so it works out.

“Author?” Dark asks, pulling Author from the long halls of his mind and back to this one present moment.

“Dark?” Author questions softly, looking back to his friend.

The younger boy is dressed (adorably) in a white button down, some nice looking pants, suspenders, and to Author’s amusement Mark apparently put him in a bow-tie. Compared to Author in his simple flannel and jeans, Dark looks rather fancy.

“I don’t… Like this.” Dark seems hesitant to admit it, and Author smiles comfortingly.

“Of course you don’t, Darkipoo, you’ve never been somewhere like this before. Now c’mon, don’t worry about it. I’m here for you.” Author soothes, offering his hand out.

Dark takes it, and they head off into the fair.

Dark looks around in quiet fascination at everything, occasionally gripping tightly to Author’s hand when something startles him. They go on rides, though it takes a lot of convincing to get Dark onto them, and they eat food. Author finds a petting zoo and feels his heart melt when he sees Dark just enjoying the animals because he never really gets to do that.

When Dark looks up at him, a duck in his lap and a lamb nibbling his hair, and laughs? Author can’t do anything but laugh too because the sight makes him forget about that shadowy glint of greed that seems to haunt Dark’s eyes.

Dark seems almost angelic among the animals, Author is sorry when he has to tell him it’s time to go. Thankfully Dark isn’t horribly crushed, says goodbye in a gentle voice Author feels belongs more with human children and mothers than a fifteen year old boy and a grumpy old duck, but that’s Dark for you.

Undeterred by having to leave his animal companions, Dark practically skips along at Author’s side as they head home. For a fifteen year old, Dark is certainly excited about this all. Author is glad.

He deserves excitement.

They have dinner in Author’s favorite little diner in his favorite booth. Dark takes the time to unwind after all of his excitement, though he quietly talks Author’s ear off about everything and how grateful he is that Author took him. Author smiles through most of it, though the smile falls as he focuses on his food.

As they go different ways to get to their own different homes, Author wonders how many more innocent moments he can pull out of Dark before the boy gives in to his own pride. Not long, Author sighs.

Not long.

“Author! Author-!”

Sirens and sound, it’s all flashing and it’s all too bright. They’re trying to question him but he can’t think beyond the blood and the screaming and the eyes and oh god no they’re taking him away he can’t be taken away Dark needs him-

Dark sits in silence, eyes glossed over and haunted. His unwavering gaze is locked on one specific spot on the floor, his hands tightly gripping the opposite arm. Around him, the officers and workers give him sympathetic glances, curious glances, disappointed glances, and a few have been judgemental.

He ignores them all because what does it matter? They won’t do anything to him.

Mark is furious when he comes to pick Dark up, but his anger melts like icy when he sees his sibling. His baby brother, only 18, has just seen things no one that young should have to see.

“Dark?” Mark asks, and he keeps his tone low as he crouches down to try and catch his younger brother’s eyes.

Dark is too far gone, though; at least for the moment. His eyes search for something that isn’t there, and he feels sick when everything really settles.

Author’s body lay broken and beaten on the ground, no longer making any sound as fists and feet slammed into it. No longer flinching when the bat swung down directly into the rib-cage. No, Author was still and Dark screamed because that usually meant someone had died and Author wasn’t allowed to. He couldn’t die. Dark needed Author because Author grounded him, kept him sane on the days he wanted to rip out his own throat in place of living anymore.

Author made him want to live, and if he died what was that supposed to mean to Dark? “You should die too.” A voice whispers in his head, and he realizes that yes, that’s the obvious answer.

If Author goes, he’ll go too. He’d stay for Mark if he thought his brother wouldn’t make it without him, but he knows well and good Mark is going to be fine. Mark is stronger than that.

Author is alive, Mark has said by now, but he’s broken. Broken and it’s all Dark’s fault. All his.

He feels sick but he doesn’t let himself get sick because Mark is in front of him and people are watching them like hungry vultures. They’re waiting for him to break because if he does that they’ll think they’ve won some unspoken battle. They’ll think he’ll quit the path he’s begun to walk down.

No.

Dark has seen things tonight that will haunt him for years to come, and when another mistake of his leads to Author’s suffering he’ll blame himself then. He’ll think of this and laugh hollowly as he downs another glass of whiskey. He’ll know that this, this one night of broken bones, bloody gashes, and bruises was nothing compared to what was to come.

But in the moment, in the night that it happens, Dark remains silent. He holds himself because he can’t let anyone else hold him, not after he let his friend nearly die for the sake of his own wants. He holds himself because he doesn’t deserve to have someone else do it. Mark tries, but like a cat that doesn’t want to be pet Dark slinks away from under his brother’s arm and keeps walking.

Mark looks hurt, but Dark knows that he understands what’s going on in Dark’s head. Dark thinks he doesn’t deserve to be loved right now, and when Dark thinks something it’s near-impossible to convince him of anything else, so Mark doesn’t try.

That’s okay.

It’s okay not to try because Dark really doesn’t want him to.

And later, when Dark is in a better mental state, he’ll tell Mark that. He’ll tell Mark he’s grateful that Mark didn’t push.

When they visit Author in the hospital Dark will stand as far from the bed while still being close as he can, he’ll hold himself again and as they’re leaving his eyes will take up that glossy appearance. The hundred yard stare will return and Dark will lapse back into stony silence because for Dark silence is more comforting than sound because sound means that things are happening. That the world is spinning. In silence, Dark can breathe. He can take a break.

Silence holds him while noise shakes him, and if no one else is allowed to hold him silence can because silence won’t whisper everything he’s done wrong in his ear. She’ll hold him, and she won’t say a word.

Author settles down beside Dark with a beer, and listens to what Dark has to say.

A gang, evidently. It’s an insane idea, but Author knows Dark has mulled over this for ages. Years maybe, from the fact the tattoo idea is ridiculous.

Dark admits to meeting a man named Wilford, and the mustache had been his idea. “Alternatively,” Dark says a bit miserably, “we could have glasses. Or a box.” “A… box?” Author questions, and Dark snorts.

“It- there’s a long story. I’m holding off on that one.” “So a mustache and some glasses? Sounds dumb.” “You should hear what Brody’s little minions wear.” Dark grunts, drinking idly from his beer.

Author frowns, tilting his head to try and make Dark look at him. He won’t.

“Chase started a gang?” “Joined and managed to take it over.” “Huh. What’s his wife think?” “She doesn’t, for now, know he’s in one.” Dark mutters darkly, finishing his beer with eerie speed.

Author worries for him, wonders if he drinks frequently and if he does Author wants to know why. He doesn’t ask, but he still wants to know.

“That won’t end well.” “It won’t.” Dark agrees softly, setting the empty bottle down.

They slip into easy silence, just breathing. Author shuts his eyes and rests his head back on the wall behind him, mulling over Dark’s proposition for a while. Finally, he sits forward and looks to Dark. This time, Dark meets his eyes.

“What did Mark think about this gang idea?” Author questions, and Dark grimaces.

“He said to ask you seeing as you’re the… Wisest of the three of us. Which I disagree with because I clearly remember you thinking that setting a pool on fire would both work and be a good idea.” Dark states, smirking as Author groans.

“I was drunk Dark, cut me some slack.” “You  know I’m not going to.” “It was worth a shot.” Author huffs, lips quirking into a smile at the sound of a low chuckle from Dark.

“You’re a fucking dumbass, Author, and you know it.” “Well apparently Mark doesn’t, so you shut up.” Author says, stabbing Dark in the side with his finger.

Dark squawks, and Author laughs.

“I think a gang would be fun.” Author decides, and Dark’s eyes light up.

“Great. I’ll call Wilford and Mark in the morning.” “Have anyone else joining?” “A few candidates.” Dark nods, then shrugs. “But we’ll have to see.”

Dark, with time, goes from awkward and stiff to cold and professional. In places his voice used to only be cold, it now comes out feeling like ice. Author feels he’s turned into a completely different man from the one he thought he knew, and he knows why. Envy, greed, and pride overrule most decisions Dark tends to make. He makes every decision with his own best interest in mind, but that’s okay.

They’re all in a position where he can afford to do that.

Still, Author wonders how much of their lives will change because of this.

The gang is still small, mostly, but it’s turned into something Author can rely on. The Ipliers are already notorious in their side of the town, and Dark’s will to get things done well and fast has spread into rumors that he’s a ruthless killer.

Author wishes they were further away from the truth.

Dark doesn’t kill frequently, nor does he do it for any kind of enjoyment. He does kill, though, and he does it with such unflinching ease Author dearly misses the fifteen year old that would sit and baa at a lamb because he thought it was cute.

Author stays by his side anyways, and so does Mark. They’re all in this together, that won’t ever change.

Some things, though, will change.

Author meets a man named Edward and he immediately hates him. The man is a bleeding heart doctor that works at some poor clinic, but he still carries himself with utter confidence and looks constantly as though he thinks he’s better than everyone else.

The doctor offers to help Author when he sees him limping one day, and Author tells him to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. The doctor laughs, and hands him a number.

“Well Mr. Tough, if you ever do need help just call.” The doctor says, and then he’s gone.

Despite what his mind says to do, Author tucks the number away for later use.

Maybe, at a later date, the doctor can make himself useful.

Dark has gotten them into a bad situation, and Author knows this is going to be a bad one. One that Dark can’t charm his way out of, and one they might die in.

Dark keeps Author behind him as long as he can before he’s pulled into a brawl.

Author loses sight of Dark in a circling mass of bodies that pick and tear at Dark like a pack of hyenas, laughing and taunting as they go.

Author is similarly surrounded, and the torture begins.

When he wakes, there is silence. There is darkness.

He breathes in, confirms that his hearing is not gone, and then screams.

The pain he feels cannot be properly described in words, though it’s similar to having fire pressed deeply into your eyes. A throbbing, horrible pain where his eyes are. Should be.

Author screams for all he’s worth because the pain is too much.

Dark is nearby, Author knows he has to be. When the pain ebbs to a point Author can take it, he takes to crawling and searching.

Everything hurts, he’s going to go into some kind of shock he knows, but he wants to find Dark first. Has to find him first.

Dark’s hand finds his, but Dark doesn’t seem aware of anything at all. Author says his name, and Dark only slurs something back at him.

Author collapses next to him, and lets himself fade away from the pain again.

The next time he wakes, he calls himself the Host and finds the way he communicates has altered itself completely without his permission. He narrates more than he speaks, and he has to wonder if there’s a real reason for that.

There is. His mind whispers softly. It makes you feel in control.

And ah yes, of course. He’s all about control. Losing his sight is catastrophic to him, or should be, so he narrates to feel as though the situation is his to control.

He processes a soft voice talking to him, and realizes with a jolt that’s a familiar voice, and not one of the nurses he’s spoken with since waking up. The doctor. The fucking doctor.

“Author?”

“The… The Host would like to be called… Host.” He says softly, and he can see the doctor nodding.

Well he can’t see it, but he imagines it so.

“Alright, Host. How do you feel? Is the pain in your eyes any better?”

“The pain in Host’s eyes is manageable.” Host murmurs, nodding lightly.

He can imagine the doctor smiles, somewhat sadly, as he feels a hand rest on his shoulder.

“Mark has been swinging by, but-” “Dark?” Edward pauses, and Host, for a moment, fears that he’s going to say Dark is dead.

“From what I’ve heard from Mark, Dark hasn’t been doing well. He’s healing okay, but he’s…” The doctor trails off, and Host frowns.

“He is…?” He questions, and Edward sighs.

“It doesn’t feel right for you to hear it from me, Host. Mark will come by soon, so you can ask him, yeah?”

“That will… Suffice.” Host murmurs, worry tugging incessantly at his belly.

When he asks Mark for the answers the doctor wouldn’t provide, Mark lets out a heavy sigh.

“Dark’s drinking himself into oblivion, Host. He’s… He’s not doing good.” Mark admits softly.

“He keeps having nightmares that he has to scream himself awake from, and I don’t- I think he’s hurting himself Host but I can’t check. He won’t let me.” Mark murmurs, and Host can hear the exhaustion that pulls at Mark likes a persistent child.

“Mark is tired and suffering just as much as Dark and Host. He should rest.” Host says, and Mark chuckles lifelessly.

“Yeah, of course, rest.” He mutters, and Host’s heart aches.

“Host, would you want to see him?” “Dark?” “Yeah.” The Host pauses to consider it.

“Why would the Host not?” “Because it’s his fault you’re like this.” Mark says, but Host knows this isn’t Mark blaming Dark.

This is Mark telling Host where Dark is, mentally.

“The Host is worried for his friend,” Host says firmly, “he wishes to hear from him at the very least.”

Dark plays at being alright when he visits, and Host doesn’t press him. Dark has a heavy limp and has to pause to breathe if he talks too long. Once hand is covered in cloth bandages, and according to Dark he can’t see for shit out of his left eye.

“It’s only temporary.” He adds, and Host senses the bitterness there.

Host never mentions the self blame and deprecation, instead he only has Dark talk about what’s going on with the other Ipliers.

“They’re dead.” Dark says suddenly, and Host frowns.

“The-” “No. The people who hurt you.” Dark clarifies, and Host’s heart stutters.

Dead already?

“Wilford killed them all after I found their base.” Dark says, and his voice sounds so tired and haunted Host wishes he could see him.

Comfort him.

Things between Dark and Host aren’t the same once they’re both back in action. They don’t talk as much, but when they do it’s mostly like it used to be. Dark doesn’t joke anymore, though. He’s lost any kind of light heartedness he had left. Host wishes he could change that, but there isn’t a thing he can do about it.

Instead, Host spends the time he used to spend with Dark with the doctor. Edward, he finds, isn’t actually unbearably overconfident once you worm your way into his heart. He’s a sweetheart, and definitely a pushover. He’s kindhearted, and Host is mostly certain he would drop everything to save a kitten.

Hell, Edward would drop everything to save a cactus.

Host adores him, and seeing as Mark keeps himself busier than ever these days, Host tells Dark about his affections.

Dark always listens and as time goes Host hears things in his tone he thought he’d never hear again. Exasperation and amusement, a teasing tone used to prod at Host and make him blush over a crush.

He can’t see the sadness in Dark’s eyes, nor the fact that his friend is never really smiling. Dark is an actor, and pretending to be happy for Host was easier than counting to three because he just had to affect how he sounded.

Not how he looked.

Soon, Dark finds himself going out with Host to find an engagement ring. He hides his pain with a cold countenance, but lets his voice stay warm for Host’s sake. Host is buzzing with excitement and anxiety, he’ll stay better if he doesn’t know what Dark has going on right now.

Dark has fallen for the doctor as well, and he can’t begin to believe how cruel the universe is to him.

Still, he picks out a ring and describes it to Host in painfully vivid detail. Host says Edward should love it, jokes that Dark knows his soon to be fiance better than he does. Dark laughs, but it’s a little too hollow.

Host doesn’t comment as he purchases the ring, and thanks the cashier politely.

Dark counts to ten, and then follows along behind him.

Edward meets Dark properly and not just for medical reasons on the tenth of October. Dark is with Host, half asleep against him really, and Edward had been expecting Host alone.

Dark drowsily greets the doctor, and Edward has to laugh.

“Not very intimidating when you’re half asleep, I have to say.” Edward teases him like they’re longtime friends, and Dark startles himself by chuckling.

“You’ve caught me in an undignified moment.” Dark says, and Edward snorts.

“You’re telling me.”

Host smiles, small and pleased, as the two people nearest and dearest to him banter. When they both quiet down on either side of him, Dark still tucked close and Edward simply leaning lightly on him, Host lets his smile get bigger.

This is nice.

The first time one of them kisses Dark, it’s surprisingly not Host. Instead, Edward grabs Dark by the face and plants a kiss firmly on his lips.

Host and Dark are both so startled neither of them can say anything for a full five minutes as they try to process.

“You’re both slower than steamrollers.” Edward sighs, settling himself in Dark’s lap as though he belongs there. And maybe he does.

[alpharusso]

the night is gonna get to you         [ chatzy log ]

           TAGGING : marco russo, lydia martin                LOCATION : marco’s apartment                TIME FRAME :  full moon / supermoon / the next morning                SUMMARY: After Marco’s refusal to stay Underground during the full moon, and the eclipse, Lydia takes a risk and goes Topside to his apartment so that he’s not alone during it. Lydia helps him through both the pain of being unable to shift, and the human side effects of the eclipse. Later -- fluff and smut. Oops?

