#genuinely screaming at the thought of seeing cashmere live

[applejee]

hello little friends in my phone. i need you to settle a dilemma for me. both are performing the same day and same time and i really really want to see both but i CANNOT DECIDE. SO

reasons for seeing tkay:

it’s her first headline tour

i really liked her latest album and love so much of her music

she’ll surely have more tours in future

it’s standing room only and good vibes

tkay apparently has amazing charisma and puts on amazing shows

she’s aussie and i love to support aussie bands

reasons for seeing måneskin:

no clue if or when they’ll come back to australia

it was sold out and i was sad i missed my chance until they announced last minute tickets

it’s a full stadium tour and i’ve heard great things about their shows

i’ve enjoyed their music since eurovision

i REALLY love some of their songs

performances from each to help you help me in this decision (flash warning for måneskin):

PLEASE HELP….

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 23

Y/n explores the hidden room and finds exactly what she was looking for.

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon 

Trigger warnings: Christianity, cult stuff, allusions to death, needles

The candle provided little in the way of light, but allowed you to see what was directly in front of you and therefore better than nothing. You felt around for a light switch, but, from what you could feel, the entire wall was covered in foam spikes. 

Great. You thought to yourself. If I die down here, nobody will ever find me.

That also meant that you couldn’t hear anything coming from outside. Or so you thought.

“My beloved flock!” Chase shouted.

The voice was so clear and projected, you nearly dropped your candle and screamed. There was no way in hell he could be with you in that basement. When you got your bearings back, you realized the sound was crackling. 

“I was speaking to the lord this morning and I asked him, Holy Father, what do you want my flock to hear?” Chase said, the sound growing more noticeably electronic. “Then the lord said to me, he literally put a word in my brain, he said ‘why, my son, do you call them your flock?’.” 

You followed the sound of Chase’s sermon. Your eyes had mostly adjusted to the darkness and you were beginning to make out the outlines of things. On a table near the wall sat a radio.

“The lord sent me here in Jesus’s stead to keep the flock. To become the shepherd.” Chase continued. “And you’re probably thinking, Vanguard, why you? What gives you divine authority?” 

Some mumbles of agreement came from what was presumably the onlookers. He paused, then slammed his hand against the table. 

“So it’s true, is it?” His voice grew more manic and trembled as if he were about to burst into tears. “The devil is sowing the seeds of doubt in your minds.” 

Sounds of remorse followed. 

“Because our god is so loving, he has put it on my heart to forgive you.” He said. “As Christ’s perfect blood was spilt on earth, so will I, your divinely-appointed vanguard, forgive you forever and always.” 

You were tempted to just turn the radio off, but it was your only indication of what was happening up above. You got the feeling that this would go on for a while and you could take your time. 

Next to the radio was an industrial flashlight. You thanked a god you didn’t believe in and snuffed out the candle. You ran the flashlight along the walls, seeing that the foam spikes, unsurprisingly, covered the entire perimeter. 

You walked cautiously down the hall, aiming the flashlight at the ground and along the edges. The room was stocked with your standard bunker essentials; canned food, first aid kits, large jugs of water and a stack of cots. 

Chase blathered on about spiritual brokenness and how his cult members should be thankful that god had given them a second chance, but you found a way to tune it out. You had other things to think about. For example: why the hell was there a stack of, like, twenty baby-sized coffins stashed in a fallout shelter?

Upon closer inspection, you saw that they were empty. You genuinely didn’t know if that made it better or not. The proximity to a stash of twenty oxygen tanks implied he was going to rip off A Quiet Place, but why he felt the need to do that in an already soundproof room was beyond you. 

That thought was pushed aside when you found exactly what you came for. 

His breathing was drowned out by Chase’s inane sermon, but he was breathing. That was the only way you knew he was still alive. He laid on a filthy cot with an IV in his arm and a tube down his throat. 

You laced your fingers between his and held his hand against your cheek. Partially to make sure his blood was still flowing, but mostly to savor the feeling of his warmth on your face. He looked almost peaceful, for someone who was sedated against their will and tossed carelessly onto a cot and left to slowly wither away in a secret bunker. 

You brushed his curls back and kissed his forehead. A small part of you wanted to believe that true love’s kiss was enough to break the spell, but whatever cocktail Chase used on him would require something more. And you had no fucking clue what that something was or if you could even get it. 

Even though you were underground, you had a couple bars of reception. Again, you thanked a god that didn’t exist and used your lucky signal to call Hannibal. 

“[F/N]?” Hannibal answered, relieved to hear you calling. You could only get every other syllable, but you could hear him. “Darling, wh-e are -ou? What did-- find?” 

“I’m still underneath the chapel.” You said in a hushed voice. “There’s a whole doomsday bunker down here and the room is completely soundproof. But I found Will.” 

“Is he -live?” Hannibal said, hurriedly. 

You cringed as you spoke. “Only in the technical sense. He's unresponsive and hooked up to a breathing tube."

"Listen carefully, [F/N]." Hannibal's voice quickened. "You're-- going to -- to --resuscitate him."

That was exactly what you didn't want to hear. "What?!"

"I'll walk-- through it. Just do-- I tell you." He assured you.

You nodded, put the phone on speaker and placed it on the ground. "Yeah, okay."

"Is there-- first aid?" He asked.

You raced to where you saw the first aid kit before and snatched one off the top. "I've got one right here."

"--good." He said, in as calming a voice as he could. "Do you --plastic tube -- orange tip?"

You found it and picked it up. "Yeah, got it."

"Take the orange cap off," He instructed. "And insert the needle into his-"

The dial tone. Another thing you didn't want to hear.

In movies, you'd always seen the EpiPen administered through the leg. It was as good a guess as any. Your hands shook as you took aim. You swallowed, made your peace with death, and plunged the needle into his leg.

You kept it straight up for what felt like an eternity when Will's body suddenly spasmed and he choked awake. You dropped the EpiPen and rushed to pull the tube from his throat.

He pushed himself up just enough to pull the needle from his arm, then collapsed back on the cot. He breathed as if for the first time.

"[F/N]?" He sputtered, chest falling and rising rapidly. He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but you put your hands on his bare chest and gently guided him back down.

"Will..." you whispered, on the verge of tears. Even though his soft features were bruised and his sparkling eyes were dim, he was still your Will.

