#and then those last few lines sucker punch you with the reminder that she's an smg4 parody character

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Part One Part Two

☒ Summary: There was no time for doubt or guilt. It was now or never, and you had to play it smart if you wanted to be free, and you longed for that freedom more than anything.The thought of soon being in the comfort of Alastor’s arms, without any restrictions, kept you at bay. Within hours, you would be liberated.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, happy ending! silly lucifer, vox gets destroyed emotionally, lots of cursing and a light sugestive undertone, angsty and fluffy (a perfect combo) heavily yandere!vox coded, blushy alastor, husband alastor being the sweetest ever

☒ Word Count: 3,545

You awoke to an empty room after what transpired last night. Slowly, you rubbed the tiredness from your eyes. There was a note on your night table- you noticed it as you sat up. It was from Vox.

Sorry, I cannot be here when you wake, sweetheart. Val is being a pain in my ass. So, duty calls. I'll be up to check on you later. There's breakfast downstairs if you're hungry.  With love, Vox

The kinder he was to you, the more remorse you felt. 

Soon, all of this would be behind you, and that's what you had to remind yourself of. 

You took your time rolling out of bed this morning. You dreaded the day ahead of you. As you finished dressing yourself, you caught something in the corner of your eye. You spotted an envelope tucked under your closed window. The corners of the crimson letter lifted from the harsh breeze outside. You wasted no time snatching the tattered note, instantly recognizing the handwriting on the front.  

It was from Alastor.

My Dearest, Gather your prized possessions. I'll be here at midnight to bring you to your proper home- our home. Lucifer will nullify the contract you have with Vox moments after I retrieve you. So worry not, my dear. Within hours, you will be free.  Yours truly, Alastor P.S. Be sure to burn this after you've read it. 

You could hear your heartbeat as your hands shook, tossing the letter into your fireplace. The finish line was just out of reach. You could do this. You hastily began grabbing the belongings you've accumulated over the years, stuffing them into a bag Vox had gifted you for your birthday one year.

As you began gathering your things, the nostalgia kicked in. As did the guilt that sucker punched you right in the gut. 

Each item you stuffed into the tote brought back a pleasant memory. Your favorite tee that you wore to bed each night, for instance. 

You hadn't a clue how Vox even knew this piece of fabric was so meaningful to you. Nor how he obtained it to begin with. But, when Vox re-gifted it to you, you broke down. He seemed startled by your reaction, uttering apology after apology. Vox assumed his gesture did not go over well. But it was quite the contrary. This piece of home made you feel a little less alone in an unfamiliar place. You cried out a meek "Thank you." offering Vox a shaky smile as you wiped your tears away. 

You shoved all of those memories into the back of your mind. The same way you shoved your belongings into the tote. There was no time for doubt or guilt. It was now or never, and you had to play it smart if you wanted to be free— and you longed for that freedom more than anything.

The thought of soon being in the comfort of Alastor’s arms, without any restrictions, kept you at bay. You took a deep breath, slapping your cheeks a few times to snap yourself out of this stupor. Within hours, you would be free.

Vox had been so angry when Velvette called— disrupting his precious time watching you slumber. These moments were few and far between since you forbid him from installing cameras in your room. Vox grumbled to himself as he stood from the chair, ending the call with Velvette after receiving the news about "Needing to get the piss baby under control."

Slowly, he approached your sleeping frame, admiring you. The rise and fall of your chest. The pleasant expression decorating your beautiful features and the hardly noticeable tremble of your fingers at the hem of your favorite shirt.

It was a cute routine of yours. You tended to play with the stitching at the base of your sleep shirt before you nodded off each night. The sheets always slipped down your frame from how you tossed and turned, giving him a perfect view of your little habit.

Vox recorded this moment for his private use. He knew your self-soothing technique was the reason your shirt was so tattered. Vox put the pieces together ages ago. He never forgot the day he re-gifted you that flimsy old shirt.

When you started living here seven years ago, you arrived with nothing. Vox sensed your anxiety from your lack of familiarity. So he had a chauffeur take him to your and Alastor's newly desolate home. 

Vox rummaged through your personal belongings for a good while, to the lack of your knowledge. Inhaling your scent; which enshrouded your garments. One shirt, in particular, stood out to Vox. He noticed the wear and tear in the fabric, giving it so much character and conveying a story of its own. He assumed this tee was sentimental, so Vox took it. Hoping that a piece of home would put your mind at ease. He had also confiscated your perfume and other personal garments for himself. But you hardly needed to know that.

When Vox gave the shirt to you, your eyes filled with tears as you offered him a sweet little thank you. That stirred something deep within him. Something dark. Vox's obsession only doubled by the day after that, and for some reason, you were wholly oblivious.

Vox supposed that was the moment he knew his fixation with you was severe.

You took his kindness for weakness, Vox assumed. But little did you know, the love he had for you only made him all the more hostile. If he had you, Vox had no use for anything or anyone else. Plain and simple. You were all he desired— all he needed.

The memories you shared over the years replayed in Vox’s mind as he persisted in his daily tasks. He hoped you had read the note he left you by now, taking the liberty of treating yourself to some delicious breakfast. Vox had the personal chefs make your favorite this morning. He figured you needed a little pick me up after the harrowing night you endured.

His poor little sweetheart, maybe he should visit you earlier tonight. Any moment without you in it was far too long for Vox.

You paced around the ransacked room. The clock read a quarter to twelve. You were in the home stretch. Alastor would be here soon, as would Lucifer. Suddenly, a knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. 

"Sweetheart, may I come in?" 

Oh no, this was not according to plan.

Normally, Vox finished his work around two in the morning. He would visit you a couple of minutes after he finished up. But why was he early tonight? Did he possibly catch on to your antics?

"Ah! N-No! Not yet- I am indecent!" You sputtered out. Fuck, this was bad. Really bad. Vox was quiet for a moment before his voice boomed once more. 

"You sound- off. I'm coming in." You hurriedly tucked your packed-up bag under your bed, throwing on your robe to hide the outfit you had on. You prepared to take your leave, so your usual sleep attire was nowhere to be seen.

Fuck, Fuck- Fuck! He wasn't this stupid. Vox was going to see right through your bullshit. The trashed room was a dead giveaway. 

Vox barreled through the door, making a beeline to where you stood. "V-Vox! Wait-" His slender fingers cupped your cheeks, a look of worry glitching onto his features. "Sweetheart, what's the matter?"

He was too focused on you to notice the state of your room. A shaky breath escaped you as you forced a smile, bringing your hands up to your chest. You waved them in front of yourself. In an attempt to show him everything was alright. Which- it wasn't. 

"Nothing- Really! I'm okay, just a bit sleepy. Can we talk more tomorrow?" You forced a yawn. Placing your hands on his chest, an attempt to soothe his worries. Vox gave you a pointed look as he let out a sigh. His hands that cupped your cheeks traveled a little lower. The gentle caress down your neck and collarbones sent a chill up your spine. "Of course we can. Here, let me tuck you in." 

Panic flooded your senses as he tugged at the tie of your robe. "I-I'm cold! So I figured I'd sleep with this on tonight!" Your hands were trembling as you stopped him from undoing the knot. Vox looked more concerned than ever from your skittish display. "Sweetheart, you're trembling! Come, let's get you under the covers." 

All you could do was nod in agreement as Vox's hand wrapped around the small of your back. He guided you to the bed, and that's when he noticed something was off. "Sweetheart... where's your favorite blanket, and why is it not on your bed?" His voice was even but a pitch lower. You froze in place, not daring to peer up at him. "I took it to get washed! It was looking a little bleak." Your voice was shaky as you lied through your teeth.

Vox's grip on your frame tightened as he slithered his arm down to grasp your hip. His hold on you was bruising as his other hand came to clutch the opposite side of your waist. He swiftly turned you to face him, dipping low to get in your field of view. "Why the fuck are you lying to me?" 

Oh fuck, this was the end for you.

His eyes were glowing bright and swirling with anger. A frown was prominent on his monitor. "I'm not! I swear- stop! Vox- you're h-hurting me!" His grip only became more brutal as his face pushed closer to yours. Vox invaded your senses. You felt claustrophobic- trapped. "Lies, lies, and more lies! Utter one more from those sweet lips of yours, and you'll be sorry."

Tears brimmed at your waterline, threatening to spill. Sure, Vox's grip was painful- but more than anything, you were petrified. 

"I believe you are holding something that belongs to me!"

The radio static filled the room, as did an air of malice. Vox snapped his head toward your window- met with the sight of his age-old rival, Alastor. "How the fuck did you get in here? I have security cameras lining the entire building! Inside and out!" Vox's grip around your hips loosened from the pure shock of what was unraveling before him. You took the opportunity to slither out of his grasp, frantically running over to your husband. 

"Ha! Your sense of security is flawed! You'll have to try harder than that to keep me away next time, old pal!" Alastor laughed bitterly as you cowered behind him. You seized his waist from behind tightly, hands still trembling. "Although, there won't be a next time! Oh heavens no! Not after the way you put your hands on my wife." The radio crackle was more prominent as your husband's shadow tendrils outstretched toward Vox. 

Alastor restrained the pitiful man before him. You peeked over your husband's frame. Getting a glimpse of his murderous expression. His eyes were in the shape of radio dials as crimson blood spilled past his grinning lips. "You fucker! You should have stayed away! Have you forgotten that I own your sweet little wife?"

"Uhh... not for much longer! Uh oh! It looks like someone is late to the party, am I right, Malastor? Aha!" You jumped from the boisterous voice filling the room. Your head whipped over to where Lucifer himself, now stood at your husband's other side. The King of Hell nudged your husband with his elbow, looking for approval from his witty remark. 

"Malastor-?" You sounded dumbfounded before your husband cleared his throat. "Yes, yes indeed! Now, get on with it, little Luci! Time is ticking!" Alastor spat through gritted teeth, shooting Lucifer a warning glare. The short blonde man scoffed, muttering under his breath about how "He was taller where it counted most!" Lucifer approached an annoyed Vox. He thrashed against his constraints but to no avail. 

"What the fuck are you of all demons doing here?" Vox spat, eyes swirling with murderous intent. He was beyond pissed, and it terrified you. Alastor could sense your anxiety and wrapped an arm around your waist. He pulled you snugly into his side, giving your hip a light squeeze. 

"Your old pal Malastor and I struck a deal! So no more wifey soul for you Mr. TV man!" Lucifer said in a sing-song voice. Without further ado; The King of Hell's horns poked past his golden hair. Wings fluttered out as a blue aura surrounded Vox. "No! You fucking can't- she's mine!" Vox shouted, tugging wickedly against his restraints. 

You watched in awe as the essence of your soul was extracted from Vox's chest. He let out a pained groan while Lucifer held out his palms, gently cradling your soul. A gasp was pulled from your lips as your collar and chain appeared around your neck. Lucifer turned toward you, offering you a wide grin as he approached. "Looks like ya dropped something!" The King of Hell joked, earning a warning glare from your husband as he brought your soul up to your chest. 

Gently, Lucifer overlapped his hands before pressing them into your diaphragm. You let out a breathless gasp as you felt your soul lodge itself into your chest. It felt foreign. You had been without it for ages now, so to be whole again was... liberating. With a snap of Lucifer's fingers, the azure collar around your neck fractured in half. It plunged to the floor along with the leash before it withered away.

The waterworks that threatened to spill past your lashline all this time finally slipped. Hot tears cascaded down your cheeks as you let out a small chuckle. "Thank you- both of you." You turned toward your husband. Alastor smiled brightly down at you as you brought your shaky hands up to wrap around his slender neck. You pulled his face low to meet yours halfway. Alastor took the hint, a small blush blanketing his cheeks as your lips meshed with his. 

The kiss was tender and loving. Alastor's large palms wasted no time cupping your face. He gently wiped your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. "I've dreamt of this moment countlessly over the years we spent apart, my dear," Alastor whispered against your lips, forehead flush to yours. Your heart pounded against your ribcage from his words. 

"Me too, Al. I can't believe this is happening right now." You giggled before Lucifer obnoxiously cleared his throat. Pulling you out of your sweet reunion with your husband. "This is lovely and all, but I upheld my side of the deal, Malastor! So you better do the same, or else I will fuck you!" Your mouth fell agape at the King of Hell's words. Alastor just tilted his head in confusion before you muttered, "Uh... I'm sure he meant to say fuck you up, my love."

"Yeah, that! Wait- what did I say?" You shook your head in disbelief as another laugh escaped you. Who would have thought the ruler of hell would be such a goofball? "Anyway, I'm gonna go! My job here is done!" With that, Lucifer took his leave out the window, humming a little tune to himself as his wings carried him through the night. 

Alastor clutched your hand, squeezing it firmly. "Come along, my dear! It's about time you returned to your rightful home!" You nodded in agreement, releasing his hand to retrieve the bag you stashed under your bed. Suddenly, Vox's hand slipped free from Alastor's shadow tendrils. He wrapped his slender fingers around your ankle, pulling a frightened yelp from you. "After everything I've done for you... this is how you repay me?"

Vox's voice was low, wavering slightly. You could feel his glare on you. But you didn't dare to look his way. "Let go of me! I don't owe you anything, and you no longer own me. So give it up." You spat. Alastor's tendril twisted around Vox's arm, yanking it away from your ankle. The pitiful man winced as you took this opportunity to grab your things and get the fuck out of this hell hole. 

"You'll come to regret this, sweetheart! You're mine, soul or no soul! And if I can't have you... no one can. Do you hear me?" Vox shouted at the top of his lungs as you took your husband's hand. Not daring to look back at the man you spent the last seven years chained to. "See, that's where you are wrong, chap! My darling wife was never yours to claim! Ha! How pathetic you are. Thank you for quite the pitful display!"

Alastor chuckled darkly as he took your bag for you, hoisting it over his shoulder. Without another word, Alastor's shadows surrounded you both. Taking you to a better place. The last you heard before you disappeared was Vox screaming your name along with the pitful cries of "I love you!" You felt a twinge of remorse for him, but it was fleeting.

The new scenery before you was bright and colorful. "Guys! They're back!" A cheery voice shouted. The Princess of Hell pulled you and your husband into a bear hug. "Oh, I just knew you could do it Alastor! I'm so happy that your wife is now a part of our found family!" You smiled at her words, glancing over to a rather stiff Alastor. You chuckled from his posture before another voice grabbed your attention. 

"You two definitely make a cute couple! Who knew Mister Fancy Talk Creepy Voice had game? Kudos, man!" The feminine spider demon approached you before one of his hands took yours. "The name's Angel Dust! A pleasure to properly meet ya toots!" He bounced your hand lazily before shooting you a playful wink. You returned the kind gesture, introducing yourself with a smile. 

"That's a pretty name. I'm Vaggie, and it's good to have you here." The petite woman gave you a small smile and a nod from where she now stood beside Charlie. You muttered a thank you before Alastor swept you up into his arms. You let out a small yelp as your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders. 

"Alright, the meet and greet is over! My dearest and I have some lost time to make up for!" Alastor's grin never faltered as he shuffled out of the foyer and up the steps. You heard a loud whistle coming from Angel and a shout of "Don't break the bed!" from Vaggie. Which caused embarrassment to course through your veins. 

You giggled as your husband ushered you into his bedroom. Kicking the door closed with his hoof before placing you down gently. You kept your arms secured around his shoulders as you buried your face into Alastor's chest. You breathed in his scent. Something so nostalgic yet ever-present. Alastor hummed your wedding song into your hair as his hands tapped along to the tune against your waist. "Let's dance, my darling!" 

Alastor lifted you slightly, allowing the balls of your feet to rest on the tops of his hooves. You giggled as he began taking broad steps, twirling you around the large room. "Do you remember our wedding, dearest? Our first dance was nearly ravaged by a drunken Mimzy! Ha!" You shook your head at the memory. Husk had cut her off for the night- and let's just say the rowdy woman didn't take that too well. "How could I forget! Husker's tail tripled in size- and Mimzy uttered curses I had never even heard before!" 

You both laughed at the memory as Alastor slowed his roll. Gazing down at you with unadulterated love swirling within his crimson eyes. His smile shrunk slightly as he brought a hand up to grasp your chin. "I truly apologize for disappearing all those years back without notice. It wasn't my decision, and if there's one thing I regret most in this world... It's making you feel like I willingly abandoned you." A frown decorated your husband's features. His eyebrows were knit in dismay.

You cooed at him, bringing your hands up to card through his two-toned locks. "It's behind us now, my love. Please, don't torture yourself anymore. I love you, and I couldn't be happier to be in your arms again!" Your gentle words tugged at his heartstrings. A small blush coated his cheeks as your fingernails grazed the base of his ears. "I love you more, my darling." The radio static in his voice was nowhere to be found. It was Alastor's true voice conveying his authentic feelings. 

You wasted no time pulling him down for a kiss, which he happily obliged to. Your lips molded perfectly against one another. You could hear your heartbeat as Alastor caressed your waist lovingly with one hand. His other hand remained at your chin, tilting your face slightly with his grip to deepen the kiss. For being a demon in hell, it sure felt like you were in heaven at this very moment. 

What was once lost was now found, and you couldn't be more thrilled to make up for lost time with your husband, Alastor.

tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @wonderlandangelsposts @villxinmiixx @persephoneblck @maxlynn17 @littledolly2345 @karolinda007-blog @falling-endlessly @greekyoghurtwithberries @bladeismine @aloraaaxcrystalzx @doctorswife221b @scaramoochiie @fairyv-ice @chirikoheina @veroneverleft @tired-of-life-86

[ejzah]

A/N: And we’re back friends! Thanks so much for your patience and enthusiasm for this story.

***

In Miss Blye’s Class, Part 15

“What’s 27+43?” Deeks asked, tossing the question over his shoulder while he rinsed a casserole dish. Behind him, Caleb was playing some self-invented game that involved skipping from floor tile to tile.

“Oh, that’s easy. 70!”

“Easy, huh?” Deeks screwed up his for a second. “Ok, then how about 29+37+55?”

Caleb slid to a stop next to Deeks, his mouth dropping open. “That’s harder than the worksheets we get at school,” he objected with a glare that was absolutely adorable.

“Well, you said the last one was too easy,” Deeks reminded him with a shrug. “You give up?”

“No.” Shaking his head stubbornly, Caleb settled his small fists on his hips. “I’m still thinking.”

Deeks started humming the Jeopardy theme song under his breath, which earned an unamused look.

“Daddy, that’s not helping!” he complained. Muttering under his breath, Caleb returned to his skipping game.

The doorbell rang a few minutes later, and Deeks set a freshly washed plate to the side, shaking off soap suds. “Hey kiddo, you wanna dry those dishes in the rack while I check the door?” He ruffled Caleb’s hair with a wet hand, dropping a kiss on the know damp strands. “Try not to break anything!” he added on his way out to the living room.

He opened the front door, lips curling up in a surprised, but pleased smile when he saw who was standing on the stoop. “Kensi, I didn’t expect you.”

“I know. I just wanted to stop and check in on you,” she said.

“Well come on in.” Deeks stepped to the side, still close enough that Kensi’s shoulder brushed his as she entered. “We already had dinner but I can warm something up if you want,” he offered, leading her a little further into the house.

“Thanks, but I grabbed a sandwich on the way here. Besides, I have some more grading that I didn’t get done at the school.”

“Ok, well what’s on your mind?” he asked. He didn’t mind the surprise visit at all, but it wasn’t like Kensi to be quite so spontaneous. At least in his somewhat limited experience.

“I heard you had a private meeting with Principal Hanna,” she told him.

“Well, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been sent to the principal’s office,” Deeks quipped. “How did you find out?”

“Nicole. She said he had you called in from the car-rider line.”

“Yep. Definitely didn’t flash back to 8th grade when me and my friend Ray got in trouble for “borrowing” the driver’s ed car.”

“You what? Ok, I’m definitely going to need to hear that whole story at some point,” she said, holding her hand up. “But before I get completely distracted, what did Sam want?”

“Oh, he just wanted to know my intentions with you,” he replied with a shrug. Kensi’s mouth dropped slightly.

“You’re joking.” Deeks shook his head, and she groaned, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh my god, I thought it was a possibility, but I didn’t think he’d actually go that far.” Her eyes narrowed, shifting from mortification to mild fury.

“Tell me exactly what Sam said.”

“He said someone saw us at the gala the other night and there’s been some rumors about us,” Deeks assured her, gently brushing her arm.

“Bunch of gossips,” she muttered in disgust.

Deeks cleared his throat, hesitating before he added, “He also made it clear that he wouldn’t take it lightly if I turned out to be a no-good Lothario.”

“Oh, he is a dead man.”

“So it doesn’t bother you that people have been gossiping about us and those rumors pretty much confirmed? It could cause problems for you, like Sam mentioned.”

That was the part that concerned him the most; Kensi might realize that dating him, or whatever they wanted to call their thing, was more trouble than it was worth.

“Yes,” Kensi said firmly. “I know the consequences and I’m not aall that worried. Besides, it’s not like we’ve been making out in the gym or something.” Deeks chuckled, inclining his head.

“Pretty sure Sam would sucker punch me if we did.”

“You let me worry about Sam. We’re going to have a long talk.” Her voice lowered menacingly and Deeks was infinitely glad he’d never given Kensi cause to use it on him.

“Won’t that put your job at risk?” he asked, and Kensi waved her hand dismissively.

“I’ve known Sam since I was sixteen when he and my dad were in the military together. Sam offered me a position at St. Bridgets before I graduated. I can handle him,” she insisted, her lack of concern going some way to reassure Deeks that she wouldn’t be destroying her career over it.

“Ok, then. But if you do happen to find yourself in a smack down and in need of legal advice, I happen to know an excellent lawyer,” Deeks offered teasingly.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Though I’m not sure I can afford you.”

“I’ll give you the friends and family deal.”

“Oh, I’m honored.” She chuckled.

Something clattered in the kitchen, and they both stilled listening for further signs of distress.

“Everything ok, kiddo?” Deeks called out.

“Yeah, I just dropped a pan!” Caleb shouted back. Deeks imagined trails of soapy water on the floor, possibly a flood or two.

“Ok, thanks, bud. How about you leave the rest for me to do. Finish up your homework and then we can watch some tv.”

“Ok!”

Beside him, Kensi pressed her lips together, barely containing a smirk.

“What?” Deeks asked, feeling oddly self-conscious.

“Nothing. You two are just…cute together.”

“Oh, you think I’m cute?”

“I think that’s already been established,” Kensi said, reaching up to playfully tug at his shirt collar. She kept her hand there, stretching up to kiss him.

It started out as just a peck on the lips, but then Kensi shifted closer, left hand falling to his chest while she looped the other arm around his neck. Deeks made a soft, appreciative sound, smoothing his hands down to her waist, and tugged her forward so their lower bodies met.

Kensi pulled back with a hitching gasp, nose pressed against his.

“Damn,” she said, making Deeks grin even as he tried to catch his own breath.

“Agreed.”

She sighed, pressing a couple, more chaste kisses to his mouth.

“I should go. Let you get back to your dishes.”

“Highlight of my night. Have a good night grading.”

Kensi made a disgusted sound, releasing her hold on him, and heading for the door. Deeks followed after her, leaning against the door jam. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

“See you,” Deeks murmured back, sneaking a final kiss before she was out the door. He watched her retreating back, the goofiest grin plastered across his face.

[impytek]

The Table as Taylor Swift PT 2

California - the 1

never let him find out a about folklore tbh he would die on sight.

"I’m doing good, I’m on some new shit Been saying “yes” instead of “no” "

this line is about trying to be positive about change. california more than anyone else is always in need of change and even strives for it. he's hopeful when no one else is.

"You know the greatest films of all time were never made"

just like a movie that never came to be, californias hopes are trapped in a mythology. one not to be respected and adapted, but one to be mocked.

"And if you wanted me, you really should’ve showed"

he constantly is stating he has no friends, even despite the fact Oregon and Washington in various scenes admit to being his friend. he doesn't think they "show" it enough. when in reality, their attention just isn't good enough.

Massachusetts & Virginia - The Great War

they're my comfort duo i can make them have a duo song if i wanna

"Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked"

Virginia and Mass were close during the american revolution with a ton of the people who helped most came from those two states. i like to imagine this having them grow close, than virginia left the union during the civil war. the anger Mass must have had seems scary.

"Tore your banners down, took the battle underground"

the union needed virginia, mass needed virgina. he was just too furious to understand his own feelings. all he needed was too win.

"You said I have to trust more freely"

most definitely pre-civil war. the civil war definitely created trust issues within all the states, but these two especially. you can't just leave and except to beg back trust.

"Broken and blue, so I called off the troops. That was the night I nearly lost you"

i'm so normal about them (lie)

Texas - Seven

i picture him as the child being talked about in the song.

"Cross your heart, won’t tell no other."

a promise of secrecy, it's a promise that is broken only a few lines down. this reminds me a bit of california and texas' relationship which would have close before the party switch.

"Passed down like folk songs. The love lasts so long"

Gossip or Legend? both are someones secrets written in the sky for all to behold. folk music is passed down generation through generation, much like how texas mentions having "daddy issues" and turns into the monster he was born from.

"And I’ve been meaning to tell you. I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad and that must be why "

this line of Seven is in which taylor naviely puts a puzzle together. she's unable to recognise a horrible behaviour in someone meant to be fatherly so she assumed there is a kind of demon possessing the boys father. do i have to explain more pff

Oklahoma - Peace

a lot of folklore i know

"And it’s just around the corner, darlin. ’Cause it lives in me. No, I could never give you peace."

the inability to offer one stability. There will never be a forever “calm” in his life. he knows he could never think of promising someone such a thing.

"But I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm. If your cascade, ocean wave blues come."

the slightest bit of water is an instigator to fire, the whole ocean is an powering feeling. a powerless feeling for the fire.

"Sit with you in the trenches"

It’s notable that soldiers typically crawl when they’re in trenches to avoid being seen by an enemy fighter.

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface. 

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion. 

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan. 

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way. 

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness. 

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound. 

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up." 

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though." 

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong. 

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up." 

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives. 

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over." 

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly. 

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners. 

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort. 

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day. 

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot. 

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated. 

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself. 

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.  

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could. 

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind. 

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn. 

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre. 

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor. 

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened. 

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you. 

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress. 

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't. 

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands. 

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment. 

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night. 

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed. 

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band. 

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor. 

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused. 

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max​ @sunshinesewis​ @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval 

[five-rivers]

Danger First

Chapter 6

@pocketramblr another :)

.

Shouta trudged back to the staff break room. His counseling session with Midoriya had lasted a little over an hour, so while there were still teachers in the building, many of them had left. With the exception of semi-retired heroes like Recovery Girl, everyone working here had two full time jobs. Hizashi, despite his carefree air, had even more than that in the form of his radio show. Hizashi had probably left with the students.

But Hizashi wasn't either of the ones he wanted to talk to. Not today.

He opened the door. Three, no, four teachers were there, but Snipe didn't count, seeing as he was completely passed out on one of the couches with his gas mask half off. He must have had an early shift patrol today, poor sucker.

Nemuri was there, too, with most of her hero outfit on. She was applying her hero-grade makeup (water proof, resistant to three common contact poisons, and guaranteed not to react badly with mace).

More importantly, Kan and Yagi were both there, poring over papers on the same desk, no less. Shouta walked up to the table and looked down at sheets and sheets full of incomprehensible numbers.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"We-"

'Don't tell him!" said Kan, urgently. "This is going to be my class's leg up on Aizawa this time around."

"Haha! Good one!" Yagi slapped Kan's back, and apparently even in his skeletal form he could pack a punch, because Kan had the air knocked out of him. Before he could recover, Yagi continued, "I'm making personalized nutrition plans for his class!"

"What?"

"One of my undergraduate degrees was in nutritional and health sciences, after all!"

Wow, there was a lot to unpack there, but Shouta was more than happy to leave it in its box. He had other fish to fry and topics to interrogate. Small talk requirement fulfilled, he moved on.

"How well do you know Midoriya?"

Yagi blinked and put down his pencil. "Moderately so? We met about this time last year and have been meeting regularly since then."

So, so much to unpack.

"Why?"

"Ah, he... impressed me, I suppose? He was involved in the bodysnatcher incident last year."

That was an understatement.

"He had a lot of heroic spirit!" continued Yagi. "But... not so much in the, ah, body category. I thought it would be a shame, a waste, really, if he wasn't able to pursue his dream, and a hero school prep course wasn't really in the cards for him, considering his quirk status and the timing... And I did have this degree..." He waved his hands vaguely at the table. "I just gave him a little help."

"What brought all this on, anyway?" asked Nemuri. "Midoriya is the little green haired kid, right? One of Chibiida's new friends?"

"If you keep calling him that, I won't be held responsible for when he snaps and attempts murder. But, yes, that's Midoriya."

"So...?"

"He told me I was the best teacher he'd ever had."

Nemuri started laughing.

"Oh," said Yagi. "I'm glad the two of you are getting along so well."

"I think he's pulling your leg, Shouta," said Nemuri, coming over to pat him on his shoulder. "Man, I didn't think a friend of Chibiida's would have it in him. Such youth!"

"I cannot even begin to tell you how much he wasn't."

Nemuri's laughter died off.

"Judging from some comments he made today," said Shouta, "not to mention the discrepancies between his record and his observed behavior in the classroom, I'd say he's been the target of severe quirkism in the past, particularly from his teachers. Did he ever mention anything like that to you?"

Yagi's face darkened and the mood in the room grew much more somber. "Not in so many words, no. However... some of his comments about his teachers disturbed me enough to bring it to the attention of the Musutafu Educational Services District, but as an unrelated stranger without concrete proof..."

("You can use the acronym, you know," muttered Vlad.)

"You're telling me they ignored the number one hero."

Yagi made a face. "I didn't go to them as All Might. Can you imagine the media frenzy if I did that? I didn't want to paint that kind of target on young Midoriya's back."

That was fair, actually. If largely-anonymous Shouta had enemies, All Might had ten times as many. Not to mention supposed fans.

"Other avenues of inquiry were also fruitless," said All Might, countenance darkening. "I asked some of my police colleagues, but they don't have full discretion over the direction of their investigations, and, again, if I were to use my weight to move them... It would get out, and people would wonder why I was so concerned with an apparently normal middle school."

"Did you try talking to Nezu about it?"

"No? Why?"

Shouta reminded himself that although Yagi was an alumnus, he was also very new as a teacher, and was as of yet unfamiliar with Nezu's more interesting traits.