Lydia: Lydia had known that the full moon would be hard on him... Collared, freshly turned, and an alpha? Literally a recipe for disaster. He also would not let her help... Which meant that Lydia was going in. She had more or less threatened Stu for the address, and snuck out topside on the most dangerous night of the month. She couldn't leave him alone, though. She knew he would be scared, wouldn't understand, would feel trapped. No one should be alone for that, even if they had pushed her away.

Marco

He hadn't expect it to hit him so quickly -- or so hard. He had dealt with pain before -- and he knew how to cope with it. This, this was different -- he couldn't describe this kind of pain. He felt like he wanted to claw his way out of his own flesh with claws he still hadn't seen ; claws he knew were laying restrained under his nailbeds.

When it did hit, it cut deep ; to the point that he almost hit his knees. And, instead, he lowered himself to the ground of his apartment -- somewhere between his staircase and threshold to the kitchen. He thinks the worst part of it was that the pain wasn't centralized, it wasn't just one place -- it was an all over ache for the wildness that was harbored in his heart, caged there, that couldn't be released.

His head is dropped against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. One hand white knuckled the collar around his throat, as if it could help elevate it in any way -- his other was merely clutching at the carpet beneath him; trying to focus solely on breathing in the manners he had done before -- before all of this, when he was just recovering from his back and all that came with it.

Lydia

She knew it would be bad… knew he wouldn't be handling this well. When she reached his place, the door was unlocked, and what she found… It broke her heart. She remembered being scared, remembered wanting it to all go away, trying to tuck into herself and just try to survive, but this looked like agony. She should have insisted he stayed in the underground, stayed with her, but it was too late now. So they could do was get through this night, survive until the moon faded. Stepping into action, Lydia searched until she found the bathroom, turning on the shower. She went back to him, leaving her things on the bed, and reached out a hand, hoping he would take it. “I can't make it go away, but I can make it bearable…”

Marco

Marco heard his door open, but -- honestly, that wasn't a concern of his right now. With the paranoia that encircled the lives of the Supernatural, it should've been; and it was worrisome to the back of his mind that it wasn't -- but, all the same, he barely even acknowledged the door opening and closing ; only looking up when he heard a voice addressing him.

Eyes turned upwards ; clouded and fogged with something beyond a mere withdrawl -- lines on his face drawn in with pain as he released a shaky breath, one that broke down the center as his jaw tightened -- something inside of him wanting to spark outwards. Something that would meld into the browns of his eyes, if he let it -- he didn't. He couldn't. He remembered, distantly, the jarring pain of the handicap and he would prevent it by any means needed -- knowing that, if he shifted, the device would force the shift back down inside of him. And he didn't think he could stomach any more pain.

"... L... Lydia?" he's asking hoarsely voice strained. "You shouldn't be here."

Lydia

“Stand up.” He could push her away tomorrow, could tell her he didn't need help then, but right now, Lydia didn't care. He was in agony, and she could do at least a little something to make it better. “I'm serious. Stand up. You don't have a choice. You are a werewolf, newly turned, without an anchor, and collared… all on a full moon. You want to shift but can't, and the pain is going to just keep getting worse. You have to numb it.” She wasn't giving him a choice- she would drag him there if she had to. Lydia kicked off her shoes and unsnapped the front of her jeans - at least those would stay dry. She had hoped he would have enough sense to listen to her, but apparently not. She kept her shirt on, at least, which went long enough to cover the tops of her legs. “Take off your shirt and get into the shower.”

Marco

His brow is twisting in -- this time with confusion alongside the pain. One hand was still curled tightly around the collar, as if he could snap it -- even if all he had was human strength. ( To be fair, without the use of his legs for so long, his arms were stronger than most -- ) He's swallowing, a grunt in the back of his throat that sounded hollow and wounded -- ducking his head down with a long hiss in a of a breath before he's looking back up at her. His gaze flickers momentarily to where she seems to be stripping out of her pants -- and he would be more confused than he already was if it wasn't for the pain; even if she adds the bit about the shower -- nothing, as of currently, is making too much sense.

A muscle all the way down his neck twitches, placing a hand on the wall instead of the floor, and he uses the grip there to raise himself to uneasy legs -- swaying with a low, quivering breath; closing his eyes to try and clear the vertigo as his free hand drops from his collar to absentmindedly tug weakly at the bottom hem of his shirt.

Lydia

“There we go,” she says, darting forward to help him. She gets his shirt over his head, and notices he's not wearing shoes, which is good. The bathroom isn't too far, so they just have to get there. Her arm goes around his body, ignoring the warm skin, and she helps him move a little faster. Everything would be better once he was under the water. His body would relax, the pain of shifting would calm, and once they were settled, she would keep him in a daze as long as she could.

Marco

He tries to keep himself from casting his weight on her as her body nears his -- as she's tugging his shirt off, a puckered and raised white scar still settled in the low of his back, and placing an arm around him. instead, he's holding to the wall again -- letting his weight instead drop there so that she doesn't have to shoulder too much of it.

He's wondering again, vaguely, why she's helping him. Why she risked all of this just to be here with him on the moon. He knew pain -- and he knew he could survive it.

Lydia

Lydia could tell he was carrying too much of his own weight - he needed to just throw himself forward. This was going to get worse. The full moon had only just risen, the sun not even fully settled. He had hours of this to look forward to.

"You have to move," she insisted, trying to pull him along. "You have to get in the shower. Please, don't make me drag you."

Marco: "I'm ... moving," he managed to bite out, his voice much harsher than he had used towards her at this point; he was struggling, and it was obvious in his gait. There was a heavy and constant heaving to his chest -- a hand still on the wall as his knees, his back, threatened to give out on him ; a pain settled low near his scar that made him almost feel like before he was bitten. Pain and all.

Lydia

Why the holy hell couldn't banshees take pain - oh right, because they normally found people dead. Absolutely useless... and there was no way she was dragging one of the werewolves out here to help him. They were feeling just as rough, trapped underground, struggling against the full moon, knowing they couldn't run free. And, there were hunters on the prowl, waiting for him to be unable to resist the call of the moon. He would have to make do with her.

"I know, I know, but this will get easier in there," she promised. He was still leaning more on the wall than her.

Marco

The closer they got, he could hear the rain of the shower -- the lulling pull of it. But, it also began to feel further and further the more that his back ached; squeezing his eyes shut with a low breath that rattled in his lungs. There was a time, when he first returned to the States, that they were hopeful he might be able to get some movement from his legs again -- they pushed him through physical therapy. This felt a lot like that.

He huffs out a breath, opening his eyes again and furrowing his brow with a wounded determination -- this time, he did have use of his legs, but his body threatened to betray him. He does, however, double his effort in trying to get to the bathroom -- in actually focusing instead of being lead blindly.

Lydia: Lydia grabs at the bathroom door, pulling them inside. She has to pull the curtain back and check the water as she leaves him standing there, leaning against the door frame. It's not quite hot enough, and she turns it up, before turning back to check on him. "Come on. Just climb in." She does so, ignoring the water, and reaches out her hand to him, to pull him into the shower with her. She should have put her hair up earlier, but this wasn't about her. "I'll hold you up, and then we'll get you settled down. I'm stronger than I look. Promise."

Marco

He's leaning more heavily than he would like on the threshold of the door frame as she releases him, his knees lax like he might collapse under his own weight -- he's panting, lightly, but it's hardly audible over the pour of the water. Albeit, he is looking up through his lashes when she speaks, letting out a low breath before he's taking the offered hand and letting her pull him in ; grunting softly and placing a hand on her shoulder for balance -- swaying under the heat of the water.

He seems to hesitate, at first, at her words -- but, after a beat, he's resting both hands on her shoulders to use her as a crutch.

Lydia

He takes her hand, and that's all that Lydia needs. Pulling him into the shower, she turns their bodies so that the water is hitting his shoulders and back, running down over his legs. She pulls him closer, her arms going up behind his arms so that he can lean forward, sag onto her, and she tries to get him to put his head on her shoulder, to just relax into her body, to trust her to hold him up. She would give him a few minutes like this before she lowered him down, letting him just relax under the water.

"I know it hurts," she said, tightening her hold on him. "It won't be like this forever. I'll get your collar off. I promise."

Marco

He's once more hesitant, still, trying to hold his body stiff as she's trying to edge him closer -- trying to get him to relax. Albeit, he can only hold that strength for so long as her arms wrap around the backs of his arms. He gives in ; he relents after a beat, closing his eyes and letting his forehead drop to her shoulder by one of his hands.

Eventually, she's helping to lower him down into the spray of the water against the porcelain tub floor ; jaw still held tight as the banshee held him like he was something to protect.

Lydia

She sinks down onto the floor of the tub, thankfully plently large enough for the pair of them. Her back presses into the corner, and she uses her legs to brace her, pushing against the edges as she cradles him in between. His back is exposed to the water, the shower pelting where it probably hurts the most, and she runs her fingers into his hair, petting and stroking, trying to keep him calm. If she had a singing voice, she would sing to him, but she doesn't so...

"You know, before the laws came out, I was in school, working on my Masters. I know I look young, and I am young - literally, I'm a genius. If these laws hadn't passed, I would have at least two PhDs, and be receiving my Fields Medal next year. Instead, I live underground in the city that I tried to escape..." This has taken a wrong turn, but she's trying to keep her voice soothing. "Would you like to hear about the pack?" Just something idle for him to listen to.

Marco

He's closing his eyes despite himself when her fingers thread into his hair -- a shaky breath ballooning from his lips, shivering all the way down his back and spine at the feeling ; his bones feeling like they went lax, as his hands raise to tentatively thread themselves into her soaked through shirt -- not even thinking once about the outside implications of being curled up in the shower with her. Like this.

He lets out slow, long, quivering breaths as she speaks -- and he thinks his eyes burn, but he can't tell with the heat of the water ; skin a tint of pink beneath it. "... yes."

Lydia: Her hands are moving now, up and down his back, over his arms, into his hair, slow and gentle movements. Her voice is soft as well, telling him about how it all began, how she had been nothing, how the Hales were killed by the Argent's, how Scott was bitten... She pauses when she mentions her own attack, and even notes that that scar doesn't go away.

Marco

His eyes remain closed as he lets Lydia's words pull him down to reality -- the pain ebbing slightly, to something a little more bearable ; ignoring the fact that his fingers were white knuckled against her clothing, as if he was clinging, the rest of his body was relaxed as she spoke -- it wasn't the words that she was saying that drew him closer to reality, but merely the act of her speaking. The tone of her voice. And he lets out a soft breath, one that's lost to the sound of the water.

".. why are you here?" he asks, voice hoarse and lacking the edge it held before.

Lydia

The fact of the matter, at the root of it all, the truth of the situation, is… Lydia doesn't know. Ever since she woke up, screaming for him, hearing his sister's voice, she wants to protect him, to save him. She remembers going through all of this alone, feeling abandoned - everyone else in the pack had someone, when their lives were flipped upside down, but she had been alone. She wouldn't let that happen to him. And… maybe some part of her liked him. He was soft and gentle, modest, and kind. He was the sort of person not made for this world, and yes, he had suffered pain, but being like them was a life of paranoia and loneliness, peace never following. “Because you needed me,” she said honestly, her fingers running into his hair. “Because I couldn't let you be alone.”

Marco:

Marco lets out a low breath -- he's aware that this is the lowest anyone has seen him in a long time. He wonders, distantly, if he's crying. But with the warm water, it's hard to tell. No one had truly seen him in such a state since Shilo had held him through darker times -- times similar to this. His heart ached almost as much as his body did, hiding his face impossibly against her to protect whatever pride he had left.

He had to be stronger than this now. He was an alpha -- it was in his blood.

And yet. He felt so weak against her as he shook, eyes screwed closed and small against her like a child. "--... I'm. Glad you're here."

Lydia: "I'm glad I'm here too," she says honestly, her hand slipping around to caress his cheek, down his neck, over his shoulder, and down his arm. He clearly needed her, and this was worth the risk. "Just try to close your eyes and breathe... When you teach a new werewolf control, we normally use a chant. Alpha, Beta, Omega. And... Think of your sister. She might help to anchor you."

Marco:

He keeps his eyes closed as she tells him to -- the touch feels nice. The sensual contact was unfamiliar to him and made a part of him ache; but in a very different way than the physical pain did. It made him ache for things he never had. Never thought he was good enough to have.

Thinking of his sister hurts -- it drags at the instinct inside of him to protect. The instinct he can only describe as a pack draw ; even if she was a banshee and not a wolf. Instead, he takes his turn to talk, "-- I went overseas for school. Thought -- thought that it would secure my future. But. In seconds, all my dreams became fantasies and I had to start all over. I had to restart my entire life."

Lydia: "I saw what happened. I saw the bullets hitting your back, saw the damage it did. You almost died." She's being blunt, yes, and arguably... she's being a horrible human being. She shouldn't bring it up, not when she already knows that it's not something good for him to talk about, but he brought it up. "I think it was a memory I saw... Yes, you are restarting your life all over again, but your life isn't over, just because you're a werewolf. You just have to shift your plans a little."

Marco

Marco is swallowing thickly, his hands still holding so tightly to her clothing that his knuckles groaned and ached at him as he was nodding at her words -- the scar low on his back aching distantly. " ... I almost did," he verified. "If --- we had very good doctors who were soldiers at the field hospital -- I owe them my life." At times, however, he felt like he was unsure if that life had been worth saving.

Marco sucks in a low breath that burns at his lungs. Maybe -- maybe the transition to wolf would be easier without the collars. But, it merely served as more of a reason to get rid of them as he nods to her again.

Lydia: "I'm a banshee, remember?" she says with a smile, looking down at him. She wishes she could look him in the eye, but he seems comfortable like this, and she won't move him, at least not until the water is cold. "I know. But, you survived. And you survived a werewolf attack. Not everyone does. And you survived being trapped in a wheelchair, and losing your sister, and now... you're stronger for it." Her fingers are back in his hair again, definitely avoiding the scars on his back. "You're a survivor. Like me."

Marco: I don't feel stronger for it -- he wanted to bit back ; that was an irrational and angry side of him. Maybe it was the moon and the wolf. Maybe it was just years of pent up frustration at himself. Regardless, he didn't say it. He merely swallowed thickly as he shifted himself against the tub floor -- finally letting his fingers relax against her shirt and instead splaying his hands against her back and lowering them to the small of it.

Lydia: He was actually holding onto her now, rather than clinging. He was so relaxed in her arms, and Lydia sighed in relief, fingers almost playing in his hair. Any other circumstance, and this would be considered intimate and loving... But she wouldn't look too into this. He hadn't even wanted her here until the worst of it.

Marco: Her warmth against him -- and the warmth of the water pelting down against his bare, marred back -- was helping to calm him. The pain was still there -- still very much there -- and evident in the occasional hiss between his teeth, or flinch of his muscles. But, for the most part, he sat relaxed against her. Focused on the heartbeat he could hear with just human hearing against her chest, and the sound of the water raining around them.

Lydia: Her eyes were closed, now, her breathing in time with his, and she tried to feel nothing but his hands, holding her close , and her hands, moving over his body. They didn't have much longer until they needed to get out for the lunar moon, but this felt too good, too gentle to interrupt. "I'll stay until you want rid of me, okay?"

Marco: He stays quiet for the most part, with the exception of the quiet, inhibited sounds that betrayed there was still a lingering pain in his bones -- letting her touch soothe him ; the foreign gentleness that he was tempted to lose himself to. To let himself drown in -- he knew better, and he knew better than to read into it. He merely nods to her quietly.

Lydia: "we have to get out soon... There's a lunar eclipse. Since you're not fully healed... You probably won't be able to walk. I can try dragging you, but it might be easier to get dried and dressed and into bed before it starts. Just let me know when you're ready, and we'll move together." She would stay until he sent her away... No matter what.

Marco: Marco squeezed his eyes shut at the comment. He had known -- but a large part of him had not been thinking on it; it was easier to not do so. But, he was nodding, fingers tightening in her clothing for a moment once more before he was speaking hoarsely, "I'm ... ready to move." The water seemed to starting to filter to cold as it was.