Will's lips turned up into a smile, though not without struggle. "This... this means we're even now, right?"

You took his hand in both of yours and peppered small kisses all over his knuckles.

"Suede..." he panted. "With a cashmere lining..."

His thumb ran over the back of your hand, feeling your soft gloves. Your other hand cupped his cheek. 

“Why the hell did you come here?!” Will scolded, once he was able to string words together. “You know Chase wants you dead.” 

“I didn’t come alone.” You admitted. “Hannibal is here with me.” 

Will thought for a second. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or not.” 

“Chase knows we’re here,” You began, “But he doesn’t know I’ve discovered his sex slave fallout bunker-” 

Will let out a sharp exhale that vaguely resembled a laugh. “It’s not for the sex slaves.” 

“...what?” You spat. 

“It’s for the babies.” 

[ak8shi]

The HQ Boys & taking you to a haunted house: Atsumu + Bokuto + Suna + Oikawa

a/n: it isn’t even close to fall yet but this idea has been sitting in my head for weeks,,, enjoy!

 warnings: none, just some swearing

Miya Atsumu

GIRL,,, he’s already secretly pissing himself on the drive to the place LMFAOO

atsumu likes to rest his hand on your thigh when he drives (he’s a bad driver omg he always goes like twenty over) and he’s like clawing you on the way there👹

but hes going to keep his cool in front of you and he covers up his nervousness by teasing you about being scared

Atsumu, shaking in his boots: aw babe do I need to carry ya through the house?☺️

you: sure.,,🙄

he isn’t even that bad until ya’ll get to the entrance of the haunted house,,, he starts sweating and talking to himself frantically lmaooo

“it’s fine tsumu, you’re fine” “don’t even worry about it”

PLEASEE as soon as you get in he’s gripping your hand so hard... there’s no circulation in your left arm 

you have the hold his arms back because he keeps almost punching the actors SMAKSJLS

He doesn’t scream super loud but he curses at all the people jumping out, you better PRAY there’s no kids around 

he moves through the house way too fast like ya’ll are running at one point and he’s just pulling you along WHY ARE YOU CHASING HIM 

BUT if he knows you’re seriously scared he would never leave you behind and he would protect you by keeping you behind him

once you get out he’s acting like he wasn’t even phased,,,

Atsumu, snapping a picture of you gripping onto his arm: “she wouldn’t survive without me” PLEASE SOMEONE humble him💀

(he cries when he sees the snapshots from inside the haunted house where he’s crouching against you and burying his face in your hoody, “baby y-you can’t share these with anyone” LALMSJDK GET-)

Bokuto Koutarou

okay, let’s be honest probably the best and most fun person to go through a haunted house with

he’s so protective of you and you’re his first priority!! He always makes sure you’re comfy and also he’s so big and you can hide behind him !!🥰

what a cutie he’s so excited to go with you, he loves fall festivities

He isn’t really nervous but he’s shaking from adrenaline before you go in (and probably from the three candy apples he devoured beforehand)

he starts humming songs before ya’ll go in to calm both his and your nerves, and he tries to dance with you in line SKHDNKDL

I’m really crying I feel like he would be wearing his varsity jacket and he wouldn’t even hesitate to drape it around your shoulders if you were chilly thriller vibes

okay once you’re in, he genuinely enjoys the scare and goes through the house like a normal person

He lets you grip onto his bicep, and hold his hand (he’s one of those people who are warm no matter what)

HE SCREAMS LOUD THOUGH prepare your eardrums🗣

the cast is even like,,, god.. my ears

After jump-scares he tries talking to the actors and they’re like ??? but honestly it makes it less scary

he would offer to give you a piggyback if you’re too scared :(

Ugh imagine burying your face in his neck and he smells so good and he’s carrying you with his strong arms through it, reassuring you that none of it is real

HE WOULD NEVER JUDGE YOU :((

He just loves the fact that he gets to spend time with you, and he loves the way you hold onto him

Once you get out, he makes sure you’re okay and that you have a smile on your face at the end

But then he sneaks up behind you and scares you as a joke at the end😭 MEAN

He keeps the pictures of the two of you from the haunted house and in the pumpkin patch in his wallet and in his MSBY locker ugh cute

Suna Rintarou

Also one of the one’s who are secretly sort of pissing themselves but won’t show it at all

pretty calm on the way there but you can tell something is off because he keeps fidgeting and asking you if you’re sure you want to go into it LMFAO

You: for the 34th time bighead,,, YES I want to go

once you get there he’s so cute :( he takes your hand in his and puts it into his sweatshirt pocket ugh

HE STARTS CRACKING JOKES and that’s when you know for sure he’s nervous 💔

Rin: babe that zombie kind of looks like you when you wake up hungover

you:... shut the fuck up and take my hand

GIRL HE’S USING YOU AS A SHIELD I CAN’T-💀

He DOES let you squeeze his hand and he thinks the way you bundle into his side is so cute :(

He literally stops moving when someone jumps out at ya’ll and you have to pull him along or else you would be stuck being attacked by the same people 

He doesn’t scream super loud or anything, but he jumps so badly lmao he moves the fastest you’ve ever seen him move besides on the volleyball court

at the part with the fog machine, you both literally get so lost because he’s blind and is convinced that he’s leading you both towards the right direction when in reality you’re walking in circles 

IF you’re the one who’s extremely scared, he’ll take you in his arms and let you cover your face with his sweatshirt

once you make it out, suna will for sure keep the pictures of the two of you in his phone case because he thinks you look so cute huddle next to him, gripping his pussy bangs

Rin, hair disheveled and shirt covered in sweat stains: it wasn’t that bad, you’ve been rougher with me

HE’S SO ANNOYING I-

Oikawa Tooru

I have no idea what he thought going through a haunted corn maze would be like, but he overdresses SO MUCH LMFAKDJDK

man is wearing dress pants and a nice cashmere sweater... tooru please

he looks good but you can’t bring yourself to tell him you’re going to be running for your lives through a farm yard full of dirt and corn

he doesn’t act nervous because he doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into lmfaoo

once you get there he’s like.... wow that is kinda dark..

the nerves start setting in and he’s like trying to ask you if YOU’RE sure if you want to go