"I'm going to," said Shouta, "and you're going to come with me." He turned to Kan. "Have you heard anything from Bakugo about quirk discrimination?"

"All I've heard from him are explosions, threats, and some kind of complex I don't have nearly enough psychiatric training to- They're from the same school," he realized.

"Yeah."

Kan pinched his brow. "So, the sweet shy kid you keep gushing about-" Both Shouta and Yagi attempted to reassure Kan they weren't gushing, "-and the demon brat are from the same school."

"That is what their records say," agreed Shouta. "Did you know, Yagi?"

"Oh, that they knew each other? Yes. Actually, I was rather under the impression they were childhood friends, as Midoriya ran out to help him during the bodysnatcher incident."

Shouta grunted. It was possible. He hadn't seen the two of them interact, at any rate.

"I'm going to Nezu with you," said Kan, standing up. "No matter what else this hell school did, they deserve to suffer for inflicting Bakugo Katsuki on me with those recommendations full of lies."

"Why don't you just expell him if he's that bad?"

"Because he's talented, hardworking, and hasn't actually broken any rules except for the swearing. He's just a pain I wasn't prepared to deal with and will probably contribute more to my hearing loss than Yamada by the end of the year."

"Wait, wait," said Yagi. "What exactly are you expecting Nezu to do in this situation?"

"Well," said Nemuri, who still hadn't left yet, "let's just say there's a reason hid name is 'god' in the staff group chat."

.

Terrible did not even begin to describe how Izuku felt when he woke up. His skin was static. His mouth was dry in a way that hurt. It felt like a siren was going off in his brain, and also like it was too quiet. He wanted to both run all the way to the school and hide in his closet.

This, of course, left him paralyzed in bed.

He hadn't felt remotely like this since the first time someone had left spider lilies on his desk at school. What was wrong with him?

No, that was the wrong question. All signs pointed to him having Danger Sense. He was in danger. And also immobile in bed.

With a great deal of effort, he turned to his bedside table and grabbed his phone. The clock in the corner read 4:42. Far too early to call anyone. And yet...

With shaky fingers, he navigated to Mr. Yagi's contact information and pressed dial. To Izuku's surprise, it only rang once.

"Young Midoriya? Is something wrong?"

The sound of his voice loosened the terrible knot under Izuku's breastbone. "I- May-maybe? I don't- I don't know, I think so."

There were sounds of movement on the other side of the line. "What happened?"

"I just- just woke up, and I- I think it's Danger Sense. It- Something bad is going to happen."

"I'm on my way. Is your mother with you?"

"N-no. She's at a- at a tech conference in Tokyo. She won't be back until- until tomorrow. Mr. Yagi, I don't- I don't think it's something here. I think it's later... at the school."

There was a pause. "My boy, are you quite sure?"

Izuku's laugh was just a little hysterical. "I mean, I'm- I'm pretty new to this, but..." he'd like to think his flight or fight reflex would have a more constructive response to am immediate threat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you up, I should have waited-"

"Nonsense! Forewarned is forearmed, and time is one of the most valuable resources a hero can have! I'm still picking you up, I'll just-" Mr. Yagi coughed, "-take the car instead."

"The car? You mean Hercules!?" The excitement was enough to free Izuku from his paralysis and propel him into a sitting position.

"Well, yes, but, my boy, how did you know? I don't think I've ever mentioned the name in my interviews..."

"But you did! In one of your American interviews. It was for a local station and you and Mr. Shield were on together."

"But those were in English."

"I know! When I found out about them, it really motivated me to work on my English! I think I could probably pass the Level Two fluency test..."

"Young Midoriya, have I ever told you how glad I am that you aren't a villain?"

.

"Hikage, did Danger Sense ever make you feel this bad?" asked Nana as Yoichi fussed in the background.

"Super Anxiety made me feel this bad all the time. Sometimes, it made me feel worse. I got used to it."

Nana let out a sigh of relief. It sucked to Ninth right now, but if it was normal for the quirk...

"That's good, then," said En. "Not for Ninth, obviously, but if that's just how the quirk works, he'll be able to figure it out. What did it usually mean, when you felt like this?"

"Generally, that someone was planning on killing me in the next few hours."

Dead(er than usual) silence.

"Ah," said En.

"You know," said Nana, "sometimes the kinds of lives we led slips my mind, but then the universe is always real happy to turn around and slap it back into me."

Yoichi started screeching.

.

"Do you feel any worse now that we're here?" asked Mr. Yagi after shutting Hercules down.

"Not really," said Izuku. He slumped down in his seat and looked away. "I'm sorry, I dragged you out of bed and this is probably just a stupid pointless meaningless panic attack..." He felt tears begin to prick at the edges of his eyes. He was so stupid. And selfish. All Might could be out helping people right now. Or taking care of himself (which, according to Recovery Girl's comments during their training sessions, he didn't do nearly enough of).

"Hey, hey, there's no need to cry, it's alright."

"Because you're here?" asked Izuku with a sniffle.

"Well, yes, but also, even if it was 'just' a panic attack, I'd still want to be here for you." He reached across the central console to pat Izuku on the shoulder. Then his face twisted into something rather sheepish. "But on the subject of panic attacks, something did occur to me on the way here."

Izuku looked back down at his knees. "What is it?"

"This is the anniversary of the day we met."

Izuku... had known that, actually. Waking up as he had had driven it from his mind, but the date was marked on his calendar. He'd even gotten All Might a gift, although he hadn't yet talked himself into being brave enough to give it to him, and with what happened today, it would most likely languish in his desk drawer for an indefinite period of time as the idea of giving it became progressively more awkward.

"My boy? I can't quite make out what you're saying. You're mumbling."

Izuku clapped his hands over his mouth. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright. I'm just an old man with hearing problems."

"You're not old! It's... I just- I just don't see how- how that's connected to this." He gestured at himself in all his vaguely-trembling glory.

"Young Midoriya... you almost died three separate times that day. That's traumatic. And sometimes anniversaries are... reminders."

"I only almost died once?"

"The first time with the sludge villain, grabbing on to my leg- and I don't think I ever apologized for telling you to let go, I was just so surprised- and then the sludge villain again."

"But I only almost died the first time..." He trailed off as Mr. Yagi gave him a look. He'd thought his mother was the only one who could give looks like that... "Do you really think this is connected to that?"

"I don't know," said Mr. Yagi. "Do you feel like it might be?"

"I don't know," said Izuku. He bent over and knotted his fingers in his hair.

"Do you think it might help to stay home today?"

"No!" yelped Izuku. "No," he repeated, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Alright, alright. Never fear, my boy." Mr. Yagi gave him another steadying shoulder pat. "In that case, let's go into this with the assumption that this is danger sense, and it is attempting to warn you of a real threat."

"Okay," said Izuku. He rubbed at his eyes. "What do we do first?"

Mr. Yagi tensed and looked up at the top floors of UA. "Well..."

.

"Hm!" said Nezu. "That is something of a conundrum! The extent of your quirk is unclear, and it is not properly registered, so we cannot go through the official routes we normally would for a warning given through a precognitive or clairvoyant quirk, even given that we are aware of One for All and the probable nature of Danger Sense."

Nezu knowing about One for All had been a bit of a surprise. In retrospect, maybe it shouldn't have been. All Might would have had to tell Nezu something so that Izuku was allowed on campus before he was really a student, and seeing as how All Might was originally teaching here to find a successor... well, it made sense. Izuku just wished he'd been told.

How many other people knew was a question for later, however.

"Your inexperience with the quirk and other circumstances further complicates the matter."

"Sorry," said Izuku.

"Whatever for? It isn't your fault." Nezu did not wait for an answer. "Then there is yesterday's incident to consider... You say you felt something with the reporters?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Hm. Yes. Toshinori, I so believe you have a contact who could clear this up much more efficiently."

"I know," said Mr. Yagi. "He isn't picking up his phone."

"You don't think-?" started Izuku.

"No, no, he just hasn't been speaking to me lately."

"Oh? I was under the impression you had been communicating with him regularly since returning to Musutafu."

"He thought I would change my mind about something I didn't change my mind about, apparently. It doesn't matter. What else can we do?"

"A good number of things, luckily. Midoriya, I am going to make a series of phone calls. I would like you to tell me if the sensation you are experiencing changes at all while I make them."

"Yes, sir."

Nezu began methodically going through Izuku's list of teachers, warning them that something 'like yesterday' might happened and going over lesson plans and safety procedures. Nothing really changed. Until Nezu called Thirteen.

(Oh, gosh, they were going to go to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint on a field trip today? That was so cool!)

But after Nezu talked to Thirteen about checking safety systems, a little bit of the tension he'd been holding onto leaked away.

"Interesting," said Nezu. "Perhaps we should reschedule rescue training until-"

Izuku dove for Nezu's garbage bin.

"-or perhaps not," mused Nezu as Izuku expelled the meager contents of his stomach.

It was a good thing he hadn't eaten breakfast.

.

"Hikage," said Banjo. "I'm sorry for calling you a dead-eyed emotionally stunted bastard with a warped sense of humor if this is what you had to put up with all the time."

"You called me a dead-eyed emotionally stunted bastard?"

"Not to your face, but yes."

"Well. It isn't as if those things aren't all true..."

.

"I'm okay," said Izuku. "That just... felt bad."

"No cancelations in that case," said Nezu as Mr. Yagi hovered.

"Y-yeah. Oh gosh, now I know how Uraraka feels..."

"Perhaps you should stay home-"

"No! I can't! That would be..."

Nezu held up his hands- paws? "It was merely a suggestion. Can I offer you some tea?"

"Yes, please," said Izuku, voice catching uncomfortably on his raw throat.

"I do have a few more calls to make. Do you feel up to staying, or would you prefer to head down to Recovery Girl? Or perhaps even the cafeteria? I imagine you haven't eaten breakfast."

"I'd like to stay."

"Very well." Nezu picked up his phone again. Izuku could just make out the click on the other end when it was picked up. "Am I a mouse? A dog? A bear? One thing's for sure! I'm the principal!" There was laughter on the other end of the line. "No, not at all! I am in fact calling for you, Tensei. Or should I say, Ingenium? I'm aware this is last minute, and you were planning on taking the day off- How do I know? It was quite simple, really- but between the break-in yesterday and a tip I received this morning regarding a threat to the school, I would like a few more hands on deck than usual. Why, yes, you can stay with your brother's class. Do try not to tease Shouta too much. He has a reputation to maintain." After a few more pleasantries, Nezu hung up. "Midoriya?"

"I... think that's better? I'm sorry, it's hard to tell what could be the quirk and what's just me feeling bad."

Nezu nodded. "In that case, I do recommend that you head to Recovery Girl's office. My other calls will be similar, and the other heroes will not be with your class."

"Why not?" asked Mr. Yagi.

"Because Midoriya's reaction to the field trip being canceled suggests that the danger may not be limited to himself or his class. Oh! And one more thing. Midoriya, I noticed that you put in some costume alteration requests. Naturally, most of them will not be finished until some time next week, however, some of the support items you mentioned are fairly common. If you have time before the field trip, you should pay a visit to Power Loader."

.

Izuku hadn't expected it, but he did feel much better after eating, despite his continuing sense of impending doom. It was also about half an hour from the beginning of homeroom, so he had the time to go to the support department and check if they had anything he could take.

He hoped they had grappling hooks. Izuku had always wanted a grappling hook.

Mr. Yagi took him most of the way there, but students had started to arrive at this point, and Izuku convinced him to go prepare for classes (and hide in the staff area so that no one would wonder why he, a skeleton man not recognizable as a hero, was at the school). Before too long, Izuku stood in front of a rather sturdy-looking metal door. He hoped this was the right one.

He raised his hand to knock just as something crashed into him. Ah. This was it for sure. The way he would die. The danger he had foreseen.

No. Wait. Never mind. He was fine, just on the ground.

"Oh! There was a person there! You okay?"

"U-um," said Izuku, sitting up and rubbing his head. "I'm fine, just a little startled."

"What're you doing here, anyway?"

"I- I'm here for... support... gear?" He sort of trailed off as he looked up.

It was the intense pink haired girl from the other day. As he watched, her expression changed from one of mild concern to calculating interest.

"Support gear, you say?"

.

Shouta answered his phone as he walked down the hall. "Nezu, I've already done every security check I can think of that'll fit-"

"Not quite why I was calling, although I can see why you would think so. One of your students needs to be rescued from the support department."

Shouta changed direction without missing a beat. "It's Midoriya, isn't it?"

"Why, yes."

"Did you send him down there without warning him?"

"Yes, again. You know me so well!"

Shouta hung up.

[bubblyani]

Mistletoe Scheme

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne/ Batman Christmas One Shot

Summary: Trapped in a Basement on Christmas Eve, an unexpected yet impactful conversation starts between Batman, and the civilian he was trying to rescue: You. 

Word Count: 4.2k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mention of Blood.

Author’s Note: This idea came to me in an instant and never left my mind. Plus, this was a great chance to write more stuff for Bruce Wayne/Batman.I’m a sucker for dialogue. My last Bale Character fic for 2020. Started with Bruce, ending with Bruce heh. Can’t wait to treat you guys more next year. Enjoy y’all! And Merry Christmas!

Desperation. He held her tight with sheer desperation, for releasing was an option deemed non-viable. In fact, he did not wish to. He did not hope to. Not for anything.

If the end of days had dawned, he simply xwould not perceive. If danger lightly tapped him on the shoulder, he simply would disregard. Even if his head dared to crack open, he would simply let it do so. His hold on her was ironclad, and it was final.

Yet his hands, they were nowhere close to the famished, passionate nature as his lips. Those lips, that were willfully enslaved to hers, forming a strong bond that nature never dared to birth before. Sheer Desire certainly displayed its true colors tonight, and two souls were evidently responsible. Thus, he held her, in every manner possible. All in the desperate need to know her, to feel her. To make up for lost time.

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

(An hour Earlier)

The snow fall outdoors seemed barely visible when the fluorescent light flickered with speed indoors. Even the infusion of Sleigh Bells and the joyous Seasonal Music blasting out of speakers all around the city, seemed barely audible. Certainly they all would be, when one was caught in the midst of nowhere.

The beeping of the timer was continuous, until it finally halted, resulting in a deafening blast.

BANG!

The door being the pitiful victim, broke open in an instant. However, instead of falling back down, the steel door remained at a 90 degree angle, revealing a thick layer of concrete standing right behind it. The Impact Mine was simply useless, leaving Batman full of regrets.

Upon the faith of his instincts, he pasted another explosive device on the broken door. And off went the continuous beeps. BANG! One more blast. Yet, all that awaited him was pure disappointment, when the door remained unmoved.

Running out of resources in his Utility Belt, it was evident he was forced to throw in the towel. He had to look upon the truthful face of bitter reality; Trapped in an underground Basement on the outskirts of Gotham city. With no way out. Not yet, at least. With a heavy sigh, frustration had caught up with the Dark Knight, and with a strange headache making its sudden appearance, he brimmed with the urge to curse out loud.

“DAMN IT!!”

Which she managed to do on his behalf.

Turning around slow, Batman watched the woman pace from one corner of the room to the other, her heels clicking out loud. And right then, he was reminded. How he was truly not trapped here alone.

“The signal’s no good…” she said, with the phone held against her ear, “...can’t get a hold of anyone...”

Batman nodded, “Wait here…” he replied in a hoarse tone, before making his away to the other corner of the basement. With the light brush of his fingers against ears of his cowl, a dial tone echoed within his mask. A call was made. The dial tone stopped as the caller finally answered.

“Alfred?” Batman began.

“Master Wayne-” The voice of Alfred Pennyworth reached his inner headset, “ I-trouble-hearing-”

Loud static noise attacked the line with confidence. And Batman began to grow restless. The headache grew even stronger.

“Alfred!” Batman growled, “Can you track my coordinates? Alfred?”

“-Sorr-Please wai-”

With one final static to spare, Alfred’s voice disappeared, leaving nothing but a pin drop silence in the room. The flickering of the lights paused, growing slightly dim in the process. Unwilling to display his own failure, the caped crusader inhaled deep.

“I’m afraid…we’re stuck indefinitely. But don’t worry…” He grunted, his eyes lingering on the empty wall, “We’re gonna make it out here alive”

However, the woman did not respond. Eyebrows furrowing underneath his cowl seemed inevitable for Batman. Would he possibly face eventual panic from her? A meltdown perhaps? He dreaded turning back.

Instead, he heard a soft chuckle.

“Well, bet you never had to go through this before, huh?”

He spun around upon her light hearted reply, and her seemingly friendly demeanor. His eyebrows furrowed once more.

She certainly was unexpected.

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

Never in this life did her lips taste passion at such degree. However, then again, never in this life did her lips meet his own until then. Was pure frustration to blame? Was it the fuel that strengthened this flame? Or could this encounter be worthy of the term “Fateful”? “Destined” ?

She indulged it, the manner in which his lips enveloped in with hers. She was simply the hand, finally uniting with him, who simply was the glove with the perfect fit.

With her fingers lingering in his hair with the utmost care, her other hand clung onto his strong neck. She pulled him close, until any distance between them proved non existent. For the first time, she was certain of what she longed for. More importantly, who she longed for.

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

(Half and hour earlier)

Any man, woman or child that managed to encounter Batman, let alone catch the mere sight of the man, would certainly be aware of a few special traits: His swiftness, paired up with his sense of utmost mystery. The traits that shield him when his arrival was far from expected, and his exit practically invisible. Camouflaged into the darkness of the night.

However, the mere concept of getting trapped in a confined space with him, was simply mind boggling. Even for you. Therefore, your query did not appear to be a ludicrous one. Was it not?

“Well, bet you never had to go through this before, huh?”

“You’d be surprised”

Batman responded, which threw you off guard.

“Oh! really?” You blurted, cheeks flushing, “I-I-”

“But yes…” he said, “…not like this…” He added, scanning the premises for possible clues. A sigh of relief left your lips. Rubbing your forearm, you felt yourself sinking down to the dusty floor. You could not help but trace a hint of awkwardness in the air. At least in your part. You may know of Batman, but you certainly did not have the privilege of knowing him. Thus, there you both were: Two strangers trapped together.

“Guess...” you began soft, “...there’s nothing to do but-WAIT!!!”

Your cry managed to send tremors through the room. Enough for the caped crusader to spin around and freeze.

“Batman…” you breathed, wide eyed, “Are-Are you bleeding?” Perplex was evident when Batman’s lips pursed. But the moment a thin line of red trickled down through his cowl towards his lips, he finally believed your query. And it frightened you.

“I …uh..” He struggled, rubbing it off with his gloved hand. “Did you...get injured?” You inquired with concern. “No…” Taking his hand away, he dismissed quick, “...it’s nothing” “What?” Your eyes widened, ”That’s even crazier!” You exclaimed, stumbling as you rose up with your heels, “ We gotta get that checked”   “No, its fine…” “No, its not…” Your instant yet commanding response was surprising, even for yourself, “Your head might be injured, so we need to-” You paused, “ Oh!”   A few seconds passed, while bitter realization coursed through your veins,  “…but that...that would mean-” Batman nodded, “…taking the cowl off, yes” “Crap…”

You muttered with a sigh.With your hands resting on your waist, you were nothing but remorseful. What you requested from the Dark Knight seemed far worse than the most dire physical challenge. Simply worse than leaping into a pit of fire, or diving into the oceans deep. Compromising his identity, it was a Cardinal Rule that must not be broken.

However, your concern seemed to have overpowered it all. Obstinate, you were not intending to bow down so easy. But why? Could it be perhaps, in your eyes he was the Guardian that Gotham needed? Could it be perhaps, he was a man you always had admired? And could it possibly be that you did not hope for him to die unexpected, all in the sole attempt of rescuing you?

“Okay, how about this?”

You began,  “How about you turn around, and take your cowl off-Just hear me out!” You pleaded when he attempted to interject, “If...the wound is in the BACK of your head, let ME clean it up. If not…YOU do it. Seems fair, right?”

Batman stared at you with a blank expression. You assumed his silence for the worst. “No wound or cut should be left untreated. Not even yours” the insistence in your tone was shocking. What had changed you, it simply was difficult to comprehend.

Batman remained quiet. You suddenly were regretful. Certainly you were blinded with obstinacy, and did not know your place.

“Fine…”   A grunt left Batman’s lips, leaving you wide eyed and relieved. His cape swished with grace as he turned away from you to sit, “You a doctor?”

“Oh no!” You let out a nervous chuckle, “…my friend is…” you added, kneeling behind, watching him remove his mask,  “I’m actually in Publishing… I’m a Literary Publicist. But…that does NOT mean I can’t be a Good Samaritan right- Ah! See?” You cried out, “It IS in the back of your-Oh my!”

Silence shushed you with judgement. And you did not care, especially when blood bubbled out slow from what appeared to be a cut already stitched in the back of his head, full of luscious, brunette locks.

A firm punch landed in your heart. For you could not help but wonder: How far must his body go, in order to save this godforsaken city?

“Everything alright?”

His query woke you from your thoughts. Without the mask on, slight clarity was present in his voice, yet the gruff remained. As he was on a futile attempt to mask his sound. You cleared your throat: “Yeah…Anyways, Let me…”  you muttered, pulling the silk scarf that left your neck in a smooth motion. Though your neck immediately shivered upon meeting the chilly air, it did not seem as important as this. Folding it to the thickest layer, you placed the scarf over the wound with care.

The howling wind outside reached your ears with clarity as the silence seeped in the Basement once more. A Christmas Carol involuntarily landed on your lips as you began to hum it. “Angels We Have Heard on High”, to be quite specific. Why that exactly? You simply did not know. And given the silence shown by the other party, it seemed Batman did not mind your humming.

The longer you stared, the stronger your fascination grew for his hair. For there it was, Batman’s actual hair. And you were just a mere turn away from his real identity. Was it idiotic to be starstruck by that fact? Fascination merged with curiosity when you wondered of his face. Could it be possible he was actually handsome? With those beautiful lips he bore, you were not mad to assume as such.

You shook your head all the sudden with an embarrassed smile. For ethics grabbed your superficiality by the ear with disappointment. How dare you even objectify him as such? He is a hero, not Mr. Handsome. And more importantly, why must you think so fondly of his lips?

“If you don’t mind me asking…” you began, attempting to change thoughts, “What the hell happened tonight, Batman?” You inquired, “And who…the hell…was that guy?”  

“Dino Maroni…” Batman answered, his voice raised a bit higher than before. Your eyebrows furrowed. “Maroni?” You repeated, “Like…‘Sal Maroni’ Maroni? The Mob boss?” “Dino is his distant nephew…” he explained, “…estranged, from what we’re guessing. Could be that he is trying to earn a place back in the Family” “Huh…” confusion was rife in you. “…He tried to kill Harvey Dent tonight” “HE WHAT?” “Ow!” “Sorry….” You whispered, when you realized your passionate response forced you to press on his wound hard, “….So, that’s why you were on his tail…” you understood,  “Until he met me-…” “-kidnapped you, more like…”

Batman was right. Tonight was filled with unexpected events. You knew fully well when you accidentally bumped into a man who seemed to be running across the street. The sight of the passerby’s panic, confused you at first. But when the sweating man grabbed you by the shoulder and placed a pistol on your right temple, the panic seemed justified. The image of Dino spitting out threats to end you, especially at Batman, remained clear as day. No one dared to intervene, which gave him the leverage to flee, with you as hostage. Batman certainly did not take long to find you. Except he met with the unfortunate fate of being trapped alongside you when Dino and his men sealed the door.

“I know Harvey Dent is not exactly ....Mother Teresa to Organized Crime in Gotham, but...” you paused, only to present an annoyed expression, “...on Christmas Eve? Seriously? When will those jerks give YOU A BREAK?”

A hearty laugh leaped out of Batman, surprising you. Amused, you laughed along. “Good point” He replied in mid laugh, hand reaching back to take hold of the scarf instead. The gruff in his voice had vanished, leaving his laughter to ring in your ears with pleasure. 

Your own laughter faded as you leaned against the concrete pillar behind you. It was a wonderful surprise indeed. And with that, the luxurious desire for know more about him was birthed. Given the number of times excitement sparked in you the form of mini fireworks, it was evident your fascination for him had grown. More importantly, your attraction.

“I’m guessing you had plans...” he began. You tilted your head with wide eyes. “...before they eventually got ruined by Dino?” He finished, his voice heavy on smoothness all the sudden. Looking down at yourself, you chuckled.   “Yeah…Office..Christmas...Party” you enunciated with dramatic energy, your hand smoothing the material of your grey belted robe coat. The robe coat that concealed the beautiful navy blue velvet cocktail dress you wore underneath it, along with pantyhose and heels, “Normally I never show up. But, tonight was supposed to be …” you paused, “...special”

“Hmmm?”

Chuckling again at his inquisitive hum,  your eyes remained on your coat, “It’s silly…” you said with embarrassment , “I…I rather not talk about it”

“Hmmm…”

With a hum of acknowledgement, he maintained his silence. You smiled, looking at the back of his head. You sensed consideration in him, you sensed safety in him. But simultaneously, you sensed fear, in you. Fear that this would be the end of a possibly entertaining conversation. Your heart was proof, pacing quick, tapping you on the shoulder with impatience.

“Actually-” you began in softness.

“So you DO rather talk about it…” He amused, voice now almost of a velvet quality, and simply irresistible.

“Guess you ARE good at…making people talk…” you smirked, laughter erupting from you both.

“But anyways…” you added mid-laugh, “…there’s this guy…I’ve had my eye on…” you said, looking up. Batman’s laughter vanished right then.

“I mean…” you paused, with a sigh, “…he seems nice and all…I don’t know” shrugging, you continued, “I kinda thought maybe tonight I’d…I don't know…” you shrugged once again, “…make a move?  Let him know I…like him? ” The second those words left your lips, a sourness remained.

“How long have you known him?”

“I don't know…6 months?” You answered so casually, “I’d see him in meetings, always around our colleagues, we never met in private…I don’t know…he’s fine” you stated, “ Seems like the proper guy, ya know?”

“So, what?” Batman teased, “You’re gonna meet him by the punch bowl, and tell him how you feel?”

“What do you think this is? Senior prom?” You giggled, where you heard him snigger in return, “And I believe there WILL be a Punch Fountain…A Champagne Fountain actually-Anyways” you said, before you lost your train of thought, “NO!…my plan actually had more CLASS than that, just so you know…” you added with pride, crossing your arms, “There’s this lovely balcony on that floor and…” your voice growing soft, “I’m pretty sure there’s gonna be a Mistletoe there”

“Are you su-”

“I AM sure! ” You interrupted him, laughter following suite. Joy was quite evident in your tone, “So hopefully, if everything goes right, I’d have him find me there, I don’t know…” you smirked, “…maybe accidentally trip, let him catch me and Voila!…that will be the moment…where our eyes would meet…and then our lips…leading up to the most…gentle first kiss ever…”

You finished with a sigh, your heart evidently immersed in the depths and the beauty of your own haven, your very own fairytale.

“Wow…heh” Batman’s voice shook you awake, “Your planning is really making the criminals look bad…” he remarked, with added laughter. To which you smiled.

“NOW I know you’re teasing…” you replied with a mischievous smile, “ I mean, come on! I could NEVER plan THIS…” looking around the chilly basement, your tone brimmed with sarcasm. Especially when you realized how you jested about the horrid disposition you both were facing.

“Well, you know…maybe with a little hard work…”


“Oh, don’t you dare, mister!” You guffawed, “Besides, I really wouldn’t wanna see your bad side if I did”

With the laugher dying down once again, you both took in deep breaths. It certainly felt lovely. 

“You really thought this through, huh?” Batman inquired with earnest. Shrugging, your eyes continued to familiarize with his hair :

“I guess…” you said, rubbing your shoulders all of the sudden, “Maybe if we’re lucky and we get out of here on time, I’ll still have a chance, But… I don’t know…” 
To your disappointment, silence took centerstage once again with a smug look, ready to begin its haughty performance. Until Batman cleared his throat:

“ I know I’m a guy you just met but…” He began, “…should you even go through with it?” His query, forced your eyebrows to rise in unison. Once more, that beating of your heart began to quicken.

“What makes you say that?” You inquired, to which he shrugged his own broad and strong shoulders. 
“Well, you said ‘I don't know’ 5 times already, and you barely told me anything about him”

With your mouth agape, You froze. Waves of realization crashed against the sand of your conscious. Did it take Batman, the greatest detective to deduce your hidden doubt? And did he, by any chance, rescue you from a possible regret?

“Touché” You nodded in slow motion, a few seconds later. “Wow…” You chuckled, “..I was actually gonna go through with it, with just one foot in the water, huh? Damn!” Shaking your head, you exhaled with great depth. Along with your exhalation, there exited your blindness.

“To be honest, I don’t even know if I like him. I just…” Pausing, your hands clasped together, “ I was in love with the concept OF HIM” you said, grateful of how the truth had revealed itself to you, “But at the same time…Did I just miss my only chance? To finding someone?” You inquired, heart suddenly growing heavy. Countless nights of your fervent prayer for someone to love you, flashed before your eyes, causing you to feel sheer pity, “ I mean…” your chuckle grew sad, “I’m not getting any younger…And this job ain’t easy…oh!-I’m sorry” you said, involuntary sniffing as your nose grew itchy, “I’m blabbering here…”

“No need to apologize…” A soft, and empathizing reply exited Batman, “It’s not like I can’t relate to that”  

With shining eyes, you beamed at the back of his head. It did not take long for a rush of warmth to embrace your soul. The number of times you laughed at comfort, with the help of this man for a few minutes, were simply more than what you would experience within 24 hours. 
“I hope he wasn’t as understanding as you…” You said, "Cause if he was, then I missed a great guy”

“On the contrary, I think HE was the one who missed big tonight…” Batman replied, his velvet voice never failing to comfort you. His kindness was brimming, yet you did not mind being soaked by it.

“Thank you-Oh!…has it stopped?” Your eyes widened, the moment he took the scarf away from the head. He nodded. Excitement danced within you as you crawled towards him.

“Great, now we can finally clean this up…” Enthusiasm was rife, while you stood on your knees,“Ugh! I wish we had some saline-”

“No, really it’s alright”

The stitches have finally dried out, even faster thanks to the cold. The need to pat him on the head,  or even run your fingers through his locks grew strong. However, that need retracted itself a few seconds later. You shook your head. What on earth was going on with you?

“I do have a bandaid though…” you stated with confidence, bending to your left to reach out for your purse, “…its in here somewhere-Oh Oh no..Agh!”