Lydia: "If it gets too hard, we can take a break." Her hand moves to the edge of the tub, and she grips onto it as she sits up, still holding his body onto hers. The next move was his - and if he was shy, they were getting over this. "Pull yourself up with anything you can. I help push. Just get to the bathroom counter, and we'll get you dry."

Marco: He stiffens for a moment when there's movement -- his nerves suddenly jumping all over again before he's flickering his gaze around the area; which was now hovering with the fog of the heated water. He reaches out a shaky hand, wrapping it around a railing in his shower ; additions that were installed prior, before he was bitten. He uses it to haul himself to his feet ; swaying with a hollow breath as he squeezed his eyes shut against the sway of his vision before he was opening the curtain, fumbling fleetingly before grasping the sink counter and using it as a crutch to pull himself out.

Lydia

Her hands hover as she follows him, pushing herself upright quickly, so that as he stumbles out to grab the counter, she's just behind him, her hands going to his waist to hold him steady. She should have been here sooner, so that they wouldn't be rushed now, but all she could do was help in the present. Her hand goes to his back, running down the smooth skin, along his spine, and over the injury. It's far too intimate, she knows that, but she's trying to keep him relaxed, to help him move to his bed.

"Here, take a towel," she says, grabbing one from the rack. She's wrapping it over his shoulders, then looks down at his pants, soaked and weighing down. "Umm... do you want me to help you get dry? Where can I find clean clothes in your room?" She'll have to pull off her shirt as well, if she doesn't want to get the floor soaked, but she's not so worried about her own modesty.

Marco

He's starting, slightly, at the touch to the scarred skin near the base of his back -- swallowing harshly as his fingers held slightly tighter to the porcelain of the sink counter, heaving in a hard breath through his lungs before forcing his hands to relax their hold. It was pure instinct, truly, to react that way when hands moved to what used to be such a vulnerable part of his body.

He's letting out a low sigh -- looking towards his room through the cracked bathroom door, "-- my dresser is right beside my bed." He hadn't moved things around yet, the dresser drawers within easy access of being sat on the edge of the bed; his wheelchair still tucked into the corner beside the dresser.

Lydia: She nods, grabbing another towel, and pulls her shirt over her head, quickly. At least she's still wearing the normal stuff underneath, and wraps a towel around her as she scurries out to open his drawers. It's easy to find a pair of sweat pants and a tshirt, likely something he wore every day before he was bitten, and she pulls out a second set for herself. She'll be able to move during the eclipse, so she's only worried about him, as she peaks around the doorway, offering him clothes.

Marco: Gaze flickers over to her when she returns, lowering to the clothes that were offered to him before pushing himself away from the sink -- swaying harshly on his feet and being forced to grasp at the wall with a hand and taking the clothes, merely to set them down on the sink counter nearby ; beginning to work one handed on the wet denim of his jeans.

Lydia: It took everything in Lydia not to rush forward to help him - she knew that he could do it, knew that he was learning a new level of independence, but he was in pain, so much pain, and she just wanted to help. Her gaze darted away from him and instead to the floor, her fingers gripping into the door frame. He was half near to breaking his hands if he gripped the sink any harder. "Let me help," she asked, still not looking, trying to respect his privacy.

Marco: Marco thins his lips -- he wanted to do this on his own ; but, this night was different -- the moon, big in the sky and still just rising, was effecting him much more so than he would've liked to admit. He grunts out a breath and finally lets his hand fall away from where he had managed to get his zipper down and the denim slightly off his hips before giving a tentative nod.

Lydia

She darts forward, grabbing the last towel to set over him - whatever dignity she can preserve, she'll do so. Her hands find the zipper and tug it down, then pull at the jeans and everything underneath, stripping him bare. She doesn't look, eyes instead looking up at his, watching him to make sure she doesn't hurt him worse. He can dry himself further, but she throws his wet pants into the shower, then grabs the change of clothes from the counter. In this, she can help him get his feet into the holes, pull them up halfway, before pushing herself back to standing, and stepping away.

She concentrates on herself, now, her back to him as she dries her arms and legs, and then squeezes the water from her hair. A quick step out of the bathroom, and she slides off everything she has left and puts on his clothes. They're a little big on her, but they'll do for the night. She throws both items into the tub with his pants and her shirt, and offers a hand to him. "Only a few minutes left."

Marco

His eyes do flicker once to her -- despite himself -- and over the expanse of his skin, and over scars that lingered there. After, he feels a guilt tug at his chest just as harshly as the pain that coupled with it and moved his gaze to a stray hair near hear ear as she helped him with his jeans -- resting a free hand on her shoulder, touch much lighter than it had been on the sink.

He's letting her assist him into his jeans -- and he knew the feeling of it, someone having to assist him, but he swallowed down all those bitter memories and focused on now. Once she's dressed as well, he lets his eyes fall again to her hand -- sniffling in a breath and taking it.

Lydia: Squeezing his hand, she pulls him towards the door, lets him grab the frame before she looks towards the bed. She could easily put him in the wheelchair... but that would be rude. Better to let him walk the last few steps. The bed is close. "Move to the bed? That way, you can lay down?" She wants to mention she can lay down with him, can resume their earlier position, but she doesn't want to assume. "What did you used to do when your back ached? Ice or heat? Tell me what to do to help you with this."

Marco: He had honestly just been planning on spending the whole night in the position that Lydia had found him in ; at least he had been sitting. So, he had never thought this far ahead. He flickers his gaze to his bed before nodding in agreement. " ... I used heat," he admitted. "I only used ice if it swelled, but I never liked the ice."

Lydia: She nods - heat she can work with. "Where's your heating pad?" she asks, trying to distract him as she takes a few steps towards the bed. Her hand is holding onto his, and she wraps the other around his body, trying to take his weight as they moved.

Marco: Once they were close enough to the bed, the hand not in hers is reaching out for the mattress and letting his weight instead lean against it -- letting slightly dazed eyes dart around his room, "It's on top of the dresser," he breaths, nodding towards it.

Lydia: She goes to the dresser, grabbing the heating pad, then returns after plugging it in. She really wishes he would ask her to stay, or something... "How do you want to lay?"

Marco: He hauls himself onto the bed to sit -- using both hands to level himself against the mattress, closing his eyes to balance himself before he's opening his eyes to look back at her. He was sure he looked like a wreck, chest still heaving quietly, hair clinging to his temples and the back of his neck. Exhaustion and pain under his eyes, "My side is usually best."

Lydia

She nods, trying to help him lay down onto the bed, on his side. This way, she can press the heating pad to his back, can wrap himself up with it. The wheelchair sits in the corner, and she eyes it for a moment, before turning her attention back to him. She's here, and will take care of whatever he needs for the nearly two hours that he'll be paralyzed again.

"Once you're fully healed, this won't ever happen again. Your muscles will be fully healed, the scars will be gone... this is the last time you'll be paralyzed." It's a really nice thought, and she pets his hair as she finishes tucking him in, not sure what to do now.

Marco

He's swallowing harshly, so hard that it feels like ashes and nicotine rolling down his throat, but he allows her to help him to lay down ; sighing at the feeling of the heat against his lower back as she settles it there.

She's speaking, and his eyes flicker over his shoulder at her -- a small frown tugging at the edging of his lips at her words. He hopes she's right -- he really does ; eyes enticed to close at the hand in his hair. And, after a beat, he's reaching out to grasp at the wrist of that hand, "Are you ... going to stay?" he asks, trying to not make himself sound too hopeful, and adding, "It's late, and too dangerous during the full moon for you to go back Underground."

Lydia

She smiles down at him, her free hand going back into his hair, soothing him with her touch.

"I have places I could hide out for the night, but I was hoping you would let me stay... I told you, I'll stay until you're better, until the Full Moon has passed. I know you said you could do this on your own, and I intruded in showing up here... but I also know better than to leave a stubborn man to his pain. I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

Her fingers turn to grab his wrist, holding onto his hand, and squeezing it. Her hand goes back into his hair, just trying to... she doesn't even know. This has passed the line of friendly and soothing, and gone straight into intimate, but he's not pushing her away... then again, he is vulnerable. She pulls away her touch, and looks for somewhere to sit, to pass the night.

Marco: He lets out a low breath, squeezing her hand in return before letting his hand drop to the bed as she pulls away -- seemingly looking around his room. "... there's room on my bed," he notes. They had already been closer than normal comfort levels in the shower -- how would this be any different? "... it's a ... nice bed. Probably much nicer than anything Underground." Had to be ; probably the most expensive thing he owned because of his back.

Lydia

She nods a little, hovering slightly, before walking around and sitting on the bed, and - holy hell. This might be the best thing she has ever sat on. She actually sighed in relief as she sat on it, and then slid down to lay beside him. Lydia pulls the blankets up around her, her feet cold from moving from the shower to here, and she tucks her hands under her as she looks at him, laying beside her, waiting for the time to tick away.

The clock beside his bed tells her they only have a few more minutes, but she keeps her hands to herself, just watching him, watching for signs of pain.

Marco

He watches her as she lays down -- but, to give himself something else to focus on and to keep himself from the sudden, hysterical thought of reaching for her his eyes flicker to his window where he could see a hint of the glimmer of the moon. The glimmer that's slowly fading -- and, after a beat, he realizes the pain is too. The pain present due to his inability to shift ; the pain in his lower back. All of it was fading to a hauntingly familiar hollow ache that hugged all the way up his spine ; a sharp breath gasped in through his lips as he squeezed his eyes shut, one of his hands twisting impossibly tight into the bedsheets ; the closing of his eyes to hide the tear that escaped there and rolled to linger on his jawline.

The numbing against his lower spine had been a constant, unwelcome companion for nearly a decade -- and it welcomed itself back home like a disease ; keeping his dispositions and pride hidden behind his closed eyes as an unmistakable tremble started in his fingers.

Lydia: Lydia didn't need to look at a clock or look out the window to see the lunar eclipse begin. She could see it in his face, how the antsy stress faded, and then... she could see a tiny tears escaping. His legs were now slack, his lower body paralyzed, and Lydia... she felt helpless. Anything would be better than this, it would be better for Marco to spend the entire night in agony. She didn't know how to help, didn't know what to do...

Lydia

It was pure impulse that drove her, reaching out, grabbing one of his hands. She shifted closer in the bed, her legs pressing against his, even if he couldn't feel it, and she pulled his hand in between hers. Her face was so close, she could feel his breathing, as they shared the same pillow, and she held his hand in between them, thumb caressing the knuckles.

"You'll never feel this again," she promised. By the next lunar eclipse, his collar would either be off, or he would be dead. "Marco, look at me. Don't think about anything else, just look at me. It's only two hours, and then you'll have to go back to that horrible pain, but remember? You're a survivor."

Marco

His breath hitches, and when he does open his eyes again, she was impossibly close to him ; sharing his air as his chest heaves low and quietly between them. He's swallowing, throat working audible as he did so -- flickering his wet gaze down out of shame before she's speaking to him. Asking him to look at her.

When he had been injured, when he had come back to the States, it had been the lowest point in his life ; a darkness had been made when he came back that never quite went away. It made a home in his heart, and followed him wherever he went. The doctors had called it depression, Marco didn't think that was a strong enough name for it. He could feel its nasty grasp as a reminder in his chest, heavy against the bones there, but his eyes pull back up regardless.

He's nodding, robotically almost, to her promising that it was just two hours. At this point -- now that he could walk again -- he would rather the pain that the numb ache. He thinks back to his injury -- and to the Alpha attack -- and he knows that he pushed through them; this was temporary pain. He could --...

Lydia

"Talk to me. You're wallowing right now. I can see it in your eyes." He's breaking down, likely remembering the years of struggle he endured, and she wants to cry for him. He shouldn't have to endure this - the government should have at least let him heal before they put that damn thing on his neck. They could have helped him, the bite could hurt so many that modern medicine couldn't heal, but instead, they were punishing him for simply existing.

"Have I been wrong so far? Don't shut me out now."

Marco: He let out a shaky sigh and closed his eyes once more -- releasing the breath slowly and trying to keep his breath even as he did so. He's moistening his bottom lip, counting a few beats in his head before he's opening his eyes again -- almost surprised that she's still close. That she is still in his space and hasn't moved away from him. " ... how else am I supposed to feel?" he's finally asking, voice drawn thin and hoarse. " .. it'll pass, I know that it will. But that doesn't change the way that I'm feeling right now.

Lydia

"I don't know," she says honestly. She doesn't want to compare herself to him - she has never been paralyzed. She couldn't imagine that level of pain, feeling like she could never walk again... but she had been in Eichen House, had thought she would never escape, would lose her mind one day. She won't compare herself to him, but she can distract him.

"I was locked up, like your sister. It wasn't for as long, but as best as I can tell, she's catatonic... it means that she's pretty much out of it. I was, for a time, but then... they did things to me. I thought I would be trapped there forever. One of the nurses... he was..." She won't talk about that. She got out of there, and he was dead. That was all that mattered. "There was a doctor, he wanted me to scream, wanted me to learn how to kill with my voice... he pushed me, drilled a hole in my skull, like my grandmother... I never thought I would escape, but I did."

Marco

She mentions his sister, and his gaze is on her again -- a low breath in the back of his throat as he watched her with softened eyes, brows twisted inwards and he tries to not think on the moisture on his cheeks, or the way that his hand trembled in hers. It was ... a small relief, perhaps, that Shilo wasn't conscious for all of it -- if Lydia was right -- but the imagery of his sister out of it made his heart crack down the center ; and he wondered if it was audible.

"... when I came home from the military," he starts, his voice cracked and the corner of his lips twitching. He lets out a low breath, and tries again in a language that was much easier for him to convey. “...los doctores lo llamaron depresión. Llamado PTSD. Él me dio todas estas píldoras y terapias. Pero lo único que realmente obstaculizó algo de eso fue Shilo. Cuando finalmente me mudé, los días eran más fáciles, pero todavía estaba allí; como el lobo es, casi. Pero más difícil de tratar que el lobo ... está allí ahora. No puedo detenerlo, pero solo peleo sabiendo lo que sucederá.”  ( " ... the doctors called it depression. Called it PTSD. Gave me all these pills and therapies. But the only thing that really numbed any of it was Shilo. When I finally moved out -- the days were easier, but it was still there ; like the wolf is, almost. But harder to deal with than the wolf -- ... it's there now. I can't stop it, but I just fight knowing it will pass." )

Lydia: "Shilo was always there for you, and I know you feel alone right now, but you're not." Her lips pressed together for a moment, and then she leaned in, her hands pulling from his and her hand going to his cheek, cradling his face, as her forehead pressed to his. Her eyes were closed, and she wished that she could just hold him for hours, could take away all of this pain. “Ya no estás solo, Marco. Estoy aquí contigo. No dejaré que te rindas.” ( “You're not alone anymore, Marco. I'm right here with you. I won't let you give up." )

Marco

His lashes close for a moment -- a breath caught in his throat as she pressed her forehead to his. This was a level of human contact he had never had the pleasure of having. As a teenager, sure, he had kissed girls -- but nothing more than the curiosity he had possessed when he was young. All inexperience and learning -- this was different. This was oh so different. But -- she was here to help him, and he didn't want to take advantage of all that she had already offered.

Even if his free hand did move to tangle into her hair and let his fingers rest against her scalp. For now, living in her presence and letting her present make up for the hollow feeling in his lower body.

Lydia

She can feel his breath on her face, their bodies pressed together. His legs might be unable to move, but she still has hers tangled up with his. She's cradling his face with the hand on the pillow, and the other wraps around his body, her fingers pressing into his spine, where he can still feel it. His hands are in her hair, and holy hell, she might start crying. She had missed this, being held, holding onto someone, and she wants to lean forward, to kiss him, as though it would break this curse he was under, as if it would make them both whole.

She refrains, her lips pressing together even as the tears build in her eyes. She hadn't realized how badly she needed to be touched and held, to feel his fingers in her hair. It's not fair, that her life has been ripped away, that she has spent the past four years destroying herself for a future she probably wouldn't live to see, and in this moment, she wants to be selfish - but he was vulnerable, alone, and she was forcing her presence onto him. She swallows it down, whatever urge she has, and tries to ignore the tears that are running down, dripping onto the pillow.