Oikawa: baby are you sure you want to go through it? We can always just egg Wakatoshi’s house and get the same experience 🥺

you: yes, I’m sure sweetie❤️

SKSKDJD he just really isn’t ready for it, both of you are holding onto each other for dear life as you enter the maze

GIRL HE SCREAMS WHEN THE PEOPLE POP OUT AND THEY’RE ALLOWED TO TOUCH PEOPLE HE’S IN TEARS

HE INSULTS THE ACTORS WHEN THE JUMP OUT why is he being so mean omg it comes out instinctively-

you have to basically pull him up from the ground and run since the people tend to chase you 

He literally blacks out for the entire thing omg he’s losing it.. it doesn’t help that he didn’t eat dinner before

at one point you get lost in the maze and you can’t seem to find your way out, but tooru decides he’s had enough of it and drags you through the corn field(not even on the paths) and leads you both to the exit🗿

both of you look like you were wrestling out there, with twigs, leaves, and corn stalks sticking out of your clothes and hair,, sweating messes

but you go to a little photo-booth at the location and take pictures, and they turn out so cute..,,

you: maybe we should have egged ushiwaka’s house😳

him: I told you fool😤

[comic-brew]

On smoldering ashes

Chapter One: Early hours of a nightmare

@whumptober2020 days 1. Waking Up Restrained | Hanging and 12. Broken Trust

Summary: Bruce Wayne has gotten vulnerable. Bruce Wayne has found love. His love and his kids are all he needs to find happiness.

Some sick concept of fate doesn’t like him being happy.

Reading Time: 25 mins (3k)

Warnings: whump, being restrained, implied nonconsensual sedation, idk what else to put but it only gets worse from here

AO3 | Next Chapter

ps: reblogs and feedback greatly appreciated uwu

***

By January, he’d told her about the night at the theater. About the alley. How he had felt like his entire world was obliterated, sinking in his parents’ blood, their eyes staring right through him with the eerie glint ot lifeless terror.

By February, he’d told her about Alfred. About how he had raised him in more ways than one. Not enough could be said about Alfred that would satisfy Bruce’s love for him.

By March, he’d told her about his children and how he was so proud of each and every one of them, how he loved them more than anything in the world. They were all the meaning he truly needed in his life. He emphasized that he didn’t know what he’d do without them. Where he’d be without them.

By April, he’d told her what he did when he lost one of them. When he lost a piece of his soul.

By May, she met the eldest son. She wore her brightest smile and noone could tell her apart from the person she painted on herself.

By June, she met the youngest son. She kept any and all comments to herself, and instead chose to admire how much the boy resembled the father.

By late July, she had gotten to see him smile. Not one of the plastic, industrialized Brucie Wayne smiles, nor a half lit smirk. The true smile of the man behind the facade carefully tailored to appease the masses. A genuine reflection of the light in his heart.

And if that wasn’t somehow insinuating that she’d been slowly let inside, by August she’d gotten to taste Alfred’s infamous cucumber sandwiches, more than once.

“I’m Batman” he whispered sincerely in her ear one night of early September, which of course she already knew. She silenced him with a kiss and told him she didn’t care. Told him that she loved him. Before he could revel in his happiness, or perhaps precisely then, the world was drowned passion.

By October she’d heard every story he had to share. Every weight he needed to let off his chest she carried, every muffled scream he expertly hid in late night conversations she was awake to listen and relieve. She even graced him with her own narratives lived through the eyes of a woman she never knew and never would. But to him, they were treasured like droplets of potable water in a desert. She had stitched together flesh and stitched together heart, carefully planting a thread that if she pulled would make him all unravel.

Oh, how she yearned to make it all unravel.

Patience she no longer needed.

The time had come for the thread to be plucked.

***

Bruce walks all around the ball room, untouched glass of champagne in hand. Fake smiles change before him and his hand has been shaken more times than he can possibly keep track of. He congratulates somebody’s kid that got into college, discusses financial partnerships with members of the elite, stroking their ego with a flattering speech about how much good their presence and financial assist has helped their oh so beautiful city of Gotham.

It all fades away so quickly, but the night’s end is nowhere in sight. The great grandfather clock is ticking away the seconds almost pensively, dully enough that Bruce thinks he could fall asleep to its rythm.

He wishes he could anyway.

Somewhen amidst the bleakness of it all Bruce finds a spare moment to glance at the moonshine washed city before him on the other side of a window. It’s a rare sight to be able to admire the lunar pathway illuminating the city skyline without thick smog clouding Gotham’s view of the night sky.

The heavy oak doors creak in indication of motion and Bruce’s head snaps towards the sound. And there, beside the mahogany entrance stands her, as beautiful as ever in her white gown hugging tightly around her waist and falling down to the ground with superfluous grace.

Bruce can’t take his eyes off her as she looks around the ballroom, politely nodding at the people of varying prominence eyeing her intently, with esteem and curiosity all the same.

This is the first time he sees her.

This is the night they meet, Bruce observes.

Cecile is edging her way towards him and his hand twitches where it’s hovering above his mildly inflated pocket. The ring sits comfortably enough encased in the same cashmere as him. Nonetheless his fingers are drawn to it like a magnet, itching to reveal it to her, dying to admire it delicately complimenting her eyes.

He’s imagined the diamond shining on her pristine fingers many times before, but of course it never shines more brightly than her smile.

Cecile greets him ever so charmingly, extending her hand. Bruce offers his to be shaken in her grasp, and even though he can trace all the lines in her palm by memory, her skin feels foreign against his.

This is the first time they meet.

The ring has yet to be purchased, it can’t be hidden in his pocket.

The night they met was months ago.

Cecile’s image falters right in front of him, but his body doesn’t seem to notice or care. He’s left smiling and making small talk with the empty ballroom.

It’s all fake, Bruce reminds his extracted self.

His self, who’s still chasing after ghosts of memories from future and past alike.

***

When he realizes that he’s been asleep, Bruce forces his eyelids open. They almost begrudgingly obey him, fluttering open drowsily as he struggles to will himself awake.

You’re in civilian clothing, he muses. His head is unpleasantly exposed to chilly air, the safety and burden of the cowl all the same isn’t enveloping his skin. Neither is his belt as he can guess. Being completely stripped off his tools and armory is never a good sign when he doesn’t know where he is.

So he tries to focus on exactly that. Finding out where he is.