The unfortunate loss of balance, forced you to gravitate to your left, falling in the process with speed. You were certain your heart would fall out of your chest. But to your relief, your face nor your heart did not meet its fate with the cemented ground. Instead, you were caught by Batman himself. Right before him. Revealing his face.

His face. Your eyes widened. His face.

With a quick gasp, you closed your eyes shut with immediate fear within a split second.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry…” you whimpered. However, to your surprise, you heard him chuckle.

“Don’t apologize…” he assured, as his voice grew softer. Unlike his powerful demeanor, the man behind the mask seemed gentler than expected, persuading you to open your eyes with care. And once you finally did, your eyes indulged the sight before you. The face that simply stared at you.

Around your age, he was blessed with handsome features, that left you breathless. With the black paint that surrounded his eyes, it was a daunting task to trace the beautiful hazel green eyes he possessed.

“I won’t tell a soul…I swear” you found yourself whispering with sincerity. To which he nodded:

“I know…” he breathed.

The manner in which those eyes sparkled, his concern for his identity had vanished. And at last, all seemed clear to you. Bravery kept you calm, as you took one of his hands, placing it over your chest. All that, in order to confirm your suspicions. To confirm that the lightning speed of your beating heart was no hallucination. The stomach acting up with tickles, your overwhelming concern, your indiscriminate joy, amidst the danger. It was evident that Magic had stumbled into you. Finally. That very moment you had dreamed of.

Moving from your heaving chest, Batman’s hand proceeded to cup your face instead. Your breath could not help but hitch. And his touch was to blame, even with the presence of his gloves.

“That Mistletoe Scheme of yours…” He began in a low voice,“…You really upset that it got sabotaged tonight?”

“Honestly…” you paused, “…now that I think of it…it wasn’t that great. So…”

“Good”

Low but pleased, his response brimmed with the power to push you towards insanity. And it engulfed you whole, the moment he leaned forward, and kissed you.

No Christmas gift would ever succeed in providing the magic as his kiss did. If your body was akin to a Christmas tree, then his kiss was simply the electric switch, setting all bulbs alit. Those delicious lips were generous, offering you all that you longed for: Gentle. It simply was the word, with his lips pressed against yours with the softness of actual feathers, awakening every inch of stimulus in your system to life. Gentle was what he promised, as your lips and his, both embarking on their own pilgrimage, to heal one another. And to spark the magic you both had missed for simply too long in life.

Pulling away, your foreheads rested on one another, releasing one long, shaky breath. And all the sudden, his face began to grow very familiar in your eyes. However, you could not place his name. Who was he?

“Bruce Wayne…” he breathed, answering your silent query, “Nice to meet you”

With a dropped jaw, you uttered your own name in reply. This was certainly unexpected. However in all honesty, it did not matter either. Especially when his sheer humanity, and his lips won your heart over already.  

Loud, static noise reemerged from his removed mask, causing both of you to jump. The voice of an elderly man followed soon after:

“Sir! Master Wayne!” He said, “I finally received your coordinates! Are you alright? We’re on our way”

Relieved beyond all measure, you both shared sighs and huge smiles.

“Merry Christmas! Bruce” you wished.  

“Merry Christmas!”

With his shining eyes, Bruce swooped you in for a kiss once more. Infused with gusto, Impatience had replaced Calm, while Passion had replaced Gentle. Yet, you did not mind. Not at all. Especially when you shared his sentiments to the very core.

Trapped you may have been underground, smothered with the cold. And even so, no form of anger lingered in you towards Dino Maroni. Not any longer. For once in your life, you were ecstatic for a plan to have failed miserably. For this may have been Fate’s real plan after all.

——————————————————

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[dimigex]

No. 1 - ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO

“You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound for Sasusaka (did I do that right? I'll never get used to combining names)

“Why are you here?” Sasuke fought to keep emotion from his voice, gripping the exasperation that crept up spine. Sakura didn’t answer, didn’t look up from the ground where she’d been thrown ten minutes earlier. The iron scent of her blood filled the air, but Sasuke caught the undertones of home at the same time. He blew out a breath and tried a different approach. “How did you find us?”

“I’ll always find you,” Sakura answered, bringing those brilliant green eyes up for the first time since Sasuke entered the holding cell. “No matter where you go, I will always look for you.”

Something shifted in Sasuke’s chest, but he couldn’t focus on that. The confusion of pain and hope was too raw and exposed to be examined. “It’s time to grow up.”

Drawing a kunai, Sasuke knelt. Sakura cringed away from the shine of the blade as he slid it through the rough straps that bound the girl’s hand behind her back. Frowning, she massaged life back into her wrists. He dropped the kunai between them, wondering if the woman would go for it, wondering what he’d do if she did.

Sakura’s tongue darted across her lips, but when her hands moved it was to brush across the gashes on her legs. The fabric of her pants was ripped and spotted with blood. Sasuke arched one eyebrow at the green glow that encircled the girl’s palm. She chuckled humorlessly. “I’ve learned a few tricks as well.”

The deep gashes along Sakura’s ankles knit back together as she moved her hand over them. Shaking her head, she tugged her pants leg down. “Using razor-edged barbed wire to protect your hideout, really?”

Sasuke raised one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Shinobi are more likely to miss common traps because they’re busy searching for jutsu.”

The light around Sakura’s hands faded, and the sudden darkness threw shadows across her face. It wasn’t fast enough to disguise the pain that flashed through her eyes. Sasuke forced himself to ignore it. “Why are you here, really?”

“To kill you.” Sakura didn’t move, didn’t put action behind the words. Sasuke almost wished that she would; things would be so much easier that way. Self defense was a hell of a lot better than premeditation or cold blood. Sakura’s voice trembled when she continued, “to save you.”

The last words hurt more than they should have, but Sasuke hardened his heart against them. He couldn’t turn away from the path that Konoha had set him on. He couldn’t erase the damage done, but he could avenge it. “I don’t want you to save me,” he answered.

That should have been the end of it. Sakura should have lashed out with fists and jutsu, but her tears were more effective. He wondered if she knew. Clenching his jaw tight enough to make his teeth grind, Sasuke turned away. Sakura shuffled two steps forward, close enough for the swirl of pink hair and green eyes to fill his vision. “This isn’t who you are.”

“You always thought you knew me better than you did.” In the months with Orochimaru, Sasuke had perfected the condescending tone that the Sannin used. He deployed it with devastating effectiveness.

Sakura flinched as his words struck home, but she didn’t back down. She’d found some courage in their months apart, at least. “And you always tried to be tougher than you were.”

The girl exhaled a shaky breath then unhooked the band of red that held her hair from her face. The leaf symbol caught the flickering light of a torch, dancing in the dim light. The reminder of Sasuke’s former allegiance sent a wave of nausea through his body. Sasuke wasn’t sure what he felt most: anger, resentment, or longing. Sakura knelt and reached for the kunai still on the ground. She rested the tip of the blade against the smooth metal.

Sasuke moved without conscious thought, catching Sakura’s wrist before it could scratch through the leaf symbol. “Don’t,” he cautioned, pain swelling like a wave that threatened to crush his lungs. “You can’t go back from that.”

“I don’t want to go back.” Sakura’s whisper was tentative, but the words were deadly as any weapon at her disposal. “I want to be with you.”

It would have been a simple thing, letting Sakura throw Konoha away. They could lose themselves; the world was big enough that nobody would ever find them unless they wanted to be found. But, everything about the woman screamed loyalty to the village she’d left behind. Hell, she wore the jonin uniform now; Sasuke should have noticed that earlier. Sakura’s parents were there, her family and friends. He had nothing to draw him back to the Land of Fire, nothing except Sakura.

The tears shining in Sakura’s eyes were almost enough reason to cross the line, but there were too many things left to do. Konoha and its leadership had to pay for the crimes they’d committed, for Itachi, for Sasuke’s family, for the Uchiha clan. He drew a breath and held onto the pain like a physical barrier. “I don’t want—”

Sakura’s lips brushed Sasuke’s mid word, stunning him into silence. “You’re lying,” she breathed, close enough for him to taste the words. “You don’t have to be alone as some kind of penance for what happened.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sasuke pulled away, drawing strength from the fact that Sakura didn’t understand as much as she thought. Small blessings were the only thing he had going for him these days. “You have to let me go.”

“I love you.” The confession felt like a sucker punch, even though Sasuke had known it was true for years. A stupid crush had developed into something more, something that would make a logical person to track down a rogue ninja without any backup. He’d checked before approaching the cell. Unaware, Sakura continued. “We could just leave together. I won’t be a burden any longer.”

Even the slightest waver and Sasuke would have been lost. He dropped his hands to Sakura’s shoulders and pushed her back. “You need to go.”

“Please,” Sakura began.

“Go, before I change my mind.” Sasuke turned before the hurt in Sakura’s expression could change his mind. He shoved the door wider and stepped back, risking a glance over his shoulder. Sakura stood frozen in the middle of the room, so he drove the final nail home. “Next time, I’ll kill you.”

[rainpuddle13]

35 Ross and Demelza

#35 - An awkward kiss given after a first date

This was a lot of fun to write. Thanks, anonymous!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was like a knife to his gut to sit there and listen to Demelza recount her previous evening out with an old chum of their friend Caroline. The bloke fancied himself some sort of artist and poet apparently.  She showed him a sketch this Hugh Armitage had supposedly done of her which Ross found a bit off-putting. She had seemed inordinately pleased though to his dismay. Ross thought it had barely captured the unique beauty that made Demelza so earthy and desirable.

“Dandy more like,” Ross muttered under his breath before stuffing chips in his mouth.

“He breeds racing  horses,” she continued on, seemingly oblivious to his disparaging words.  “He promised to take me to Ascot in June.”

Ross wiped his hands on his napkin before speaking.  It was like she was trying to pour salt on his wound. “So you’ll see him again?”

“I think so. He is nice,” Demelza flicked her blue eyes up to meet his, arching one delicate brow, almost as if daring him to say something, “and he is handsome.”

Oh, Ross knew the type alright, Armitage was one of those old money aristocracy types who have never worked a day in their life, using his family connections and money to float through life without the burden of actual responsibility. His occupation was probably more along the lines of being elegantly wasted all of the time.

He wanted to damn Caroline all to hell for interfering, but ultimately he knew it was his own fault that he found himself in this position with Demelza. Ross had fancied her from almost the first moment they met nearly five years ago. He’d been entangled at the time with Elisabeth Chyoweth so he was unable to act upon the spark that was obvious between them. The timing never seemed right after that, and was not helped by his lengthy deployments, so he’d settled to just secretly worship her from afar.

“Hmm,” Ross mumbled, very unimpressed. “Rich too.”  There was no way that he could possibly compete with the ponce on that front.  While his salary was adequate compared to what it was when he had first enlisted, he wasn’t trying to support a wife and possibly a family with it either. He’d always thought Demelza had deserved much better than anything he could have to offer.

It was her turn to huff coupled with a dark glare. “You know I don’t care about that.”

He did know what she said about matters of money, but there was this little voice inside his head that told him she deserved the whole world.  “I know what you said,” he reminded her.

This long awaited lunch out with Demelza all to himself was not going according to plan. He hadn’t been able to see much of her while he’d been back in Cornwall.  Her catering business had exploded during his last deployment after she had been featured in a local magazine for her farm to table approach to cooking.  Ross was happy for her to be sure, but it really cut into the time he could spend with her.

She broke the silence after a couple of minutes.  “Have you gotten your orders yet?”

“Yes,” Ross answered, glad for the change of subject before he could say something to really tick her off, “I’m leaving for training in Canada at the end of the month.”

She reached across the table to place her warm hand over his, clear relief was etched on her lovely face.  “I’m glad it’s not Iraq again.”

“Me too. It’s miserable no matter the time of year.”

“I’m just glad you won’t be in a war zone,” she admitted softly.

“Just from the local wildlife” he assured her. “I understand moose are a particular danger.”

“At least it’s not IEDs or bullets.” 

“Agreed.” He reached up to touch the scar that ran from his eye down his cheek almost to his jaw on the left side of his face.  It was only thanks to Dwight’s skills he hadn’t fared any worse than he did. Demelza had visited him several times when he was home convalescing and did her damnest to talk him out of reenlisting.

“I guess I won’t have to send you care packages this time since you’ll be near civilization,” she said while taking her hand back and becoming very interested in her nearly empty plate. She’d had the ploughman’s lunch.

“I wouldn’t say no to some of your chocolate biccies.”

She looked up again and laughed, a warm throaty sound that made him feel all quivery inside. “I’m sure you wouldn’t!”

“I’ll need a break from poutine and maple candies.”

She made an adorable scrunchy face. “I’m not sure I even want to know what poutine is!”

“I understand it’s chips and cheese covered in gravy.”

“Sounds very healthy.” She jumped a bit when her phone buzzed and she picked it up off the table, frowning. “I need to go. I’ve got a cocktail party tonight at Tehidy.”

Disappointment didn’t begin to cover how he felt about their time together being cut short because of her work commitments, but he also more than understood. His chosen line of work was keeping him from being with the woman he was pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life with. It would be unfair to her with him being deployed to dangerous parts of the world for long stretches of time. He couldn’t even bring himself to imagine what it would do to her if the worst happened.

“Let me settle the cheque and I’ll walk you out,” Ross said, getting up to retrieve their jackets. 

Demelza was waiting out front of the Red Lion in the bright afternoon sunlight for him. The air was crisp for early spring and the sky a cloudless deep blue.  She took his proffered elbow when he joined her and they walked the few streets over to her storefront mostly in silence.  It always amazed him how at ease felt being with her.

“I should go in,” she said once they’d reached the cheerfully painted building.

He nodded.  “Yes, Jinny might be burning the canapes.”

“Bite your tongue,” she grouse and playfully shoved him.

“You know it’s true,” he laughed. The girl’s misadventures in the kitchen were near legendary in their circle of friends and it was a true miracle she’d not burnt the building down.

Demelza sighed and looked up at him, like she was waiting for him to do something. He shifted his weight off his bad ankle, torn between wanting to ravish her senseless on the spot and leaving so he could go be miserable that he hadn’t acted on his impulse.  

Then it all happened so suddenly after staring at one another in awkward silence for a few heartbeats. He mistook Demelza leaning up to hug him while biting her bottom lip as something more than it was meant to be, engulfing her in his arms and without thinking mashing his mouth to hers,  somehow painfully clinking their teeth in his haste.  He’d almost managed to get more of her cheek than her lips while nearly crushing her nose.  As far as kisses went, his first and only kiss with Demelza could be deemed a spectacular failure.

Demelza growled at him after he finally released her and balled up her fist before proceeding to sucker punch him in the stomach as hard as she could. He bent over double from the unexpected blow while she hopped about shaking her hand and cursing. 

“What was that for?” he asked after catching his breath, but he was leant over with his hands on his knees still. Thankfully his fish and chips lunch seemed to be staying put.

“For making me wait four years, seven months, and eleven days for you to kiss me, you wanker,” she hissed.

He stood up straight, blinking at her first in confusion then in wonderment as the gravity of her words sank in. “You kept count?”

“Of course I did,” she said, exasperated, balling up her fist again, this time punching his shoulder.

“Oi!” he yelped.

“That’s for making me suffer through a date with Hugh Armitage to make you jealous.”

“At least it was just a first date,” he chirped, a wide grin splitting his face as his heart pounded in his chest.

“Only date,” she promised, reaching to grab a hold of the lapels of his jacket. “Now shut up and kiss me properly!”

[neon-junkie]

Lovesick - Chpt.1&2

Summary: The last thing Micah Bell ever expected to happen in his storm of a life is for him to get soft on a woman, but that's exactly what's happened. And now, Micah has to figure out if he wants to keep suppressing those feelings or finally act on them.

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader 

Word Count: 4414

Rating: SFW

Tags: Pining, Secret admirer, Feelings denial/realisation, Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Mental breakdowns, Crying, Slow burn, Friends to lovers, Falling in love, Mostly Micahs POV.

Notes: I really really really really really enjoy the idea of Micah getting super-duper soft on someone and struggling with those mushy feelings, so why not write a multi-chapter fic about it?? This was heavily inspired by the song 'Whiskey - Tejon Street Corner Thieves'. I can totally picture Micah being the kinda guy to suppress his mushy feeling with alcohol. I was gonna make this a short fic where a very drunk Micah confronts the reader like "ahh I'm drunk and i hate you because you make me feel like this," and then I got carried away because I'm a sucker for super slow burn >:)

He hates you. He despises you. Even just the thought of you makes him sick to his stomach, sick to the point where he can barely stand up straight. And whenever he sees you? Whenever you come over to him with that soft smile on your face and talk to him as if he's a normal human being? God. That makes him so much worse. He hates the way you make him feel, the way no woman should make him feel. He'll happily point and laugh at any man that allows a woman to tell him what to do, to make a man soft and worship the ground she walks on. But Micah's found himself in the last predicament that he thought he'd ever end up in; he was expecting to finally have a noose stay around his neck and steal him from this world, but instead, he finds himself here. Micah looks up from his knife, sharpening it over and over whilst he leans against a tree on the outskirts of camp. It's gentle out here, calming, with a pretty view of the red sand that welcomes the lake as the waves rock back and forth. But no picturesque setting can at least settle the flames that burn inside of him. Micah's always been a loose cannon, a devil walking amongst the earth. He never really questions his actions, he just does them, especially when the bastards on the other end of his gun deserve it. But that fire inside of him is slowly turning into a sickness, a dizzy and sweaty sickness that makes him question his actions simply because he worries about what you'd think. 

He was so disappointed in himself the first time it happened. He'd trailed across to Valentine saloon with yourself and a few other camp members, only because you'd invited him. The other men didn't pay much attention to him, but you did. You stuck beside him all night, practically pouring liquor down his throat as he tried to calm that feeling he gets whenever he's within ten meters of you. A stranger had tried to grab you on your way back over to the table, and Micah was straight to his feet, storming over and landing a punch perfectly on that poor fuckers nose. At first, you were glad that Micah had your back. But the more punches Micah landed, the more that stranger's face turned blue. You only had to bark Micah's name once to catch his attention; his head perked up, the stranger's blood splattered across his face, but his wild eyes had calmed the second he locked onto you. He dropped that man to the floor and left him to the elements, following you out the Saloon and apologizing over and over for getting so carried away. "He shouldn't have touched you," Micah had told you. "I know, and I appreciate you sticking up for me, but you got so carried away. He's probably gonna die from those injuries. You've gotta stop being so bloodthirsty," you told him as he helped you up onto your mount, climbing on top of Baylock shortly after. "Bloodthirsty?" Micah questioned. The word echoed throughout his brain, settling in his stomach as his nerves were turned to a different kind of mush. He felt cold and isolated, like he had disappointed you and ruined any chance of you ever falling for him, not that there probably was a chance to begin with. "Yeah, bloodthirsty," you repeated, nodding at the same time. He apologized to you again and told you he'd sort himself out, that he'd stop acting on impulse and anger. You tried to laugh it off with him; "Of course you will, and I'll grow wings and fly." Micah laughed along with you but the fact that you doubted him so much kept him awake for days, not that he sleeps much anyway. How dare you. How dare you have such power over him, despite not even being his, or being aware of it. Sure, you're kind and polite to him, but you have no ties to him. You've barely flirted with him, and surprisingly, he hasn't tried flirting with you either. Whenever you're around he can't put on that cheesy act, he can't throw a few pick up lines your way and hope for the best. Micah finds himself actually wanting to impress you, to show you his best side in hopes of winning you over. It's sickening. Micah scowls and sharpens his blade a little harsher. He's not frustrated at you, not one bit, but he definitely is frustrated at himself. He can't believe he's fallen for a woman; he's not just fallen, he's tripped over and fell face-first into a ten feet deep grave, and he wouldn't be surprised if you decided to leave him down there, or bury him alive. Amos once used a specific word when he first started feeling like this when he met his wife - lovesick. Micah hates that word, he despises it, but only because he can feel it right now. It fits so perfectly, so snug. To be in love with someone so much that they physically make you sick. It's amazing how one person can do that to another and not even be aware of it. Micah's surprisingly acted like his usual self when he's around you, though the odd stutter has slipped out, along with his hands that are now almost always clammy. He hopes you haven't noticed it, especially when he put a wad of cash in your hands after a robbery you'd assisted him with. He has slipped up once though, and he knows he slipped up because you approached him the next day to check if he was alright, to which he excused himself again and ran off. It was hard not to notice the mess Micahs knuckles were in the day after that saloon fight; they were swollen, an array of purple and red blotches, some parts of his skin had even torn. "That looks nasty," you said as you caught Micah's attention. He brushed it off, saying it was nothing, but you continued to push at it. "I've got something that might help, let me go fetch it," you said. Before Micah could protest, you'd already ran off. He took a seat at the campfire with you and on command, held his hand out. Micah watched you as you dabbed the ointment onto a cloth and then oh god, you're holding his hand. Oh fuck. Oh shit. Your fingertips are pressed against his palm, your skin against his, as your other hand holds the damp cloth onto his knuckles. Was this it? Was this the day that Micah was going to embarrass himself in front of you? Was he going to throw up? Maybe pass out? You're being so kind and gentle, helping heal his wounds, something that nobody has ever done before. "She's just a friend, she's just being kind to you," Micah tells himself over and over, trying to remind himself that you'd never fall for a devil like him. "How longs this gonna take?" Micah asks, trying to mentally prepare himself for however long he's going to feel sick for. "Oh? You got places to be, Micah?" you ask with a laugh, eyes briefly meeting his before focusing on his hand again. "I'm a busy man, sweetheart. Someones gotta bring in the money," he tells you. Oops. The pet name didn't mean to slip out, but you don't cast a scowl or begin to hurdle abuse at him, you seem to barely notice it. "Of course you are, Micah. The busiest man in the camp, always sharpening his knife or cleaning his guns," you say with a laugh. "I mean it. I've got a robbery that needs attending to," Micah lies, though you seem to be falling for it. "Fine, fine," you sigh, moving your hands off Micahs. You look up at Micah, expecting him to thank you and leave, but he sits there blankly. "Well? Ain't you gotta go rob some folk?" you ask. "Yeah, sure. I'll see you around, thanks again," Micah quickly mutters before jumping to his feet and running off. He managed to rob a few folk on his ride around the area, the ride that was meant to settle his nerves and clear his mind. It worked, and Micah felt like his normal self once he began robbing folk, but all his progress crashed and burned when he trailed back into camp that night and accidentally locked eyes with you. What a fool this man is. The sound of your laughter catches Micahs attention. He's been stood leaning against this tree for god knows how long, thinking about you, not that his mind isn't always occupied with thoughts of you. But that's a different kind of laugh you're letting out, one that Micah's only heard when it surprisingly been directed at him. He peers over his shoulder and gazes into camp to find you talking to Arthur. He's babbling away about whatever, talking to a few of the girls though you're sat amongst them. They're all laughing along with him, and Micah isn't sure if you're laughing louder than the others, or if he's just more focused on you. But either way, it hurts. Micah hates feeling jealous, just as much as he hates feeling lovesick. But Arthur? Why does Arthur have to be the one to make you laugh like that? Why can't he just fuck off and leave at least one of the women available? He's a big, dumb idiot, but he knows how to make the women swoon, especially all the camp ones. Micah holsters his knife and throws the whetstone to the floor in anger. As the stone hits the ground, he instantly regrets his outburst, knowing that if you saw that, you'd be disappointed in him for acting out in anger. He checks over his shoulder but you've thankfully not noticed, still fixated on that big dummy. Micah rubs his face, trying to brush away that feeling inside of him but it's no use. He hears your laughter again and begins walking away. He needs to get away from that situation. He doesn't want to hear nor see other men flirting with you, not only because he gets jealous, but because it reminds him that you'd never go for a man like him. Maybe Micah should avoid you for a while? Maybe he should give himself some space in hopes of killing off all those feelings he has for you? ------- Micah's not been seen around camp for a week now. He left in the night without telling anybody where he's going, not even Dutch. He's occupied his time well, doing all his favourite things and visiting two close friends of his. His thoughts of you become less and less, and eventually, he feels settled enough to return to camp, ready to suppress those feelings and push you away. He returns during the evening, trotting back into Clemens Point to overhear Pearson shouting that dinner was ready. Baylock is hitched and his saddle is removed, swung over the hitching post so his mount can relax. Micah spends the evening lounging about, speaking to a few camp members, half-eating his food, the usual stuff, but there's been no sign of you. Good. He doesn't need to see you right now. The night is spent drinking with Bill before he goes off on guard duty, leaving Micah to have another glass of whiskey on his own. Nature eventually calls, and Micah forces himself to his feet so he can wander off into the forest and empty his bladder. He hums to himself as he does so, his feet stumbling ever so slightly but he only considers himself tipsy. If a stranger were to waltz into camp with their guns blazing, Micah knows he's somewhat sober enough to take them on, and that's the only reason why he doesn't consider himself to be drunk. He takes his time wandering back into camp but a noise in the distance perks his ears up. Micah stands still, his feet coming to the halt so he can focus on the sound rather than the crunching earth beneath his feet. It's a whimper, as if a baby deer has been left by itself nearby, no momma to be found. Micah follows the sound, curious to know what's crying out nearby. He'd normally ignore it, but his gut is telling him to follow, even though he told himself that he'd stop listening to his gut so much as it always got him caught up in some kind of trouble, usually feelings related. Micah wanders well into the outskirts of camp, trailing down along the shoreline and coming to a halt when he finds the source of the sound. It's you, your knees up to your chin with your arms wrapped around them. You're sobbing into your lap, your knees muffling most of your cries though some had seemed to slip out. Micah finds himself in a predicament and curses whoever is in the sky for pulling him into this one. Should he sneak away and let the guilt of knowing he left you alone to cry settle on his shoulders for however long it chooses to stay? Or should he go over and comfort you, knowing that sickness inside of him will spark up again? Although, it's already begun to return. He sighs as he rests his hands on his hips. There's no getting rid of these feelings, is there? This isn't a somewhat simple matter where he can pull his revolvers out and shoot at the thing that's eating him up. This is something new, something that he can't just run away from, though this isn't the first time he's run away from his feelings. Micah knows that if the situations were reversed, that you'd come running over to let him cry into your arms. And as much as he wants to, he doesn't want those feeling to begin controlling him again. Before Micah can make a decision, his feet are already pacing over to you. It seems he was set on his decision the second he saw you like this, and he was only stalling to try and prepare himself for those feelings to return. Micah clears his throat, catching your attention. "You alright?" he asks with that drawl, though he knows what your answer is. A pair of glossy eyes look up to meet his, and Micah feels his heart beginning to melt at the sight. "Sweetheart," Micah sighs without realising, settling down beside you. "I'm fine, Micah. Really," you tell him as you wipe your eyes, letting your legs settle and no longer be bunched up against your chest. "Now, I know that ain't true," he shakes his head. "What's a matter?" he asks. You give your eyes another rub as you clear your throat. "Y-you ever think you're alone in this world? Like, I know I ain't technically alone, but I sure do feel it," you tell him without hesitation, knowing that Micah is the kind of person who can relate. The other camp members would begin to tell you how many people are here for you, trying to reassure you, and although that's a kind gesture, it's not the one you're looking for. Micah, on the other hand, knows what true loneliness is like - to have nobody but yourself, and to be like that for years on end. Maybe you were two sides of the same coin. His ears perk up at your words, surprised that you felt such a way. It tugs on his heartstrings, an organ that everybody doubts Micah has, but you're the only person who seems to remind him that he does have a heart after all. "I know what that feels like," Micah says with a laugh. "I'm surprised you feel like that, 'specially with being the camp's favourite," he continues, his eyes flicking out at the water before returning back to you. "I wouldn't call myself that, I'm no Arthur. I know I fit in just fine, but there's only so much a group of friends can do, you know?" "Oh, I don't exactly know how that feels, sweetheart. But I understand what you're feeling. You're lonely-lonely, ain'tcha?" Micah asks, and doesn't seem surprised when you nod in agreement. "Mhmm," he hums, "I know how that feels." "Ain't you ever had someone be sweet on you before, Micah?" you ask him. Micah can't help but laugh a little at your question, assuring himself that you know what his answers going to be. "Course not," he replies somewhat confidently, though he doesn't seem proud with his reply. "I'm surprised," you tell him. Micahs eyes flick over to you like a spooked owl, uncertain if he heard exactly what he thought you said. "You're what?" Micah questions, his face relaxing as he tries not to look a wide range of negative emotions, ones that he'd rather not show. "I'm surprised. I know the camp doesn't exactly like you, but you've always been so kind to me. You've helped me out on more than one occasion without me asking for it, you'll carry my ass during a gunfight, and you always seem to give to me but never take. Hell, you're here comforting me now when I'm certain some folk would have pretended not to notice me," you tell him. Micah has to dip his head a little as you speak, covering his eyes with the brim of his hat. You can tell that nobody has ever said such words to him, though he's doing a good job of suppressing that sickness inside of him, preventing it from coming up to the surface to show you just how soft he is on you. He's meant to be a rugged outlaw, a man that kills and robs for fun, when really he feels like a child at Christmas whenever he's near you. "Guess that's what friends are for, huh?" Micah replies, trying to keep his gaze hidden and his eyes forward. "Yeah," you nod, moving your eyes over to the scenery. You can't help that a lone tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, a leftover from earlier, but Micah looks at you from under the brim of his hat at just the right time to see it escape. You've done a good job at suppressing the loneliness inside of you for so long, but every now and again, your emotions get the better of you and you just need to let it all out. "Hey," Micah says as he sits upright, reaching out to wipe the lone tear from your cheek without thinking about it. "You still got some left inside of ya?" he questions, to which you nod in agreement. "You need a shoulder to cry on?" Micah asks, his stomach turning at the thought of you finding comfort in him. He's expecting you to brush it off, to say you're fine, but instead, you're nodding again and shuffling closer to him. At first, you simply lean against his shoulder, your cheek and temple pressed against his red shirt. You cling onto his arm like a nervous child, letting your tears flow once again. Micah's trying his best not to feel sick; he's never had somebody find comfort in him before, even though you're only clinging onto his arm, but it's enough to soften his heart and cloud his mind. A choked sob escapes your lips and Micah finally snaps at the sound of you in pain. Without thinking, he scoops you up, pulling you onto his lap and holding you tightly against his chest. There's a brief pause from you and Micah's certain that he's finally done it - he's finally stuck his foot into a door that should be closed, but his mind eases out as your arms wrap around him and your head buries deeper into his chest. The feeling of your tears against his skin makes Micah hold his breath, eventually letting it out slowly as he rests his chin on the top of your head. He's not quite sure what to do with his hands; one rests on your waist, whilst the other begins to trail up and down your back, comforting you in an uncertain way as he's never done this before, but he seems to be a natural as you find peace in this storm of a man. Micah hears you let out another choked sob and he holds onto you a little tighter. "Let it all out," he coos in a voice so soft that it could send a lamb to sleep. He's taken aback, not knowing he had such softness inside of him. Micah has to hear that tone again, to remind himself that he has that ability to be so gentle. "I'm here for ya," he says, the words slipping out of his mouth. The faint sound of a "thank you," from your lips finally melts Micahs ice-cold heart. And to think, this time yesterday he was pacing around his camp, telling himself over and over that he wasn't going to let 'any damn woman' turn him into such a mess. Maybe he could make an exception? Well, he knows he can because he already has. You take your time, letting out all the tears you have left. It feels nice to have somebody comforting you, especially as it's someone you weren't expecting. Everybody needs to cry sometimes, and you're sure Micah knows that far too well. Within time, you feel yourself calming down. Your lungs and muscles begin to relax, your breaths becoming longer and deeper, and your eyes are no longer glossy. You continue to take comfort in the man wrapped around you, holding onto him a little tighter as you move your head from his loosely buttoned shirt, up to the curve of his neck. His beard brushes over your forehead, but his cheek eventually rests against it as his body relaxes. This is a feeling that Micah could definitely get used to - the feeling of you snuggled up to him, your body fitting perfectly against his like a two-piece puzzle, even though he's struggled to put the pieces together for so long. That sickly feeling in his stomach is slowly settling, moving up his body and burning in his chest, though he prefers the burning over the sickness. "How're you feelin'?" Micah asks you, giving your back another gentle rub. "I'm getting there," you tell him. "Got a headache now though," you say with a slight laugh. "Must be dehydrated, though it's good you let them tears out," he replies. "You want me to go fetch you a drink?" Micah offers. He'd rather sit here with you in his arms, but he'd put your needs over his wants any day. "You've done enough for me, lettin' me cry all over you and soak your shirt," you say with a laugh. "I should probably get to bed anyway," you sigh, not wanting to move though you assume Micah is sick of you crying all over him by now. You're definitely mistaken. "C'mon then. Let's get you to bed," he says, his voice still as soft as earlier. That softness is intoxicating, a gentleness that you've never seen before; it urges you to hold onto him and never let go, but you force yourself off him, shuffling away so Micah can slowly get up onto his feet. You give your eyes another rub and as you open them, Micahs hand is out waiting for you. He helps you up and almost seems reluctant to move his hand away, but he forces himself to, not wanting to cross any boundaries. He walks you back to camp. It's silent for once, surprisingly peaceful as nobody is up drinking, singing, telling stories around the campfire. Micah urges you to get to bed whilst he fetches you a drink and you do so, scooting into your enclosed tent. "Here," Micah says as he crouches down in the entrance and hands you a cup of water. You gulp it down before thanking him, filling your body with the water you'd lost during your breakdown. "Now get some sleep. You must be exhausted," Micah coos. He's about to stand up and leave you to it, but you call out his name. Micah turns his attention back to you, a pair of sad eyes in the darkness of your tent. All he wants is to crawl in and settle down beside you, sleeping peacefully for once, but only because he doesn't feel like he needs to keep his guard up around you. "Thank you," you tell him again, a lot clearer than your sobbed manners from earlier. "S'alright, darlin'," Micah replies with a small nod. He flashes you a smile before finally getting up and leaving, letting you enjoy a well-needed rest. Micah trails over to his usual spot by the campfire. That feeling of whiskey in his blood is long gone by now; the shock of seeing you in such a state must have sobered him up, and he doesn't feel the need to pick up another bottle and begin wrestling those emotions again. He's somewhat content, though he fears that this was just a chance encounter, that tomorrow you'll be back to being the camp's favourite member to flirt with, and he'll have to stand on the sidelines and watch but be too scared to take any action. However, Micah feels calm enough to get some rest, even if it is just letting his head dip and having a snooze on this uncomfortable chair. It's better than nothing, and he knows he'll be awake before anybody else, preventing them from seeing him in his most vulnerable state. If only you had asked him to stay. Micahs mind becomes clouded with the thought of curling up beside you. He'd rest however you want, cuddling or not; he'd even be happy if you turned away from him or just used his body for some extra warmth. Micah wants to tell himself off, to slap himself around the face for being so desperate for your affection, but he'll allow himself to dream about such things just for tonight. The thought of settling down beside you sends him to sleep, with his hands resting on his stomach and one ankle crossed over the other.