Marco

His brow twist -- and maybe this was the distraction that he needed; a draw inside of him he had always had to help others. To protect others. The pain it rumbled and ached, but he was focused on her now. "Did I -- do something wrong?" he asks softly, once more in English. He's fairly sure he didn't, but he wanted to make sure of that first. Before his hand slips from her hair to instead brush -- on instinct alone -- across her cheek to smear the tears away.

"... Lydia...?"

Lydia

Her lips were quivering as she heard him ask his question, and she shook her head, trying to gather herself, to stop the tears. He was holding her, and ithad been so long, and she just ... but she couldn't. He was so vulnerable, so broken, and needed to be protected, but here she was, clinging to him like he was some kind of dream, because he was a dream, he had brought her hope, and she was... she was some sort of emotional vampire, taking from him, when the last thing he needed was some touch starved banshee in his bed, holding onto him.

"Please just hold me," she choked out, trying to stop the sobbing. She couldn't help it, though, as the tears ran down her face. "I'm so sorry. I know you're in pain, but I just... please don't let go."

Marco

His heart quivers in his chest at the broken tone in her voice, his brows twisting inwards more so when she speaks -- "Okay...-" he manages, his voice still thin and hoarse. He rests a hand lower on her back, having to use the strength in his arm alone to tug Lydia closer to his body -- to his still bare chest, to the scars that littered it. He leaves his hand there, his other slipping out of her hand to rest against the back of her scalp, to twine back into her hair.

".. is this .. -- like this?" he's asking, closing his eyes. "I've never --- ... I never had much of a chance to get this close to someone."

Lydia: She nods into his chest, another sob escaping as she burrows herself into his arms. What would it be like, to have someone hold her like this, to have someone to cling to her like this? She had always dated the same, the selfish assholes, the ones that pushed her and teased her and made her prove herself to be more than they imagined, but Marco... he was so sweet, so gentle with her, and the way he held her made her feel like she was safe, even if she was the one supposed to be protecting him. She sobbed into his chest, giving up on stopping the tears, crying because even in his arms, she had never felt so alone.

Marco: He rests his chin on top of her head, soothing his hand up and down her spine. He wasn't sure what set her off like this ; but, at the moment, it didn't matter. It was something else for him to focus on. And, all at once, it almost felt like comforting Shilo when she was young -- the motions of it, at least. The feeling was very different as he carded his hand through her hair a few times and pressed -- with a tentative hesitation -- a gentle kiss to her temple as she cried. He could feel tears on his own cheeks, but he ignored them.

Lydia: She could feel it, so gentle, his hand running into her hair, brushing it back from her face, fingers shifting through it. It couldn't get any worse than that, the way that he was caressing her making her feel even guiltier, until she felt his lips press to her forehead. She sobbed harder, the gentleness feeling like a stab to the heart, and she wanted to pull away from him, but if she did that, she would lose this perfect feeling of being held so close to him. Her hands brushed at her cheeks, trying to make the tears go away, but she couldn't... she couldn't feel him kiss her again.

Marco

He feels his brows twist again -- and he wished that he had more of a range of movement to try and comfort her. He was no longer thinking about his own pain -- his own woes. He was thinking about fact that this brave and beautiful woman was breaking in his arms and he had no idea how to help. It was outside of his depth; as he had never truly been a shoulder to cry on. His breath trembles as he sucks it in, pulling away just enough to look at her.

"Lydia -- Lydia, look at me ... tell me what's wrong," he starts, voice sounding unsure and quivering down the center. He once more moves to brush his thumb across her cheek before the hand falls to her chin. He's tugging her chin upwards, to force her to look at him. And -- oh, they were just so close. ..-

Lydia

She can't stand to look at him, that feeling of brokenness spreading through her. Lydia has put on the brave face for so long, continued to put on her makeup like battle armor, learned to do her hair even in the lowered conditions, carries herself in her heels and dresses regardless of the fact that no one is watching, all in a show that nothing is wrong... when in truth, she has been falling apart. To be held by him now, to have him looking at her, trying to make things better... she was the one that was supposed to fix things. She was the one that kept screwing up. She was the one that couldn't stop this, couldn't predict it, and now... and now, she was crying her eyes out because someone was holding her like they actually cared.

"I'm so broken," she sobs out honestly. "I'm a complete... I don't know what I'm doing, and everyone expects me to have the answer, so I'm up on this pedestal, and I'm so alone, and I just... I wish someone like you loved me. I wish someone loved me enough to hold me like this. No one touches me - they're so scared of what I can do, and then you touch me..."

Marco

He's swallowing audibly when she speaks -- because he wasn't sure what kind of answer he was expecting, but this wasn't it. She was still only human -- despite her abilities -- as was he, despite the wolf settled in his chest. She was still prone to hurting. Still prone to falling and bruising and breaking. He knew what it was like to be broken ;  he was broken -- maybe not in the same ways that she was ; his inner workings were cracked and darkened with shadows. He had learned them well, and he had also learned how to combat them with spouts of light. He had always had an anchor, to fight his depression -- as opposed to a shift -- he just had to learn that those concepts were one in the same.

He doesn't know what to say, he's definitely outside of his emotional depth. There were no words, in either language, he could think to fill the chasm of the hurt she was laying out before him. So, instead, he says nothing ; his hand on her chin moves to instead cradle it -- hesitating with a wheeze of a breath before he's leaning in to gingerly feather their lips together. To test, experiment, in what ways that they would slot together.

Lydia

This wasn't real. She knew it couldn't be, because it had been so feather light, so gentle, just the brush of his lips over hers. Still, it had sucked away all the air from her lungs, and she leaned into it, chasing his lips as he pulled back slightly. Eyes opening, she looked up at him with parted lips, not even sure what had just happened. He had kissed her... after she had sobbed her heart out, had clung to him...

"You don't know what I've done," she whispered softly, scared to ruin this moment. "I brought back a monster from the dead. I've killed people. I've used and hurt people for my own gain." She was no hero, not like Scott, certainly not like Marco. The tears were still leaking from her eyes, and she tried to wipe it all away, trying to gather herself, to stop the tears.

Marco

He almost expected her to push him away -- no, definitely expected it. He had no experience with any of this ; aside from the fooling around he had done when he was younger. But, there was a yearning in his heart ; a burning that threatened to eat him alive as she pushed into the kiss -- a sigh in his chest.

She then pulls away, looking at him with shock. Marco frowns, but not out of disapproval or judgement. Just the mere fact that she seemed to think so lowly of herself. That she seemed to think she wasn't deserving of being cared for. "You're human, Lydia. You have flaws, we all do. That doesn't make you a terrible person. I killed people -- people I don't know if they were truly innocent or not. I acted on orders -- and orders got me in the position I'm in. That doesn't change who you are. You're doing a lot of good for a lot of people."

Lydia

Her brow furrowed, unsure how to even respond to that, and she brushed another few tears off her cheeks as she nodded. They were still so close, and he had... he had kissed her. Lydia licks at her lips, trying to figure out what to say, how to even respond... but the only appropriate response, it seems, is to respond to his kiss.

Her lips press to his before she can take it back, before she can think it through, and her fingers curl over his cheek, holding him close. Her lips are already parting, an attempt at remembering how to breathe, and she has to remind herself that he's literally paralyzed - but not for much longer. Eventually, the pain would be back, but for the moment, she was kissing him. Her fingers went back into his hair, holding him close, and she resisted the urge to sit up, to climb onto him - again, paralzed, full moon. Still, her fingers ran down from his hair to his chest, nails scratching at the soft hair there.

Marco: He wasn't quite expecting her to kiss him again -- especially with what had looked like doubt in her eyes. But it was certainly not unwelcomed -- a noise of surprise in the back of his throat before he's pressing his hand against the back of her neck to draw her in ; it was easier to pull her closer than to try and move himself. His eyes close as he sucks in a breath from barely parted lips, a whine -- needy, and deprived, and the first proof that maybe he was just as neglected as she was -- rolls out of his lungs as her hand scratched gently against his chest where his heart hammered a rabbited cadence.

Lydia

Okay, perhaps she isn't the only one craving this. She still feels too far away from him, and the bed is somehow in the way, if that's possible. Her hand moves from his chest to around his waist, grasping for the heating pad, and she turns it so that it's flat against his back, now, the warmth spreading, so that when she rolls him over...

Well, it's easier than she intended, pushing him onto his back, so that she can climb onto his lap, straddling his legs. She knows he doesn't feel it, but that's not what matters - she just wants to kiss him, without the pillows in the way, without one set of hands being squished under their weight. Leaning back down, she kisses him again, one hand on his chest, her forearm laying on him, the other in his hair. She can't believe she waited to kiss him, now that she is, and she parts her lips again, lips hovering over his.

Marco

He lets out a quiet noise as she shifts him onto his back -- feeling his weight shift onto the top of his spine, where the feeling dissipated somewhere down the middle. He looks shocked for a beat, but she's kissing him again and that feeling is gone just as quickly as it came; surging up into her as she kissed him -- one hand settling down her back, and the other in her hair. When she parts to hover, he's breathing heavy before he's chasing it --

Pulling her down with the hand on the back of her head and nipping, suckling, gently on her lower lip before placing a more firm, sensual kiss to her lips and inhaling sharply through his nose.

Lydia

Lydia was pretty sure he had said he didn't know what he was doing, or something like that, but he kissed like sin, like he couldn't taste enough, couldn't get enough of her. It wasn't a fight, though - and Lydia suspected that, even if he could, he wouldn't try to flip them over, wouldn't try to dominate her. Instead, he enjoyed it, was enjoying her. Her fingers scratched at his chest, then up to his neck - the second her fingers touched metal, they shifted higher, up to his jaw. She couldn't think about the collar right now. Only about tonight, and this moment.

She kissed him back, responding to each movement, not rushing him, just responding with each touch. She didn't know what this meant, but her body was soaking in every last touch, so she wouldn't argue, complain, or debate about anything. Not tonight.

Marco

There is a beat where he feels her hand brush against the collar -- but he's stomping that feeling down and away just as quickly as she is, wanting to arch up into her, to remove whatever space was between them; but, at the present, he couldn't. She tasted like stardust -- or what he imagined it would taste like -- electric and soothing and warm all at once as he gasped against her lips, moving them against hers as he rakes gentle nails down her scalp.

His free hand bunches into her shirt -- and, Gods, he doesn't know how to process any of it ; every moment he's drinking it in is brand new to him.

Lydia: She hadn't meant for it to escape, that little moan, but his touch in her hair is driving her wild. She moans against his lips, pulling away as her eyes open, and she smiles, leaning down to kiss him again. His hand is in her shirt, she can feel it being pulled upwards, and she considers it, really thinks about just pulling it up and over her head, but he's paralyzed right now, and she's covered in scars, and she longs to feel his hands on her body, but not right now. Not until after they had talked about this, at least.

Marco

He smiles in return -- it's weary, and soft, but still there -- before she's kissing him again. A twist in his chest he knew wouldn't -- couldn't -- turn into more at her moan ; and merely lets the warmth of her body near him soothe him. The sensual pleasures of her hands on him, and his on her. The feeling of being truly connected to another living person for the first time in his life.

Albeit -- something causes him to part with a gasp; something that makes his eyes shut ; and he hadn't truly realized it had been so long, "... the eclipse is almost over," he says hoarsely at the low pain that is beginning to ebb in his bones.

Lydia: "Don't think about it," she insists, knowing that the pain is only going to get worse. If he thought about it, he would stress about it, but he couldn't stop it. Her lips pull from his as she runs her fingers over his face, trying to soothe him with her touch. "Marco, it's just a few more hours. We can spend the rest of the night like this, if you want - whatever you want." Anything he wanted... if it kept his mind off of what was happening, Lydia would do it. "I'm still right here, not going anywhere. Don't think about it."

Marco: His head drops back against the pillow behind him -- closing eyes and sucking in a sharp breath. He could feel the movement returning to his lower body, but at the same time he could feel the return of the pain that was ever insistent from the lack of his shift. From the caged wolf that wanted to be free -- from the echo of red that had never been truly displayed in his hues. Both hands move now to merely tighten and hold to her shirt -- his shirt, honestly -- to try and muddle the mess in his brain as her hands soothed down his creased features.

Lydia

She can feel his hold tightening, and for once, Lydia is worried. He had fought so well, earlier, struggled to not shift, but had actually won. She had wrongly assumed that the second time through, he would be able to fight it... but instead, he was struggling. Her hands moved, running over his chest and shoulders, across his face, into his hair - her hands wer ejust moving as she tried to stay calm, to not worry too much. So long as he didn't shift, everything would be okay.

"Come on, just a few more hours. I know it hurts, but you've made it halfway. We can go back to the hot shower? Or a bath? If your legs weren't hurt, even a run would help..." But he can't hardly walk, especially not in this condition.

Marco

The pull of the moon felt stronger than before -- perhaps it was. It was higher in the sky, bathing the night with its pale light -- larger than usual, closer to the Earth to show the definition of a supermoon. And it wanted to rip the wolf from inside of him out whole ; feeling it claw at the inside of his skin. He didn't know if he could handle any more pain, outside of the pain that already came with resisting the shift -- trying to shove down the urge to do so, in fear of more pain from what kept him from shifting. It was a nasty catch 22 that he couldn't soothe, trying to swallow it whole like a pill.

If he did shift, he wasn't scared of hurting Lydia. He knew that the device would catch him before he even got far enough in a shift to do damage -- it was merely the pain he was afraid of. He had lived more than a decade in pain, and his bones could only handle so much ; a noise that almost sounded like a tortured sob the only response to Lydia's words.

Lydia

It wasn't working - none of it was working. He was in too much pain, from his back, from the unhealed bite, from the need to shift, and she... she was helpless. He wasn't in enough pain to heal, but if he shifted, Lydia was scared the pain from the collar might knock him out - it might knock him out. Or, it could make everything so much worse... but that wasn't her decision to make. It was up to him.

"I have a crazy idea," she says softly, her fingers in his hair now - she wants to pull him up to sitting, to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, but he seems unable to breathe, let alone move. "If you shift, the pain might be enough to help you heal... or it might be enough to knock you out. It won't kill you, but it might make things better."

Marco

The fingers in his hair -- and her voice -- urged him to open his eyes, squinting up at her past the creases of pain in his features ; a decade of pain had taught him how to take his pain quietly, merely suffering in silence with inhibited, quiet noises that whined out of him; swallowing at the words, as if he didn't probably understand.

Activate it on purpose? In hopes that it would knock him out? That it would make it all stop hurting, and he could just wait until he came to, and hope the moon was gone?  " ... is that ... a good idea?" he asks breathlessly. He remembered the foggy pain of the collar from the hospital. It was saturated colors of whites and reds, but there never the less.

Lydia: "It won't kill you," she says honestly - it takes far more than that to kill a werewolf. She has seen it knock one out before, though, from trying to shift repeatedly, to the point they just couldn't take it anymore. "I don't really know, but if you could just sleep through the next few hours... it would be worth it." She doesn't mention she'll be right there, the whole time, and leans down, pressing her lips to his forehead, before sliding off to sit beside him, her hand taking his. "It's up to you."

Marco: His eyes slid closed again at the gentle affection to his forehead -- and he longs for more, but the pain in his blood makes him realize that it can wait. Somewhere, he knew they needed to talk ; and that would likely come first, as well. He swallows ; and, even through all the pain, Marco hadn't looked frightened before now -- but now he did. He raises a hand that seemed to tremble, the one not being held, and brushed her hair from her features. "¿Quédate conmigo?" ( "Stay with me?" ) he asks, voice strained.

Lydia: She nods, suddenly scared for him. This might be too much - she knew it would hurt, but he had already faced so much pain. Still, if he could sleep through the rest of it, it would be a blessing. "Me quedaré a tu lado todo el tiempo que me tengas," ( "I'll stay by your side as long as you'll have me," ) she promised, lifting his hand to her lips and kissing his knuckles. She lets go of his hand, and rests it on his chest, not sure if she should touch him when it's activated.

Marco

His jaw is taut -- a muscle working all the way down his throat. And, to be perfectly honest, he wasn't even sure that -- at this point -- it a mishap shift would be completely intentional. A new wolf with no concept of an anchor yet and out of touch with his wolf -- it was a wonder he had lasted as long as he had. He likely wouldn't have been able to prevent it for too much longer, and there's a whine that causes him to wince that betrays that. He reaches out for her hand that is dropping his -- merely giving it a light squeeze before making sure that her hand was away and resting on the bed.