First thing he sees is the soft blue glow of pixel letters on a screen. The low contrast of blue on ebony feels prickly enough to his eyes when he attempts to figure out the words. The light of each letter blends in with one another until it has formed a melange of shapeless nothings.

Bruce squints with the lingering grogginess, determined to read the inscription. After staring contemplatively at the screen for a couple of seconds he concludes that written on it’s sleek surface is the phrase ‘Please Remain Calm’.

It’s when the words are processed in his brain that he registers he has no feeling in his arms. Glancing up, he more feels than sees the chains, as if he needed to judge the situation with his eyes in the almost pitch black room to acknowledge that he’d been hanging from a rusty pipe on the rather low roof.

The batman inside him scolds him, and mocks him for his peak detective skills. Who knows what else he missed. Worlds Greatest Detective his a-

“B?” calls a voice from the shadows.

Bruce whirls around abruptly at the unforeseen sound rebounding on the walls. His rolling stomach protests by urging bile to rise all the way up to his mouth, but Bruce can’t bring himself to care. He swallows back the bitter taste without blinking.

He knows who that voice belongs to, even if it’s slightly distorted by the texture of the room.

No amount of vertigo could ever stop him from recognizing it.

From recognizing any of them.

“Jason?” his eyes search helplessly the shadows for the boy, to no avail. Of course you can’t see him. You’re not Batman now. You don’t have night vision. “You’re here too?”

“Yeah… Yeah. Wherever the fuck here is anyway. Just woke up?”

Bruce nods simply. He realizes a little late that the gesture was most likely lost amidst the darkness.

“-Yes. Just now” he adds quickly. In fact, his senses are still swimming and his stomach churning, but Jason doesn’t need to be aware of that. “What about you?”

“Been up for a bit. Enough to know that these,” Jason growls, pointedly moving around in his restraints to let Bruce hear the metal jingle, “Were probably made to hold King fucking Kong”

Bruce accepts the information with a soundless sigh. He doesn’t acknowledge defeat though, he doesn’t. He hasn’t tried anything yet. And he knows Jason is perfectly capable of evaluating the situation himself. He knows if something could be done he could have done it.

But.. he doesn’t want to know it. Kidnappings never end well for any of the people involved. Which should be promising enough for their captors’ inevitable fate, but he’s not alone in here. He wouldn’t mind enduring anything they might throw his way to acquire whatever knowledge they might be after. But he can’t let his Jason go through the same pain as him.

So he’s going to try everything again, himself.

Just perhaps.. perhaps after the gastric acids settle back down in his stomach. Yeah, he could assess the situation first. Figure out where they are. Doing so doesn’t require much movement.

At the corners of his vision sleep demands to drag him back underneath, but on the other hand his head is reeling and the urge to vomit has a strong hold over him still. He suppresses both the vertigo dancing inside his head and the blooming ache in his hanging limbs, shakes his head in a feeble attempt to pull his thoughts out of the murky haziness that lingered after his wake.

An image briefly crosses his mind, bright and vibrant, yet it fades quicker than Bruce can form an impression of its context. It whispers a few words conspiratorially to him, a few words he’s embarrassed to admit he hadn’t thought of.

“The others,” Bruce mutters under his breath.

“Hm?”

“The others,” Bruce repeats sternly. “Where are the others?”

Jason stays quiet for a bit and Bruce’s shoulders stiffen. With every passing beat he feels the pain shearing through his flesh all the more clearly.

“I don’t know” Jason admits finally. “I don’t know, I thought I was on my own before you woke up. This place doesn’t exactly have the best lighting”

Bruce has already stopped paying attention to Jason’s voice and anything else he might be saying. He’s almost frantically searching and scouring every far corner of his mind to salvage any fragments of memories sunk deep inside sleep induced mist. The dark blue words that fail to illuminate anything other than the edges of the screen and the beginning of the pipeline climbing the ceiling only further contribute to his frustration.

He needs to remember what happened. Concentrating brings blurry images to the front of his mind but a strong headache stops him from attempting to decode the puzzle his fragments of memories compose.

So he travels further back in his mind, where events are more discernible.

The last thing he remembers is being in the Manor. He assumes that’s where and when the ordeal took place. Everyone was there (aside from Kate, still abroad, and perhaps Alfred, if he could remember the time placement) because they had met Cecile for the first time-

Cecile.

Cecile, who was a civilian. And if he and Jason were snatched that easily and with no recollection of how it happened, then… if Cecile and the kids aren’t here with them..

Bruce’s ear picks up rustling of metal and his thoughts are interrupted.

“Was that you?” he whispers to Jason.

For a brief moment the young vigilante remains silent. His probable reaction can be brought to Bruce’s memory clearly as day. He doesn’t need sight to decide it’s not a good sign.

The presence of his pause is never consoling, least of all now.

“No,” he replies.

Silence.

And again sound, echoing for just half a second.

“Who the fuck is there?”

“Jay? Jay it’s me” a startled voice calls.

Duke

“It’s me, Duke.”

Bruce heaves a breath of relief, but his heart only clenches up tighter.

***

Cassandra wakes up soon after. They’re al here, together. The concentrated effort that must have been required from their captors to achieve that is daunting, making their intentions appear darker and dangerous as they sit shrouded in mist.

As soon as every last of them have opened their eyes a couple of groaning light bulbs nestled in between pipes flicker to life.

The light reveals his… affiliates’ position and dishevelled state. The sedative induced retching is only now beginning to abate, leaving the prickly sensation on his throat behind.

The last bulb to switch on illuminates the space just behind the screen which is now displaying nothing but tv static. The presence o light at last makes known the existence of a man of heavy build dressed in all black and opaque sunglasses standing proudly behind a layer of protective glass.

The bulletproof glass, if Bruce were to make an estimated guess, is attached as a window to the wall facing the bats, and them also faces the man with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Small drawn patches of exposed skin tease Bruce’s memory, but he can’t quite figure out the exact shape of the tattoo on the man’s forearm. A quick glance at the henchman -he supposes- gets Bruce knowledge of a lump that could easily be hiding a gun, and a wire that most likely serves as part of a communications device.

He spots the slit of a sliding door to his right and past the space Jason is positioned, hanging from the second pipe. No indication of a handle.