[wastelandcth]

exile - cth

anon requested: hi hello🥺 can you please write a blurb(or a lil longer than a blurb) inspired by exile by taylor swift (with calum obv)🥺 want some angsty dialogue there🥺

summary: calum’s breakup feels like a movie he’s seen before. 

author’s notes: hello! this was requested by an anon! it was such a good song and it finally made me listen to taylor’s new album so thanks for that! hope you enjoy! 

warnings: mentions of breakup ups, sad calum, angst really. 

masterlist

Calum had seen a lot of romantic movies in his time of being with her. He'd seen the classics where the two lovers end up together after thousands of struggles. He'd seen the ones where the two lovers ended up away from one another. Calum had even seen the ones where their love just wasn't enough to keep them together. He just never imagined his life would be turning into one of those, especially not the last one. 

He'd been at the same party as her, something he wished he would've known because there'd be no way in hell that he would've showed up to see her in his arm laughing at the joke he'd read online months ago. He'd been fine with her being there, he was an adult and could handle seeing an ex at a party. He thought he was fine until he saw her run over to a guy he'd never seen before and hug him like he was the only person on planet Earth. 

Calum's heart felt like it had been sucker-punched, he felt like he was frozen in time and that it was only five minutes ago that she'd walked out on the life they'd created in their small apartment hidden in the busy city. Now all he could do was watch her kiss some guy he'd never seen before while he held all their love on his wrist in black ink. 

Calum was not okay. He hadn't been okay ever since that party. He'd gone home shortly after seeing them, making up an excuse about how Duke needed to go on a walk, and then he was out the door and racing home to try and stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. He felt like his life had become a movie ever since she'd walked out of that apartment. He felt like every day was just a montage of getting up and going through the same motions day after day. He walked through his half-empty apartment and tried to find himself as his friends, family, and his loved ones kept on moving and left him stuck in a movie scene he'd seen before. 

She'd missed seeing Calum's smile. She missed the way his eyes scrunched up and the way that his laugh was too loud and how he tried to cover it up with his hand over his mouth. She felt the way his brown eyes followed her across the backyard and the way that not even the loud music could block out the gasp that fell from his lips. She could feel his eyes on her when she was in the arms of another and the way his body tensed when she pressed her lips to another cheek. Even when she hugged him and Calum's fists clenched and his eyes narrowed. 

She'd planned to talk to him, using a drink refill as an excuse to find Calum and talk to him. She'd walked into the kitchen and looked around, looking for a bob of blonde curls that she'd seen walk in a few minutes ago. She spotted him, halfway out the door as he looked back into the house, his red eyes landing on hers before he quickly shut the door behind him and left her alone. 

"I just...I can't do this anymore, Calum! I'm not some random girl from the bar who is just waiting for a callback! You're an adult you can handle yourself as you so clearly stated!" Her breathing was uneven now, her hands running through her hair as she tried to make sense of where she was and why she'd been fighting with the man she loved in the first place, "You're just so afraid of falling into a love that you're willing to destroy what we have. I'm not going to stand here and let you slowly rip my heart out, I-I can't let you do that." 

She'd been reliving that moment ever since she'd seen him at that party. She'd laid in her bathtub, staring at the ceiling as she tried to think over ever mistake she had made since that night. That night was she walked out of his life and left him in that tiny apartment with nothing but the tears on the floor and the small dog barking. 

"You know that I love you. You know that I would do everything to make you happy. You're my everything before you I just...I didn't even know I could love as much as I love you. A-and you're going to just throw it all away? Why? Because you're scared of loving me?" Calum's voice had never been one to falter. That was one thing she had always admired about him, he always spoke with confidence and honor, never once lying to her because that's what their relationship had been. It was trust and love and truth. And she was the one who got scared and threw it away.  

She'd walked out of Calum's life four years ago. She walked out and Calum had to try and pick up the pieces and become whole again. He'd walked out of the party two years ago, thinking that his life was never going to stop replaying in front of his own eyes. It had been one year since he moved into his house with a suitcase and Duke running behind him while he carried in boxes of musical equipment. It had been a year and six months when he'd finally stopped thinking about her. When he finally felt free and could breathe in the fresh air in whatever city his life had brought him to that day. When he could finally see happy couples walking around hand in hand and not imagine himself being with her like in the beginning. It had taken her three days to get her things from the apartment and it had taken Calum longer to get rid of her ghost that seemed to linger in his life, for the little things he saw every day to stop reminding him of her. 

Calum had bought a ring a week before she'd left. He'd hidden it in the sock drawer next to his bed and prayed that she never looked in there to find a pair of warm socks to wear during the chilly October nights they shared. A few weeks after she'd left and Calum had hit the bottom of his sock drawer, the little black box stared up at him as if to mock him. The ring inside had been a testament to Calum's love for her, a way to show her that he wanted more, that he wanted their souls to love one another even after the Earth had crumbled and everyone had been forgotten. 

Calum thought he knew what she'd been thinking, that he could easily read her and tell when things weren't going okay. Thinking back on it, Calum had seen the signs but he was too in love to even try and acknowledge them. She'd get home late, usually without warning and in the early hours of the morning when Calum was lost in a dream world. She'd taken up more hours at her job, explaining to Calum that she'd been working on a super important project that needed more of her attention. Calum should've realized she was pushing him away, preparing him for a life without her in it. He should've known that when he got used to sleeping in bed by himself again when he started going out without her more often and the guys stopped questioning where she was, he should've known when he felt completely normal being on his own again after months of heartbreak. 

The scent of coffee and the chilly air coming in from the front door that opened brought her back from her thoughts brought her back to the cafe where life seemed to be bustling around her. Her coffee was still steaming from the reusable cup she'd bring anytime she needed a break from the stuffy office where printers and phone lines crowded her mind. The trees outside were moving with the wind, swaying like colorful dancers in the sky, and she was once again pulled from her own thoughts of dancing and the chilly air when she heard the barista call out a name she hadn't heard in almost two years. 

Watching Calum laugh warmed her heart, she missed the sound of his laugh and even if she hadn't been the one who was responsible for it anymore, she was grateful to be able to hear it once more. She watched him from where she sat near the back of the cafe, her eyes following him as he walked up to the counter and took his order off the counter. He looked good, his brown curls were covered up in a bucket hat but his smile lit up the entire cafe. He was dressed for the weather, dark jeans, and a dark yellow sweater that seemed to bring back too many memories of fall mornings together and reminding her that he always wore warm clothing since he usually ran cold. She could've stayed there all day and watch him if she could, but the notification on her phone informed her that she would be late for her meeting if she didn’t leave soon. So with one more look at the man she had let go, she stood and walked out the side door, a ping in her heart as she remembered when that smile from the man with the brown eyes was for her. 

[real-jaune-isms]

RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 11 Review/Remix

Not the most action packed chapter we’ve ever had, and certainly not as dramatic as Chapter 11s from past Volumes. But this week had some wonderful surprises and existential dread and depression in equal measure and I think that’s a formula for a pretty damn good watch.

Despite the devastating energy bomb Oscar delivered last episode, we open with the city of Atlas overrun with tons of Grimm. The people are still hiding in the subway, fearing for their lives twice over now that Ironwood’s monologue is playing and showing just how off his rocker he is. Those in the crater mines take it far worse, though we see some of the humans and faunus who had previously seemed on edge with each other holding one another in solidarity and comfort. Fiona breaks down in tears and is pulled into a Happy Huntress group hug by Joanna and May, so it’s a small comfort to see they’re all still alive.

Ironwood and Winter walk the halls of Atlas command together, and Winter can’t help but notice the fearful reverence the general’s presence instills in lesser officers. The Ace Ops are talking things over in the wake of their boss’ ultimatum, and Elm is of the belief that Ironwood was just bluffing about nuking Mantle if he doesn’t get what he wants. Vine agrees it may very well be the kick in the pants Team RWBY and the others will need to finally see the right path, but we the audience are getting pretty sick of hearing this shtick. Marrow thinks Ironwood is taking this too far, and Harriet is just angrily indifferent about the whole thing. Ironwood rounds the corner and addresses the squad with their new orders: get some drones ready to drop the bomb. Winter asks why exactly they need to actually make those kind of preparations, and he makes it clear that he really does intend to remove Mantle from the equation if he is prompted to. He actually thinks committing this massacre, nay genocide, will make Penny more willing to return to his command if she no longer has an alternative job. No, dumbass, she’ll only want to defy and even kill you more! This is how he believes they will save Atlas, but Marrow has had more than enough and calls him on his shit for a line like that. All this is doing is helping Salem in her mission to divide and destroy the world, and it’s spitting in the face of everything Marrow thought the Atlas military stood for. Harriet threatens to clean his clock if he doesn’t shut up, and Vine again suggests that this would be a necessary sacrifice for the good of the Kingdom. Elm tries to agree, to say that this should be their top priority whether they like it or not, but Marrow has more to say. He can’t believe any of them actually buy the nonsense they’re spouting, and wants to know if there’s anything his teammates actually believe in anymore. With so many moral compromises, where do they draw the line of patriotism vs fascism? The faunus man gives a pretty good clincher to his tirade by calling his badge and rank nothing more than a collar. Say what you want about the writing of the faunus discrimination subplots in the prior volumes, I think this was pretty good. Ironwood isn’t about to let Marrow walk away from a rant like that without consequences and we can hear his cocking his gun. Marrow hears it too, but before he can react Winter comes in from his right with a sucker punch that knocks him to the floor. As she drops a knee on Marrow’s back to cuff him for insubordination we see Ironwood was a second away from shooting this man, one of his few trusted elite soldiers left, in the back of the head for an execution without mercy or hesitation. She just saved his goddamn life and that makes her an MVP for this Volume. The other Ace Ops realize this close encounter with death too, and they all share the same expression of shock fear dread and confusion. Not even Vine can hide how much he doesn’t like what could have just occurred. Winter says she’s going to take this “traitor” to the brig where he belongs and Ironwood allows her to leave and do so, only taking his finger off the trigger once they’ve walked past him. Those with a better understanding of trigger discipline than I could probably make something poignant out of that, so have at it if you can. What is abundantly clear to us is that Winter will be taking Marrow no such place. She has absolutely had enough and she’s about to desert with him in tow. The remaining three have to get back in line and spend a little time rethinking their positions on this job. Well, at least one of them will be, I don’t think Harriet is gonna change course after what she’s already done.

From one tense situation to another, we go to the Schnee manor dining room where Team RWBY are trying to figure out their next moves with Oscar and Emerald. They know they don’t want Ironwood getting his hands on Penny, but they don’t know what to do instead that won’t result in mass casualties. They don’t know that Robyn and Qrow have flown the coop and might come to their aid soon, and under Ironwood’s watch there’s no way to try and evacuate the people in the crater before he drops the bomb. It’s a real bad situation with no clear solutions or backup plans. Emerald can’t help but be snarky and say if the perpetual optimism engine that is Ruby can’t think of what to do then there’s no right answer at all. Weiss is annoyed that Em is giving them sass when they really don’t need any, but Yang is downright furious and her to GTFO if she doesn’t like trying to help them solve this. Emerald tenses up when Yang stomps towards her with clenched fists, and her hands go to her weapons in case she needs to defend herself. We know Yang wouldn’t actually throw a punch even if she’s mad like this, but Em doesn’t. Probably because the most substantial thing connecting the two of them was the time Emerald used her semblance to make Yang look like a heartless brute who would break a leg for no reason on live TV. Also Emerald doesn’t have the best role models for how to handle frustration... Oscar continues to insist they all just take a deep breath and remember the big picture rather than lose it over small disagreements, and reminds them that Em is going to be staying on their side cuz Salem won’t let her safely be anywhere else. But when he tries to reassure the group with a reminder that Oz is back to offer help too it just tenses the situation further. Ruby’s got her head in her arms on the table, and she’s really having a hard time of it all. Oscar muses about all the negative personal energies keeping them from a productive cohesion, and Ruby pops off. A day’s worth of their best efforts, hard fought battles and painful consequences, and nothing has gotten better. Just like at the start of the Volume, all they’ve been able to do is argue over what to try and do while Atlas heads towards its demise. Yang tries to put an encouraging hand on her shoulder but she brushes it off and runs out of the room in a huff. Everyone silently realizes how much they’ve fucked this up if Ruby is so hopeless and desperate, and Yang follows her sister out of the room.

Upstairs, Jaune is doing his best to boost Nora’s Aura and help her heal faster, but it’s not doing anything about her lightning scars. Those babies are here to stay, and I don’t mind it. It shows history, survival and a damn good story about what she’s been able to power through. Ren is sitting at the foot of the bed, and the best he’s able to offer is how glad he is Nora is okay. She seems indifferent and even passive aggressive at the diagnosis on her scars, claiming it’s just another example of her being classic dumb Nora. Ren tries to object that this wasn’t her being stupid or foolhardy, but she bites back at him with all the resentment she seems to have been holding in since they split ways yesterday. He’s got no right to say what it was or wasn’t, he wasn’t there to see it. He pushed away from her when things went wrong because he didn’t want to have to feel anything he thought would be too hard to deal with. Ren makes no effort to argue, he knows she’s right and he apologizes profusely for how he wronged both her and Jaune. He regrets the things he said to them, or more likely the things he said to Jaune out on the tundra since he and Nora haven’t exactly talked much. He admits he’s been mad at himself for not measuring up to their mentor figures in the Ace Ops, for how little he could help when Tyrian came a’ slashing at Robyn’s election rally, and for slipping up and letting Neo get away with the Lamp. Mentioning the rally of course gets Nora’s attention away from her pissed off brooding, and she does start to listen a little more sympathetically. Ren says that he tried to tunnel vision on getting stronger in the hopes it would mean he wouldn’t fail again and bring the team down with him. We know from Ironwood how bad tunnel vision is, so I’m glad Ren is realizing it was a bad choice. Ren has realized now that by doing all that he failed the worst of all, that being in his role as a member of this team and as a partner to Nora. The two of them lock eyes, and Jaune notices the deeper meaning behind this prolonged eye contact and knows he should make himself scarce for now so they can have this more important conversation sans his third wheeling ass. Good boy, but a bit over the top excusing himself.

All Nora can find the words to ask is why Ren hadn’t said anything about these personal doubts sooner so they could try and deal with it and grow as a team, and he says he wanted to try and solve it himself because it was his problem and he was the one dragging the group down because of it. She disagrees on the grounds of her own perceived failings, being silly of mind and strong of muscle and little else of value. Ren won’t hear that kind of self depreciation sitting down, so he moves further up the bed to sit by her lap. He tries his best to give her affirmations by rephrasing her qualities as great things but she’s just not willing to hear it... until he gets a little more passionate about it than he may have meant to. These are the things he loves about her. Because he loves her. Lie Ren tells Nora Valkyrie “I love you”. Nora knows in her heart he really means that, but she has some things she wants to get off her chest. In the single sentence of backstory we get, her mom apparently abandoned her and fled from a Grimm attack before she ended up in Kuroyuri meeting Ren. SInce then they’ve always been an inseparable pair, and she wouldn’t give up a day of that for anything. But now she realizes she needs some time to really learn who she is as her own person and fighter, and going back to being as close as they were wouldn’t allow that kind of growth. Because Nora loves Ren too, always has. And she can tell their separate missions have done him some good too, but she needs a little more time before she’s ready to be the partner a great guy like him deserves. She just wants to know if that kind of request is okay with him. He puts a hand against her cheek and lovingly wipes away the tear she had shed. Of course that’s okay. He’s proud of her for being mindful of her own happiness and growth, and is willing to put the relationship they both very much look forward to having on hold while she grows as a person. This is a very healthy dynamic and all meming aside we really love to see it portrayed so naturally and acceptably in media. And for good wholesome measure, Ren Boops Nora. They laugh and smile and press their foreheads together because Rooster Teeth loves showing us that as a sign of proximity and intimate comfort.

Cutting to something far less happy, Qrow is retrieving Harbinger and Robyn’s gauntlet crossbow from a locker in what I assume might be evidence lockup. He asks Robyn if she’s got the security cameras running on loop, presumably so they can sneak through the halls undetected, but she is currently distracted. At least one screen is feeding audio of Ironwood’s threat to Mantle, and others are showing he really is gearing up to do so. Qrow tries to reassure her by resolutely saying they’ll stop him before he has the chance to, but she doesn’t seem to pleased with that plan. Regardless, they make their way through the halls and head for an elevator to take them up to the Academy. After avoiding being spotted by guards, they make it to the elevator but Robyn stops Qrow before he can hit the call button. She tries to advocate for a better way to solve this, he insists there isn’t one. Robyn says it’s not just about Qrow so it isn’t his choice alone to make what is or isn’t the only solution. Qrow just keeps insisting that this is what he’s gonna do and when he does it’ll all be safe and over with, but Robyn tries to suggest success isn’t guaranteed and if they fail it’ll only doom hundreds more than if they try something else. Qrow doesn’t give a damn, he just yells that Ironwood deserves to be killed, because in case the pronoun game was too hard Qrow is dead set on doing a murder. Robyn claps a hand over Qrow’s mouth and pushes him against the wall because they ARE still trying not to get caught remember? I really have to admit on my first watch I thought this was gonna be an eruption of some kind of romantic tension I just hadn’t noticed til now and she was going to shut him up with a kiss. But no, thank god they didn’t pull that tired trick. After making sure the coast really is clear, she gets to the heart of things. She can tell Qrow is in pain, he’s mourning, and its a shroud he’s well accustomed to. But don’t act like this is righteous justice for the people at large, Qrow wants blood on his hands purely for personal vengeance. She acknowledges that Clover had a lot of qualities worth looking up to the way Qrow had, but she thinks that at the end of the day Qrow has proven to be the better man and the better Huntsman. I feel like she could have phrased that a touch better so as to not speak quite so ill of the recently deceased, but the pep talk is there. He’s got the will to fight for what he believes is the right course of action rather than just what a higher up says he needs to, and that is the sort of strength of character that’s worth a whole lot in this world, so she hopes he won’t go abandoning it now that the going is even rougher. He seems to be calmed and inspired by this, but before any more words are said the elevator pings that it’s stopping on this floor so the two ready their weapons to fight whoever emerges. The doors open, but we have the perspective of whoever is inside looking out to see the two hunters drop their guard in confusion. As that is the end of that scene we will not be finding out who they saw for at least another week, but I think it’s most likely to be Winter and Marrow and the four of them will form an unlikely alliance.

Back in Schnee manor, Yang reaches the foyer to see Ruby sitting on the stairs clutching a banister. Instead of going right up to her Yang goes past to take a look at the collapsed suit of armor. She’s heard by now how Ruby and the others managed to kill the Hound, and tries to give her little sis amused props for doing what the elder sibling couldn’t. Instead Ruby just asks if Yang knows what they saw inside the Grimm. Yang says she does, and tenses up like she wants to brush past this very depressing topic Ruby is hinting at. Ruby is having none of that and just says what we’ve all been thinking. Summer Rose was most certainly turned into a Grimm too. Fearing the possibility in her head was one thing, but to hear Ruby say it aloud with a voice so hollow and hopeless is too much and Yang falls to her knees sobbing in a second flat. Yang tries to wipe the tears away, to be calm and strong like always, but Ruby isn’t stopping. They know Salem used to want Silver Eyed Warriors dead because of Maria’s brush with death years ago, but now Salem wants Ruby brought in alive and it seems obvious why. So why wouldn’t it be the case that Summer was the turning point, that fighting her was when Salem realized she could do so much more with her mortal foes? Ruby has had enough of lying to themselves for the sake of optimistic hope, her hope that Amity could get a message out got them nowhere but further failure and she blames herself for being childish. Yang takes her hand and assures her that it wasn’t childishness but rather optimism and hope. Those are things they desperately need in this struggle, but to be blindly optimistic can certainly be bad so they need to be smart about which risks they take. Ruby still isn’t about to concede this point because the risk she took was a failure and their message didn’t bring any help. I should like to remind the reader/viewer that it took about a week for Team RWBY to get from Mistral to Atlas and this message went out... 12 hours ago? Maybe 16? You’re giving up the ghost a little soon there sweetie, though they do need that help ASAP so better late than never isn’t really a viable option. Yang reminds Ruby that her plan was a bust too, but she kept trying to do good things that weren’t part of the plan and they did some good there. Summer took a risk too, by leaving for the mission she never came back from. And there’s little question that went according to plan either, but she still did her best and Yang still considers Summer her hero. As she embraces her little sister, I get the strong feeling that Summer isn’t the only Rose she considers her hero either... and by the tears that start welling up in Ruby’s eyes she clearly knows that.

Their sweet moment is shattered by the sound of equally shattered glass, and Jaune comes rushing down the stairs to tell them to get outside immediately. Penny woke up and the virus is in control again to make her head for the Vault without delay. Ruby bursts into her path to beg her to stop, and it does get her to start struggling against her digital orders. She begs to be stopped, and Ruby wraps her arms around her because honestly she’s just trying her best and with a weapon like Crescent Rose she’s gotta have some upper body strength. But that’s pretty meaningless against Penny’s rocket boots as she takes off with Ruby in tow. Blake and Ren use Gambol Shroud and Storm Flower (thank god for the grappling hook upgrade last Volume) to try and pull her down by each arm with the rest of their teams providing tug of war style support. Weiss uses a black glyph to really hold her in place once her feet are on the ground again. Before anyone can figure out what to do to properly subdue her Penny uses her magic to summon a cold vortex and blow them all off guard so she can start flying away again, still repeating her orders to open the Vault and self-terminate, though now she sounds emotional and conflicted about it due to her mental struggle. Before she can get any farther, a new set of chains grab her shoulders. Emerald has joined in, and even if it was a small gesture I found myself very enthusiastic to see her pitching in for the rescue. She yells for someone to do something already, and Jaune lets go of Blake’s side of the struggle (guess it would have been off balance if him Nora and Oscar were all helping Ren) to boost Weiss’ Aura so she can make a stronger inertia glyph. Back on the ground, Ruby hugs Penny again and asks how she can help her friend. And Penny says Ruby should kill her. If she does, Penny guarantees Ruby will be the one she gives the Winter Maiden powers to. None of the group like hearing this idea one little bit, but she thinks it’s the only way since she can’t fight the virus. But once again Nora swoops in with the sage words about it only being a part of you and not letting that be the end of it. Penny’s more than just a robot receiving orders, she’s got human spirit and willpower that’s been resisting for so long. This gets the gears in Ruby’s head turning and she realizes the human part can be what saves her. Jaune needs to boost her Aura, which he rushes over to do immediately. It seems to do the trick, and her soul is doing a much better job of keeping the virus contained, though it’s not gone forever. Everyone comes in for a happy group huddle, and she is assured that she is far more than a machine and that humanity is what will keep her going in spite of the remaining virus. It’s a very soft and touching moment. 

Then Emerald has something to say. They’re wrong... about being in the same place they started yesterday. They’ve made progress even though they can’t quite see it right now. They’ve taken some hits, and she admits some of that has been her fault, but that’s war so you gotta roll with the punches and fight on. She just really won’t like it if they give up the moment she decides she’ll fight by their side, okay?! It’s not like she likes these friendly, kind, understanding and emotionally complex fellow teens that are willing to take her in, baka!!! Oscar points out that she’s admitted she wants to stay with them and they all have a happy laugh realizing she’s got a softer side after all. Oscar helps her back to her feet, then addresses the group. Ozpin has some things he wants to say to them all, if they’re willing to hear it. They all share a look and decide that yes, they will listen. Oz comes forth and immediately launches into a speech about a fairy tale. Typical. We can presume these are further details about “The Girl who Fell Through the World”, and he says that girl took her grand trip to run away from consequences of a choice she has to make. But her problems only grow because the initial issue was never resolved. That’s the very thing he’s done here, his problem being the consequences of the truth and his past coming to light. He regrets not trusting them with the whole story and he regrets retreating into Oscar’s mind when he was found out. The group decides they understand where he was coming from a bit since in that interim they had to make some impossible choices about trust too. Trusting in someone is a risk, and they decide they’ll take that risk on him one more time. From the look of things, that second chance is going to Emerald too, and I hope she makes them proud. Penny winces again and it’s clear that one way or the other they will need to take her to the Vault. Ruby thinks on that for a second and realizes that’s actually worth a shot considering who they have at their disposal and the likelihood of it not going exactly how Ironwood thinks it will. To that end we see Ironwood down in the Vault receiving a call from Ruby saying Penny will be there. He sets the stipulation that Penny meet him at the entrance of the Academy and she has to come alone. I’m sure no green haired illusionist will play a hand in whether or not she really is alone... But either way there will be unexpected company because Watts hooked up a broken Scroll to the wiring of an Atlas robot to listen in on Ironwood’s call and know where the meeting will be. Neo arrives in the alley where the doctor and Cinder waiting, and it seems miss Fall has a scheme to get the ice cream psycho precisely what she’s demanding of them.

But what exactly these carefully laid plans will be has to wait a little while, cuz that’s the end for this week. Great job all around for this well balanced episode with many kinds of scenes and many ways to make my heart hurt...

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 21 (NSFW)

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Read chapter twenty (NSFW)

Title: A Physical Reminder

Words: 7800

Summary: It's decided: today is the worst day to have ever existed, and it just won't end.

Warnings: Dubcon, Ruined orgasm, Torture, Body Mod, Semi-graphic descriptions of violence

ST Rambles: I've had this chapter in the back of my head for literal months and to release it after so long, to have it real and written, feels kind of surreal. For about a month or so I've been referring to this chapter as The Horrible Thing on my tumblr. It intimidated me to write something like this.

[MASTERLIST]

Stark was the contrast from this trip on the Command Shuttle from the earlier one; there was a silent alarm coursing between all that remained boarded, those who were instructed to stay put and keep the ship running so a swift escape could be made if circumstances changed. Four stormtroopers and a stand-in pilot remained with you, two men standing guard inside, two stationed at the ramp out of sight, the pilot pressing a code of buttons you didn’t have the knowledge to care about.