He didn't even know how to do it -- his wolf had been suppressed and neglected and he had no idea how to call upon it. But, once he let go -- once a defeated sigh fell from his chest -- it was easier than he thought. The wolf tried to seize the opportunity -- not knowing what the human knew -- to pull itself out. His eyes flashed a bright, crimson hue that spoke of his status -- the status of a broken alpha with no pack -- and he could taste the inkling of fangs trying to break skin -- but it was as far as it got ; the reds of his eyes disappearing behind lids that forced themselves shut -- his cries of pain from before were inhibited -- this was not. It was a wounded noise that almost sounded animistic in nature ; hands clawing -- with dull human nails -- into the bed sheets as his back arched off the bed. There was a small light -- red, just like his eyes almost -- to show it was active -- a soft pulsing emitting from it and leaving the man breathless.

The moment that the light stopped blinking, the man stopped writhing, and something dark and welcoming took him into a temporary stasis.

Lydia

It's horrible to watch, to see his pain - she can see the agony, sees a slight shift, and then... his body arches up, and he drops back onto the bed, knocked out from the pain. She waits half a second before tentatively reaching out, touching, checking that it's over, and then, that his heart is still beating. It's pounding, loudly, but it's steady, and slowing down by the second. A sigh of relief escapes her, and then she rolls over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, coming to terms with what had happened.

Whatever was going on between them, they clearly needed one another. Whether it was truly the other person, or just needing any person, Lydia didn't know, and she didn't care. Right now, what he needed was for her to clean up their earlier mess - so she did. Pushing herself up from the bed, Lydia went into the bathroom and rung out their clothes, leaving them to dry. The towels she gathered, and then she returned to his room. Finding a few blankets, she covered him in them, then climbed back into the bed... he said he slept better on his side, so she rolled him onto it, turning off the heating pad for now.

All that was left was to wait. She slid down into the bed beside him, blankets covering her, and she slid her arms around his waist, holding him to her. Her eyes closed, and she fell asleep quickly, her body holding tight to his.

Marco

Mercifully, he slept through the rest of the moon -- be it exhaustion, or some higher force that Marco didn't believe in deciding to have mercy on him and keep him out so that he didn't have to deal with anymore pain. But, regardless, he sleep -- if one could consider it sleeping -- through it ; waking to golden bars of light bleeding into his bedroom. He felt sore, and ached -- but nothing that wasn't just the stiffness of a body after exhaustion poured upon it. He snuffles, slowly letting the night before rushing into him like water in a stream ; gaze distracted by the way the sun caught a bundle of red hair.

Lydia -- she was pressed up against him, and ... - he smiled. It was tired, and distant, but --- oh... it was there. There was a bubble of something he scarcely knew at this point, and it took him a moment to place it as a fleeting hope of happiness. He soothes a hand down her hair, where it was pooled on his pillow, and lets it drape instead down her back, "... Lydia?" he breaths softly.

Lydia

There's a hand in her hair, and a soft voice, and it's some sort of dream. Lydia hums her response, and shifts closer to the warm body, wiggling her way tighter into their arms. She refuses to wake up when she feels so good, so comfortable. It takes a moment to remember where she is, though, and who she is with - her eyes open lazily, as she realizes it's morning, and he had slept through the rest of it. Her smile is soft, and she shifts forward, kissing his lips.

"Mmm, I knew you could make it. First full moon... how do you feel?"

Marco

He hums into the kiss -- it's lazy, and tired, and oh god, he aches for it. There's a fickle hope in his chest that tells him he could get used to it, but he knows they need to talk about what happened. His hand in her hair soothes down to rest on her spine as she presses closer to him. "... better, just a little sore." It wasn't a worrisome feeling -- just the feeling a human body would endure after too much activity. And he had had enough to last a lifetime, to him at least.

He swallows, and wants the lazy feeling to last -- but he also knows that's its better sooner rather than later, " ... about .. last night?" he asks, his voice seeming uncertain. "Do we  ... want to talk about that? What it meant?"

Lydia: She licks her lips, suddenly feeling far more awake. She didn't want to talk about it, because talking about it might end it... But it was too late to stop the conversation now. He had brought it up. "You mean, the fact that we kissed? That... That we just kissed again?"

Marco: He's worrying down on his bottom lip before he's nodding at her. To be fair, he was the one who started it -- he's the one who kissed her first. Albeit, he wasn't moving away from where they were intertwined in the bed. "... what does it all mean? This mean? I have never --- .... I was young when I went into the military, and never really had anything .... like ... this. After the military, I was too --" Broken? "There wasn't much left of me for a long time. I don't know how any of this works."

Lydia: There's a joke about asking him if he's a virgin on the tip of her tongue, but then she realizes he might actually be one, and she swallows it. Her hand runs into her hair, and she thinks about last night, about after he was knocked out, about what she had thought. "Well... If you want to walk away from this, you can. Arguably, you were vulnerable and I took advantage." And yet, she had a feeling that wasn't what he wanted. "But... If you didn't want this to be a one time thing, then I think we have a lot to talk about... And I have things to say that I don't want to tell a one night make out..."

Marco: He's quiet for a long moment, trying to decipher what he thought -- and what he wanted. His lips thin and he runs the thoughts over in his mind again and again. "I do not ... want to walk away from whatever this is. This ... it makes me happy. It makes me hopeful for something that I never thought I could even have. I'm not --- I'm not the kind of person you want to have a relationship with. I understand I am not a bad person, but there is a lot of me that is not as it should be. I don't know how to do this ; but here with you -- I am happy. I can almost forget."

Lydia: She nods, glad to hear it. His life has already been terrible, but he needs to know, they'll probably never have a happy life together... But they can be happy now. "I'm probably not going to survive this. If we live long enough to end the handicap laws, maybe, but my powers are fully developed. If they handicap me, it will kill me. Even still, I'm dangerous. I know too much. I'll never have a normal life..." Her lips work together for a moment, and she runs her fingers into his hair, smiling a little. "I think I need you."

Marco: "Whatever way ... any of this goes, I highly doubt any of us can ever have a normal life again-" he tells her quietly, "I haven't had a normal life since I was a teenager. I don't even know what it feels like ; I don't know what to miss," he's then admitting with a light shake of his head. "I don't care if you're dangerous -- aren't I? Once the handicap is gone? Every single one of us are at risk in the Rebellion. All of us could die at minute ; I know that. I'm not afraid." His expression then softens at her last words, " ... I .. I haven't known what I needed for a long time -- but, now, I think I do."

Lydia: She smiles even brighter, leaning in to kiss him now, something soft and pure. She never would have considered herself the girl to go for the soft, quiet boy, but she's so sick of rough and dominant. She wants the gentle touches, and maybe she doesn't need to just feel anything - she needs to feel the right thing.

Marco: He hums into the kiss -- hopeful and relieved that he had said the right thing, pushing his fingers into her hair and cradling the back of her scalp so that he could pull her closer. His eyes close and he feels like he could melt into the pureness of it -- something untouched by the shadows of the world, and the shadows of his heart.

Lydia: Lydia settles back into the bed, now, far more relaxed than she had been. They obviously still had a lot to discuss, but for the moment... She was happy. Her lips pulled from his, and she looked down at his free hand, her fingers curling with his. "So... You said you were young when you joined, and were then injured, and alone... Does that mean it has been over ten years since you were with someone?"

Marco: He looked to their joined hands -- and he kept his eyes there at her question. His understanding of the English language was still good enough that he knew what she meant. "I -- uhm ... -- sex, you mean?" he's asking, keeping his gaze on their touch before he's finding a good, easy way to resolve the rest of his answer, "I -- .. no. I've never."

Lydia: Her eyebrows raise slightly, and she's not really sure what to say. She had figured it had been a while, but... "I'm not," she says quickly. "A virgin, I mean. I've had sex. A lot of sex." She is talking herself into a hole, and tries to backtrack. "You're okay with that, right?"

Marco: He chuckles -- both at her initial words, and the follow up question. It's not a heated laugh, though -- it's soft, with hopes of reassuring. "I don't care," he assures her with a light shake of his head. "There's nothing wrong with that. When I was in high school -- the States were still new to me. I had troubles making friends, much less getting that close to anyone." Nevermind that Shilo had been a natural with friends. "I had one good friend, her name was Blake. And I fooled around a little -- but."

Lydia: She nodded, smiling again. Well then. " Okay. Okay then. Holy hell I would have dated you in high school... Actually no I wouldn't because I was stupid, but I would have looked back and wished I dated you." She tightens her hold on his hand, then stretches a little. She's stiff from the long night, but she's not leaving this bed till she has to. "By the way, I love your mattress."

Marco: Marco is laughing again, and this time there are laugh lines that appear by his eyes and down his cheek as he shakes his head at her. "Shilo suggested it when I moved up here -- it was good for my spine. After I was bitten, I was not complaining about it."

Lydia: She loves it when he laughs, the little wrinkles around his eyes making her smile. "Well, we can drag it underground once your collar comes off, okay? I think it's worth the risk.'

Marco: The corner of his lips quirk in a good natured smirk, "That sounds .. like quite a challenge. I don't think we would be able to stay hidden long enough to get a giant mattress underground."

Lydia: Her head falls back into the pillow beside his as she laughs, rolling her eyes. "Are you kidding me? Totally worth it. I'll even grab us a larger room so that we can share it. No way I'm giving this thing up."

Marco: As she falls back, his eyes do flicker over the collar of the shirt -- his shirt -- and how low it hands on her collar bones before flickering back up to her face, "I do not think it would fit through the entrance," he tells her.

Lydia: She pouts a little, not wanting to hear rational thought. It is a really nice bed, and she kind of wants to sleep in it forever. "I'm coming back for this mattress once we're free from this supernatural apocalypse."

Marco: He laughs again, a noise that vibrates in his chest and his hand wanders -- moving to soothe over the material of his shirt on top of her abdomen. "If you say so, then its yours."

Lydia: She laughs again, noticing the hand that rests on her stomach, and reaches out to him, her hand on his chest, nails teasing at the bit of hair there. "Mmm, and do I get to keep the owner as well?"

Marco: He hums at the hand on his chest -- the nails that feather skin and hair -- before flickering half lidded eyes back open to look down at her again, "Do you want to? I think I can work that out."

Lydia: Her heart is racing in her chest, and she swallows, nodding slightly in response. Her hand has paused, palm resting on his chest, and she watches him, not sure when they went from laughing to touching and watching  another.

Marco: He smiles, and there's a slightly different edge to it ; something deeper to it as he moves the hand from her hair to her chin -- similar to the night before, but with very different emotions -- to tip it up, brushing their lips together as he audibly sucks in a breath.

Lydia: This is... Different. Lydia sucks in a breath as he kisses her, his body the one moving now. She's very aware of his hand on her stomach, and her body turns towards his, following the movement of him turning her chin with the rest of her.

Marco: He feels her return the sentiment between them, and his hand is moving from her stomach to her back -- using his touch there to draw her body heat closer, to use his legs -- now that he could -- to push himself even impossibly closer, kissing her deeper with something that had more heat than the sensual kisses from before.

Lydia: For once in her life, she isn't in control. She's not sure what he wants, where this is leading, but Lydia doesn't care. Not when he's kissing her like this. Her fingers curl against bare skin, nails scratching at his lower back, and she can feel her own shirt pulling up, led by his hand.

Marco: He's humming against her lips before he's pulling away -- but he doesn't go far, he's nudging her chin up with his nose before peppering kisses to her jawline, kissing at her throat, and by the hollow of her ear as his fingers find the sliver of skin where her -- his -- shirt had ridden up.

Lydia: Her eyes are closed, and she's breathing hard, realizing that he's trying to... Well, it's working. Her teeth catch her bottom lip until she can't help herself, issuing commands. "Suck at my v neck... Right at the pulse point..."

Marco: His eyes flicker up, despite not being able to see her from her neck, at the command. And, he does as he's asked -- soothing his hand up her neck and partnering his lips beside it ; kissing at the spot before he's latching onto it -- suckling at it before he's moving ; without parting from her throat, his hand moves from her neck to her shoulder to place her back against the bed. Merely for a better position -- not at all trying to dominate, or over power her ; leaning over her now with his knees on either side, he releases the spot to kiss it again.

Lydia: She's definitely moaning now, breathing hard as he settles her back onto the bed. She had thought he wouldn't want to do this yet, that it would ache too much, but she was thankfully very wrong. Her eyes opened to look at him, and she paused, hands ready to pull off her shirt. "Do you... Just want to explore?" The thought of that turns her on, but she also knows what she likes, and he's flying blind. "Or, I can tell you..."

Marco: He soothes a hand under her shirt -- brushing across her ribcage before she's speaking and he's looking up at her. Of course, Marco didn't want to embarrass himself. As he had told her, he'd never gone this far with anymore ; and his interest against his sweats was already starting to show -- he was already beginning to fear that, once they did get going, he may not last very long. But, at the least, he wanted to make her feel good. "Tell me, please -- I want to know what you want."

Lydia

She nods a little, suddenly feeling on the spot. It had been a long time since she had been with anyone - actual years - but for some reason, this was different from any previous encounter. He wasn't trying to push forward, wasn't making her learn to enjoy what he wanted to do, was willing to learn her. Her back arches slightly, and she sits up under him, just enough that she pulls the tshirt, his shirt, up over her head, and tosses it to the side. Her hair is a mess, and she gathers it with one hand, twisting it slightly so that it's at least laying pretty on his pillow.

Her scars were exposed, now, one across her throat, a thick one on her right hip, and the bite om her left side. There were plenty of smaller ones as well, all signs that Lydia had suffered. Her lips press together, and then she smiles at him, taking his hands in hers so that she can run them down her side, over her scars, down to where his pants sit on her hips.

Marco

His eyes flicker over her body as she pulls her -- no, his -- shirt off ; this was different than the night before, she took it off for very different reasons ; he felt like ... he could look, right? He sits up slightly, ignoring the strain on his back -- as it was light -- and lets his gaze flicker over her curves, and were the scars hugged at them. Albeit -- she's taking his hands and running them down her own body, and he looks up to her, offering her a light smile as he curls his fingers under the elastic of the sweatpants. ( Probably should've put her clothes in the dryer -- )

He's tugging lightly at them, to pull them off her hips, and busies himself -- and her -- with pressing a light kiss to the thick, deep scar against her right side.

Lydia

A shiver runs down her spine as his lips press to the mark left by Tracy, and her fingers run into his air as she lifts her hips, letting him pull the pants down her hips. She certainly wasn't properly taken care of, as she had been in the past, but she had done some light maintenance... enough that she wasn't too embarrassed.

"I thought you needed me to tell you what to do," she says with a smile, her hand moving from his hair to under his chin. She's drawing him upwards with her touch, trying to pull him back towards her - Lydia didn't know what to tell him now. She knew what she liked, what she enjoyed, but it was all by her hand - in the past, men had simply been something she used, to get her own pleasure, but this was different. So very different.

"Give me your hand," she says, feeling a little awkward - being naked? Easy. Showing the man that wants to please her how to do so - has her blushing.

Marco

He smiles back up at her in return when she speaks, looking up at her through his lashes. He almost felt light -- almost, if not for the collar that was around his neck ; the weight feeling almost metaphorical as much as it was literal. He let her guide him back up to her, legs on either side of her as his gaze flickers over her features, almost in curiosity. He had never done this before -- and he wanted this to be done right---

He complies, curling one hand around hers and giving it a small squeeze.

Lydia

Her hand moves with his, down her body, down in between her legs. She can't stand him looking at her like that, like she knows what she's doing - for all of her experience, she doesn't know this. He's interested in learning, though, and her hips rise slightly as she slides his fingers to touching her. A sigh escapes her, and her lashes flutter for a moment as she tries to keep looking at him.

"Kiss me?" It might be easier if she doesn't feel the weight of his eyes on her.

Marco: His eyes flicker down momentarily to where she guides his hand -- watches the best he could as she slots his fingers between her, but he's looking back up at her and letting both her hand and her warmth guide him instead. He can't help the soft noise that rumbles in his throat as she's leading him to touch her, lashes of his own fluttering briefly before's doing as she asked -- pressing in to kiss her with a ragged breath, using two fingers to try and find a rhythm that she liked; his free hand pressing against her ribcage below her chest to feel any kind of reaction ; to read it.