The room large in depth, and while Tim, Damian, Cass and Stephanie are bound to the same pipeline as him, Dick, Barbara, and Duke follow right behind Jason in that order.

They can’t escape, is the bitter realization.

In no way can they reach one another as their feet hover helplessly above the ground. Heavy cuffs are holding their fists securely in place, clenched uncomfortably in the heart of the metal.

Bruce can only hope whoever the man in black works for will slip up and give them an opportunity to strike

They’re all perfectly capable of handling the situation, no matter how hard his heart is beating in his ears, all showered in concern for the young people here with him.

And the people that are not with.

Cecile was with them.

Now she isn’t.

She must be somewhere else. She’s still alive, Bruce know this. She has to be.

And he’s about to find out where.

“There was another woman with us. Where are you keeping her?” Bruce inquires, and his speech gradually deepens as he leans into Batman’s cruel, hoarse timbre.

The man doesn’t spare him a second glance. Simply standing with the poise of a statue, ever unflinching.

The provocative absence of any type of response fills Bruce with equal pique as it does dejection. Before he knows it he’s fuming and seething in powerful conniption, metal clashing against metal with the same ferocity.

Where is Cecile?!“ he yells, thrashing about in his chains. "Tell me what you bastards did to Cecile!”

The man only stares blankly back at him. Bruce shouts even louder. The blood is boiling in his veins, the cacophony of the force with which the chains clash against one another and the pipeline can almost be described as ear numbing.

“Hey B! Bruce! Calm down, okay?”

If they hurt her, he swears he will-

Bruce’s vehemence withers away when a familiar presence carefully closes the small door beside her and begins strutting her way towards the glass.

The other side of the glass.

She stops right where he can soak up the sight of her and smiles, cocking an eyebrow. A smile so far from being as beautiful as he remembers it. This smile fills Bruce with dread. Just a little too wide to be kind. More teeth are showing than they normally should.

It’s not as wide as the Joker’s- they’re never as wide as the Joker’s. But always just a little too wide.

“Well oh my! I’m flattered my absence has had such a huge impact on you, love. Truly”

All the air has been ripped out of Bruce’s lungs in an instant, and all the air his delayed breaths provide is immediately rejected.

It can’t- It can’t be.

It can’t be Cecile.

“No”

Not her. Not the woman he loves. Not the woman he’d trust with his life.

No, no, no-

Cecile regards him curiously, finding it’s the perfect time to play with her Auburn locks of hair before deciding to speak.

“Well for one, I have to give you this. It was fun, while it lasted dear” she says with amusement. Clearly enjoying ripping Bruce’s heart into a billion pieces.

Bruce feels nauseous, and this time the lingering aftereffects of whatever sort of sedative he’s been injected with have absolutely nothing to do with it. The only creature residing in his eyes is heartache as Cecile forcefully shoves her betrayal down his throat with every laugh and word.

Bruce can only find it in himself to gawk at her, thunderstruck.

She gestures towards him, barely able to hold back snickers.

“It’s just- I mean, this will surely be plenty more enjoyable than our time together, not gonna lie”

Her silver eyes’ malicious shine is unmasked, openly expressing itself. Her awful fits of laughter are as good as daggers embedded hilt deep into his chest but everything is fading with every new gash. Everything but his thoughts.

He has fallen for an illusion.

For nearly ten months, his entire life has been a lie. The foundation he built his newfound happiness on was never steady, and the first seism has arrived to shake his world apart.

Cecile is standing aside, looking particularly pleased with herself, and Bruce only wants to stop.

He only wants to cease existing.

[elexica]

Second Chance Christmas: {{ December 25 }}

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832405/chapters/69387498

Christmas Day. *not the last chapter*

Merry Christmas y'all! Thank you for your readership, your comments, your kindness. It means so much to me. Last chapter will be up within 24 hours.

Full chapter after the read more.

Joey was rudely awakened by the thump of his entire son against his chest.  Aforementioned son was practically vibrating as he and his sister continued their complete attack, disrupting the significant quantity of pillows around.  The duvet was bouncing from the combined child-energy.

“It’s Christmaaaaaassss!!!” Atticus shouted before burying his head in a pillow.

Kaiba loomed in the doorway, sipping from a branded mug with a smug look on his face as Joey tried to calm the chaos that was Alexis jumping up and down on their bed.  Kaiba was already dressed for the day in yet another black turtleneck, and was completely devoid of any festive costume.

Shit, Joey thought.  Half the presents weren’t wrapped and should be on full display on his desk… None of them had been placed under the tree when he and Kaiba had gotten distracted and…

“Shall we see if Santa visited?” Kaiba offered.  Joey leveled a frustrated glare before his eyes managed to fix on the desk in the room which was… devoid of any trace.  The wrapping paper and remaining presents were gone.  Even the tape had been restored to its position in the caddy.

It was enough for Joey to believe, for a second, in Christmas magic.

The kids accepted their victory gracefully, scampering from the bed to the stairs and rushing down towards the stockings and the tree.

“Did you…” Joey asked, morning grogginess still sticking to him like sweet molasses.

Kaiba tossed Joey’s bathrobe onto the bed, and smirked into his mug as he stalked out.

The tree was illuminated and so thoroughly surrounded by presents, the kids couldn’t get within a three-foot radius of the base of the tree.  Still, like monsters, they ripped through the presents with alarming speed.  A hurricane of wrapping paper flew across the living room—with no regard for the delicate job of some of them, or the pretty fluffy bows affixed to the gifts.

“A yo-yo?!” Atticus announced, unwrapping a box containing a competition grade yo-yo.  Joey looked on in horror as Kaiba’s smile grew more devious.  “The string isn’t even on?!”

Atticus handed it to Joey, intuitively knowing that it wasn’t the sort of thing Kaiba was going to respond to.

Joey’s face blanched at the weight of the device in his hand.  Like everything else that had happened that week, it was intimately familiar, buried deep in the recesses of his memory, and slightly nausea-inducing.

It was a high quality yo-yo, matte jet black and from the feel of it in his hand, the ball bearings were perfectly aligned.  The crimson string was just waiting to be looped on, which Joey expertly did—carefully unwinding the twists enough to slip them over the yo-yo.  And then, balancing the yo-yo on the string, he rewound the yo-yo by sliding it along the thread.