Sounds of battle tore into the ship, the harsh knowledge that destruction was ripping through whatever planet you were on making your chest tighter with each unknown boom or crash. The surroundings were new, though, too much foliage and scenery visible through the crimson transparisteel to be mistaken as Jakku. Taking into consideration the wooziness you’d experienced per seeing this morning’s escapades, saliva vacating your mouth at the memory of the man painted in orange fatality, you figured it would be a smarter decision to stay strapped in. This kept you from seeing the demolition ringing around you, but through the fury pigment of the windshield you saw the raw reality of crashing structures and fleeing crowds. With every scream, not knowing if they were those of the enemy – though that word meant little, if anything, at this point, your greatest foe being your very own Supreme Leader – or not, you shuddered into yourself, eyes kept strictly on your shoes while you attempted to tune it all out.

As war raged on you found yourself, once again, with too much time. Too much solitude. There was barely an effort made to keep yourself from thinking of Kylo, conflicted further with each digital reminder that time was passing too quickly. The nap you’d been woken from twenty minutes ago felt like a waste of the valuable resource. Though you knew he would have left no matter if you’d rested or not, you still felt guilty in taking a moment of peace; today was your last day with him and Snoke’s grip frayed your nerves further with each second, turmoil pooling into frigid pits while you tried to make every moment count.

While Kylo was away you found yourself watching your radar, the tip of your right index finger caressing the delicate face, tracing gently over his whereabouts. In the face of losing him you’d taken a new liking to the tech, feeling an interconnectedness even when you couldn’t see him. In some way it was a reminder that you still had around fifteen hours before you’d lose him, a tangible symbol of your dwindling hope, each patterned flash between the hours and seconds working to dim your outlook.

Far away a cascade of blaster firings sounded, tongue locking between your teeth as you strayed from imagining the lives involved. Even surrounded by catastrophe one thought was coarse in its existence as you analyzed every interaction you’d shared with Kylo this morning; after he’d told you to get dressed and ready to go, you expected, however naïvely, that he’d wait for you to gather yourself. A part of you withered when you heard the elevator leave not a second after you’d crawled out from his covers. You knew he was unaware of how crippling time was right now, but the mindless act sunk into your bones, a sucker punch to your already fracturing heart.

“So you actually saw the escape?” One of the stormtroopers spoke, regarding the one opposite him. They had been speaking for a while but only now did their conversation interest you.

“Yeah.” the second white-armored guard shifted in his stance. Though you could only see his boots you knew that this gave him pride. “One second I was just manning my station and then this TIE goes off the rails, pulling on its docking chain like I’d never seen.

“And it’s been confirmed that Ren’s prisoner was the one who stole it?”

“Ha, yeah, but the real story is how he even got the chance.”

Another crash came, neither of them bothered by the flood of screams that followed it. “Wait, I think I heard something about this before we left for Takodana. It was a pilot right? The traitor?”

“No, man. It was one of us. A soldier. A brother. Sick isn’t it?”

“But if the traitor was one of our own… how’d they escape if neither knew how to pilot a TIE?”

“Well obviously one of them did or we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we?” The one being questioned was growing tired of it.

There was a short pause between the two, neither knowing whether to bother to continue the discussion. An influx of commotion came into hearing distance; grunts, explosions, and weaponry all creating a disjunct melody of mayhem while you remained the only passenger amongst the four to notice the rising urgency growing closer with each second.

“Yeah, well,” the first said, “at least we’re not in the mess, right? Better to man the ship than to be the one defending it?”

The second soldier was no longer enjoying the other’s company, tone becoming increasingly curt. “The Captain assigned me to Ren’s detail six weeks ago. Out of nowhere. To say I’d rather get shot at out there than ever have to babysit this ship again would be an understatement.”

“Hey! It’s not that-,”

The first soldier’s recoil was barred when familiar footfalls came into earshot, heavy boots falling against the thick metal of the on-ramp stealing his words and replacing them with an interrupting chaos. For the first time since watching him leave the ship you looked up from the floor, fully anticipating his fists to be in some entanglement of rage or stress. But they weren’t. Actually, his fists were nowhere to be found, his hands too busy holding the limp body of a tatter-wearing stranger. He stood at the threshold and regarded the pilot, your only focus keeping steady at the way his gloved fingers bit into her knee, an unfounded pang of hurt skipping into your pulse as you remembered he’d held you just the same only hours prior.

“Set course for Starkiller. Instruct complete retraction to all active units. We’re done here.” Kylo was all business; cold, corporate words to match his tone before he turned toward you.

This was something you’d never planned on; seeing him with another woman, no matter how rugged and grimy she appeared, brought conflicting emotions. On one hand your first inclination was to hate her, to assume she was the enemy and that she deserved what was coming to her, to see her in the worst light as a part of you still held a hopeless claim on her captor. The other part of your brain, arguably the more logical and caring portion, felt that same bit of ill-placed fear as you had for Dameron. The news that the prisoner had escaped had brought you a peace you shouldn’t have felt, one that would be noted as treasonous just as your fear for him had been earlier. Now, that fear refreshed itself as you caught view of the girl’s lifeless face, training taking over as you took two seconds to find her chest moving at a steady pace. She was breathing. She was alive in his arms, lips parted as unconsciousness draped over her.

The engines roared beneath your feet, pitching upwards as the final crowd of passengers flooded in behind your Commander, all of them racing to strap into the chairs lining the walls, the ramp ascending and sealing the ship before it latched with a click. Kylo made no such move, his stance staying put and steady as the ship rocketed into the bright sky, the Force keeping him upright during the propulsion. He stood analyzing you as you were him, his stare evident and concentrated through the helmet, the cowl adding another layer of mystique to his already intimidating appearance. Your attention had barely left the girl, an obvious effort to not feel the jealousy you knew he would sense burning beneath your skin while he observed you.

For some reason her presence irked you, dug claws into your restraint as you fought to control your emotions. It’s not like it would matter if she was anyone important to him anyway; in a few hours you wouldn’t be, so what purpose was there in hating her? What point was there to feeling anything for him anymore if it would all be worth less than nothing by the end of the day? There was none. No point or purpose to allow this stranger any influence over you. Although the longer you stared at her, examined her through the eyes of a person and not a nurse, you lost more and more resolve towards letting her presence get to you.

A madness rose just behind your eyes, not yet seeping into your demeanor but residing just enough to keep you from caring too much about her. It was not like you to wish harm on someone, and you weren’t entirely, but, in comparing your regard towards her to that which you had for Dameron, you found yourself simmering in a state of envy. Kylo had once called you a nobody, no matter how rooted in anger it had been, but for him to treat this person, this nobody, with the gentleness he’d only shared with you this morning? You wanted to scream, wanted to rip into him every ounce of petty rage the sight was causing you.

“Officer,” Kylo said, head tilting just enough to clue you in to the warning the notion was.

The Command Shuttle left the blue atmosphere and was once more swallowed by the black of space, stars zooming past as you finally looked into his visor. Under his stare you felt your shoulders relax, let yourself breathe as you caught onto the fact that you’d been displacing your anger on the innocent girl. What you felt while looking at her was jealousy, you couldn’t dismiss that fact, but while peering into his visor, feeling his eyes so intently on yours while he kept your gaze, you realized you only felt it because of the truth that awaited you in the pressing future.

You would never be held by him in such a way after today. Never again would you feel his arms around you. This envy was rooted in the fact that you had been her, but you would soon never have the chance. And in meeting him through the mask you dissolved the feeling. What a waste of the remaining time you had with him to care about someone so foreign and superficial to your life. He was here now, even if just to set eyes on, and you were determined to keep him from observing your spiraling any further before you had to drown him in it. Neither of you deserved to feel time’s bludgeoning presence, but you settled on bearing its weight yourself, sparing him until the final moment.

“Master,” you said back, head falling against the durasteel while you allowed one full sweep over his impossible frame, careful that no hidden heads were looking your way before permitting the faintest quirk of your lips. The gesture was for him, hoping he’d be thrown off the trail of your uproar of emotions even in the slightest way.

When the docking bay came into view, the floor growing closer as the ship settled into its landing, you found it difficult not to think about how different you’d felt when leaving here this morning. After receiving the alert for the departure you’d hurriedly gotten dressed while dreading coming into contact with Kylo again, settling on the fact that it would be easier to lose your trial than to live a life with him. Another twinge of regret wrapped your lungs in jagged constraints when thinking about the time you’d wasted, though you couldn’t have known then. There was so much misery twisted into you, anger you thought belonged to your Commander, rage you’d learned had nothing to do with him.

As the engines settled and the ramp descended once more, you watched distantly as blurry white figures moved about and away from the ship. In their vacating you knew that time was wearing on, felt it wrap tighter around your heart while you listened to the unmistakable footsteps of your Master wander off into the distance. Clasping your palm around your watch you kept yourself from checking, knowing it would only frighten you in its ever-passing reality. Time had become an overwhelming factor in your knowing Kylo; it was now a catalyst to both your introduction and your severance. However devastating, you still didn’t wish to take any of it back.

After undoing your safety harness and standing from your seat you went to exit the ship, your phone buzzing at your hip just as you stood centered under the threshold. It was Mason. Another reason for the current glut of guilt accumulating in your stomach. With an anchored lip, teeth threatening to draw blood, you accepted the call and all that it entailed, half-thankful for another opportunity to delay Snoke’s task.

“Mason, look, earlier… I wasn’t. I hadn’t. I just got back from—” slowing down and taking a breath, you searched for the right phrasing that would reveal just enough to quell his impending interrogation “—I’m sorry for my outburst earlier. I haven’t been having the best day. Work stuff, you know.”

“I do know, young officer.”

Frozen in place, blood turning to ice, your eyes fell from focus and you stumbled left towards the support of the hatch’s frame. The slithered, malicious tone was engrained into your soul, its sound now too familiar and fatal to be mistaken. Snoke sounded far away, voice too echoed for him to be holding whatever contact device he was using. Panic planted new thorns in your stomach at the realization that Snoke was calling from Mason’s phone.

“If he’s already dead you have nothing to bargain.”

A low roll of what sounded like tainted amusement rattled through the electronic frequency. “Don’t worry, here he is now.” A muffled shriek sent your hand away from your ear, agony ripping through Mason, his face vivid in memory of the first time you’d heard him like this.

“I haven’t gone against you!” Spit sprayed as you spoke through gnashed teeth, Mason’s cries turning into distant groans. “Let him go or the offer-,”

“The offer isn’t yours to bargain, stupid girl.”

“The stupid girl found a loophole in your plan, didn’t she?”

Another stream of cries filtered through the phone, hand clasping around the hard edges of the threshold. “For some reason I believed you held this physician to a higher esteem,” Mason pleaded your name in a thrashing tumble of suffering, “my mistake.”

Mason only grew louder as Snoke paused to let you hear him, to let you listen to your own doing. You knew what Snoke wanted and how to make him stop, your eyes closing in defeat while you swallowed what remained of your resolve.

“Tell me what you want, just stop hurting him.” Life left your voice, failure and shame prickling into your eyes.

“The only thing that’s changed is the timetable I offered. Your little stunt has worked against you.”

“When? How much time do I have?” A stray tear fled salty over your tongue, teeth trapping your quivering lip.

“You have exactly sixty minutes to keep your end of the deal. Consequently, that’s the same time your friend will cease to exist should you fail.” There was a cruel amount of pleasure and matter-of-factness coiled into the mention of your failure.

“I don’t know where he is, and I doubt he wants to be interrupted with whatever he’s doing.” The stranger’s face passed momentarily through your mind, imagining she had the same fate as the prisoner.

“For your friend’s sake, as you’ve offered no notion that you care for your own life, I suggest you find him.”

“You’re sick, you know that right? Doing this? Hurting him this way?” Your watch read a quarter till nine, steps leading you mindlessly down the ramp and into the bustling Elite center.

“Maybe. Though, I’m not the one hurting him, am I?”

Hauntingly low laughter overlapped with your frustrated growl, feet stomping in no particular direction as you scanned the room. “Fifty-nine minutes now, officer. I’ll be expecting your call, though I am sure I will know when you have completed your task.”

The call ended before you had the chance to scream at him, though it would’ve attracted more attention than you wanted right now. Shoving your phone back into your front pocket, the seams nearly busting at the force, you threaded both your hands into your hair, clutching at your scalp as you walked in circles in an aimless attempt to find Kylo, not remembering which direction he’d gone when he’d left the ship.

The only place it made sense for him to be would be in an interrogation room, but you didn’t know where those were on Starkiller. Anxiety rippled in hot waves down your spine, pulse quickening as you looked down to find you’d spent two minutes pacing about in indiscriminate paths.

Realization hit you. “Okay, I deserve to die for being this fucking stupid!” Holding your left wrist up you watched the radar grow and shrink in distance, making a few confusing laps until you found the direction which indicated you were heading in his direction. The watch had only been a hinderance until today, and you were finally using the advantage it offered.

Racing past the faceless soldiers, looking side to side as they observed you with confusion, you kept focus on the red radar, feet moving faster the closer you moved towards him, not paying attention to where your legs were leading you. A few stormtroopers tried to chastise you, yelling for your attention as you ran past them. But you could hardly hear them over your fumbling thoughts, trying to piece together a believable performance to try and convince Kylo you wanted to quit.

Every phrase that came to mind met you with a crippling sense of fraudulence. Your time with him this morning, the purposeful portion you’d taken to be with him before it was too late, was now backfiring. How could he believe something that would so blatantly sound like a lie? There could be no conviction when there was no truth to prove in the first place. Why had you done this? Even if he did believe you, you’d cause more pain than you intended just by allowing him to come so close to your heart, to see in your eyes and hear in your praises how much he meant to you.

He knew the real truth, felt it as your tears streaked down his back, though now you felt exceedingly grateful you hadn’t verbalized the depth of it. In all of this you had to remind yourself that you weren’t the villain, that you were protecting your friend and saving your career, but it was impossible to see it that way when guilt tugged at each stride. With each pace you questioned your speed, conflict obvious in understanding you were on a timer while also acknowledging you were running headfirst into heartbreak, catalyzing the inevitable with each new hallway you turned down.

This would be the worst thing you’d ever do, no matter if you died today or next week or in a hundred years. To hurt another person – chest tight when remembering you’d so often questioned Kylo’s humanity in the beginning – so entirely was in complete opposition with who you had become; your position was to heal him and provide a sense of safety to aid in that process. Now, as you started down a heavily populated hall with display screens mounted above each doorway, you found yourself running to do the exact opposite, racing to harm him and steal the security he’d entrusted you to offer.

Two stormtroopers stood guard at one of the doors to your right, blasters at the ready while their voices became clearer with each distance-stealing stride.

“Dude, I’m just saying it’s not that bad being assigned to Ren’s detail. Actually, I’m glad the other guy got booted, he seemed… off to me. Like he didn’t-,”

“Okay! I get it! I don’t want to hear about-,”

The two men stopped talking when your hands met your knees while you fought to catch your breath, sloppily checking your watch and finding you had fifty minutes before the clock ran out. Swallowing, gulping for air, you pleaded with them in harsh, simplified requests.

“Mas- Commander. Ren. Where. Now. Tell me.”

Coming up from your knees and wiping your forehead you saw them look at each other, considering you in the current state of chaos in which you resided. Staring between them and your watch, you grew impatient.

“Seriously. I need to speak with him. Now!” Desperation cracked your voice, heart torn between saving Mason or sparing Kylo, each holding an equal portion of it.

The first one, the talkative one, began to speak, his automated voice fading just as quickly as it had come before both of their heads turned to their lefts. They quickly stood to a higher degree of attention, the action bringing you a heady sense of déjà vu from graduation. Solace and suffering struck you as your pounding head stopped to listen for the approaching footsteps, contradiction dizzying you before you turned to face him.

He was still masked but the cowl was resting in a collection over his shoulders, hands relaxed at his sides as he stepped closer. You didn’t know what to say. Nothing came to mind as you stared pleadingly into his visor, wishing that somehow he could hear your thoughts instead of just feel your nerves.

“I need to-,”

“Speak with me. I heard.” His words were clipped, the stress of the day sinking into his tone.

“Okay, well I have to-,”

“You’ll have to wait, I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

The door between the soldiers hissed open before Kylo stepped to enter into the room, your heart heightening to an unimaginable pace as indecision and time stabbed into your lungs. A flash of time, a flicker of Mason’s face, an echo of his screams – all these things amplified in your mind in a split second. This was it. It was now or never. No more waiting, no more delays. Despite every effort, you had to accept the truth: Mason would die if you failed Snoke, but Kylo would live regardless.

“I quit.” Quick, short, and loud was the statement, tight fists balling at your hips while your eyes shut in defense.

The hall lulled in its buzz, voices hesitating as you felt the eyes of countless strangers fall on every part of you. To match their vacant voices was the sudden disappearance of any footsteps. In your purposeful blindness, you knew the words had stopped Kylo in his path.

Swallowing, taking a slow, superficial breath, you looked at him. His body was half turned toward you now, fingers flexing apart and then winding together. With every word you began to drive the knife deeper into his soul. The blade was double edged, though. “I ha… I have to quit. I’m quitting.”

The onlookers went back to their business after five silent seconds, their own worlds still spinning no matter if yours was soon to be thrown off its axis. Kylo turned so his whole body faced you now, slow, harrowing steps carrying him closer. The helmet at his shoulders was an eternal hinderance. Even when his face was visible you struggled to get a sense of what he was feeling. But you could only assume, could only anticipate, there was a new foundation of confusion or doubt moving the tiny muscles of his face.

“Officer, we will discuss your employment later. For now I advise you to return to your residence.”

“There is no later. I ha…” No matter how many times you attempted to say the three words, the second would always falter before completion. “I’m done. I’m quitting.” Your eyes hit the floor, reflection mocking you in your pitiful attempt towards conviction. “I quit.”

Kylo’s vocoder crackled out a huff of exasperation. His head turned to address the two men standing guard at the door, a hiss sounding as it latched shut again. “Remain here until I return. Update me if the Scavenger’s status changes.” His visor returned to you, staring for a moment too long before he walked past you with the silent expectation that you were to follow.

Passing down two more hallways, taking one left turn and a right, you grew in terror with every stride, noting the diminishing timeframe at your wrist every ten seconds. There were far less people in the first hall, and none in the second. A door came into view, its frame fortified and industrial, the display screen above it turned off – or dead, as the surroundings appeared to be that of a decommissioned sector. With a harsher than normal sound, it slid to the left to allow entry, Kylo stopping just before he entered to allow you past him. He was analyzing you, undoubtably, and you coveted his ability to keep his intentions hidden so well.

Soft, cautious steps filled the quiet of the dank room, the overhead light flickering when it came to life, a fluorescent buzz adding to the symphony of silence. In the center was the same apparatus that Dameron had been positioned on, this one much less agile looking, its fixtures outdated and dust-covered. Neglect was evident in the way the entrance shrieked shut at your back. With elbows bent and fingers locking together just below your ribs, you kept your face from him, keeping a watch on the time. You needed to do this, but how?

Kylo was a predator when he needed to be; watching he prey from a distance, keeping his steps light and thoughtful, getting just close enough so you weren’t entirely sure how near he was behind you. Though, currently, you felt more like the hunter; alone with him you waited to strike on an unsuspecting victim, not entirely planned or strategical, but nevertheless predacious.

He wasn’t talking. And you couldn’t bring yourself to say the horrible things Snoke had instructed. You were at a standstill, not knowing how to move next, not wanting to move at all. But you had to, you knew this; the absence of a path that offered peace for either party was the foundation for your hesitance. When you left here, the only person to benefit would be Mason; a third party you so desperately regretted roping into this.

His draught of words charged your nerves; he didn’t know what he was waiting to hear, he couldn’t know – that was the fact that made this all so terrible. The pain you were feeling was the same you were meant to poison him with; it was purposeful and calculated and cruel, just like its perpetrator. But you were the messenger, and to be killed would be preferred to the latter of delivering words you knew bore the explicit and extensive intention to harm their recipient.

“I quit.” No other words would form. None that wouldn’t sting anyway, so you just kept repeating the two, hoping you’d finally accept them or find some inkling of truth in their outward expression.

“I heard you the first three times. I just don’t know why you’d say it at all.”

He was asking for the falsehoods you were avoiding speaking, simultaneously stalling them and trying to gather the will to say them. This would hurt him no matter what. Time would only run out and harm both of the people you loved if you didn’t do this. Sparing one for the other felt hopeless. It was.

“I hate you.” Three flat syllables fell in pattern, their existence stoic and empty.

A static cloud of incredulous amusement left him. “No you don’t.”

Turning in sloth, you leveled your features, bluffed stoicism crowding your eyes in hopes it’d form your own mask. Unblinkingly you stared into his visor, trying not to bite at your cheek, hands coming down to relax at your sides. “Why wouldn’t I? I have every reason and right to.”

Leather squeaked out of sight; it appeared your façade was working. “Maybe you should. You don’t, though. You don’t even want to.”

“You can’t tell me what I feel. I hate you.” Each repetition was an attempt toward belief.

“Fine,” Kylo said, challenge evident in his tone while he took a step forward, your ankles catching on the bottom of the angled table. “The least you could do is try and prove it, as it is nowhere to be found in either your words or your presence.”

“I don’t have to prove anything.” There was an arsenal you could draw from, weaponized sentences that would floor him, that you knew could convince him. All of it had been true, or remains true, but you didn’t want to use any of it. He didn’t deserve this at all. It was excruciatingly unfair.

“You aren’t ignorant to the fact I can feel everything you do. Why are you lying to me?” He was growing increasingly frustrated.

“What would I gain from lying to you, Kylo?” Only the life of your closest friend, but that’s all. “Have you considered I’m just now telling you the full truth?”

“I don’t consider absurdity,” your name gritted through the vocoder.

“What is so absurd about me hating you?” Shifting barely, you grappled for the wrist restraints for support, steadying yourself, looking up to him through two masks, only one hidden. “You’ve only ever hurt me. The only nice thing you’ve ever done for me is have that termination notice signed and ready to go.” Each word was a dagger to your own heart, no matter if he was convinced yet.

A pointed indication that your coaxing was working, however ashamedly, was obvious in his statuesque stature. Kylo was crowding you, your chin grazing his chest with each brusque breath he took. This was torture; this was true agony, wrathful and writhing as it thrashed against your soul.

Everything in you was adamant in its desire for him to keep his face hidden; the last thing you wanted was to see his expression right now, to watch all you’d built with him tear down in seconds.

“I signed that as a requisite to your assignment. Should it have been necessary it would’ve been available for your immediate termination.”

“My immediate termination,” you recoiled, taking in stride his answers to avoid hurting him. Angering him was an easier route. “Ever since the beginning you’ve doubted me, I swear.”

“It’s never been necessary!” He was beginning to believe you. In your chest you felt your heart splinter.

He took another step forward, bumping you back onto the table, feet catching on the ledge as two metal restraints came over your ankles, eyes wide and flat while you drowned in the immensity of his presence.

“What? Are you gonna hurt me again? Strap me in and torture me because I don’t want to be here anymore? That will only make me hate you more, Kylo.” You swallowed, locking your tongue to the roof of your mouth to keep your chin from betraying your true feelings.

“You don’t hate me!”

“Yes I do!”

In a storm of black, his arms flung upward and tore the helmet from his head, throwing it so it crashed with a riot of fury against the wall, a dent no doubt left in its wake. Two gloved hands came warm and quick over your cheeks, pulling you into his face and drawing you to his lips. There was need obvious in his attack, his fingers quite literally locking you to him. He caught you off guard, your mouth moaning with his same fervor in the first half second of connection. But you couldn’t do this, allowing it would only cause him more pain.

“Kylo, no,” your hands twisted bruises into his wrists while you tried to pull him away, trying and failing to ignore the etherealness his touch inspired. “We can’t- I can’t do this anymore.”

“Why not?” His body pressed into yours, the angle of the table allowing you to feel his weight, relish in his size. He wasn’t listening to your direction, completely lost to his own agenda to convince you of what you already knew.

“Because I don’t want to.” He felt so good, home and comfort blatant in the effort it took to pull away.

“Really?” One of his hands clutched into your hair while the other raced to lift your skirt, dipping into your panties and pushing two fingers into your slit with ease. “You’re lying!” He growled, his hand’s presence forcing another moan, pleasure twisted in your core when an accidental buck dragged his fingers closer to your entrance.

“You disgust me!” Insults were your next line of defense, petty and pointless as they were.

Kylo grunted, the seams of his gloves teasing your core. “I disgust you, huh?” The thick digits hooked into you, a shudder of breath coming with their arrival. “Is it how I can make you cum harder than anyone you’ve ever been with?” The firm pad of his thumb found your clit, raised and ready, and he began winding into it, bolts of seething joy igniting as he brushed over it repeatedly. “Disgusting how you’ve never wanted anything more than this—” his tongue slid onto yours, nose panting gusts of lust onto your cheek while his fingers began pumping into you –” how you need it? Those were your words right? Earlier?”

He wasn’t fighting fair, and you supposed you weren’t either, but you were the one with the hidden agenda. Kylo was bearing it all while you worked to conceal the pain it brought you to tell him these things, the way every second brought you closer to saying the words you knew would tear through him just as they had done to you.

“You’re so fu-full of yourself—” your head glittered while you sunk into the grip of the climax you felt coming, teeth clamping together and blocking his tongue from yours. “How would you even know if you were the best I’ve had? Take a look in my head, I’m begging you to find you’re wrong!” It was a way of pleading for him to go digging so he could see Snoke, half hoping he could at all when you remembered Snoke’s act of torture when you first stepped before him.

Kylo had tunnel vision, lips pressing into your jaw when he couldn’t lust after your tongue, fingers working you faster, harder, knuckles skating in and out with a delicious friction. Release stuck in your throat and burgeoned in your belly, an unmistakable glow festering into fruition.

“Why should I waste my time when all I’d find is how you think endlessly about every encounter we’ve shared?” His cockiness almost brought a smile to your face, and you were sure he could feel that strike of glee that encouraged it. “You’re going to cum for me like the slut you are—” it was chaotic, the spiral of pleasure he was twisting into you, your nerves shining for him with every purposeful movement of his hand “—and then you’re going to go to your residence and wait for me—” a falter of reluctant, stifled groans fell unbidden from your agape mouth “—so when I get there I can give you the time needed to drill into you—” he sucked at your collar bone, canines biting into the taut skin and your back arched into him “—that I know you, I feel you, and you’re an awful. Fucking. Liar!”

Holding on by the last thread of resolve, you gasped and gulped. “You ruined my life.” He wasn’t going to allow you to do this without hurting him. “You nearly killed my friend. You took my free will.” All of this was forced through a tight jaw, your hands prying him from your neck so you could stare into him with the power you needed to strike him down.

Looking deep into his eyes, savagery etched into his visage, you brought his face closer so his nose nearly touched yours. Sweat was dripping down your forehead, slipping beneath your thighs on the now slick metal, your throat swallowing back spit while you sharpened the daggers you were about to send through him. Maybe not entirely conscious of it, his hand slowed, your release faltering and diminishing while you stared through him.

With the flattest possible expression, focus fuzzing purposely as to not see the damage you were about to cause, you held him entirely with just your eyes. There was something you couldn’t place just below the surface, its presence aching and sharp while you watched his lips attempt to mimic the stoicism of your own. Nearly imperceptibly, his chin was quaking; unsure if it was from a stressed jaw or from that sharp emotion stabbing into you, your blurred vision caught the red face of your watch in its periphery. Time was draining. This was it.

“Kylo,” you began, your other hand reaching to clasp around his forearm, knowing hearing his name would make the cut deeper. Permanent. “There is nothing you can do, or say, or force that will ever change the fact that I hate your very existence.” You swallowed, hoping your fear felt more like rage. “Everything you do – killing innocents, hurting the people I love, stealing my free will – and everything you are is a wretched scar on my life.”

Every single sentence went right through his back and stabbed through to your heart. It was miraculous, yet disturbing, how your voice had fallen into winter so easily. Guilt broke past the levy of your soul, heart turning to ash while you observed every bit of light fade from his eyes. “I said earlier I wouldn’t forgive you. That was the lie. I can’t.” Maybe the tears forming would be masked by the sweat he’d inspired.

The next words would be the harshest, the conclusion to everything. He’d called you on it earlier, but now it would be agonizingly true: you were lying to him. “Ever since you came into my life, every day I have wished, hoped, begged that I never met you. Pleaded that the infamous Kylo Ren was a stranger, and I suppose I partially got what I wanted. You have never been more of a stranger than right now.” Another break before your final statement shattered all you’d come to know for the past three months. This would be the act to secure Mason’s life.

Dropping your hands from his neck and forearm, he remained in place, his own hand having left you completely now, his eyes nearing the vacancy of his touch. With a whisper, you completed your task. “You are an irredeemable bastard, Commander Ren, and I want nothing more than to forget you exist.”

Hollow were the eyes which mirrored each other, emptiness enveloping him just as it had you. A transaction of turmoil. An exchange of hearts as Kylo’s had stopped while Mason’s would beat on. Through two razed pupils you felt his soul shrink into him, saw the man you loved shatter into dust.

Nothingness equipped him with a lifeless gaze, a flat voice, and a crushing shadow of decimation. “I trusted you.”

And to tie it all up with a gnarled, muddied, tattered bow. “I never asked you to.”

The walls you’d just laid foundation for were audible in their construction, flagrant over his face as he backed away, eyes proximal in the physical sense yet entirely distant in their expression. You didn’t know what to do, unsure if to leave him here or to wait for him to leave first. Venom burned at the ashes in your chest, starving you of air and shattering your temporary mask with each dead measure of time.

Pushing up from the metal, you looked down to your ankles, still bound to the table as you were in shame. There were no words you could think to say, nothing you could do to remedy this level of severity. In the second you’d stolen to look down, Kylo Ren’s eyes had returned to that of the person you’d met the time he’d taken your will. It chilled you, and while watching him, forgetting to move, you found you no longer could.

All at once your head crashed back into the metal, your arms flew outward, and every restraint – a pummel of metal over your forehead, a bite into your wrists, and a reinforcing clobber over your ankles – latched with a shroud of metallic shrieks. Along with the physical detention, a familiar, compressing weight came to reside over your chest, every breath you took barely life sustaining.

“You can leave here. You can quit—” stalking steps approached, eyes peering around to find him in your periphery “—but you will never forget me.” Kylo Ren loomed over you now, death salient in his eyes. “I won’t allow it.”