Lydia: She gasps into his touch, her fingers getting mixed with his as they both work together, and she realizes, in seconds, that he's listening to her. Her free hand goes to his face, cradling his cheek as she kisses him, and then she moves her hand down his chest, down to the front of his pants, her fingers grazing the little trail of hair, wanting to slip them underneath. She doesn't, though, and instead runs her fingers at the waistband. Her legs are falling to the side, giving him more room to touch, and she realizes he's doing this right, not trying to rush too fast. She kisses him again, drowning, trying to not tense her body in response to his touch.

Marco: He's pressing into the touch against his waist line -- his skin itching to feel her elsewhere, and already beginning to strain against the groin of the sweatpants ; his breath hitching slightly, even as she just feathers along the waistband of it. "... is this good?" he's asking softly, against her lips -- looking for some kind of direction as he's shifting the way he was hovering over her ; moving to take one of her legs and drape the knee over his shoulder, to give him more leverage to work with.

Lydia: She nods, her leg going around his waist, and there's no way to hide her body, no way to pull away. She doesn't want to, though, and her hand moves with his to lower, and she can feel his fingers pressing at her slit, easily able to slip in. She hadn't even realized how turned on she was, and she gives another nod. "Can I push your pants down?"

Marco: He's shifting himself more so on the bed to accommodate as she moved under him, his shoulder easily holding the weigh of her leg as she lowered his hand down more so ; and there's a flutter in his chest, a twitch in his sweatpants, at how wet she felt. His breath quickens in response, having to pause and close his eyes for a breath. "Yes-" he replies, his voice knocked hoarse as his finger moves to explore -- to circle her opening as he peppers open mouthed kisses to her jaw.

Lydia: Her lips are parted and her head falling to the side as he kisses her, and she pushes at his sweatpants, even goes so far as to use her foot to try and push them down. Her eyes open and she looks down between them to see him, to see him hard without even a single touch, to see that he was clearly as into this as she was. Her hand clenches, wanting to reach out and touch, but she doesn't want to rush this. Particularly not this first time.

Marco

Once they get far enough down, Marco is kicking them off his ankles and letting them drop off the bed -- length already hardened between his legs as his chest heaved with hard breaths, finding a spot on her neck to gently nip at and soothe over with his tongue before kissing down her throat ; tasting her warmth under his lips as he does so.

He aches for her touch, but he doesn't push it -- merely continuing to explore her, a gentle Spanish curse against his lips as he tentatively slipped a finger inside of her, " ... you're really wet."

Lydia

She smiles at the curse, and her fingers run down the little trail, teasing at his lower stomach. If he keeps this up for much longer, she might just pull away out of embarrassment, if nothing else. She laughs a little at his comment, and nods, turning her head to catch his lips in a kiss. There is something enjoyable about this, and she's loving it, loving how they're touching one another, neither trying to dominate. "Well, I really want you."

Her fingers reach out, touching his length, and she curls her fingers around him as best she can, laying on her back. She should be the one trying to please him, with him on his back while she blew his mind with a blow job, but he had wanted to touch her, and she suspects he will be ready to go again quickly after the first time. Or perhaps not, but they had time.

Marco

He feels a heat rush down his neck at her words, his breath catching and he's pulling away from her throat to look at her ; " -- I want you too," he tells her, voice still ran thin as he pressed in to kiss her. This time, he added more heat -- tugged gently at her lower lip, and sucked at it. The finger that was inside of her sought out a reaction -- crooking and reaching and trying to find the spot that she would enjoy; listening to any kind of direction -- verbal, or not.

She's curling her fingers around his length -- and he jerks into it, parting away from her lips with a light gasp and rolling his hips into the warmth on instinct alone.

Lydia

His exploration of her body is going to have to wait for later - Lydia will let him spend hours touching her if he wants, listening for every little sound that he can pull from her, but right now, she wants him in her, knows that he's aching to be in her - she won't argue with that in the slightest. Her hand moves from him to the hand in her, and she grips at his wrist, pulling it from her body.

"Do you want me on top, for your back, or is this good?" She also would never lay on her back for sex, but she will for Marco,

Marco: His eyes are flickering up to Lydia when she pulls at his wrist to remove his hand --afraid for a fleeting moment that he's done something wrong ; but she's speaking and he seems to relax. His knees move to sink into the bed more so, a whine pulled from him as his erection drags across warm skin -- enough to feel sensitive, but pull no friction. "However you want."

Lydia: "I just want you," she confesses, her hand going back to his cock. He's so close to her now, and she's slowly stroking him. The leg not around his waist bends, her foot pressing into the bed, so that she can shift her hips slightly. Lining him up, she pauses, realizing what she's forgetting - "I don't have a condom, but I'm clean - I'm on the pill." Holy hell is she on the pill, one of the few things she insists they never run out of underground. "Is that okay?"

Marco

He thinks he was going to respond to her words, but her hand is on his length once more -- and he loses whatever words might've been said; groaning low and deep in his throat as he ducked his head down - swallowing hard and releasing a low breath as he feels her hole against his tip. He hears her speak, and it takes him a moment to actually take in her words.

He -- obviously --- didn't have any condoms either. He pants slightly, a hand coming to the bed and shaking to hold himself up, "I -- yeah, yes. That's fine."

Lydia: She nods, glad to hear that at least - they really did need to have a talk about this all later, but if he's not in her in two seconds, she might cry. Her hand moves from him as she shifts her hips, and she can feel him pushing into her. It has definitely been too long, and she tries not to tighten around him, her back arching as she moans. Her body is so sensitive, built up from his touching and the anticipation, but she resists the urge to touch herself just yet - she could easily get herself off in a minute at this point, though.

Marco: He makes a slightly gutted noise -- a groan that whines in his lungs and in his chest cavity -- as he slips into her; every instinct having to be put on hold, as all he wants to do is roll into her until the hot coil in his stomach snaps. "Merdia--" he grits out, and does roll his hips once -- long, and deep, and slow as he gives another low moan that makes his body shake, ".. Lydia, Jesus.. -"

Lydia: She smiles, watching him as his face turns into pure bliss - they're doing this again before she leaves his place, at least once, maybe twice more. They need this out of their system so that they can actually talk, and so that the entirety of the underground doesn't realize they're having sex any time they're in the same room from the tension. Her hand moves to her stomach, fingers reaching down to touch herself, and she gasps, eyes rolling back for a moment. "Please don't... don't feel like you have to hang on for me. We're doing this again... and again and again... All day." Until they were hungry, of course, but she shouldn't try to go back until it was dark. They had time.

Marco

He was barely in her and he already felt so close -- so close. She was so tight, and so wet around him -- so warm clenched against his cock, that he was trembling all the way down his legs as he circled his hips into her with a shaky, almost desperate beat to it; fingers twisting into the bedsheets with one hand, his free hand soothing up her ribs -- up the scars -- up her breasts and gingerly squeezing one in a hand.

His head ducks down to pant into her neck, trying to be coherent enough to soothe her with soft kisses -- but it was merely open mouthed breaths at best. "Do I .. -- Do I need to remind you this is the first time? I don't -- mierda, Lydia. Estoy tan cerca ... " ( shit, Lydia. I am so close. “)

Lydia: "I know," she murmurs - again, they had all day. She just wanted him to enjoy this, to not try to hang on when it was impossible. All those years of being unable to do anything... Lydia suspected he had probably jacked off constantly since being turned, or perhaps he hadn't... either way, she didn't expect miracles. "It's okay," she insisted, her fingers running down his back. She could get herself off later. That wasn't important at the moment. Or, she could get herself off while showing him more. “"No intentes resistir. Adelante, por favor." ( "Don't try to hold on. Go ahead. Please." )

Marco: He swallows thickly ; because he wanted to feel her. He wanted to feel what she felt like in a bliss. But he was so close -- and a good part of him was still mostly man. He groans, and buries his face in her shoulder. He gives a few more rolls of his hips, each one messier than the last, before he's stilling and there's a low cry in the back of his throat -- a quiver rolling down his spine as he feels himself pulse and come inside of her.

Lydia: For the few seconds it lasts, it feels good - and after the buildup, she knows how good it could really be. He was still worried about her, even when he was about to blow, and she runs her hands into his hair, rolling her hips a little as he jerks in her arms, clearly a little out of it. Her lips press to his temple, and she holds onto him, quiet for a moment, smiling a little. "So... think you want to maybe try that again in a few hours?"

Marco: His breath is trembling with his muscles as he works himself down, as she cards her hands through his hair and his cry turns into soft whines. He lets himself rest against her, both hands coming to settle at the back of her neck, threading his fingers into the bottom of her hair line. When she speaks, he gives a breathless laugh against her, his eyes closed. "God -- yes. But -- I want -- I want... -- you. And I want you to feel good, too."

Lydia: She laughs a little, twisting their bodies do that they are more laying on their sides. She's still smiling, although also still horny... Well, if he wanted to... "It's okay. You did make me feel good... But if you want to finish what you started..." Then again, it would be a bit messier, since he had blown in her. "I don't... Normally let someone else... I don't expect it, unless they give oral, but, I'm very good at getting myself off, because I'm always the one in charge. But, I'll show you how I do it... If you don't mind the mess."

Marco: Marco was giving a small hint of a smile at her words, a chuckle in the back of his throat, "The mess?" he echoed with a light shake of his head. "I wouldn't mind the mess, I promise." A hand is moving to gently rake through her hair and soothe it out of her features, kissing at her temple and letting his lips linger there, "Just tell me what to do."

Lydia: She nodded, her teeth catching her lip, and then she was surging forward, kissing him again. They had rolled now so that he was on his back, and she was laying beside him, and she threw a leg over his, giving them both access. It could take her seconds, at this point, to get herself off, but he was willing to learn, and Lydia was no fool - if the man you sleep with wants to learn how to please you, you give him every last lesson. Her hand and his, tangled up, moved down, fingers trailing both their bodies. She couldn't really tell him, more show him, as she slid both their hands between them. His thumb kept catching the swollen bud, and she sighed into his kiss. "Just like that," she murmurs, helping his fingers find a rhythm.

Marco

He's letting out a quiet groan into the kiss as she's surging forward at him, his hand that was in her hair moving to cradle the back of her scalp to encourage her more so. He knew that it was much too early, much too light outside, for her to leave back to the Underground ; much too dangerous. He would likely figure them something out for food soon ; but, his priority right now was wanting to make sure she was pleased just as much as he had been.

He lets her take his hand, to guide it between the two of them, to where she was still wet -- with both of their fluids -- between them and lets her establish whatever speed would please her; using two fingers to mimic the rhythm she had showed him as he parts his lips from hers to kiss and suckle down her throat.

Lydia: She sucked in a gasp, then moaned at the feeling of his mouth on her throat. She would never tell anyone else, but she had a think for it... a silent thing that no werewolf she slept with would ever be told of. Only Marco. She had a feeling he wouldn't see it as a sign of submission, as others would. Her hips rocked with him, and her fingers slid from her, letting him work the rhythm. She could tell how strong his upper body was, likely from years of not having working legs, and even the strength in his fingers. "Don't stop. Just like that..."

Marco: He hums lightly against her throat when she encourages his work, soothing his free hand now down her back and to the curve of her spine ; letting his hand splay out there against the warm flesh as he continued his ministrations against her center. His lips continued their attention to the skin of her throat; and, no, Marco saw no submission there -- saw no dominance for himself. All he saw was the desire to make her feel good, and the reactions that he was receiving -- nipping lightly at her pulse point before panting an open mouthed kiss there.

Lydia: It happened before she even realized it, faster than she had imagined, the shot of pleasure running through her. Her back arched and her head fell backwards as he pushed her through her orgasm, waves of pleasure flowing through her until her hand gripped at his wrist, pulling him away from her sensitive core. A burst of giggles escaped her as she fell back onto the pillow, her back hitting the bed, and she closed her eyes, still smiling.

Marco: He held her through it -- his hand firm on her lower back as he felt her arch against him, a breath catching in his throat, " -- there you go," he praised quietly, pressing a line of hot kisses up her throat as he worked her through it until she was finally gripping at his wrist and pulling it away. He's smiling, softly, as she fell back to the bed -- tugging at the center of her back to encourage her warm and sated body to rest on his.

Lydia: She rolls over onto him, her legs still tangled up with his, and she moves until her head is on his shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and she takes in a deep breath, relaxing in his arms. It was so strange, to have someone else touch her like that... but she enjoyed it. Her hand moved to wipe itself on his sheets, and then tangled up with his, holding on tight. "So... where do we go from here?"

Marco

He let one hand soothe up her bare back and settle between her shoulder blades -- pressing a light kiss to the crown of her head. It was nice--- despite how foreign it was to him, to be laying with someone like this. Bared and vulnerable to each other and just in a blissful haze; his own eyes closing and allowing himself the moment to take in just what this meant. He understood, outside of right now and outside of these walls, everything was still in chaos. Everything was still so dangerous -- but...--

"We lay here for a minute and then I'll make us something to eat," he tells her, keeping his lashes shut before letting out a breath and speaking more so on what he knew her to truly mean, "... - where do you want to go from here?"

Lydia: "Mmm, I like the sound of that," she says with a smile... breakfast after sex? "Please tell me you have coffee." She definitely needed it. Lydia let out a hum, thinking about what needed to be done... well, that was simple enough. "I wouldn't mind an actual shower, where I'm not rushed to preserve hot water. And I should probably wash my clothes from yesterday... but I can wear your shirt and my jeans for a while. From there... I can't go outside where people will see me until it's dark."

Marco: "Of course I have coffee -- who do you think I am?" he asks, looking down to her with a gentle smirk on his lips, flickering his gaze over her a few times before nodding as she hashed out what she needed to do. "I will come with you, if you want, to help you get back Underground?"

Lydia: She smiled sweetly at him, a little amused. She didn't need help getting back underground... She knew her way around town at this point, was always quick to make it to the preserve, always slipped undetected. That stated, she wouldn't stop him. "Mmm, if you go back Underground with me, will you stay the night?"

Marco: Marco's eyes softened a little, "Not tonight --" he tells her, "Tomorrow I planned on driving down to Shilo's apartment to gather some of her belongings. So ... -- So that she has them when we get her." Because they would get her ; he was sure of it. He had faith in Lydia's abilities.

Lydia: She nodded, understanding what he meant. She had recommended it, after all. Lydia wished she could go with him... but being in a car, particularly with a collared werewolf, would bring too much suspicion onto her. There was no way she could go with him. "Of course. Try to think about the essentials... but bring stuff that will make it feel more like home as well. Once your collar is off, you can't leave the underground again."

Marco: Marco is nodding -- merely content for the moment to just hold the banshee to him and live in this moment, when he knew that after this morning, everything would go back to chaos outside of his apartment walls. "I know," he tells her, "I understand that -- I know all the risks of getting it taken off."

Lydia: Anyone else, she might offer to leave it on, for at least a little while, to give them freedom... but he needed it off, both for his sister's sake, and so that he could finally heal. Maybe there was a way to put it back on... taking it on and off... But first, she had to get them off. Any other crazy ideas would have to wait. "Well... I guess after that, it's up to you. I can't come back up here again..." She really couldn't. The risk was... too great.

Marco: He looks down at her when she speaks -- hesitating for a beat before soothing a hand over the rise of her cheekbone, "I know you can't -- I wouldn't ask you to." Just coming up here for the full moon had been a massive risk ; even if he was grateful for both her coming, and what came of it. "I will be down there as much as I can be right now ; I can't .. draw too much attention to myself until I have to be down there for good. But -- this? Whatever this is -- I want .. --- " his voice broke off and he shakes his head, "You said it yourself, I need you, I think."

Lydia: "We'll grow sick of each other when we're both trapped underground," she promises, shifting up on the bed so that she can kiss him. All she can do, though, is hope that they live long enough to grow sick of one another... Her lips linger on his for a moment, and then she sinks back into the bed, eyes closed. "Mmm, yeah, just a few more minutes of sleep... then shower and food and coffee."