In his mind, the process took forever, even if only a few seconds had passed.

“Thanks Dad!” Atticus chirped, retrieving the yo-yo from his hand to begin playing with it.

Joey slowly returned to the present, where Kaiba commented, “You should ask your dad to some you some tricks.”

Eventually they had shredded all of the wrappings and the kids were completely occupied with their gifts.  Alexis was tearing open the booster packs and struggling her way through the more complex words on some of the cards.  Atticus had his deck out, too, and he leaned over her shoulder and explained some of the text and card effects patiently.

Joey glanced over at Kaiba, who was smiling the same smile from Mokuba’s wedding photos.

“Remembering what it was like to be a big brother?”  Joey prodded.

Kaiba nodded.  “Things were rarely this peaceful, but when they were… I did not always know how to appreciate it.”

Joey reached a hand to Kaiba’s back and stroked over the soft cashmere of the black turtleneck reassuringly.  “I wish things had been different too.”  And Joey leaned his head onto Kaiba’s shoulder.  “But they’re pretty good right now, huh?”

Kaiba nodded, hair shifting against Joey’s.

Atticus fired up the latest model of the Duel Disk, and the hologram took over half of the room, consuming the Christmas tree and the better part of his sister, who screamed.

Kaiba and Joey were on their feet in an instant—Kaiba showing Atticus how to adjust the settings on the Duel Disk and Joey to rescue Alexis from the belly of a dragon.

. . .

As Kaiba flipped a chocolate chip pancake, he spared a quick glance to a shiny Rolex watch.  Another one of the treasures that Kaiba had left behind years ago, and Joey hadn’t had the nerve to mail back or pawn off.

“What time will your sister be coming by?”

The question was said in an innocent tone of voice, overshadowed by the sizzle of the pancake against the cast iron.  But Joey knew what it meant—the timer on their holiday magic was running low.

The snow of the snow globe was settling on the fantasy of a happy family.  Joey would have to either shake it up again or accept that time had sucked out the hope, like glitter and plastic pooling at the bottom.

Kaiba would do anything to avoid having to face Joey’s sister.  Even after moving to New York, Joey’s mother was not really a part of his life due to a mixture of built up resentment and a genuine lack of connection.  But Serenity was a frequent visitor, and a huge source of love and support—especially during and after the divorce.

As much as it bothered Joey, Kaiba was probably right to try to avoid her.  Serenity wasn’t very pleased with Kaiba after the divorce—or before it—and frankly it was a reasonable act of self-preservation to try and dodge. Joey considered lying, trapping Kaiba right there, letting Serenity lay into him.

Anything to make him stay a little longer.

But Joey had grown into an honest man, unfortunately for him, and he answered with the truth: “She gets off shift at noon.”

Kaiba nodded, plating up the pancakes.  There was something a little magic to seeing Kaiba in the apron, making breakfast.  Joey thought he might be getting used to the sight of Kaiba, surrounded by ingredients, carefully putting together meals.

Joey was inclined to agree with Mokuba, Kaiba was pretty good at the staples.  It’s hard to go wrong with chocolate chip pancakes, but sometimes the chips can get too burnt, and the chocolate chips can get stuck to the pan.

Atticus and Alexis seemed to share the sentiment, as Kaiba continued to flip pancakes for another forty-five minutes to make enough for the family.

Just as Kaiba sat down to his own pancake, his eyes darted away.

Kaiba had a preternatural sense for trouble, honed through the nonstop turmoil of his youth.  Like Spiderman’s extra-sensory perception, Kaiba stared at his untouched breakfast plate and immediately announced, “I’ve got to go,” popping up from the breakfast table.

He didn’t seem to have much packed up, other than a briefcase with his work laptop.  Joey wondered if he was going to keep leaving all of the other shit here.  The traces of Kaiba that the other man hadn’t managed to take back with him, the books, the whiskey, the scar cream, the turtlenecks…

Reminders that Kaiba was here, little touches of his ghost clinging to the bookcase, the end tables, the closets.  Just like dust, Kaiba had settled into the hard-to-reach crevices of his life.

Joey feigned ignorance.  “What?” he asked, “It’s still Christmas.”  As if he didn’t know that whatever magic they had between them had to disappear before another adult saw.  The great Seto Kaiba learning and growing?  No outsiders were allowed to see a travesty like that.

The man was already headed to the door, and Joey had to pursue him.  Serenity’s car was visible from the front hallway.  She had gotten off shift about a half an hour ago, and had made a beeline for the family home.

“As far as the children are concerned, the main events of the holiday have concluded.”  Kaiba pulled out the Mercedes keys.  He had obviously been thinking about his getaway.  The schemer.

“That doesn’t mean you have to go now,” Joey positioned himself between Kaiba and the door.

“Don’t.”  Kaiba said it like a warning, low and serious.  There was a note in his voice that was too harsh.

The entire week had felt like he had been rifling through different versions of Kaiba.  The savage man he used to know, the love of his life, the impermeable shadow who lurked in his study, the father of his kids.

Now, once again, Joey was facing the most intense version of Kaiba—determined, cornered, cruel.

“Come on, it doesn’t have to be, you can just…”  Joey didn’t know what to say, but he did spread his arms out, making a better barrier between his ex-husband and the exit.

Kaiba bowed his head, more threatening, more looming.  “I don’t know what this is, you don’t know what this is.  It’s not fair to the children to have us… so undetermined.  Unstable.  Whatever this armistice was, it was above all temporary.”

Joey was never that easily cowed.  “I don’t remember having that conversation?!” He spat back.

Kaiba stood taller again, reaching past Joey to undo the deadbolt.  “Can you, for once, not make this harder for me than it has to be?”

Joey hesitated.  Maybe Kaiba was right, maybe this was too unstable.  Maybe it just wasn’t fair to the kids.  Darting back and forth from a loving family to practically strangers.  From the soreness in his chest, the anxiety he felt at the thought that Kaiba would vanish from his life again—all that presence, gone in a flash—he knew it wasn’t fair to himself to play the game either.

“If you really want to go that bad, I won’t stop you,” Joey said, finally.

Kaiba passed by Serenity in the driveway.  She wished him a Merry Christmas but he just kept walking.  

. . .