The white stone of his face drowned in a haze of brilliant red, the familiar frequency stunning your ears and stabbing your skin with the rippling rage its presence promised. Parted lips permitted a tired wince, desolate eyes staring into your own, skipping down your chest, and landing on a region unknown to you.

“Let this serve as a physical reminder of all you’ve vocalized here.”

Blinded in silent fury, his visage remained vacant. Out of sight, a gloved hand smoothed your skirt onto your abdomen, an emblazoned heat quickly replacing it with burning wrath. Bile rose in your throat, your eyes clasping shut in defense; no matter if you couldn’t see, the darkness offered by lidded eyes worked to take you from reality, knowing there was nothing you could do or say or scream that would convince the sadistic stranger to spare you.

Accepting fate, you shredded your teeth into your lips, staggering broken wails through a muting muzzel as the plasma blade made first contact with the skin of your upper left thigh. Sweat beaded as more muted shrieks shattered in your throat, the weapon passing down once and lifting. In the time it was away from your skin, not ripping into you with the deflected pain of its brandisher, you took in a series of deep breaths and lifted your lids. The Kylo you loved was nowhere to be found, and you knew and accepted that he never would be again, watching him concentrate with a creased brow just as the plasma bit another line, seemingly perpendicular to the first. There was no reaction to your hummed howls, still not allowing yourself to scream your pain into existence, not ready to accept why when his face peered back up to yours.

The absence of the chrome-slat helmet disadvantaged him in no way; the devoid person who had earlier removed it had formed a new mask, one fueled by the frenzy you’d fabricated from phony truths and forced rejection. Looking between your eyes, a stranded soul stared down to you as one more burning strike lit into your skin, a mirror of the second as it dragged down just slightly from its starting point.

A suggestion of a snarl bit at his upper lip as his face returned to its original state of smooth, flecked marble. The restraints unlocked and sheathed themselves back into their original hidden state, the exit opening behind his shoulder. “Leave.”

Fire pooled in your leg, chin trembling while absorbing every inclination to express the suffering that singed into you. With heaving breaths you smelled your injured flesh, nauseated and dizzy thinking about the pattern he’d etched. You didn’t want to scream at him, didn’t feel like saying anything at all, really. There was something shameful barring you from expressing any, or any more, cruelty toward him, keeping you from hating him for the hurt he’d wrought.

No verbalized goodbye would ever be enough to undo what had gone on in this room. Gingerly, you stepped off from the apparatus with the unaffected leg, dragging your shoe from the ledge until it fell flat next to the other. Swallowing, you pulled your bottom lip into your mouth, taking one final look at the mess you’d made, shuddering away before he could see the tears stinging to life. In an effort to keep from stressing the muscle beneath the branded tissue, not taking a moment to examine it yet, you kept the injured leg tensed, hobbling into the hall and away from Kylo Ren.

When you took your final step out of the second hall he’d led you down, you hopped against the wall, finding you’d met your timeframe. Ten minutes remained. A cruel thought of overachievement panged at your temple as you reached for your phone, panting through heavy, hot streams of hurt.

The line barely finished the first ring, your mouth starting a sentence only to be interrupted by the sinister slithering of Snoke’s cadence. “You’ve proven more honorable than I previously credited you for, young officer.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, well. Always the charmer, aren’t you?”

“Mason. Where is he?”

“I’m a man of my word,” Snoke said, an obvious twisted grin in his words. “When I felt the death of your connection – which, I am truly impressed at how completely eviscerated it is – I dismissed the Physician. I have no use for him if he’s dead, after all.”

The most insignificant spark of relief lit and died in the same breath. “The deal, then? My trial?”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

“No. No! You promise me or i-,”

“A pleasure doing business with you, miss,” the way he swirled around your last name made you want to erase it entirely.

The line went dead, your screen went black, and your blood turned cold. With a jolt of unadulterated and uncontained wrath – for yourself, for Snoke, for all of it – you chucked the device into the floor. Not checking if the screen had already cracked, you stomped on it once, twice, three, four times as a collection of the screams you’d accumulated grated against your throat.

Only when you stumbled against the wall, your leg stinging against its injury, did you stop your tantrum. Maybe tantrum was the wrong word. This display of frustration had been earned and was not that of an errant child who couldn’t have her way. Though, you didn’t get what you wanted, and you knew you never could the second you stepped into that room.

With this knowledge and an unsteady gait, you stuck close to the walls while you began your venture back to your residence. With each step you shattered more, a trail of broken hopes and severed ties following in your path, a shadow of their own looming from the depths of the disheartened soul it sprung from.

[steve0discusses]

The Live Action Fullmetal Alchemist Movie Part 6: Let’s Kill Hughes

Hey guys, I’ve been having some issues with the blog not...updating my drafts. So in case you’re wondering, that’s where I disappeared to. Give a round of applause to the support team for finding a solution until it gets fixed but as of right now I’m on like a private window with my extensions turned off and writing this from both tumblr and a LibreOffice document. Hello ads, nice to see you back.

Last we left off, we were a hop and skip away to lab 5. In the anime, this was a sequence where there was a bunch of fighting with suits of armor, and they kept that in this movie, but...not the people you think would be fighting are going to be fighting.

Listen I’m not like super knowledgeable about the world of Matte painting, but I like that they’ve unintentionally made this world building where whoever is in charge of making these red bricks basically owns everyone’s nuts. Everything is made out of the same red bricks. Like I know this is a show about homunculi ruling the world but I feel like the red brick guy is hellllllla more egregious. Freakin Monsanto over here.

I assume they had a 3d model and was like “we can just keep using it” and damn, they sure did. And inside of this brick building is, unsurprisingly a lot more red brick (although I think this is partially, if not entirely, an actual real life set.)

This next part is...such a lesson in pacing. Not necessarily a lesson to follow, but definitely a lesson to learn from maybe their non-example.

(watch Hughes die under the cut)

And what’s interesting is that there were a lot of good lines in this upcoming segment. There were a lot of good moments—bu there’s just so many. Maybe too many. You gotta prune your script occasionally, it’s like a tomato plant.

Like I’ve been doing a stress garden to cope with quarantine and Covid and 3+ months of life endangering wildfires, and I learned that you gotta prune the sucker vines off your tomatoes, although sucker vines can also make tomatoes. It sucks to do because I love tomatoes, and I want as many tomatoes as possible, but when you prune the plant, you get bigger better tomatoes that are more worthwhile than the suckers that can infect your plant and make it really sick.

Sorry that made me sound like 5000 years old with that gardening analogy. If you need me to solve your small town murder mysteries, I’m ready.

So it’s like...kind of tragic that it came together as kind of nonsensical when you can tell that it’s so close to being something better.

Like we have some reason up to this point to believe that Ed would have a freak out here...but like...a sobbing on the floor screaming at the walls type of freak out? Was there enough time devoted to this blow up, or did he walk into this room and immediately start screaming? Because he sure did walk immediately into this room and start screeching like a broken bird.

Like last recap, which was about 2 minutes ago in screentime, was this fun and quirky montage with Hughes. Now we’re sobbing into this rusty factory.

And I know what’s going on because I’ve seen the anime, but if you haven’t seen it—would this emotional break down make any sense? We were told by Dr Marcoh, “check out lab 5,” but we were only going to this factory on kind of a wish and a prayer. I really wonder if people who don’t know this show could follow past this point.

And then while we’re still adjusting to “yo, Ed just took it from a 2 to a 10 like immediately” Al is like “Hey I noticed no one is paying attention to me, and I have to lay a wicked fart:”

and then both brother’s just have a freak out. Gotta all be freaking out in this random ass Unity asset that was probably also used for some college grad’s first battle royale.

Pacing is just everything. And what’s SO HARD about Full Metal Alchemist is that there really is a lot of content to cover, there’s a lot of emotions to go through, and when you only have about 7 minutes to cover what was about 3-4 episodes, if I remember correctly, it’s kind of a zany mess.

And if you were going into this movie hoping they wouldn’t illustrate Al as a large idiot baby, then you share the sentiments of most people who saw this movie. Al is like...kind of reduced to a whiny big baby and is...not cute. Like Al is low key kind of menacing throughout this movie, not just because he has this CGI armor thing going on, but also because Al is...so impressionable and unhinged.

Something that I didn’t appreciate enough when I watched the anime was just how important Barry the Chopper was for Al’s logical character development.

Yo...These bangs…

...I’ve realized that every show I recap here just has the worst hair styles. I honestly never thought much about hair at all until I watched like 200 hours of Yugioh and all of this movie and also 6 seasons of Once Upon a Time which featured some LOOKS (but only recapped like 3 episodes, sorry if I got some of y’all excited. That was when we had no reason to cap everything because the capping community for Once was very alive and very exciting.)

By hitting him with a wrench (Al does not feel pain, ps, so he doesn’t need to be hunched over like this) Winry reminds Al that Ed would not risk his life for a fake brother (which may be a line from the anime or the manga but I don’t remember) and crying just...a lot.

Like it felt as if she had to shoot all of this out of order. Same with Ed’s freak out here. Movie’s aren’t really shot in succession and it’s up to the director to make it feel coherent and logical...this felt scattered, like the actors really didn’t know what was happening in the scenes leading up to it so they just cranked it to 11.

And then I guess Ed was either so insulted that Al punched him or was so upset that Al made Winry cry (again, this movie really tries to sell the EdxWinry ship and from me that’s a really big compliment), that Ed just started laying punches to extend a fight scene that was kind over before it started.

But symbolically there is a lot nice things going on here, Ed only uses his fleshy hand so he bleeds all over Al, hurting himself as much he’s hurting his brother. Implying more than just this fight, but suggesting that their whole journey of trying to find this sorcerer’s stone is just going to hurt both of them in their quest to save the other.

And then Al says something along the line of “it hurts!” to infer that he’s got this broken heart which is when they both finally just freakin stop.

Such a shame the pacing, which was a mix of too quick, and too many tomatoes, kind of made it hella blindsiding.

Again this was so many episodes of FMA and they stuffed it into so few minutes, it’s wild.

Especially since Ed is like...he’s cast as an adult! He’s an adult! At no point in the movie so far have they called him a kid, and they’re not pretending that he is one. But like...he acts like such a child because in the original, he was one. And, while this movie steps so far away from the source material, if should have committed and either stepped completely away or committed completely. Of course “should” is one of those things where we’ll just never know. A wish into the ether of hindsight being 20/20.

But lets get to the thing that you all came here for. This is where this movie gets BONKERS:

So Hughes actually draws out a pentagram between the different places in Armestrias, including Ishvaal, leading us to think that he’s figured out the whole dealio of turning the country into an alchemy circle. But, for some reason only helps him find the real lab 5.

It didn’t...that’s a different thing.

And it has been a long time since I’ve seen the ending of this movie—and maybe it was so offhand that I forgot if they actually do bring up turning the country into an alchemy circle--watch me eat my words, it could happen—but yo, we are finally killing Hughes—but we’re over halfway through this movie. And you may wonder...so uh...what...then what could possibly happen? There’s too much anime left!

Now I’m glad they kept this scene really close to the anime, although I haven’t watched the anime in a hot minute. It’s kind of an iconic scene so you don’t forget.

Like I do genuinely enjoy the campy parts where they were bringing up some of my favorite nostalgia of the original.

and then when you are like “ah, this is exactly the same as the anime. I can relax and watch as all my expectations are fully realized.” This twist happens.

YAH.

It’s a change!

So in the anime we had a really fun arc where we were trying to save Lieutenant Ross for being framed for killing Hughes. It’s probably my favorite part of Full Metal Alchemist, actually, it was so clever and a really thrilling chase. It was also like...half of season one.

Anyway, they cut it. They reduced half a season into 7 minutes. I know that, because each of these recaps is about 15 minutes of the movie.

You may look at this recap and be like “wait...this all happened in 15 minutes??” because yeah, this all happened in 15 minutes.

The same squad of people we see in every single scene of soldiers comes up to arrest Ed, which is weird, because I thought this band of soldiers was the military under Cl. Mustang’s command so like…shouldn’t they be arresting themselves? Mustang was over the command of more than 2 people. If we are suspicious of Mustang’s buddies then everyone in this movie would be in trouble.

And that’s when I realized that these guys were just unnamed soldiers and not a part of Mustang’s band. They only had like this many extras and just hoped we wouldn’t keep track of who is who, but I KNOW I’ve seen these guys this whole time. There are only like 6 people in this army. I see you movie magic—I see what you’re trying to do.

Anyway, Ed gets thrown into an old timey opera house that occasionally gets to be used for Middle School graduations. Or maybe also a mortuary where they charge you for funerals.

Like I know it’s supposed to be the capital building but like...this looks so weird when it’s live action. I remember the anime had this kinda feel to it but in live action it’s like…

...this is a weird ass capital building…Why do they have curtains like a Granny Holiday Inn in Reno, Nevada?

Thankfully, Hawkeye is here to explain to Ed what just happened because we, the movie viewers, were kind of surprised by that plot twist.

Like there were many ways you can condense half a season into 15 minutes, and I dunno if I would have just changed the murderer. It is a solution you can do. You can just point blame on Mustang and skip that whole Ross segment but like….

…then why write the movie?

Obviously, they had to make the movie, it had already been funded, people were really excited about the idea, and I do not envy the people that had to hack and slash with the Full Metal Alchemist script, but it is interesting what they decided was important to the original content, and what was unimportant. All that stuff that showed how Mustang was brilliant and two steps ahead of everyone else? Unimportant. All that stuff we had that showed how Mustang cares a lot about protecting other people and also cares about Ed and Al? Unimportant.

It really changes the dynamic, and it’s kind of fascinating to go into this cold because it’s been like...a year for me since I’ve watched it...and just see how different everything is without all those supporting characters that when I watched the anime I just assumed were mostly useless (Though fun). Turns out they all had a pretty significant part of making me care about Ed, about Mustang, about Al, about all my main characters.

FMA is very character driven, and this movie is mostly just...plot driven.  There’s kind of a great debate in literature about plot driven vs character driven. Movies and TV tend to be very plot driven, because they are very expensive to make, so they follow pre-formatted plot beats like “Save the Cat” or “The Heroes Journey” and other ones (there’s several to choose from).

They’ve made a fine science out of at what point a TV show should introduce the main, at what point they should suffer doubt, at what point they should shun their hero’s journey, etc etc. They know it down to the page number of the scripts they are writing. I know this, because it’s readily available on the internet and people fight about it all the time. This is why a show may suffer developing a character—because they just don’t have time and they just don’t have the resources to do something out of the box. Movies doubly so, because every minute of film can cost thousands of dollars.

What’s interesting about this is that FMA, the original FMA, does follow these beats. It was a manga sold by a huge publisher so it had to follow those beats. But, it has managed to do it while still being character driven. Yo, that’s so hard to do. This story was already written to be hyper condensed and structured when it was made into a Manga, and then it was condensed again for an anime, and then it was condensed yet again for this movie. It’s like a game of telephone, and at one end you have a very character driven story, and then at the other, it’s just totally plot.

Like it’s just a really huge risk to take. This was really, really risky.

PS did you miss Shou? Did you think we’d be done with Shou Tucker? No. Because this movie is gonna end at some point and rather than introduce other people...we’re just gonna stick with Shou and only have one miniboss.

(It has a freakin radiator in it?)

So then this next part happens and it’s low key hilarious.

The whole time.

Mustang and Hawkeye knew what lab 5 was this entire time but Ed just never asked for some reason despite working with those two for what is inferred to be YEARS since his childhood.

Hey PS, did you miss that brick building? Because it’s back.

Anyway, Mustang decides to take this underground where we can recycle the tech crew posing as extras that we used in the shot above us. Would not be surprised if a few of these are someone’s husband or wife on set.

Usually when I watch a movie I don’t get this feeling so much. But this movie...the latter half is like...EMPTY.

...this is going to be all movies made during Covid, I just realized…

Mustang is stopped by an angry Lieutenant Ross, and then we get this series of events.

And when you’re like “...Sorry?” Mustang’s like “I can make it weirder.”

And he just, without any warning or anything, lights Lieutenant Ross on fire. Multiple times, and it’s pretty intense and everyone who’s holding a gun just watches it happen is like…

...well I guess it’s too late to just shoot the guy...

…and like do you seriously not carry around a fire extinguisher when you are trying to manhunt Mustang? This is the one guy you want to wear fireproof clothes around. You have the technology. You at least have the technology for buckets of water. Like no one want to throw a blanket on her?

Just want to...watch? I guess?

Mustang just looks like a nut from this series of events instead of a genius--which is what I think they were originally going for. The pacing does that, youknow? Pacing.

And, out of the corpse pile stands Envy.

Envy has a pretty good look, I appreciated his whole look and that unlike the anime where you only find out Envy is a guy because someone told you on a forum somewhere and you were like “wait WHAT?” the movie is live action so you won’t make that mistake and embarrass yourself online.

Ed has only ever seen Lust once, and she walked in from off screen, stabbed a guy, and walked off. He’s just like...having a time because he’s done zero research into homunculi, and really, at no point in this movie are we going to give him time to figure it out.

Also, there’s this shot where Lust and Gluttony just walk in from behind them in the tunnel and it’s like…

….so no one noticed these two just hanging out back there?

It’s so freakin funny. This movie is gold. I love it.

Now If you just got here, this is a link to read all these recaps in chrono order:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/fma/chrono

Have a good one, and stay safe! 2021 has been...weird nuts...and it’s still January somehow??? Weird times. Overall, please stay safe, it’s weird out there.

Also, if you’re like “I don’t remember this scene actually” here’s the original Hughes dies scene that inspired the movie (since the movie definitely was like “we’re only going inspired for this one nerds, get mad”)--some shots were inspired cut for cut.

And obvi this is on Youtube so it’ll probably get taken down eventually, but that’s why it’s flipped.

[cryinginthebackseat]

i was your insomnia, i was your grief

Fandom: Bloodbound

Pairing: Gaius Augustine x MC

Words: 3,864

Summary: "Kill me, then,“ Gaius hissed through gritted teeth, without an ounce of kindness to it and it was kinda like a sucker punch to the face. “If that should satisfy you. You and I both know my soul is yours to take.” “Mine, huh? Not even God could take that luxury from me?” Amy bit off, wanting to test his reaction. Liking the way his brows furrowed further. “Aren’t you afraid of God, Gaius?” “No,” he said. A beat, then: “But I’m afraid of you.”

Warnings: SMUT, angst, swearing, all that jazz, SMUT

Author’s note: what’s up my fellow gaius stanners! so, after a careful reconsideration, mental debate and scouring through tumblr for the motivation, I finally decided to write this fic. I would like to give a massive shoutout to @theclownandtheflame​ because of their brilliant, brilliant fic Victim, Victim, Monster it inspired me to write a Gaius x MC fic too, cause fuck the haters, alright? We should all be able to ship whoever the heck we want. And that’s the tea, as our great queen Sophie Turner would say. 

Anyway, enjoy. If you like it let me know, if you don’t let me know, and if you’re a Gaius hater, what in the sweet hell are you even doing here? 

“Our emotions Are only “incidents” In the effort to keep day and night together.” ― T.S. Eliot

She’d like to think it was the exhaustion that moved it; that choreographed her limbs, that whispered the words in her head, that betrayed her instincts, that rose the river in her head, when she, as if on strings, leaned in and kissed Gaius on the cheek.

Gaius, the bane of her existence, the sole perpetrator that nearly brought the world to its knees, the man who raised a sword and killed her, thus the repercussions that altered the course of her life forever and Amy fucking kissed his cheek. Calloused against her soft lips and oh so wrong.

Yes, she would blame it on her exhaustion from all the shit blitz she’d endured a few days back, but underneath, Amy knew it was all her.

When she pulled back, she was breathless, her lips lingered there for a fleeting moment. Her cheeks a few shades darker than she expected. Gaius barely moved a muscle, sitting like a gargoyle, his jaw hung open. He looked at her lips first, then her eyes as if she was the world’s greatest enigma, as if she had stabbed him in the heart. 

“Why?”

Amy wished Gaius hadn’t asked that because she knew that he knew she had no answer to it. Or perhaps she did, but there was no point in letting him know, was it? So she looked the other way, embarrassed, indignant, frowning like a crescent moon in reverse. 

She inhaled deeply, his scent involuntarily worked its way through her nostrils. “Because I wanted to.”

“But why?” He asked again, more insistent this time. Confusion was apparent in his voice. She wished he would stop using that word.

Amy craned her head back to meet his, under the moonlight his eyes reminded her of the Arctic ocean, pale and cold, depthless. One wrong step and she would drown. 

“I don’t know, Gaius,” she murmured, honest, her fingers still clasping around his like knots. Amy thought if she held onto him a little longer, she’d wake up from whatever realm she was in and found herself tucked neatly in her bed. “I don’t know.”

What was right, what was real, those lines blurred the moment she became a vampire. And it was all his fault. Everything was his fault and she hated him for it, with every fiber of her being. God, Jax was right, they didn’t need him anymore, especially now that they had the weapon that could secure their triumph. She might as well kill him tonight and be done with it, get the revenge she’d deserved, bring her mind the peace it’s yearned.

But then she felt Gaius gently tipped her chin up, an indescribable look on his face that slightly unnerved her. His eyes once again, as if by mistake or design, found her mouth first then her eyes and she mentally berated herself for being such a fool.

“You need to be more careful where you tread, dearest one,” he said, his voice low, his thumb smoothed down the curve of her throat and her pulse immediately leapt. “Be careful, or there will be repercussions.”

“Is that a warning or a threat?”

“Once upon a time, it would have been the latter, but now…”

“But how? You don’t even know yourself anymore.”

Something dark passed Gaius’ eyes, akin to anger, hurt, betrayal, yet she held her ground. 

Eventually, he withdrew his hand from her. Amy, as fast as the lightning scrambled up to her feet. It was a mistake comforting him. Being near him was bad enough to mess up her brain and she couldn’t have that, especially during times like these. 

Yet Amy only stood there, watching as Gaius followed suit, but instead heading toward the railings and nested his elbows there, a hand running through his dark locks, an attempt to calm the storm within him. 

“Sorry,” she said quietly, not sure if he’d heard her, not sure why she apologized. Not sure if she should go and leave him to himself. “Sorry. I-” but she didn’t know what else to say.

Gaius shot her a look over his shoulder, once upon a time– he was right, once upon a time Amy would have stood stock-still at the way he gazed at her right now. But the Gaius before her was not the same man that killed her, that burned and destroyed New York with just a touch of his power. This was a different man, but with the same visage of the man who once hurt her. A different side of the coin.

“What is it that you want from me, Amy?” Gaius hissed, caustic as he unbent himself from the railings. Facing her once more. “Would it satisfy you if you were to kill me tonight, the way I did to you?” He stepped towards her. “Would it give you great joy if you could dissect my brains out like a lab rat and study what lies beneath the violence and decisions?” Another step. “Or will you, Bloodkeeper, exploit me the way she did? Mold me into something I’m not and use me for your own means?”

“No.” I’m not her, what she meant to say. But her answer somehow didn’t satisfy Gaius the slightest bit.

“Then what do you want from me? You comforted me and kissed my cheek, yet you smote me with your words. Was all the niceties just an act then? Not that I deserve any of it, but was it?” The anger had subsided, replaced by something broken, his voice cracking. He sounded so desperate and it gave Amy’s heart an unexpected twist. 

“No. No, it’s not.”

“Then why?”

“Because you confuse me!” She blurted out, her facade finally cracked and in front of him of all people, no less. “I know you, Gaius Augustine, or at least knew. You are the man who murdered me cold-blooded, who scarred me and my friends for life, who did terrible, terrible things in the past, but then…” Amy wrapped her arms around her midsection as if it was mid-December in New York. 

“Then when I got into your head, everything I knew about you somehow meant nothing. Those violence, those-those stories I’ve heard about you. Nothing. I know you, yet at the same time I don’t and I hate it. I hate it that I’m not in control-” she snapped her mouth close.

“Control of what?” Gaius asked tightly, genuinely confused. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She shook her head. “I- I mean-” Amy grit out, closed her mouth, groaned. “It’s-” she paused, gesticulated, seeking the right word. “Nothing. Just forget it.”

Amy didn’t dare to meet his eyes as she turned her back from Gaius, cheeks ever tinged crimson. Wanting to put as many distances as she could from him. 

But he stopped her, naturally, before she could go too far. His cold hand around her arm and spun her back to face him. He was close. Closer than they’d ever been together that Amy could almost make out her own reflection in her eyes. Hip lips dangerously close to her face, their noses almost touching and the tension immediately shifted, still dangerous but not in the cut-throat, stab-you-to-death kind that she knew so well. 

“Tell me,” Gaius whispered, on the verge of pleading. He was watching her carefully now, knowing that he was crossing the line, but so help him there were already plenty of lines they’d crossed tonight. 

This time, it was her mistake to stare at his lips. “I hate you,” Amy spat, but that was just one of the lies she told.

“I am aware.”

“I wish you weren’t here.” This too.

“Kill me, then,” Gaius hissed through gritted teeth, without an ounce of kindness to it and it was kinda like a sucker punch to the face. “If that should satisfy you. You and I both know my soul is yours to take.”

“Mine, huh? Not even God could take that luxury from me?” Amy bit off, wanting to test his reaction. Liking the way his brows furrowed further. “Aren’t you afraid of God, Gaius?”

“No,” he said. A beat, then: “But I’m afraid of you.”

His answer was unexpected and her scowl did soften, if only for a moment.

Though maybe once she had settled the score with Rheya, she would do it. If that was what he wanted, what everyone wanted.

But now, Amy’s mind was racing at a hundred miles per hour because she was losing all semblance of control, and she only trusted him to witness this side of her rather than anyone else; her eyes finding his lips again.

But the less he knew the better, and she thought let him be very afraid then.

“Good.“

Then Amy leaned in and kissed him. On the mouth.

She felt Gaius’ hesitation in the kiss, but it didn’t last long. Suddenly, Amy felt his mouth moving against her, his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her closer; hers, wrapped around his neck.

There was no exploration, no teasing, no tenderness in their kiss. He kissed her hot-blooded and raw, like millennia of pain and lust pouring out of his mouth and she gladly swallowed them all. Amy opened her mouth first, shoved her tongue against his first and heard him groan, felt him reciprocate. Making her head dizzy that she had to remind herself to breathe. He was never the one to back down from a challenge.  

Amy let out a startled gasp when he picked her up, her legs automatically wrapped around his waist as Gaius carried her toward her chamber like she weighed nothing. Not once they broke the kiss, even as they toppled down the mattress, as he wrapped his arm under her body and moved them further up the bed.

Gaius’ mouth unlatched from hers, his fangs were on full display, an unmistakable gleam of lust flashed over his features and began his journey down her jaw, her neck. The sharpest tips grazing her tender flesh, lingering over the pulse point of her carotid before putting pressure, enough to make her whimper but not to leave his mark on her. A shudder rippled up Amy’s spine. Her fingers digging into his dark locks, wanting to hurt him, to push him away, to bring him closer, to hear him groan. 

God, her head was a fucking mess. She was a fucking mess. To stoop this low and let Gaius, the man who’d murdered her once upon a dreary night, have his way with her. 

Perhaps she had gone bat-shit crazy from everything that had been happening, perhaps there was something in the water Kano gave her, perhaps it really was exhaustion clouding her mind, but whatever was this, this felt so unapologetically good in her head.

A strained moan involuntarily left her lips when she felt his hand snuck under her top, finding her nipple and gave it an experimental pinch. 

It was then when Amy channeled her vampiric strength and flipped their position. Wrenching a surprised look from his face, his eyes popped. Looking as if he’d never been outmuscled by the opposite sex before. She swung her leg over his torso, straddled him, liking the feeling of his hard curve better between her legs like this.

Amy ground down onto him, her mouth stretched into a dangerous smile as Gaius flopped his head back to the bed, groaning gutturally and bucked up against her in response. His hands gripping her hips, hot and tight. Even through the excessive layers of clothes, she could feel him, growing hard against her. Brushing onto her clothed sex just right, she bit her lip, muffling the moan that threatened to escape. Her back arched seductively while Gaius raced a hand from her throat down over her chest.

She batted it away and pinned both his hands above his head.

“No. Tonight is about me.” Her voice was deep and authoritative, breathing a little too loud than her liking. “Everything is on my terms tonight, you get me?”

“Very well, Your Highness,” he replied, but there was no trace of malice or snide like he usually did. His pupils were blown to hell, the light color of his eyes disappeared into a sliver.

Amy eyed him down, considering her next move. 

“Strip,” she commanded, watching as his eyes glint. He was going to enjoy this. Amy almost regret agreeing to do this in the first place.

Almost.

Once Amy let go of his hands, Gaius sat up, bringing her with him as she readjusted herself on his lap. He unfastened his ridiculous cape first, hurling it across the room without the slight care in the world before moving onto his ruff and suit. The whole time, his eyes never left hers and vice versa. 

By the time he was naked to the waist, Amy couldn’t help but stare. And the bastard caught it, eagle-eyed as ever, the right corner of his mouth curling up to a smirk. Fucker. But she opted to ignore him, brought her hand over his body instead, feeling his chest hitched. 

His chiseled muscles were almost statuesque, she had to admit. The battle scars were like stories waiting to be told, explored. It was sort of oddly intimate actually, seeing him like this, touching him as a lover would. Perhaps in another life, if he wasn’t what he was, if they weren’t what they were, she would have asked Gaius to recount one of them.

But not in this life.

Amy dropped her hand from him, pretending she hadn’t just admired his body like a thirsty ass vampire she was and cleared her throat.

“Pants,” she said. And Gaius obeyed once again. Sliding from the bed to stand as he worked on his trousers. A blush had risen to her face, but she forced herself not to look away. She wouldn’t be beaten on her own game.

Gaius dropped his shorts, kicked off his boots and he was naked before her. Standing tall and proud like a soldier he was. His mouth twitched but the rest of his face remained impassive, as if saying ‘do your worst’. This time, Amy allowed herself to openly stare at him. Assessing, and again, considering her next move. 

“Touch yourself.”

Gaius did a double take. “What?”

“Get on your knees and touch yourself.”

He did. Kneeling down before her like a man asking for penance before his God, his eyes glued on hers still as he ran his hand over his cock. 

Amy sat by the bed, cross-legged, licking her lower lip as she watched the show. A low grumble erupted from his throat, his gaze kept shifting between her body and her face, her thighs and her breasts. She exhaled shakily. Suddenly, the room felt thick, it was like trying to breathe in a room full of fire. 