[as-breakable-as-glass]

Monsters of a Different Kind

Two children lay floating on their backs in an inky black expanse of what appeared to be a void. Their heads were nearly touching and the pair almost looked like they were stargazing except there was not a speck of starlight to be seen. Instead a reset button floated above and between them and even that was dark. The light it normally emitted was muted and dull.

They had to wait for the file to reload, again. Who knew how long that would take? Sometimes it felt like only an hour passed before they could reload, other times it was months.

Without getting up or turning his head Chara asked, “Want to tell me why you reset this time?” He knew why, but he wanted to hear it from them.

He couldn’t see them from the position they were in, but he heard Frisk shift above his head. “It wasn’t the right ending.” they whispered.

Chara held back a snort. Not the right ending.

“What, exactly, are you looking for?”

“I told you, I want everyone to be happy.”

“Everyone looked happy to me last time and the time before that and before that etcetera, etcetera…” Chara waved his ghostly hand in a slow, circular motion to make his point.

Frisk was probably shaking their head above him. “It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t what it should have been.” They murmured. “Everyone should get better than that. They deserve it. They are all so kind, each one in their own way. I can do better for them, to return their kindness.”

He dropped his hand. Yeah he’s heard this speel before. This was how the goodie two-shoes planed on repaying them for all the idiots’ kindness and friendship.

“Yes,” he replied, patience wavering, “but what was so wrong with that one?”

His question was met with silence that only stretched the more time that passed.

“You don’t even know what you’re looking for do you.”

“I know I could have done better. I could have done something to make everyone happier.” Frisk had that familiar tone in their voice they always took on when they were filled with determination.

Chara sighed through his teeth and closed his eyes. Why was Frisk so annoyingly stubborn? It had been easy enough to tolerate the first couple runs, but this was getting ridiculous!

It wasn’t like Frisk was taking so long on purpose, but Chara didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. If they were taking their sweet time, then they could be pushed to hurry. But if they weren’t, if they were being methodical, then they were likely to be stuck the way they were for a long, long time. All thanks to that stupid dream of theirs.

It was slow progress, getting the final ending, but Frisk tried so hard to make up to him that it was almost funny. They had gone so far as to promise that he could be part of their happy ending along with their little friends, but Chara didn’t believe that would ever happen. Not because Frisk didn’t mean their word- he was quite confident the sap meant even the most ignorant of their promises- but what kind of future was there for the ghost of a dead kid? Nothing that’s what. He would just follow Frisk around until they died of old age or something equally bland. Chara had no interest of playing chaperone for the rest of his existence.

Forget the ending, Chara had a job to do and he had to get to the surface to do it.

Chara felt his fists clench. The surface. That’s where he wanted to go, where he needed to go. It was like an insistent itch he was prevented from scratching. But rules and resets be damned, once Chara got to the surface he was going to scratch it bloody and no one was going to get in his way.

Cutting down the monsters was fair substitute he guessed. After all that they’ve done, they definitely deserved it, but punishing them lost its appeal after you did it so many times. It’s not like they even remember it; he and Frisk weren’t even making a difference and the monsters never learned.

Chara didn’t realize how much his frustration had built up inside him until he sensed Frisk flinch above him and the words of guilt started pouring from their mind. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry please don’t be mad please please please please I’m sorry we’ll get to the surface don’t be mad please please don’t leave m-

“It’s all Jake, Frisk.” He said briskly. The silence afterward was painful, even for him, so he broke it, softening the edge from his words into a more gentle tone. “It’s fine. I’m not mad at you. You’re only doing what’s expected by trying to make everyone happy.”

Frisk nodded even though Chara wasn’t looking at them. It didn’t seem to matter anyway. He knew Frisk didn’t quite believe him so Chara continued, his voice as sweet as sugar. “It’s just more annoying than anything really. We’ve tried almost everything imaginable, but we still can’t get that ending.

“I almost think it’s time we did another dust run.” Ah there we go. He could tell he had Frisk’s attention now.

“…What? Why?”

“We still have more to learn Frisky-bits. We-”

“But- haven’t we learned all we can from… that? You said the last one would be our final one.”

They really were naive. You know it had almost been endearing before it had gotten so annoying.

Chara poked the top of Frisk’s head with a ghostly finger. “Hey what have I said before about interrupting me?”

He waited patiently for them to mumble a soft apology before continuing.

“It’s fine. Now, we don’t necessarily need to do kill anyone this time around, but we’re just wasting our time repeating the simple stuff. We already know what will happen if we eat Toriel’s pie and what will happen if we don’t, if we complement the Froggits or ignore them, but we still haven’t done all the death endings.”

“Do- do we need to?” Frisk asked quietly. “You speak like this is just a game to you.”

“It’s not a game, but let’s not pretend that this is real either. What we’re doing isn’t permanent unless you decide to never go back. You can just reset to the start and no one remembers what we did. And think of all the new possibilities we get to explore this way. That’s what you want right?”

Frisk didn’t say anything, but he felt their thoughts spiraling out of control again.

“Calm down Frisky-bits remember I’m not saying we have to do it this round, just what if we did? It’s for the best Frisk.”

“I know.” They whispered. “I-I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

“What? I thought you wanted this. You’re the one who wants to find the perfect happy ending. I’m just suggesting ways to find it.

“Just say the word and we can end this. We can live on the surface with everyone like the big, happy family you want.”

Frisk didn’t say anything, of course they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t stop until they knew what they wanted.

Chara carried on. Their conversations usually left him to do most of the talking and this one was no different. “I get it, you don’t want to hurt your friends. It’s alright if the idea of it is too much for you. I’m sure they will be perfectly fine with a plain, old, average ending.” He rolled over to be able to look down and meet Frisk’s eyes. “No one expects you to put your friends before yourself Frisk.”

That hit the nerve he was aiming for, the other flinched. Frisk looked nauseated, but still didn’t say anything.

Chara pulled back. See this was why he was getting so tired of this cycle. Frisk was just too easy to read now. He knew their mind just as well as he knew his own, especially since Frisk made no effort to shut him out.

Slowly he moved back down to lay next to Frisk and took their hand in his. It was a pointless gesture as his incorporeal form couldn’t actually hold anything, but they both curled their fingers around the other’s and pretended they could feel it. The action was only meant to calm Frisk down anyway, Chara knew when he was beginning to toe the line.

“We don’t even need to decide yet. It’s just some food for thought while we wait. There’s still plenty of time before our save file reloads.”

Frisk simply nodded. It looked like they were doing a lot of thinking already. Chara let them be, turning his thought towards the next run.

It wouldn’t be the surface, but it was about time he scratched his itch and serve the monsters some more retribution. Even if they wouldn’t remember it consciously, Chara liked to think a part of their souls did.

Frisk could have their perfect little ending for all he cared, their monster friends too, but not the ones on the surface. No, there was justice to be served for them and Chara was more than happy to be the bringer. There was no good left there anymore.

Admittedly Frisk was a bit of a special case, at least they wanted to do good, but they were still a weak pushover. People like them were mere pawns to be used by stronger demons. Like their parents. The thought of those pigs made Chara sick. He was glad that they were gone. He could take care of Frisk better than those demons ever could.

Chara couldn’t stop a smile from stretching across his face. Oh and he knew he was a demon too. He wasn’t much better than human scum on the surface, but at least he didn’t leave blind destruction in his wake. No, at least he had a reason. He was a demon, but he was also a demon with a calling and sometimes small things like that could make all the difference.

________

Yet again I found a drabble in my drafts that I completely forgot if I already posted :,) If I haven’t, then oops maybe I shouldn’t have been talking about Frisk and Chara like I introduced them already. (Not like it matters since they were never asked any questions, but still)

Anyway, an important thing to note is that resets work differently in Glasstale than to what you might consider canon. For one, resets are not instantaneous. It takes a varying amount of time for Frisk’s reset powers to charge. It’s actually kind of unreliable, ranging to a couple days to a couple months. (I like to think it’s because they aren’t as determined as some of their alternates but shhhh) While Frisk and Chara wait, they are stuck in a part of the void that we see as the save screen. Their void is a different part of the void than the area Gaster is trapped in. They could probably contact him if they really tried though… Chara would find that beyond fascinating.

An interesting side effect of the resets not being instantaneous, is that time moves forward between their runs. That means all the stuff that Glass and Gen have been doing is going to be new to them. If they did something drastic, like Gen quitting the guard, or Glass getting a new favorite jacket, the changes would stick when Frisk and Chara come back and they will have no idea what happened to cause it.

Ha alright so you got a drabble and an info dump hurray for long annoying posts! :D

[scartale-an-undertale-au]

Papers of Homelessness - Chapter 5

A/N: even with the cutting, it became such a long chapter, i’m so sorry ^^’

edit: 11/02/2017

BEFORE | NEXT

“…New worker…” Grillby said when you were about to close the place. You blinked and turned to him, smiling amusingly.

“I always wonder how you manage to read my mind. Are we finally getting one? We seem popular enough for a waiter.”

Grillby nodded. “…Hood?”

You stiffened, hand hovering over the handle. “Excuse me?”

Was the world out to get you?

Your boss’ usual frown turned to a straight line. “…Needs… work…”

“So you want me to ask them if they need a job.” You sighed and brushed your fingers through your hair in exasperation. “They probably already have a job if they can afford a meal a day. But sure, why not?”

“…You… trust…”

You gave a snort. “I don’t trust them…” Your eyes clouded over as you finally locked the door and pushed by Grillby, shoulders hunched. “I just tolerate them…”

The man didn’t say anything more as you stomped away.

You were fine with it.

Your shoes hit the pavement as your brisk walk escalated to a run and you sprinted through the street towards the shortcut.

Your pocket burned and you itched to grab your pocketknife.

You want a fight.

You want to release some frustrations.

Since when did Hood become such a major faction in your life that people kept pointing them out? They’re just some homeless kid you talk to.

But you don’t like talking to people… yet you don’t mind talking to Hood. You gritted your teeth and slowed to a normal walk, looking up and noticing that you had reached the deserted street and that a big commotion was occurring in the middle of it.

Hoping it meant a fight you can interrupt and fight the stronger participant, you approached the group and grabbed one of the homeless people, forcing him to look at you.

“‘at’s yer problem, kid?” The homeless slurred. You rolled your eyes and motioned for the commotion.

“Some fight going on?” You let yourself smirk in a way that made many people wary of you, the smirk growing when the man shook.

“T'boss got new place s'we want new boss.”

“Boss?” You raised a brow, “Didn’t know this street had hierarchy.” You remarked and before your captive could reply, you dropped him to the floor and pushed your way to the middle of the circle, finally seeing the participants for the first time.

Participant number one – pucker lips. Average size, lean, quick on his feet. His most memorable feature is his giant lips that look like a balloon.

You snickered at your narration.

Participant number two – typical bully. Exactly what the title says, big, burly, heavy yet quicker than expected.

The usual, then.

You smirked and clapped your hands, turning everyone’s attention to you.

You nearly frowned at the unnecessary spotlight glaring at you, hating that to get a fight, you needed to suffer through the people’s attention.

“Get lost.” Both fighters exclaimed. Your smirk returned and you laced your fingers behind your back nonchalantly, leaning on your heels in an almost childish way, mocking them with your pose.

“Why? I want a fight and you two seem like good candidates.” Plus, you might regain your instincts you had lost since Hood arrived.

The two shared a look and grinned, pucker-lips looking even more clownish and typical bully looking more comical as they nodded. “Sssure, come ‘ere!”

Your smirk turned dark and you flicked your knife out. “With pleasure.”

You charged.

The two didn’t anticipate that you would make first move so quickly and so didn’t move out of the way in time.

In a flash, you sprinted towards them, ducking under bully’s fist and slashing your knife up, grazing a bit of the hand because of your awkward position.

Not much.

But you made your point.

You stopped a meter from the two and swiveled back to face them, body positioned in your signature stance – legs spread and in an angle for balance and both knees a bit bent to allow quick maneuvering, right hand stretched out to the side and the left holding the knife in front.

Pucker lips and Bully shared a look and nodded, separating so they were flanking you on both sides.

Nice strategy, you grinned in excitement as you attempted to anticipate their next move.

The arena was silent for a long moment, a hush falling over the crowd while you three measured one another up, checking for weaknesses.

Someone breathed a bit loudly and you were off, deciding to attack Pucker lips first.

Pucker lips jumped to the side when you slashed and sent a kick, nearly flying to the floor when you dodged it and pushed his leg away, accompanying it with a slash to his back that you missed because of his moving position. He managed to use the momentum of your push to twirl again and sent his leg at you once more. You ducked, feeling the leg passing millimeters from you hair.

You two separated and you raised you knife and turned so it would nearly pierce Bully in the nose when he tried to use the movement to his advantage.

Bully recoiled and you fell on your legs, bracing both hands on the floor and swerving around with your leg out, bending the knees and knocking the other onto his back.

Pucker lips jumped at your back and sent you sprawling to the floor as well. You growled and shot out your arm and bent it so your knife was digging into his arm. With a cry of pain, he released you and you rolled away, getting onto your feet and rubbing your mouth, spitting some dirt out.

Those two were impressive, you smirked gleefully, enjoying the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Bully was struggling to his feet so you jumped at him and sliced at his shoulder, not wanting to kill him despite the thrill clouding your mind. The big man screamed and held his shoulder, blood gushing out from between his fat fingers. The heavy metallic stench of the blood made you relax and you gave him a big kick to the head, sending him to the floor in a near unconsciousness state. Then you stood over him, flashing the bloodied knife and grinning like maniac, your body screaming for more blood.

“So where should I cut next?” You asked excitedly, eyes bright with madness, “My knife is reeeeally thirsty and I want to quench its thirst.”

“Not yet!” Pucker lips collided with you and threw you away from Bully. You landed on the ground, coughing and spitting some blood out from a busted lip as you sat up.

Oops, forget about the other guy. You really should stay calm and not give in to your bloodlust so easily.

Oh well, you grinned and spat out more blood and dirt, resuming your position and nearly immediately having to swivel to the side as a fist was flung your way. You finished the turn and grabbed Pucker lips’ upper arm and pulled him over you and to the floor, sitting on his back and keeping his arm up in a threatening way, your knife hovering over his inner elbow.

Pucker lips stared at you in horror, black soggy eyes wide with realization that you had won and could do anything you wanted with him.

You smiled sickeningly sweetly and pressed the knife to the skin, the smile turning predatory when the man shook.

“So…” You began, glancing over to Bully to make sure he was out for the count before returning to Pucker lips. “Have to admit, you are better than expected, but still disappointing.

See…” You pressed more and the man whimpered as blood begun to coat the blade. “My instincts were dulling lately because of Hood and I wanted to earn them back. That and I was getting antsy. Haven’t had a fight in months.”

“Wh-what d'yer 'ant?” Pucker lips croaked out.

You hummed, mulling over the question. Your excitement was sated and your dear butterfly knife seemed satiated as well. But it’s would be a wasted opportunity to not ask some questions.

You looked back down and smiled pleasantly. “I heard something about a boss. Who is he?”

A murmur went through the crowd and you finally remembered the audience and grimaced, hating the attention.

Your captive gulped. “'ss kee’ us in line. Go’ bored.”

“Bored?” He nodded. “You sure they didn’t just want to leave the streets?” The man shook, not having an answer. So he had no idea. Well… “So they went to a new place?” Another nod. “Too bad. When did that happen?”

“Month.” You scoffed. Such a long time ago… no hope to find him then.

“That’s disappointing…” You grumbled and stood up, releasing Pucker lips and offering him a hand. The man looked at you in confusion and you shrugged.

“Hey, I was looking for a fight, not to kill. I won and I’m happy, so here,” You motioned for him to grab your hand. Smiling in relief, he gripped your hand and you heaved the man onto his feet. You then took some of his shirt to clean your knife and he gave you the stink eye. You flashed him an easy grin and gestured for Bully, who was still out of it. “If you want, I can get you some first aid since it was my fault and you did entertain me for a while.”

“Yer pretty strong fer ah homeboy,” Pucker lips grinned and bumped your shoulder. You dusted your shoulder, and took out from your pocket a small bruised aid kit your mother always wanted you to carry.

Well, seemed like the time had come. You fished out some bandages and disinfection, throwing it to Pucker lips, who caught it and waved to you in gratitude. You waved back and went to exit the place, noticing how the crowd parted for you.