“You did what?!” Serenity choked on her eggnog.  They were watching Atticus and Alexis duel in the snow, holograms bouncing and leaping through the wintry landscape.  The snowflakes disappeared as soon as the reached the holograms, hidden by the solidvision programming.

Joey remembered, somewhat, when Kaiba was first trying to get the software to play nice with foreign particles.  And Joey hated that he was impressed with the result.

“Look, he as here for a week and… he’s different.  I really think he, y’know, he got it.  He understood what he was missing,” Joey said, more into his own eggnog than to his sister.

She shook her head.  “I saw him, he didn’t seem all that different to me,” she paused to sip her eggnog.  “But that’s none of my business.”

“That was… he’s not great with…” Joey could hear himself, hear the excuses rolling off of his tongue.  He hated being in the position of defending the other man’s frustrating decisions and bad attitude.

She put her hand on his shoulder.  “I get it.  I’ve know him a long time, right?  I get that he can be… I don’t know, he has to be warmer with you, right?”

Joey nodded, realizing that tears were pooling in his eyes, the beautiful snowy backyard dissolving into a soft watery mess.

“But I also know he’s driving to the airport now.  And I highly doubt Seto Kaiba waits on the tarmac for long.  If you’ve got something to say to him, maybe you should get out there.  I can watch the kids.”

. . .

Joey flashed whatever fancy looking crap he found in the top drawer of Kaiba’s desk in the study to the airport security checkpoint.  He had no idea which ones went to what at the airport, but no one had stopped him when he had driven, perhaps recklessly, very close to the tarmac.  He only had to jump on fence to be on the asphalt—and it was never difficult to tell which plane belonged to his ex-husband.

No one else who parked their private jets at the Westchester airport had the same fondness for the Blue Eyes White Dragon, that was for sure.

Joey had never felt as insignificant as he did on the tarmac.  Even though Kaiba was only in the jet, the distance between them made him feel like Kaiba was already airborne, and he was the size of an ant—a speck in the map, a pixel.

“Hey.  I got something to say to you!” Joey shouted at the plane.  He assumed Kaiba couldn’t hear him, but the body language would have to be enough—waving his arms, clothed in his bathrobe, thick fabric flapping in the chilling wind.  From his peripheral vision, he could see the airport staff already streaming out to take the civilian off of the dangerous runway.

But instead the stairway descended, and the door opened.  Kaiba’s imposing silhouette cut a nerve-wracking shadow.  Joey was taken back to the days when the man would hang off of helicopter ladders and yell about card games.

“Jounouchi, it is not safe for you to stand in the tarmac!” The outline yelled back.

“Well, I got something to say to you!” Joey screamed over the sounds of another airplane taking off.

Kaiba descended a few steps, but not all the way.  He couldn’t be bothered to touch the same ground as Joey.  Kaiba extended a hand gracefully, wordlessly gesturing for Joey to continue.

“Do you wanna stay?”  Joey asked.  It was a simple question, honest, and more sincerely curious that even he had expected.

“I have work, Jounouchi,” Kaiba turned around and ascended again.

“What do you want?!” Joey yelled at his back.

Kaiba spun back, with a shocking amount of frustration pulling at his face.

“What do you want?” Kaiba shouted down with absolute vitriol.  

What did Joey want?  He wanted him to change, he’d said that in the past, and Kaiba had answered that he couldn’t.

And then he did.

Joey just wanted that—what Kaiba had already become.  All he had to do was say that, right?  Stay. That’s what he wanted.  And, keep trying. And, I want you to want to keep trying.  

But that would be giving in to Kaiba’s demands, right?  Letting him win, letting him off the hook.  All the shitty days, all the half-assed affection, all the last priority moves.  There was a little block there, a clot in the artery between his feelings and a reality that he could accept.  Kaiba never apologized, so he didn’t deserve forgiveness, did he?  Had Kaiba ever even figured out what he had done wrong?

The guards were closing in.

“I want you to apologize.”

If Kaiba could say he was sorry, Joey could say that he wanted him to stay.  To come back for real.

Kaiba looked at him, and all the anger that had made it to his face evaporated.  It melted away to his old mask—a casual disdain for everyone else in the world.

“I will not apologize for who I am.  You should know better than that.  Good bye, Jounouchi.”  He disappeared from Joey’s vision and returned to the cockpit.

Joey could have taken the five security guards, in his heyday.  But he found himself passively wandering back into the airport under their glares.

That wasn’t quite not what he wanted an apology for.  He didn’t need Kaiba to apologize for being a mess of a man, an impatient man, at times uncaring, frequently distant and harsh.  He just wanted Kaiba to apologize for the way he had made Joey feel, and for leaving without even trying.  For leaving again. For being so criminally unwilling to admit his own happiness, capitulate to his own fulfillment.

Really, Joey didn’t want much.  He just wanted enough that he could bear to drive Kaiba back home.

But, maybe Kaiba was right about himself.  Maybe he really didn’t change.  Not enough, maybe even not at all.

[camillemontespan]

her one constant [part nine: poker and romcoms] [drake the bodyguard AU]

Master List

@ibldw-main​​​ @jovialyouthmusic​​​ @katedrakeohd​​​ @moonlightgem7​​​ @pug-bitch​​​ @princessleac1​​​ @burnsoslow​​​ @notoriouscs​​​ @dcbbw​​​ @saivilo​​​ @rainbowsinthestorm​​​ @marshmallowsandfire​​​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​​​  @gardeningourmet​​​ @kingliam2019​ @nomadics-stuff​ @kimmiedoo5​

*******************************

'Are you sure you'll be alright by yourself?' Drake asked Camille as he prepared to leave Valtoria Manor for poker night with his fellow bodyguards. 'I can always cancel.' 

Camille shook her head and wrapped her cashmere cardigan around her tightly. 'I'll be fine,' she assured him. 'It's your night off duty, please just enjoy it.' 

Drake studied her for a moment. He didn't believe her assurances. She had been too casual about it, almost flippant. He had a feeling she was shitting being alone tonight after what happened at Applewood and he honestly didn’t blame her. 

'Drake, I promise I'll be okay,' Camille said. 'Go beat Lou's ass at poker and enjoy your night off. I'm just going to watch a film and have a glass of wine, I'll be alright.' 

Drake sighed, knowing she wouldn't budge. 'Fine,' he said. 'But if you feel afraid or anxious, call me and I'll come straight back.'