The wet smack of his hand around his cock was enough to send her desire climbing through the roof. Her nipples grew hard under her tank top. Her hand travelled down between her legs, wondering what his reaction would be.

“Amy,” Gaius shamelessly groaned her name this time. His hand moving faster. His face contorted, visibly fighting for control.

He was close.

“Stop.” He did, panting and sweating as he did so. “Stand up.” He stood up, his arms on his side. “Now take off mine.”

He was all but pounced to the bed like an animal. Tearing her top off, pulling her pants and underwear down her smooth legs with a violent tug, Amy nearly yelped in surprise.

She was as naked as he was now. Gaius stared at Amy for a moment, drinking her in, his gaze darting up and down the curves of her soft figure. His eyes were heavily-lidded, and Amy felt a hot rush from the lewd expression on his face. He positioned himself on top of her once again, the veil of his sun-kissed brown strands falling around his face.

“What’s next, Your Highness?” Gaius asked lowly, his mouth nibbling her ear. “I await your command.”

“I-” Amy shut her eyes, shivered violently when his hardness nudged on her wet heat. “Fuck.” And slightly ground her hips against his. Her thoughts a chaotic jumble.

Amy felt him smiling against her collarbone, before closing his mouth over her nipple, sucking hard enough to sting, letting his fangs graze over the delicate skin. “Yes?”

“Shit,” she cursed again, head drooping backwards with a drawn out moan. She pushed his body off of her. “On your back.“ 

At the command, Gaius quickly rolled to the side, obedient as ever. Amy scrambled up, pushing him further until he was lying flat on the bed and settled her weight against him. Gasping whenever his tip brushed her clit.

One hand on his pecs, the other reached down and grabbed his cock. Wasting no time, no more teasing this time around as she positioned the head beneath her opening. Feeling him assisting before finally, she lowered herself in a strangled breath and fought the urge to moan his name.

So, this is how it felt, fucking the man that once brought so much destruction to the world and her own. Others might think this was her falling for the temptation, the manipulation Gaius pulled on her, losing the battle, but this was her winning the war. This was her turning the tables around them, showing them who was in control now. That she, of all people, could have the former King of Vampires knelt down before her and jerked himself off and deprived him of that pleasure just for the thrill of it.

And she was the Bloodkeeper for fuck’s sake. Probably the world’s only hope in achieving the impossible, for what’s it worth, she could fuck whoever she wanted. Let her have her moment, this one final hurrah before the shit show awaited her.

A sly arch of her back, lips dropping into a perfect circle, hips circling on his, Amy rode Gaius senselessly, bouncing and clawing at him until they left marks on his skin. Her sighs and moans intermingled with his every time she slammed her hips into his just right. He thrust upwards in time with her movements, his hands on her thighs, her hips, her breasts, her neck. All over her body. There was no inhibition now, only pleasure that drove them.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” At the increasing pitch of her voice, Gaius pulled her head down for a hungry kiss, instantly muffling her sound.

Soon, Amy began to feel her knees weakened, her movements became less rhythmic that she had to lean helplessly on his chest. Gaius noticed this, but instead thrust even faster. 

“F-flip me ove-” Amy hadn’t finished the sentence when Gaius spun her over onto her back. His left hand gripping her messy hair, his right one holding up her hips roughly, he re-entered her in a one hard, deep thrust that filled her. So powerful that she was shaken, knocking the wind out of her.

Setting a ruthless pace, he rammed himself into her. He was out of restraints, it seemed, and Amy was out of her fucking mind. Drowned in the euphoria that she didn’t realize she pulled him for another searing kiss. Grunting into her mouth, his fingers headed down over her lower abdomen and his thumb contacted her clit. Her body clenched around his cock. Her fingers dug deep into his shoulders, though the pain seemed to fire him up even more.

Then Gaius shifted the angle of his hips.

“Oh, G-god fuck!” she cried, uncertain of whether it was an unconscious attempt at calling his name or straight up blasphemy. She felt her release bubbling inside her the depth of her stomach. Her back arched.

When Amy came, Gaius dutifully put his hand over her mouth, muffling the scream that rose up from her throat. Her release also triggered Gaius’, as he suddenly went rigid above her, his thrusts became more irregular before pulling out and spilled his seeds on her thigh.

Amy was still trying to even her breath when she noticed Gaius left the bed. Disappearing into the dark corner of the room before the next thing she knew, he came back bringing a towel with him. Which was pretty considerate of him and since Gaius didn’t strike her as the type.

Her dumbfoundedness must have been apparent because the right corner of his mouth curled up into a smirk.

“If there’s one thing I learned from this ordeal, it’s that I have to start taking care of the messes I made,” he said as he handed the towel to her, an unexpected softness in his eyes.

Amy shakily propped herself up, looking down. There were bruises on her hips and his semen was dripping from her leg, creating a damp patch on the bed. 

“Thanks,” she said, then began to clean up the mess he left on her while feeling his eyes constantly roving around her figure. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but decided otherwise. 

Gaius left the bed once more and this time, she knew he was never coming back.

“You’re leaving?” Amy asked as he redressed himself, nearly smacked herself in the head at the tinge of disappointment in her voice.

“Yes,” he answered as he buttoned up his suit. “I have my own preparations to make for the battle.” Gaius knelt down to pick up his cape, dusted off unnecessarily and wore it back around his broad shoulders.

Amy could only watch him as he turned his back on her, heading toward the door. The afterglow had worn off when it was barely there. Feeling surprisingly… hollow.

She was the one who initiated this, but the gravity of the situation, of what they had done, was starting to weigh in. Not that she regretted a single second of it, but it was because she knew from this moment, she would never look at him the same way again. Not when she knew everything about him now- physically and mentally, and probably the only living person in this world who did. 

If he died, Gaius would be nothing but a story to be passed down to another generation of vampires after them, stories of his atrocities, of his mistreatment of the human race, of his manipulations. He would be condemned, shunned. Even after his death. Eventually, the name Gaius Augustine would slowly disappear with the wind and Amy couldn’t help but wonder what could have happened if Rheya hadn’t changed him. Would he have been hailed as a hero instead? Knowing his true nature, or would he even be here in the first place?

Gaius’ footsteps ceased, his hand hovering on the doorknob. 

“If we’d met in another life…” he uttered, uncertain whether he should continue or not. Still, his back on her. “I think things could have been different.”

Still, he could not be remedied or pitied. What he’d done was beyond forgiving, he still needed to be held accountable, but beneath his sins, he was just one man. A messed up, wicked and annoyingly powerful man who lost himself along the way. Who lost everything.

“Yeah. In another life.” And immortality never tasted this bitter.

[experimentalmadness]

The Invite

Please enjoy me going absolutely feral over my silly OC and writing pre-supervillain material of her and Harvey’s friendship. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have more coming. 

----

Jacky could feel Miri practically vibrating with excitement as she wheeled her from the car up the ramp to Wayne Manor. Normally Miri would never let anyone push her chair, but Jacky needed something to hold on to or she was going to be sick. 

The Ripley sisters, Gotham’s jumped-up gutter trash, standing at the entrance to Wayne Manor. This had to be the start of some sick joke. She just hoped they weren’t the punchline. Security made her sweat and she had to remind herself she wasn’t on a job, and no one here knew her. She fished for their invitations and smiled rigidly as it was scanned and they were escorted in. 

“It is so much more beautiful than I could have imagined! Ah, Jacky, take a picture, take a picture!” Miri urged. 

“They allow that in here?”

But of course she obliged, pulling out her phone to snap a few discrete shots of the two of them. A few well dressed guests gave them a look, Jacky forced down the urge to sucker punch them, wondering how many of the elite here tonight secretly owed money to Falcone or Moroni, and how many she’d see at the end of her gun another night. Thinking about work felt wrong...especially now. 

Jacky wheeled Miri down the long corridor, past the works of art hung up on the halls and the sculptures and casings in a place that felt more like a museum instead of one man’s house. Spilling out at the top of a grand foyer Miri gave an awed gasp while Jacky rolled her eyes. It was beautiful, stunning, actually. A band played while Gotham’s elite milled around delicately placed tables, danced on the cleared floor, or mingled out the veranda in the summer night. The floor to ceiling windows gave a pristine view of the immaculate gardens beyond where lights glowed, showing footpaths  and garden house where even at this distance she could see a few guests grabbing drinks. 

This was a mistake. They shouldn’t have agreed to this invitation. 

“How are we going to get down?” Jacky asked, observing staircases on either side of the balcony. 

“I believe I can assist with that,” a voice from behind offered.

Jacky turned, wheeling her sister as she moved. “Oh, my goodness!” Miri squeaked. “Mr. Wayne..I...I...you don’t need to trouble yourself.”

Bruce Wayne certainly lived up to the tabloid shots of him. He laughed at that. “Nonsense, you’re guests in my home, allow me to show you a little trick.” He gave a wink at Miri, and if her sister hadn’t been made of stronger stuff Jacky almost certainly would have thought she’d fall for him on the spot and then Lord help her. 

Waiting for the staircase to clear, Bruce moved aside the intricately carved lion’s head at the top bannister. Jacky raised an eyebrow at the button underneath. As he pressed it the stairs all retracted slowly, creating a gentle slopping ramp. Miri was impressed. Jacky had questions. With a gallant hand Bruce showed the way down and Jacky took her hands off the wheelchair, letting Miri wheel herself beside a much better looking escort. “So may I inquire as to the names of my guests this evening.” 

“Oh, I’m Miriam Ripley, and this is my sister Jacqueline—”

“That same Ripley’s that own the bakery down 9th? Of course! Harvey’s told me all about you.” To his credit, Bruce looked genuinely surprised and delighted to make the connection. He smiled at Miriam, no shock there, Miri was as beautiful as a pixie in her summer blue gown and Bruce Wayne’s reputation preceded him. Luckily Miri was too smart to be blindsided. 

As they made their way down the ramp, Bruce offered a hand to Jacky. “Jacqueline, pleasure to finally meet you as well,” he smiled, but years in her line of work hadn’t made her an idiot. Bruce Wayne was a flirt, he was a charmer, a playboy and probably whatever else the news rags loved to spew, but he was also a liar. The smile never reached his eyes and Jacky had the uncomfortable sensation of being scanned. Rich men must have their reasons for hiding all manner of sins. 

She shook his hand. “Come to the shop some time, Mr. Wayne. I just man the counter, but I’m sure Miri could manage to make something special.”

“I’ll have to do that, Miss. Ripley.”

“This idiot isn’t taking all of your time, is he, Jacky?” 

There he was. Harvey barreled in, one hand going around Bruce’s shoulders, the other still holding onto a champagne flute. “We were just getting introduced,” Bruce said with a slight laugh. Ah, interesting. That one was sincere. 

“I think Harvey is just glad to have a few familiar faces here,” Gilda Dent strode over, elegant and friendly as ever. “And to be honest, so am I,” She bent down to kiss Miri on the cheek and straightened to do the same to Jacky, whispering in her ear. “We’re sneaking some drinks out in the garden later, just us lower east siders.”

Jacky adored Gilda and that made every second she stayed in her presence the best and the worst. “Bless you,” Jacky smiled, all teeth.

“Now, if you don’t mind I’m going to introduce Miriam to two of Gotham’s best patisseries,” Gilda winked.

Jacky shot her sister a clear “don’t leave me here” sidelong look but Miri only shrugged. “Lead the way,” she said as she wheeled off after Gilda. It was going to take a total of fifteen minutes at most before Miri had charmed her way around every corner of this party. She was good at that. Bruce Wayne didn’t linger long after either, remarking that he had to go put in some face time with two potential big investors. 

“And then there were two,” Jacky laughed nervously. 

“Jacky, seriously, thank you for coming,” Harvey said with a nervous laugh of his own. “Bruce said I had to do at least one of these investor galas for the campaign, but if I have to fake another smile at some other rich prick who doesn’t know half of what is going on in their own city I’m going to break something. You want a drink? I’m getting you a drink.”

He talked a big game at being out of his element, but he smiled and shook hands with every single person they passed on their short trip to the bar. Jacky followed a few paces behind. He knew everyone’s names. Of course he did. Harvey finished the last of the champagne, setting the glass down at the bar top. Jacky opened her mouth to order when Harvey spoke first with her exact drink of choice.

“Whiskey sour, hard on the syrup, better make it a double.”

“Right, I’m filing a restraining order because you shouldn’t know that,” Jacky cocked her arm back to give him a jab on the shoulder, but stopped herself. They weren’t out at some dive bar, or in the back of her shop. “Aw, jeeze,” she rubbed the back of her neck. “Feel like some kind of idiot in this getup.”

The dress was not to the caliber of everyone else’s here. She’d found it in some thrift store and liked the purple color enough to buy it. 

“You look stunning.” Harvey slid her the drink.

Those words were going to get her drunk faster than the whiskey would. The drink burned a little as it went down. “Ok we got the obligatory compliments out of the way, how’s the big night actually going? You funded enough to take over the world yet?”

“Let’s start with Gotham, that’s about all I can handle at the moment.” 

Jacky did not trust politicians. Didn’t like their smarmy slogans, or their false promises. Every last one in Gotham was so deep into the pockets of Falcone or Moroni it never mattered what they said. “Hey, if it takes one night like this to make you the DA then it’s worth it,” she said. 

“Can we take that statement to print, Miss Ripley?” Harvey mimed a microphone in front of her. 

“Enough to get the pins on the counter and the posters all over the shop’s walls, yeah,” Jacky took a long drink to get herself to stop staring. The blue eyes really drew you in, he talked to you like he really wanted to get to know you. How else would the big shot lawyer have even bothered making friends with the barista? 

She finished her drink. She was going to need so much more to get through the night. “Should probably go talk to your backers, Harvey. Can’t spend all night talking to me, I don’t have the kind of money you’re looking for.”

“Oh the parasites can get me the rest of the night. You and Miri are probably the only real Gothamites here and I’d rather talk to you...don’t tell Bruce I said that. Hey, how about a dance?” 

She was not drunk enough for that. “Yeah right,” she snorted. “Tabloids would have a field day if they caught you dancing at your own campaign fundraiser with a strange woman who is decidedly not your wife.”

“Or, think of the free publicity for the shop when your name gets printed in the Gazette?” Harvey said, ever the optimist. “C’mon Jacky, buy me just a little time before I have to throw myself to the wolves?”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the bar towards the dance floor. Jacky shook her head, but her traitorous lips pulled back in a smile. This game of pretend was going to fall apart one day. His other hand went around her waist, warm and secure, the two things she always felt around him. This was too close. Those eyes, that smile, at this proximity were lethal. He was perfect. Gotham’s golden child. He was going to change this whole city, make it a better place, maybe give people like her a chance for once. And that meant one day he’d dance little Jacky Ripley into a nice and tidy jail cell of her own. How would he look at her then? The shy shop girl. The hitwoman. The liar. 

“Harvey...you know I should probably tell you I can’t dance,” she said softly.

“Aw damn,” Harvey laughed. “And there goes my idea of having you make me look good.”

[bubblyani]

Back for Good

(Jim Davis x Reader)

A Jim Davis One Shot

Movie: Harsh Times (2005) by David Ayer

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Alcohol use, Swearing,  Violence and Sexual Content

Word Count: 9k+

Summary: Your spirits are lifted when your older boyfriend Jim Davis returns from the Army for good. As the lovers passionately reunite, you begin to reminisce the first encounter, and the unforgettable event that sealed your fate with Jim, possibly forever.

Author’s Note: One of the fantastic Balehead Accounts on Instagram once posted a photo of Jim Davis with a caption more so along the lines of “…Older boyfriend Jim visiting you at College…”. It was too irresistible to ignore. So this story was born. @tammykelly You are an angel to even show some enthusiasm towards this, even before I started, Thank you for the encouragement ! Hope y’all enjoy!

P.S: If anyone want to be tagged in specific Bale! Character fics please do let me know. And if you wanna be removed from anything NOT BATMAN, please feel free to let me know. I understand completely. 

Three.

It costed three people. Merely three for this nightmare scenario to enter reality.

A tall young man panted fast, his right hand assuming full responsibility for the broken bottle, not to mention the intense bleeding that resulted from it. All the while he stared down at his finished product: a much younger man. He watched the figure groan for his dear life, laying defeated and thoroughly bruised; as a weak stream of blood appeared prominent from his head as well, adding a splash of bright color to the dark and dusty pavement. Only in that moment, realization and bitter reality coupled up to surprise the standing man, with a sucker punch.

Which was transparent enough for the young woman beside them, the witness. Violence, Danger, her trembling heart sensed it all. For that was what his strong aura emitted. However, never did she flinch. Never did her heart consider retracting from him. On the contrary, she was compelled to trust him even further.

Especially when she sensed complete safety in him, above all others.

“Let’s go”

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

 (Present)      

The dusky skies appeared just as serene over South Central Los Angeles as anywhere else in the country, filtering over the streets and the neighborhoods. Cruising through in favorable speed, Mike Alonzo finally took his eyes off the road, permitting them to land on the tall, young man sitting beside him on the passenger seat: his best friend, Jim Davis.

His downcast expression was evident, with his tall frame sunken into the seat. He stared right ahead, while he sipped his bottle of beer in his suit. This posture was nothing short of a surprise for Mike to glance upon. If he had squinted his eyes, he swore he could imagine Jim as the rebellious teenager he once was. Only with a new buzz cut. Otherwise, it seemed that nothing had really changed.

Except it had. Older and forced to be responsible, they were facing times considered very harsh. And Jim just had a taste of it.

“Sorry, dude”

Mike began, looking back at the road. Shaking his head with disbelief, Jim sat up in slow motion as his teeth began to grind.

“Man! Fuck…this...shit!!”

Jim drawled with disappointment, enunciating every word whilst holding up a piece of paper, “I’m so done with this cop hate bullshit!” He added, taking another sip of alcohol. Mike nodded:

“Yeah, dawg. Forget about that! ” He smiled, smacking his friend on his shoulder in a playful demeanor, “Hey, Syl is cooking tonight…You wanna join us, bro?”

The possibility of his girlfriend Sylvia agreeing to this, was at an all time low. Mike was well aware. Yet, he was certain it was a question worth posing to his friend in need.

“Nah, man! I got plans”

Hitting the brakes in front of the stop lights, Mike looked at his friend again with surprise, “Yeah?” He inquired, looking quite pleased. Finally flashing a proud smile, Jim nodded:

“Yep! Gonna go see my woman soon…” he answered. Eyes widening seemed appropriate for Mike at that very moment.

“Yo, No shit!” Mike cried out with excitement, finally stepping on the gas, “The chick from UCLA*? You…you still with her?” He inquired.

“Yeah, Homie! ”

“Dawg!…” laughing with sheer amazement, Mike looked at Jim, “I’m impressed…really” he added, proceeding to chuckle, “Look ‘atchu…my boi Jim....going steady with the fine ass college chick…”

“Whoo!” With his soul finally returning to his body,  Jim howled, “Finer than fine, dawg!”

“Hell yeah!”

Given the state of hyped energy that erupted in the car between the two young men, it would be nearly impossible to guess how sombre it was just before. “So…so…” Mike continued, holding on to the wheel as they kept driving, “… where you gon’meet?”

“Well…actually…” Jim looked at him, licking his lips, “….it’s a surprise” he added with a playful smirk. To which Mike could not help but laugh, “What?” Mike paused, “You didn’t tell her you’re back for good?”

Seeing his friend shake his head like a naughty schoolboy forced him to laugh harder, “Ohohoho!! this is gon be one hell of a reunion, dawg” He added with sheer enthusiasm, “But seriously though, she’s a real good one too, bro…” Mike opinionated, as soon as his laughter died down, “ I mean, even Syl liked her”

“Shit! For real?”

“Yeah yeah yeah…” Mike answered immediately,  “And you know Syl, she ain’t easy to please”

Gulping down the remnants of the bottle, Jim exhaled and stared out through the window, “Shit man!” He exclaimed, “I’m really gonna see her again, huh?”

With his tone growing deeper, his eyes began to burn with a flame that could only be categorized as lustful. Sensing the vibe that did not seem so new, Mike chuckled:

“Oh yeah! My homie’s gonna get it tonight! Salud*”

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

The buzz, the chatter of young adults was consistent in the hallway outside. It served as background noise when the door of the toilet cubicle burst wide open, spitting a rather young woman out of it with haste. Only then did the mirror managed to identify her: You.

With your hand clutching on to a bra, you let out a relieved sigh. For within a few seconds, your body experienced a new form of liberation. And you managed to savor it on your own in a public ladies washroom. Wearing a soft smile that was easily reflected in the mirror, you stuffed the piece of lingerie into your shoulder handbag.

“Seriously?”

You jumped with a yelp. Being so wrapped around in your own thoughts, you did not even notice Yara, your friend standing there. With her arms folded and eyebrows raised, it was clear that her face was rife with judgement.

“What?” You inquired breathlessly, “Auntie Flo* is about to visit…and the twins were just swelling to …get some parole time” you added with a playful smirk, pointing at your chest with no shame. The curves of your now-freed bosom seemed more visible through your cardigan top, “And fuck! it feels so good” you exclaimed, as you washed your hands. Yara however, scoffed with amusement:

“So you’re saying you were squirming in your seat the whole time to let the puppies out?”

“What? I had to pee too!”

“Well, You could have just left right then!” She insisted with a seeming annoyance, as you grabbed a tissue.

“…and miss Mr. Linney’s Final Notes? Uh uh! No way, bitch!” You waved your index finger with disapproval as you both exited. Students had flooded the hallway by then. Evening lectures at UCLA finally had drawn to a close, and Friday night was about to make its entrance. Youth in all shapes and colors, gathered in bunches all over the campus area, even beside the beautifully lit Royce Hall. Suffice to say, all were relieved to have some time off in the weekend.

“So…you coming, right?”

You looked at Yara upon her casual inquiry with confusion, “For what?”. Scoffing again, this time in disbelief, Yara's eyes widened looking at you: “Dinner?…tonight?”

She stressed, taking a step out of the campus building, “Last week you promised you’ll join me and Chase” with her arms folded and foot tapping on the ground in pure restlessness, she was a clear visual of a loanshark. However, that impatience left her system the moment her eyes fell behind you,“…and speaking of Chase…Baby!”

With her face lit up, her tone grew affectionate as Chase, her boyfriend rushed over to her.

“ ‘sup babe!” The tall, young blonde greeted, pulling his ebony goddess of a girlfriend for a passionate kiss.

Folding your arms, you could not help but avert your eyes. All the while you drew circles with your foot on the ground. Chase and Yara’s relationship certainly was a refreshing one to glimpse upon in the campus premises. You approved of it with sincerity, even when you looked away in awkwardness. It was not on spite. Truthfully, PDA was nothing you disapproved of. You were certainly not envious of the joy they possessed as their lips played with one another, quite similarly to a steamy MTV music video. You merely looked away, for any display of affection was a sheer reminder of him.

It had been months since you last saw him, possibly 6. And constant communication was not exactly convenient for him. Not in his situation. Was he alive and happy? The sheer reminder of gunshots and helicopter whirring forced your heart to race, which was nothing short of new. Granted, you had learnt to ‘compartmentalize’, a term you recently came to knowledge in your psych minor class. Yet, you were young and only human to have those concerns return to haunt you even for a few seconds. The sound of Yara and Chase’s lips smacking urged you to look up. Finally, you thought.

“So?” Yara inquired, casually wiping the smudged lipstick off her face, “You coming?”

Carefree, yet extremely inconsiderate, that was what she exuded. A knot of anxiety formed in your stomach. For oddly enough, the sight of the happy couple managed to drain your energy out tonight. You longed to run away.

“Honestly…” you began with a sigh, “I don’t really feel so good tonigh-”

“¿Qué pasa, guapa?”

   What’s up, gorgeous?  

That voice. That deep, spine tingling tone was a reminder of your mere existence. The tone that tempted every hair in your body to stand at attention. Turning around in a flash, you covered your mouth, shocked to find the person you prayed to see all this time.

“JIM??” You cried out in a muffled tone, “Oh my GOD!!-”

Squealing in pure joy, you sprinted towards Jim Davis before jumping into his arms. Seemingly extremely pleased, Jim let out a hearty laughter. Suddenly the energy you were drained had returned in the form of a shot of adrenaline when he picked you up and spun you around, kissing you without hesitation. And you swore the feel of his lips on yours added a couple of years into your life.

“Wait, you didn’t tell me you were coming back so soon” Breathless, you pointed out when he finally put you down.

“Well, I’m back for good, baby” Jim replied, extending his arms outward with pride. Your eyes widened: “What? You serious?”

“Yep…” he grinned nodding, “Honorably discharged…and all yours”

You sensed his tone morph into a low purr the moment he pulled you close to him. And you would be lying if that did not fill your stomach with butterflies. After ages.

“Umm….”

Yara’s voice emerged. You and Jim turned back, to find her and Chase appearing the most confused, “…you mind telling us who this is…?” She inquired with raised eyebrows.

Finally in realization, you chuckled. For introductions were in order.

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

The aromatic scent crept into your nostrils, only to soon disappear out of the lack of attention provided. All the while an uptempo Latin Pop track playing in the background mingled with Yara and Chase’ voices, but unfortunately faded away into mere mumbles. For none of that seemed to be the key focus for you tonight. Not when Jim Davis was around.

Even seated at a crowded Mexican Restaurant, he mattered the most to you. Even when platefuls of delectable Taquitos* were served to the table, your eyes did not leave his irresistible side profile. And when his sense of expertise noticed and his eyes caught your gaze, you were breathless. You wondered if it was the romantic in you surfacing, for all seemed to appear in slow motion. His eyes remained seductive, washing all over you that it was certain your panties might melt and diminish into thin air. Those eyes were truly sorcerous, that your eyes suddenly had lives of their own to the point you could sense their figurative cheeks heat up with heavy blushes. For his eyes, they were proficient in the dirty talk as much as his mouth was. Breathing in his cheap cologne with depth, you suddenly grew aware of his touch, and the fact he had his arm wrapped around your shoulder all this time. Being lost in his eyes was definitely an out-of-body experience.

“Hey!”

Your soul reunited with your frame upon Yara’s call.

“Mmm?” Looking over at the couple sitting across the table, you and Jim were unfazed.

“Aren’t you two gonna eat?” Yara inquired with raised eyebrows while Chase had began to gobble. Her gaze questioned both your sanity. To which you and Jim could not help but chuckle in response. Shaking her head, Yara scoffed:

“It’s so weird…” she began, “…seeing you like this”. Wiping the crumbs off his mouth, Chase joined in with confidence, “Yeah! How did you guys even meet anyways? I mean, no offense but…we never thought she’d be the one…” he stressed, pointing at you, “… to have an older boyfriend who’s a Marine-”

“-Army Ranger” Jim corrected. His gaze and tone was dominant, enough for Chase to wither with intimidation.

“Yeah…” Chase nodded with a gulp, “…what you said…”. You would be lying if you admit you did not enjoy that sight.

“Actually…” you finally began, “We met a year ago” turning to face your boyfriend, “ He was back in LA during his break. We met at a bar”

“Hold up! ” Raising her hand, Yara was wide eyed, “How come I didn’t know about this?”

“Cause this happened a year ago, hun. Calm down” you chuckled, “Actually, this was even before Cin transferred. Hah! you didn’t miss much…Don’t worry” you assured upon seeing Yara’s pout, “It was a small bar, but I loved the Pistos*-I mean…” you paused with a smile, “….the beer there…” Your pause caused Jim to chuckle alongside once again. Safe to say it was a chuckle that encompassed a shared memory. A sweet reminder of your first ever meeting.

“And?…that’s it?” Chase inquired with amusement, with both hands resting on the wooden table, “You both meet at a bar one night and…” he whistled, “…then sparks flew?”

Looking at them both, you could sense the suspicion in their eyes. You longed to answer, however it was not so easy to do so. Pausing, you struggled with a response.

“Absolutely!”

Jim answered for you with nonchalance, while his grip on you tightened. For a split second you both exchanged a gaze of reassurance. And you had never been more relieved. The secret was safe.

“So…”, Turning towards the couple, Jim began, “How did you lovebirds meet then?”

Hesitation was certainly not in Yara’s vocabulary when she offered to speak. Leaving her sight, your eyes darted towards the the chilled beer that Jim placed on the table. You smiled to yourself. They were certainly filled with memories.

Reminiscing your first meeting with Jim Davis, never failed to be exciting every single time. Before Yara ended up in your life, there was Cindy. Noticing your evident sadness due to her surprise transfer to USC*, Cindy was hell bent in comforting you, thus suggesting you join her and her boyfriend Ray for a night out in South Central. You agreed, being desperate enough to spend the final few days with your roommate. Situated at the suburbs, this bar was small, intimate and seemingly inhabited by those who knew Ray, which resulted in a welcoming atmosphere upon arrival. Though the place was mostly filled with gangsters, you did not care for the slightest, when especially you found yourself falling for the unexpected; The beer.

Chilled to perfection, the beer there was unlike any that you had tasted before. And it was certainly a surprise, given they were the usual brands. You could not fathom the refreshing sensation that trickled down your throat with the first sip. That sensation tempted your hips to sway, urged your feet to move in rhythm. All in syncopation with the music that played in the jukebox under the dim lights. Until finally bumping into a man woke you from your intoxication. A man you were fascinated with in an instant:

Jim Luther Davis.

Such a pity that Yara’s gusto-filled story barely reached your ears. For reliving a memory simply seemed sweeter for you. Thus, you continued to do so.

Fortunately, Jim Davis did not end up being a handsome stranger that you simply bumped into, for coincidence had other plans. Especially, when he and Mike Alonzo turned out to be Ray’s mutual older drinking buddies. You were ecstatic. Internally, of course.

With the entire group packed together in the booth table, it was one loud but engaging hangout. Except for you. Somehow you preferred to sit right next to Cindy in silence, being distracted by two things: Beer, and Jim.

Blame the chemicals embedded in your system, for you simply found yourself drawn to him. Truthfully, it did not seem so difficult to begin with. Not when he turned out to be your type in appearance. You found yourself watching him. The manner in which he listened to others with swagger and confidence, the manner in which he held himself ; They all brought a certain air to him. Your attention had pierced through all manner of secrecy that he would occasionally end up catching your gaze. And then you would look away, quick and embarrassed. Though you must admit, it was a game you thoroughly enjoyed playing. But at the same time, you felt idiotic and childish.

“Cat got yo tongue, baby?”