Cringing, you walked quickly, ears alert for any new challengers.

Your feet passed the garbage filled alley when you spotted the figure.

You slowed to a stop and prepared yourself, only to blink and chuckle when the figure stepped forward to reveal itself to be Hood. You relaxed and returned your knife into your pocket, waving at them.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Hood nodded and approached you, hand coming out from a damp pocket holding a dripping wet cloth. You stared at them quizzically and they raised the wet cloth to your face, pressing it harshly against your face as they cleaned the dirt and grime while squashing your face at the same time.

You recoiled, grabbing their hand and lowering it, glaring at them. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Hood tilted their hooded head and shook it. “…Dirty.”

“Like you can talk, Hoodie. You stink,” You grumbled but released their hand and let the cloth rub away, gentler this time, the dirt and blood. You relaxed into the motions unconsciously and closed your eyes.

“Clean…” Hood retracted their hand after a long moment and you stretched a bit, rubbing your face and jaw, feeling the busted lip.

“Thanks,” You nodded at them when you finished and folded your arms, “So how did you know to come here?”

“Saw you…” Hood shrugged and their other hand came out of their pocket, a crinkled paper in their hand. “Sorry…”

“For what?”

“You were… uncomfortable with me…” Hood pressed the paper to your hands. You smoothed it open and see a complete sketch of you and your brother’s face, your mother’s face hovering higher.

You groaned and gently put the drawing in your pocket, “My family is crazy. Don’t worry about them. Next to them, you’re completely sane.”

Hood nodded, a certain tenseness you didn’t notice before leaving their shoulders.

You wonder if you see all those emotions because you can read them better or if because Hood was getting comfortable around you.

Either way, it was nice to know that the kid wasn’t so apathetic.

You smirked and patted the hooded head. “Don’t worry, kid. My family likes you for some odd reason so stop apologizing.”

Hood’s knees suddenly bent, making your arm fall down from having nothing under it, then they rose back up and tilted their head. “Frisk.”

Oh, so they’re still bitter about the nickname. “Kid.”

“Frisk.”

You bent a bit forward, grinning pettily. “K. I. D.”

Hood’s shoulders hunched and the short homeless took a step forward, head tilting up. “Am not a kid…”

“Well, you seem like one,” You taunted, “How old are you anyways?”

Hood stopped and drew back, shrugging after a moment of deep thought. “…Don’t know…”

That made you stop and look at the other as if seeing them for the first time, “Seriously?”

Hood nodded. “…Remember less than twenty…”

“So you think you’re probably around twenty?” Another nod. “Hmm… so no birthday.”

A shake of the head. “Bummer.”

“Why?”

You shrugged, not having an answer for that, and tried to give another pat to their head, chuckling when they dodged the hand and pushed by you, walking the opposite of where you were heading to.

You were about to continue walking home when you remembered your earlier talk with Grillby and turned back around, “Hey, Hood!”

The hooded person stopped and turned to you, hands back in pockets and body nearly hidden entirely in the night’s shadows. You smiled. “Grillby needs help and wanted to ask if you are up for the challenge.”

Hood stood there for a long while, enough to make you wonder if they had turned to stone. But then they nodded and turned to disappear into the night.

You spun on your heel and walked back home, barely noticing the light skip in your steps.

“My child! What happened to you!?” Your mother gasped when you walked into your house, running to you and fingering your dirtied jacket and pants. You shrugged off her worries.

“Got pushed into the pavement by someone.”

“And he busted your lip too…” She held your face with such a worried expression you sighed and removed her hands from your face, giving her a small smile.

“It’s okay, mom. I don’t mind.”

“…” Your mother searched in your eyes for a long moment before deflating and releasing you, walking to the bathroom. “Well, I’ll get you some clean clothes while you clean yourself, alright?”

You suddenly had a flash to when you did the same to Hood and thought about the clothes they were wearing today. They were cleaner from the usual, but a hoodie and slacks aren’t usually enough to stave off the cold of the nearly here winter…

Your mother came back with a disinfection and wipes and you stopped her with a question and a serious gaze. “Mom… can I have some yarn?”

NEXT

[latchingontoallofyou]

Keeper- Valenna fic

I got this prompt from Wattpad

Most of the tour, Val was never seen without his phone on his hand. He was always texting, always checking social media, or making a call. She always knew who it was. She ignored it. She busied her self with the girls or her blog. She picked up her photography again. He had shattered her heart and she just couldn't be apart of it anymore. She saw how much he'd changed. She saw how distant he was. He would sit there with them but was more present with his conversation through his phone than with anything that was happening around him. Thankfully for Laurie's benefit, the others were picking up the big brother and sister acts. They spent time with her and kept her company since he wasn't. 

It was all of a sudden. She saw the switch all of a sudden. One night, during the show, he was so tense when they danced. After all they'd been through together, their dancing had remained the same. That was until that one night. She wanted to ask him what was wrong but he ran off as soon as they were off stage. He usually would stay around for a bit after the dance as they caught their breath but he didn't this time. She couldn't lie to herself by saying she wasn't worried. She kept trying to catch him all throughout the night to see what was up but she never did catch him. When the show was over and they had finally all got back on the bus, she finds Val sitting on the couch, empty handed, staring into lala land. They had a double show the day before and a busy morning before the show today so most have settled into their bunks for the night. She weakly smiled towards him but he didn't see it. Well, he either didn't see it or just didn't react. She walks past him and goes to change into her pajamas. She brushes her teeth and is just about ready to climb into bed with a book when she notices Val's bunk is still empty. She quietly heads back out to the main room and finds Val sitting in the same position, having yet to move. At first she is unsure of what to do. She thought about calling Maks or swallowing her pride and somehow getting ahold of Amber. Before she could do that, her body takes over and she finds herself sitting next to Val, slipping her hand into his. She gives his hand a squeeze as his gaze drifts to their joined hands. He just stares at them for a while. Jenna sits quietly, not daring to move, waiting for him to make the first move. His eyes eventually make their way to hers. She gives him the same weak smile as before but this time he saw it. "I'm sorry" he says quietly. "What are you sorry about Val? You have nothing to sorry about. Nothing went wrong..." "I'm sorry for hurting you." "You didn't..." "I know what it feels like now. I'm so sorry." "Val, what are you talking about?" She asked even though she had a gut feeling she knew exactly what she was talking about. "I saw how much it hurt you but I was being selfish. My Dad pointed out but I didn't listen. My brother called me an idiot. My Mama cried. I was selfish. I was an idiot. And look where it lead me. Losing one of my best friends and my greatest choreographers. I'm sorry. " "Valentin, look at me. You never lost me. I was always right there." "Yes I did. If I had asked you to come help me create a dance like I had so many times before, would you honestly have come or would you have tried your hardest to find a reason not to help?" She didn't have to respond. He knew her answer by her expression. "That's what I thought. I lost you Jenna and I'm so sorry." "I'm right here Val" she said squeezing his hand. "What brought this one?” "Please forgive me Jenna" he pleads. "Val..." "Jenna, please forgive me. I need you back in my life." "Val..." "Jenna, please!" He begs again. "Valentin, I forgive you. I did a long time ago. What is wrong? Please tell me what is going on." "I'm so sorry Jenna. I'm sorry I hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you." "I know you didn't Val. It made me stronger though." "Your stronger than me. I'm a mess." "I was too. I just hid it from you. I didn't want you to see how much I was hurting. It really made me a better, stronger person though." "It shouldn't have come to that. I'm sorry." "Val, what is going on? What brought this all out so suddenly? You had been fine. I was ok. I mean you were a bit distant from the rest of us but you seemed good." "I was. I was distant. I was focusing on everything outside of the tour. I was putting all my attention and energy in her and not on those present around me. Thank you for picking up the big sibling duties for Laurie. Really, I owe you all for doing what I should have been doing. I began to feel like I was doing all the work. It felt like she was just along for the ride and attention. She was doing to me what I did to you but I didn't notice it. I'm so sorry. I didn't understand then but now I do" he explains as a tear rolls down his cheek. She reaches out and wipes it away and then wipes hers. "I'm sorry" she whispers. He squeezes her hand, really wanting to lean over and kiss her forehead and let her know it's all going to be ok. "You have nothing to be sorry about. I got what I deserved." "Val..." "Jenna, she pushed me aside like I did to you. She said she just 'wasn't feeling it' anymore. She said our lives just didn't mash together. I at least agreed with that. She had to be in one place for her son and I just wanted to travel. I thought her kid was great but I wasn't ready to be an instant Dad like that. I'm sorry. The last thing you probably want to hear is your ex talking about his current ex." "I don't mind. You are hurting and I hate to see you hurting." "You have always had the kindest heart Jenna. It's one of the many things I love about you" he says sweetly, staring into her eyes, making her blush. "Thank you" she says looking at the floor. "I mean it. You know that right?" "Yes." "I'm going to be better Jenna. I promise. I'm going to be more present. I'm going to keep my phone away. I'll do more with the group. I'll do better. I promise." "You have to do it for you and no one else." "I know. I might need some help. Will you call me out when I start acting like an idiot again, when I'm not doing my job again?" "I can try." "Thank you. I'm sorry for keeping you up." "I don't mind.  If it gets the old Val back, I'm fine with it." "I'm not tired but if you want to..." "I'm not either" she cuts him off saying. "Let me change and we can put a movie or something on. Ok?" "I'd like that." Val lets go of her hand for the first time since she grabbed hold when she sat down next to him. He heads back to his bunk and changes into his pajamas and quickly brushes his teeth and goes to the bathroom. He comes back out to find Jenna cuddled up in a blanket on one end of the couch. He smiles at her and sits on the other end. She looks at him, almost looking upset until she stands up, motioning for him to come to her spot. He smiles at her and slides down the couch. She sits next to him and curls up against him. He puts his arm around her as she rests her head on his chest. "Just like old times" he says as he puts the TV on. The end up on reruns of Grey's Anatomy, Jenna's favorite. "Now it really is like the old times" she whispers against his chest. He finally places a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Soon enough the TV is forgotten and they have fallen asleep wrapped in each other's arms. Val wakes up eventually and carries Jenna to her bunk and then climbs into his own, going back to sleep. ~ The next few days, Jenna notices a big difference in Val. He is much more attentive to those around him. He only has his phone out when necessary. He's spending more time with Laurie. He's even spent some more time with her. They've found a connection she hadn't felt when they danced before, making their connection even stronger. He is kinder. She was seeing the Val she knew and loved coming back. He has asked her to go out and explore with him and Laurie a few times. He always found ways to be next to her or across from her. She was catch him staring or sometimes just feel it. She couldn't help but stare back at him sometimes, seeing his soft, gentle and kind face coming along with his spirit. It's a day off for the crew and after staying up late to watch a movie, Val and Jenna are the last ones awake. Most of the group has already gone off to explore. Laurie was with her teacher doing school and taking some tests so she could have the night off. When Val gets out of his bunk, he sees Jenna's curtain still closed. He goes out to the kitchenette and grabs two donuts that were left. He heads back to the bunk and sits in his bunk, staring across at Jenna's trying to hear if he can hear any movement. "Jenna?" He finally calls out. He waits but he doesn't hear anything. He puts the donuts down on his bunk and goes over to hers, pulling back the curtain a little. She scrunches her eyes, turning away from the light in her sleep. "Jenna?" "Val?" She replies sleepily, opening her eyes to find his.   "Time to wake up my love." "Val..." "Sorry. I didn't mean to call you that. It just slipped out." "It's ok. I didn't mind. I missed it" she says sweetly with a gentle smile. "Good because it felt good to say. I brought us some donuts." "Oh yum. Where is everyone? It's so quiet." "They're all out exploring already." "Can we eat the donuts in my bunk?" "It's up to you. It's your bunk after all." "Then get the donuts. I don't want to get up yet." Val laughs with a smile and grabs the donuts off his bunk. Jenna has moved all the way against the wall so Val climbs in. She pulls the blanket up and over them both. He holds out the donuts and she takes the one she wants. "We're going to have to work hard to work these donuts off since there is no show tonight." "I can think of a few ways" he says as Jenna moves closer to him. "Val!" "Whoa, I wasn't going there Jenna!" "Oh, oops. My bad" she says, almost defeated. "Jenna, it's not that I wouldn't love to get back to that with you but we’re just getting back to us. The good old friends, but just a bit more than friends.” ��I know. I’m sorry.” “I’m not saying never though” he says looking down at her. She turns over and rest on her elbows looking at him. “I mean it” he says kissing her forehead. “Good” she says sweetly, smiling at him, longing to kiss his lips. “Ok my love, what are we going to do today?” “You mean we can’t lay in my bunk all day?” “I mean, we could be I’d rather do something more fun.” “I’m having fun just laying here with you.
“I know.” “We could just go out and explore together.” “Grab your camera.” “We have to get dressed babe.” “Right. meet me at the couch when you are done” Val says after getting out of her bunk, kissing her forehead and grabbing his clothes. ~ “There you two are” Sharna says when Val and Jenna come back onto the bus. He lets go of her hand and Jenna sits next to Sharna on the couch. Val ends up on the floor in front of her. “Yea, where were you guys?” Keo asks. “Just exploring” Jenna says smiling down at Val. Sharna stares over at Jenna, curious about what is going on. She decides not to ask. She watches as Val leans back against Jenna’s legs and Jenna runs her fingers through her hair. The ladies decide it’s a perfect night for a chick flick so the boys head off to the bunks. With the movie in, Sharna leans over and whispers to Jenna, “So, what’s going on with you and Val?” “Nothing. We were the last ones up today so we went out exploring together.” “That was just today. I’ve noticed you too more than just now.” “We’re just, um, friends again.” “Good. I hated how he treated you.” “I know. It’s better. It’s getting better.” “It better. You know, he got really drunk one night after you two broke up and said how you were always the one. He said how stupid he was and…” “We’re past it.” “Good.” They are quiet for the rest of the movie. All of the other girls went to their bunks but Jenna hung back. Having slept in so late, she wasn’t really tired yet. The door that leads to the bunks opens and in comes Val. He smiles at her with a wink and comes over to the couch, sitting next to her. “You’re not tired either?” he says. “No. Sharna noticed.” “That you’re not tired?” “No. Us. Whatever we are.” “Friends that are more than friends in some way.” “That makes it sound different than it is” she says settling against him. “Sorry.” “It’s ok. I had a lot of fun today.” “I did too. Best day in a long, long time.” “Me too” she says tilting her head to look up at him. He sweetly kisses her forehead. She can’t turn away from him. Her eyes drift away from his eyes to his lips, lingering there for a bit before making their way back to his eyes. “Do you want…” “Yes, no. I don’t know.” “It’s up to you.” “I’m scared” she whispers. “We don’t…” “Can we go slow?” “Jenna, there are other people on this bus.” “I just… I meant us, together.” “You want to be us again?” “I’ve missed you.” “I’m sorry” he says kissing her forehead again. “If we get back together, you aren’t allowed to apologies about it again.” “Ok.” “Just little dates. We still have to spend time with the group.” “Got it.” “We can’t tell the fans.” “Of course. We can be us in front of the group?” “Yes.” “Good.” “Can I kiss you now?” Jenna asks quietly. “Please.” She sits up and turns towards Val. She puts one hand on his cheek and puts the other on his chest. She slowly leans in and gently kisses him. He puts a hand behind her back and pulls her closer to him. She pulls back a bit and looks into his eyes. “I missed this.” “Not as much as I did.” She kisses him one more time before curling back up against him as they sit in silence, both becoming to sleep not long after. The following morning, Val is woken up to Laurie coming out and fixing herself some breakfast. He looks down and sees Jenna still asleep but her head is now in his lap and there is a blanket over her. “Good morning” he whispers towards Laurie. “Good morning” she replies cheerfully. “Have a good night?” “Yes” he says with a smile and an eye roll. “Are you two…” “Yea. Wait, you knew we were a thing before?”
“Val, always watched DWTS. Of course I knew.” “What do you think?” “About you two?” “Yes.” “I love it. Much better than…sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” “It’s ok. I know. I feel the same.” “She’s a great future sister in law for me.” Val laughs and runs his hand over Jenna’s hair. She doesn’t stir. He continues to play with her hair, one of his favorite pastimes. “Yea, she’s a keeper.”