You blinked, looking up. Fabio, one of Ray’s friends threw the query over to your direction, all of the sudden. And with that, the table grew quiet. All the eyes landed on you, except for Jim’s. A surge of embarrassment rushed towards you when awkward silence filled the booth. For you were definitely distracted to the point you did not follow the conversation. With you struggling to form an answer, Fabio snickered:

“Yo Cindy, What’s up with yo friend? She deaf or somethin’?”

“Easy, homie”

Before Cindy could respond, Jim’s quick reply arose. And you swore your eyes caught the sight of his hand ball into a fist as his eyes had grown dark. Oddly enough, that was the comfort you needed right then.

“Don’t mind me, Fabio…” you shrugged with confidence, “I’m just a girl hooked on her Pistos” you said, enunciating the Spanish word before taking another sip. You may have smiled at him, but you knew how much you feigned it. Awkward silence remained intact. But Ray managed to save the night, by changing the topic of conversation. Slightly embarrassed, Fabio shot you a look. All before he leaned towards his friends, muttering some words in Spanish.

“You speak Spanish?”

Jim’s low query made you turn to him.

“N-No…” you answered with nervousness.

“Well…” he began, “…you should” Though his tone was of seriousness, he did not fail to flash you a soft smile that comforted you even further.

Thus, the evening progressed. And you began to notice Jim in much detail. The more you did, you discovered a warmth that seemed to trickle down your heart. For you realized, you would not be able to stop yourself from falling for him. Hard.

You smiled to yourself, relieved Yara still did not know you were drifting away in your head, stuck in a memory.

Unable to stop obsessing over him since that first night, you remembered how you found yourself returning to the same bar the following night, alone.

Stepping into the venue, you suddenly were aware how unprepared you were. Even while placing an order at the bar counter, you remembered covering your mouth with embarrassment. Was this a mistake?

“Hey Baby! ”

Jumping in your barstool, you sighed with annoyance when you realized it was Fabio sneaking up on you.

“Just…” you feigned a chuckle, “Don’t call me baby, okay?”. Evidently ignorant, Fabio seemed to have chosen to stay. To your dismay. Sporting gold chains on his neck and wrists, Fabio was on a dire attempt to emulate a thriving gangster, when he actually was just another college kid like Ray.

“So, whatcha doing all by yourself, baby? Don’t tell me…you’re here to see yo boi Fabio?”

Keep telling yourself that, you thought. Exhaling in frustration, you maintained a tight smile, “I uh…just waiting for someone” you struggled. Flashing a mischievous smile, Fabio leaned in closer. You prayed he would not notice how your nose scrunched up by his heavy cologne with disgust. And how your body tightened when his eyes scanned you from top to bottom, licking his lips by the sight of your choker and your red, floral short dress.

“Who are we kidding?” He sniggered, “You wanna piece of this, huh? Come o-” “No!” You cut him off, “I’m really…” feigning a chuckle once again, “…waiting for someone…Thanks” you said, extending your hands in defense. Given the reaction of those around you, it may have been a louder response than expected. For Fabio turned red, making it his queue to slither away. You sighed deep. Luck did not seem to get on with you from the moment you stepped in here. Was this a mistake? When you felt a finger tap you on your shoulder, you rolled your eyes and turned around. For you were ready to give Fabio a piece of your mind.

Except, it was not Fabio.

“Hey…”

Jim greeted you, his deep tone announcing his arrival. Standing at an appropriate distance, he stood tall with a hint of swagger. Your body began to finally relax by the sight, especially when your eyes were refreshed by the open plaid shirt worn along with his white vest and baggy pants.

“Hey…” breathless, you began, “Hey!” Confidence finally became you as you repeated with a smile. The bartender caught your attention the moment he placed a chilled bottle of beer on the counter before you.

“Make it two, Hermano* ” Jim said, handing the man some cash. All the sudden, guilt washed over you as you gasped: “Oh I-”

“I got this…” Jim assured, seeing you reach into your bag. Grateful, you nodded, “So…” he began, “Can seem to get enough of them Pistos, hmm?” An inquiry left his lips the moment he received his own bottle. Smiling shyly, you bit the side of your lower lip. The manner in which that word rolled out his tongue caused excitement. Besides, his mouth suddenly seemed more delectable. Oh, his mouth.

“Yeah…” you admitted, “Can’t get enough…and I hope I never will”

You added, gazing directly into his hazel orbs. It simply was a mistake to do so, given how those eyes burnt with curiousity, urging you to blush in return, “And er…” pausing, you looked down, “ I was kinda hoping I’d catch you around” you said, looking up again.

“Yeah?” Jim inquired, genuinely surprised, “Why?”

That was when you froze. He was right, what exactly was your intention of seeing him tonight? Unfathomable on how you gathered courage to blurt that silly line in the first place. What if you dragged yourself all the way here to be rejected? What if there never was a form of enthusiasm from his corner as you hoped? What if this ends up being the story of a silly sophomore college girl, having delusions over an older man?

You chuckled with a nervous tone, “Well I-…” you paused, as your pulse began to grow loud within you, “Sorry…” you muttered, sliding off the stool, “This was just a stupid idea. I should go-”

“Wait!”

You turned upon Jim’s call. Showing his bottle, he shrugged:

“These Pistos aren’t gonna get finished themselves, hmm?” He dared to pose that inquiry with a playful grin. Smiling back involuntarily, you knew you had no comeback for that.

You remembered the chill outside the bar that night. The breeze that caressed your exposed skin of your legs were still fresh in your memory. Gazing at whatever stars your eyes could make out amidst the city lights, you and Jim sipped on the chilled alcohol from the porch. Given the fact there were little to none outside, the evening was unexpectedly intimate.

“Your uh…” clearing your throat, you finally broke the surprisingly comfortable silence, “Your friend not with you tonight?”

“Mike?” Jim inquired, to which you nodded, “Nah! he’s got his hands full” he answered with a smile.

“You guys close?”

“Hell yeah…He’s my homeboy, ya know? Since we were kids”

“Sweet. Must be nice.” You smiled in return, looking back at the sky, “I uh…remember that you serve. Iraq, huh?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Fallujah* ” Jim answered with a nod, looking at you.

“Whoa…” you breathed in wonder. Silence took over once again while your tongue  savored the beverage.

“And you?…UCLA?” Jim spoke before wiping his mouth, “Man! That’s some fancy ass shit right there”

“Yeah well… it ain’t a walk in the park…” you contradicted in a shy tone, forcing him to shoot you a look of concern. To which you chuckled, “I’m on scholarship, I mean…” you added, helping him come to realization, “Hehe yeah…I had to nerd my way into that gig” moving side to side, you could not help but take another sip,“But, I know…what a good thing I got going on. And I know… if I screw it up, then I’m FUCKED” you enunciated the end, which drove him to laughter. You adored how it soothed you somehow.

“Well…” he began, “…whatever fucking takes, right?”

You nodded, “Hell yeah…Here’s to…uh…positive shit! Hah!” You laughed as you both clinked the bottles together. The more alcohol that chose to settle in your system, the bolder you became:

“What’s it like?”

“What?”

You fully turned to him, “Being out there…in Iraq…” you continued, “I mean…I’m guessing you’ve seen some shit…” you inhaled, “you know…shit you can’t forget, right? I mean, shit like that…” you scoffed, “….that shit can fuck…you…up…” at that moment you could not help but find yourself lost in thought.

But Jim’s surprised expression made you pause. You chuckled in embarrassment.

“I’m just…guessing…” you muttered, sipping once again. Perhaps you went a tad bit too far with the blabbering. For your cheeks began to heat up with worry. Until Jim spoke:

“Well…Shit or no shit…Follow orders, that’s what we do” Instead of a frown, Jim replied, taking a huge gulp from his bottle.

“Yeah…I get it” you nodded in a fast pace. Robust, and straightforward, his attitude was to be admired. Funny you found yourself staring at his side profile long enough, his face could easily be compared to that of a statue. Perfect in proportion, your mouth began to dry out. You were attracted to him, shamelessly so.

“I-”, You paused, suppressing a grin, “…never mind”

“What? What is it?” He asked, looking at you. To which you shook your head frantically.

“Nah, it’s really silly…”

“Come on!…tell me” Fully turning, Jim insisted with a smile. His voice had its way of being persuasive. And his voice had its way of tearing your defenses down, or so it seemed. Taking a deep breath, you began:

“I kept thinking about this but…” you paused, “Last night, you said I should learn some Spanish… Why?”

Desperate for more interaction, that was your excuse. Jim responded with a shy chuckle. Certainly was worth it.

“I mean, we just met and you barely knew me…” you continued with a smile, “So…why?” As your question grew more confident, your inner desperation grew strong. Taking his last sip from the bottle, Jim surprised you by taking a step towards you:

“You really wanna know the truth?”

“Try me” , You replied, quickly finishing your own bottle, all without breaking away from his gaze.

And thank goodness you finished it. For you would have surely dropped it. Especially when Jim stood dangerously close to you, causing you to be immediately aware of the muscles between your thighs contracting. Even more so, when his irresistible eyes traveled from your very own all the way to your alcohol stained lips.

“Cause…” he purred, “…you have no fucking clue how sexy you sound”

You both may have chuckled to his line, but that did not mean your pulse did not quicken. Which increased in speed the moment his eyes took hold on yours once again. Seduction, he certainly was proficient in it. And you, were a witness. A witness who suffered from internal combustion of frustration.

You inhaled deep, “Really?” “Yeah…” he breathed in a sultry manner.

Just when you thought no force on earth could break this eye contact, the door burst open. Some men exited. Breaking away, you looked at your watch watch in an instant. You sighed. Real Life was calling you.

“I…I gotta go…” downcast, you muttered with guilt, “Class tomorrow…” adding extra guilt, you knew that excuse certainly did not put you in a good light.

“Lemme drop you then…”

Jim’s nonchalant and nonjudgmental reply urged you to look up with relief. Smiling in agreement, you watched him enter the bar with the empty bottles. And in that very moment, a tingling sensation filled with thrill washed over you, leaving no inch unattended. Butterflies returned to your stomach, fluttering harder than ever before in your life. Were you being hopeful? Could Jim Davis be desiring the same? Goosebumps traveled through you when that tingling sensation returned with much detail. Too much detail to be specific.

Until you realized it was real. And Jim’s hand was directly at fault here.

Blinking back to the present reality, your eyes caught the sight of Jim’s chilled fingers on your leg. They ran over over your inner exposed thigh in circular motion, thus, inciting the tingling sensation. Of course, no wonder the detail was accurate.

Yara and Chase were oblivious to all this, for they were caught up in their own love story as she kept yapping. But that was only the fact Jim kept on such a convincing focused face. He may be ‘listening’ to your friend, but his hand was evidently not. The longer his fingers lingered on your skin, the more you were reminded of him. And the more you began to tingle and sweat in the most unexpected places.

You were young, and unapologetically shameless. 6 months. It was exactly 6 whole months since you were last physically intimate with your boyfriend. And with studies piling up along with the expectation of a scholarship holding sophomore, ‘getting yourself off’ was never an option. Not with a roommate around.

The tingling sensation grew even stronger. And you began to hear your own quickening breath. Jim Davis’ elongated fingers, they spoke of pride. You longed for them to travel to locations far more adventurous and private than your thighs. Especially when they were rife with experience. Truthfully, it was a fact that his hands and his delicious lips and tongue were fluent in your body than your own self. Being pleasure deprived for too long, the mere thought of him ravishing you, aroused you even more. Aroused, and certainly very starved. The kind that food simply could not satisfy.

“...and under the stars…” Yara continued, holding on to Chase with lovestruck eyes, “…he told me he loved m-”

“Excuse me!”

Cutting her off, you cried out as you stood up in an instant.

“What’s up with you?” Chase inquired, whilst Yara looked offended.

“Just I gotta…pee…” you lied, eyes landing on Jim, “…now”

“Okay…” you heard Chase mutter in kind as you left the table, “…TMI, but whatever”

In all fairness, being judged was the least of your concerns. With every speedy step you took, the faster your heart began to beat. Storming into the empty ladies room, you found yourself staring at a mirror once again, with a heaving chest and noticeably flushed cheeks. It was plain to see, you were engulfed in the flames of pure arousal, and the fire needed to be put out.

And when the bathroom door opened up once again, you turned to find the fireman enter. Wearing a serious expression, it was slightly difficult to decipher his thoughts.

“I…” you struggled as Jim strode towards you, “I didn’t know what else to do-” Except he knew. When he attacked you with a passionate kiss.

Jumping into him was reflexive. Wrapping your legs around his waist seemed almost choreographed. Finally resting on the washroom sink, it was quite safe to admit how both of you were very much relieved to be the only occupants in the room. For there was no intention of holding back. Your denim skirt hiked high up, revealing your thighs in completion under the white fluorescent lights as Jim stood between your legs. And they were much cared for, as his hands gingerly rubbed them back and forth while his lips indulged yours with hunger.

“You think they know I lied?”

Breathless, you inquired with innocence. Except you did not receive an instant reply. Not when you found yourself gasping when he pulled your head back by your hair with a growl. With liberated access to your bare neck, Jim celebrated by placing equally starving kisses all over, resulting in your surprising moans.

“You think I fuckin’ care?” He chuckled into your skin, to which you could not help but chuckle back:

“Oh no, you bad boy” you purred in tease.

“Oh yeah, baby girl …” purring back, his reply incited a giggle out of you before he kissed you once again.

“Ay Papi*!” You breathed into his lips before he snatched up yours for good. Surroundings were simply irrelevant the moment the kiss turned intense, as his tongue crashed in like the rude boy he was, and grabbed onto your own tongue in a passionate embrace. They clashed against one another in frenzy, him claiming you as his. As the kiss grew deeper, your moans grew louder. When he pulled away all the sudden, whimpers left your lips with desperation. Teasing you so, Jim took a good look at you:

“¿Como esta tu Español?” He breathed low. And you were pleased that you actually understood.

   How’s your Spanish?  

Pressing himself against you, he began to slowly grind. You grew excited. Listening to Jim Davis speak Spanish was simply erotic in the first place. And since you have been studying it on your own for past few months, you were certainly impatient to show him.

“Yo…” you began, finding the words “…estudio pala-sorry…” with a nervous chuckle, you looked down, “..I know I suck-”

“No no…keep going” Jim insisted with a smile, bringing your chin up for a reassuring kiss, “Now say it again…” he added, maintaining eye contact with ferocity. Taking a deep breath, all the words clearly appeared in your head. Thus, you flashed a mischievous grin:

“…estudiando palabras…muy importantes”

   I am studying…very important words.  

Gasping was all you could do when Jim picked you up, carrying you into the nearest toilet booth. Thankfully with this restaurant being surprisingly hygienic, you did not mind. Life barely was embedded in your legs the moment he put you down, locking the door behind you to push you against it.

“Oh yeah?” He inquired, panting, “¿Cómo cuál?”

   Like what?  

Panting alongside him, you stood up straight, “Por ejemplo…”

   For example…  

Amidst his pants and his impressed expression, you grabbed his hands, placing them over your buttocks. All the while you looked at him with eyes, heavy with lust:

“¡Haz lo que quieras!”

You could not believe how confident you sounded. Smiling with equal lust in his eyes, Jim kissed you in approval, definitely pleased with what he just heard:

   (Do) whatever you want!  

Growling with effect, his animalistic nature was exuded as his hands gripped onto your buttocks with passion. His big, generous hands felt through every cheek with familiarity, as if they just reunited with a long lost friend. But that did not mean he forgot about all the other friends, the rest of your frame that had missed him as well. Moaning with pleasure, you began to unbutton his white shirt during in haste.

You simply adored his hands, for they were as passionate as his Spanish was. As he proceeded to hold on to your hips, your own hands roamed over his torso over his white vest. Except you froze the second his hands landed on your chest. Shaky breaths exited your lips as you shivered by his touch, for your breasts were at its most sensitivity even through your thin cardigan top. Palming them generously, Jim groaned into your lips:

“Fuck! I missed you, Guapa”

“I missed you more, Papi”

Confessing in return, you kissed him once more. Moans of desperation mixed into your kisses the moment his hands dipped inside your cardigan crop top, only to make direct contact with your untethered bosom. You winced involuntarily, even from his touch so gentle. Jim chuckled with seeming victory. And you were not afraid to admit, how you were simply in the palm of his hand.

Usually, during the peak pre-menstruation, you dared not let anyone come close to you, let alone touch you. But when it was Jim Davis, those rules halt by the door. He was a man who could maneuver his touch. However, he certainly was no good boy. Proceeding with his sweet torture during kisses, you were relieved to have a door to keep you balanced. For his long fingers, they flicked, encircled and pulled your now-sensitive nipples, keeping them fully erect and thoroughly visible even through the clothes.

Gripping his vest even tighter, you pressed your thighs together, for intense levels of pleasure and sensitivity crashed within you, akin to an avalanche. In truth, it simply was an overdose, and you could not handle. You were a mere animal trapped in this cage of frustration. But like an animal, you managed to set yourself free. You pushed Jim back with such force, that he ended up sitting on the closed toilet seat behind him. A surprised expression adorned his face when you straddled him in the process. Peeling your cardigan off your torso, you hinted your need for him. Which immediately was motivation for him to unbuckle his pants. However, his eyes did not fail to leave your sight while he did. For his eyes revealed nothing but pure amazement and hunger. He inhaled deep:

“Fuck!” He uttered, while his hand dipped into his hardened manhood.

“Yeah, that’s right Papi…” you breathed, maintaining the ironclad gaze. All the while you permitted his hand to feel the intense dampness of your opening, “Fuck me!”

And thus, public decency went flying out the window the moment the lovers fully united. The manner in which his hands rested on your bare back; whilst you moved upwards and downwards in syncopation to his thrusts, it drove you wild. The manner in which his generous and erect shaft felt so familiar inside of your tight walls, was too intoxicating as always. His mutual desperation and hunger translated well, as his lips savored on your swollen and sensitive bosom as if they were treasured food rations. Tingles were divided into million branches, impacting every form of stimuli in your system. But even in the midst of these endless waves of pleasure, that certain question from Chase yet lingered in your mind:

  “And?…that’s it? You both meet at a bar one night and…then sparks flew?” “Absolutely!”  

For in truth, it was not just a night of drinking and playful flirting that caused this relationship to blossom. And just like that, You could not help but recall further.

And peek into the moment that remained stored in the deepest corner of your mind. In the form of a secret.

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

With arms folded, you kept on waiting. Long enough for the chill outside to grow stronger. Long enough for you to begin pacing nervously. Even long enough for several men to exit the bar during. Given its cabin exterior, it became more and more evident that this was more of an old fashioned bar. You sighed. Jim was certainly taking a little bit too long inside.

Paranoia knocked on your heart’s door, forcing you to welcome it inside with reluctance. Thus, several questions began to occupy your thinking space. Was there trouble inside? A possible Bar Fight? You shook your head, for you were surely being delusional. Or worse, was this a part of his plan all along? The player type to ditch you for someone else? Perhaps with someone better looking that he just met. Envy formed in your heart towards a woman that possibly may not even exist. Your stomach turned in a merciless fashion. When the door opened again, a surge of hope grew in you. Could it finally be Jim?

Except it was not.

“Baby! You still around huh?”

Fabio said, in a pleased tone, exiting the bar. Clicking your tongue in an involuntary fashion, you turned away with frustration. For he was the last person you hoped to lay eyes upon.

“Hey-Wha-What’s the matter?” Fabio cried, “Can’t look at a friend?” Whilst he tapped you on the shoulder repeatedly. Alcohol was strong in his presence. And the fact he stood uncomfortably close certainly turned your stomach even more.

“Well, technically you’re not my friend” With a forced smile, you turned to him, “You’re Ray’s friend, OKAY? ” a snappy tone exited your lips. And for a split second, there was genuine offense painted in Fabio’s face.

“Just tryna be nice, jeez!” He muttered low, with arms lifted. Coming one’s senses, you finally drew in deep breath while letting your arms loose.

“I…I’m sorry, dude”  you said, in a soft tone, staring the droopy eyed young man. Being Cindy’s friend, your last intention was to cause friction Ray and his friends. Your tone seemed to have been convincing enough, for Fabio flashed a soft smile in return:

“It’s okay…” he replied, to which you were relieved.

But that relief was short lived. Especially when Fabio leaned forward with puckered up lips in an instant, forcing you to gasp.

“What the hell, man?” You inquired, pushing him back with aggression.

“Ah come on, baby…” he drawled, chuckling in a playful manner, “Just one kiss…I mean, look at you! You still waiting out here. For who? I know… you really came here for me” with open arms, he went in for an embrace. Scoffing, you pushed him back again. That was when your pulse quickened again. To the point you hoped to flee.

“That’s it! I’m leaving! ”

You snapped, darting away from the entrance. The concern of leaving Jim behind or finding a cab did not seem problematic anymore, for all you needed was to get away. However, a painful cry left your lips when you felt your hair being pulled back. Your eyes widened. It was an angry Fabio.

“Ugh! Why you being such a Puta* right now, huh?” He said through gritted teeth, pulling you closer “Oh wait I forgot…” he snickered, “….you don’t understand Spanish, right bitch?” turning you to him. The alcohol had certainly rendered him more maniacal than ever.

“Don’t’ be a jerk, Fabio…” You cried, as you began to swing desperate punches towards his direction. But your defenses were lowered and moot, the moment he grabbed you tight by the wrists. You gasped, “..let… me… go! HELP! ”.

However, despite your cries, no one came to your aid.

This feeling, certainly was the ‘stuff of nightmares’. This feeling, had haunted you every now and again in imagination. To have it form into reality, was worse. No matter the force you exerted to free yourself, it seemed moot. For Fabio had the upper hand with his strength. And you were overpowered with intimidation. With the heartbeat increased in record speed, your heart was on the verge of exploding with fear. For the first time, you feared for your life. You despised the fact there was no one around, the fact this bar was on the outskirts. Almost close to tears, You heavily despised the fact you may be getting hurt in more ways than one tonight.

Until you heard a bottle shatter. Loud.

Glass fragments dripped from Fabio’s head as he cried out with immense pain. His grip on you loosened before he dropped down to the ground. Only for you to find Jim Davis standing behind him, with with a bottle broken in hand, and sheer rage in his eyes.

Rolling over, Fabio caught the sight of the man, “Jim??” He groaned, “What the hell, man? Why you helping this bitch-ARGH!”

A kick in the stomach was Jim’s choice in response, which incited more cries from the fool.

“THE FUCK YOU TOUCH HER FOR, HUH?” Jim yelled, his loud voice piercing through the tension like high pressured flames. However, the question seemed rhetoric, when he continued to kick Fabio, aggression growing more and more evident, “FUCKING…ASS…HOLE!” With tightened fists, he enunciated with each kick, “MOTHERFUCKE-”

“JIM!!!!”

You cried in an instant. And that very moment was when he finally froze. That fateful moment, you watched his face change, for his expression was clear as day. As if a wave of realization washed over him. As if bitter reality surprised him with a sucker punch.

All the while he stared down at his finished product: Fabio. He watched the the young man groan for his dear life, laying defeated and thoroughly bruised; all the while a weak stream of blood appeared prominent from his head and his mouth, adding a splash of bright color to the dark and dusty pavement.

Which was transparent enough for you, the witness.

You regretted being frozen with shock. If it only was for you to control. Thankfully a shred of it reached when you finally mustered the strength to call for him out from a potential murder. Violence, Danger, your trembling heart sensed it all. All from Jim. For that was what his strong aura emitted. However, despite your shock, never did you flinch. Never did your heart consider retracting from him or running away.

On the contrary, you were compelled to trust him even further. Especially when you sensed complete safety in him, above all others.

“Let’s go…”

You found yourself uttering those words, as you took his hand in urgency. Pulling him with haste, you both fled from the scene. Adrenaline coursing through the veins whilst running away, leaving a wounded man laying in his own mess before anyone could find out.

You remembered how Jim drove. Quiet, but focused. He drove and drove, until the bar disappeared from your sight. He drove to the point you both found yourselves ending up at a remote beach. And finally, time had returned to its normal pace once again.

Calming sounds of the ocean waves filled your ears, while the sight of the foamy waters barely were visible in the darkness. You watched Jim slowly take his hands from the wheel, rubbing his face. Your eyes widened, when you noticed his hand bleeding slightly. Perhaps from the broken bottle. You longed to speak, however no voice was present. Pushing the seat back, Jim slowly crawled over to the back of the car. Silence overpowered for too long, which urged you to clear your throat and speak:

“A…Are you ok-”

“You’re right, you know…”

You paused, upon hearing Jim’s interruption. Looking back from the front passenger seat, you found light finally shining on his face. Much to your sadness, cracks formed in your heart by the sight of his expression. Especially when silent tears streamed down his chiseled face. As if his mask of bravery was stripped away. Or even melted.

“You’re right…shit’s been crazy over there…” he chuckled with sadness, “…worse, shit’s crazy over here too…” he said, pointing at his own head.

Joining him in the backseat, you took the bandana off your head without hesitation.

“The thing’s I’ve seen…” he continued in mid-whisper, “The shit I had to do. The shit I wanted to do. It’s fucked up…so fucked up”.

It was unfathomable. Witnessing emotions of Jim Davis on variant scale in one single night, including him unveiling his vulnerability, you did not know where to begin processing. Simultaneously, those cracks in your heart, they could not help but form deeper to the point you ached inside. For a second, you were filled with an overwhelming desire for this misery in his heart to disappear. You longed for him to smile again. You froze. Were you tasting a slice of pure affection? Perhaps even, love? For him?

“It’s too fucked up…I’M fucked up-”

“Hey…hey…”

Your voice cracked when you finally began, leaning towards him, “Shhhh…It’s okay…” you said in comfort, while rubbing his forearm, “…its okay…I’m here” you said, as you occupied yourself with tending to his bleeding hand as a coping mechanism. The bleeding that he did not even notice.

With his hand on yours, the heart did feel heavier in comparison. As if his hand was magnetically powerful enough to keep you nearby. Thus, forming an attraction. Not the type that stirred the loins, but merely the kind that longed for you to wail on behalf of him. The kind to carry the pain for him. As if you did not wish to carry on another minute of your life, without knowing he would be well. And you would be lying if you did not want to show him that.

Your trembling hand reached out for his surprised face, turning it towards you with patience. The deep breath you took, it occupied your lungs in completion. Butterflies exploded in your stomach , causing a riot before you moved close. Close enough to feel his breath on your face. And close enough to press your lips on both his cheeks.

You tasted his salty tears, that stained his face. Pressing your own lips together, you hoped you could share his pain this way. Your eyes were smart, urging your voice to take a breather, whilst they gazed at his lips. Those lips that turned you greedy the moment you saw first laid eyes on them. And his trembling breaths of despair were enough for you to finally dispose of any form of hesitation.

For you finally moved to kiss him ever so gently on the lips.

With your kiss, you were there for him, in spite of it all. In spite of the violence and the tears. And the moment you instantly felt Jim kiss you back, you knew you were hopelessly his.

All the sudden, a dose of sweetness was infused with the salty kisses, weakening the flavor of the beer that lingered in his mouth. Selfishly, the need for comfort vanished. For all you needed was him. In every possible manner. Safe to say, Jim wholeheartedly agreed.

A sudden injection of passion entered your systems, setting your bodies in its entirety, in flames. Which also included the loins. Powerful enough for you to straddle him, powerful enough for Jim to flip you down to hover over you. And certainly powerful enough for the both of you to make love.

You treasured it all. The manner in which his fingers were precise, hooking on to your panties to gingerly peel them out of your frame. The manner in which his eyes gazed upon your own, then traveling all the way south to take in the sight of your now exposed opening, that dripped with wetness, blushing in its own means and begging him to explore it. Thus, it was to be expected, when you welcomed him inside you effortlessly. As if it had waited for him all your life.

Even for the first time, Jim was fast, and was rough. Yet surprisingly, you did not care. You knew where it originated. And it seemed most apt.

While he moved in body, he fled in heart. Away from the horrors, away from the pain. This resulted from his need for a distraction. Amidst the syncopated moans that filled the car, you cupped his face. Looking right into his hazel orbs, you witnessed his need. His need for a distraction. And at the peak of climax, you witnessed his desperation. His desperation, that urged you to never him go.

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

         (Present)      

“I failed the test…”

Jim uttered low, capturing your attention. With your face buried in his neck, you heard it louder than ever. Tilting your head, you sat up straight to face him, confusion taking over. After reaching climax following a session of passionate and exciting love-making in a restaurant toilet booth, there you both were in recovery. Never did you expect him to break the silence with a statement such as this.

“What do you mean?” You inquired in a half whisper.

“The Psych test…” Jim elaborated, while you proceeded to put your cardigan top back on,  “…for the LAPD gig” sighing, he was downcast “I failed that shit…”

“No….” You breathed. The disappoint that was rife in his tone, somehow pierced through your heart. Thus, ushering in a wave of sadness that came crashing in, “Baby, I’m so sorry…” you said as you embraced him tight. To your surprise, Jim held you tightly in his arms in return. For when he buried his face on the crook of your neck and remained in silence for a mere few seconds, it was evident that was what he was required of. A rush of butteries attacked as you gently cupped his face.  You loved this man, and your heart was the witness.

“Fuck the cops if the they can’t relate” you said through gritted teeth, before kissing both his cheeks, “Fuck ‘em! Cause something better is comin’ ” you added with a soft smile, while your thumb ran over his upper lip, “We just gotta ...keep our heads straight”

To your relief, Jim seemed amused, “Speaking from experience?”

You smiled with pride, “You could say that…”

Both of you chuckled. “The point is…” you continued with a deep sigh, and huge smile, “I’m glad you’re back for good, baby”

Except for his own smile, it vanished right then. And in turn, his eyes watered and they shone, reflecting nothing but desperation and vulnerability. You took pride in being the one to witness it, just as you did that fateful night a few months back. Stroking your head with both hands, his forehead gently touched yours:

“¡Eres mia!” He breathed deep.

   You’re mine!  

How dare he? Expanding with immense warmth and impatience, it did not take long for your heart to gain rapid pace, as it was your very first time.

“¡Si, para siempre!”  You answered with confidence. For it was simply the truth.

   Yes, Forever! 

——————————————————

Index

UCLA : The University of California, Los Angeles Salud: Spanish term for “Cheers!” Guapa: Spanish term for Beautiful, Gorgeous Taquitos: A Mexican Food Dish Pisto: Mexican slang. A general term for an alcoholic beverage (usually beer) USC: University of Southern California Fallujah: A city in Iraq Papi: Spanish Term for Daddy Puta: Derogatory Spanish term for bitch, whore

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