'It's your night off -' 

'I don't care,' Drake interrupted. 'If you start feeling scared, tell me.'

Before Drake left the estate, he did a final check of the Manor and grounds, ensuring everything was as it should be. Once he was satisfied, he said goodbye at the front door. 

'Enjoy your wine,' he whispered, giving her a wink. 

'Enjoy your bromance time!' Camille quipped, finally giving him a smile and relaxing. 

************************

Drake, Lou, Micah and Thomas were sitting around the oval table in Lou's dining room, cards in hand, glasses of scotch beside them. Cigar smoke snaked through the air. 

'Step up your game, Walker, I'm beating your ass,' Lou mocked. 

Drake smirked. 'Patience, Lou. Just you wait.' 

Micah eyed Drake above his deck of cards. 'So.. The Duchess of Valtoria.'

Thomas groaned and let his head hang back as he declared, 'the love of my life..'

Drake grimaced. 'Keep it in your pants, Tom.' 

'But she's so hot!' Thomas protested. 'Please tell me you have thought about getting with her.' 

Lou sniggered. 'Walker's in loooveeee..' he teased. 

Drake rolled his eyes. 'Shut the fuck up, Lou.' 

'He doesn't deny it,' Micah said. 'He loves her.' 

'Seriously, when are you gonna tap that?' Lou asked. 'You've been guarding her for four months now. You're basically married.' 

'How the fuck did you come to that conclusion?' Drake asked, sipping his scotch. 'Please. Enlighten me.' 

Lou chuckled. 'You both look at each other with puppy dog eyes. She always smiles at you and looks at you when she's dancing. She actually treats you like a human being.' 

Drake scoffed. 'Treats me like a human being - God, the standards are low. Besides, you guys are all fucking your Duchesses and you don't seem to care how you're treated so long as you're getting your dick wet.' 

'Jesus Drake, tell us how you really feel!' Lou laughed, shaking his head. 'You're so protective of her. Like, we're protective of our Duchesses but you're on another level.'

Drake shrugged. 'That's how I work. I take my job seriously and I'm not apologising for trying my hardest to keep her safe.' 

The group went quiet, awkwardly quiet. 

Thomas cleared his throat. 'More scotch?'

********************

Camille poured herself a glass of wine and settled down on the couch to watch My Best Friend's Wedding. Camille adored romcoms. Pulling her blanket up over her knees, she focused on Julia Roberts and Rupert Everett, wishing that she had a gay best friend like Rupert. Maybe she should convince Maxwell..

Not for the first time, Camille wondered how Drake’s poker night was going. She knew he hadn’t been keen to go based on the fact that she would be by herself. But they weren’t together. He was her bodyguard and this was his night off; he had to be off duty. 

She hoped he was swindling Lou out of his money and that he was getting along with the guys. Drake always seemed like a loner, never really part of a group, even when he stood beside his fellow bodyguards at court events. He never went for drinks and he never told her about having any friends. As far as Camille knew, Drake’s life evolved around his job.

Which meant his life evolved around her. 

Ignoring this realisation, Camille watched as Julia Roberts was introduced to a peppy Cameron Diaz. They were providing a good distraction from the fact that Camille was alone and feeling extremely anxious about it. 

She heard a noise come from the kitchen. 

Camille jumped up instantly. The rest of her staff had the night off too, so she was literally alone in the manor for the first time in four months. Great timing. Pausing the film, Camille slowly walked through the living room and down the corridor, steeling herself. 

She reached the kitchen.

Poking her head around the door, she found that there was nobody there. 

The noise was persistent though. Frowning, Camille ventured further into the kitchen before she realised what it was. 

The boiler.

‘Camille, you fucking idiot..’ Camille scolded herself. Sighing, she turned to leave the kitchen to go back to her film. But she still grabbed a knife out of the drawer and carried it with her, not wanting to take any chances. 

**********************

'Face it,' Lou said, after another fifteen minutes of solid poker. 'Your situation with the Duchess of Valtoria is different to ours. You gotta see why we're interested.' 

Drake poured himself another glass of scotch , submitting himself reluctantly to questioning. 'How is the situation different? Aside from the fact that I actually do my job while you assholes fuck the women you're supposed to be looking after.' 

Micah smirked. 'You say that like it's a bad thing.'

Thomas sipped his scotch, enjoying the gossip. 

'Okay, well, for starters, you live together,' Lou said. 'That's not normal.' 

Drake closed his eyes. He knew it wasn't normal. He knew he should have his own apartment and only work for Camille from 8am-8pm. 

But the others wouldn't understand. 

'Like I guard Olivia from morning until early evening,' Lou continued, 'then I fuck her till she comes then I go home.'

Drake wrinkled his nose. 'Jesus, Lou, you're such a dirtbag..' 

'I make her feel fucking wonderful,' Lou defended himself. 'I do my duty and then I go home and be myself. Drink scotch, watch porn, sleep like a baby until I have to do it all over again.' 

Drake stared at Lou. 'That is the saddest thing I've ever heard..' he said dryly. 

Thomas sniggered. Micah shook his head, amused, and helped himself to more alcohol. 

'Why do you live in her Manor anyway?' Micah asked. 'I'm genuinely interested.' 

Drake sighed and looked down at his glass. The others watched him, waiting for an explanation. 

'After she was involved in the assassination attack on Constantine, Camille became really afraid,' Drake said softly. 'She fired her bodyguard, Mara, for not keeping her safe. Camille was injured you see, ceiling plaster hit her head and she was knocked out. But what Mara should have done was get her out of the ballroom as soon as something became suspicious. But she didn't. '

Lou rolled his eyes. 'Mara was the worst bodyguard I had ever met,' he drolled. 'She shouldn't have passed her qualifications.'

Drake nodded, for once agreeing with Lou. 'Exactly,' he said. 'So I was hired because of my qualifications and experience. I'd protected politicians and diplomats. But Camille was terrified of everything when I met her. She couldn't set foot in the ballroom for weeks after what happened. She had panic attacks-' 

'Poor girl..' Thomas murmured. 

'So I decided to live in the servants quarters. It wasn't her idea, it was mine,' Drake admitted. 'She told me she would wake in the night screaming from nightmares that another attack was going to happen and she felt afraid to be alone in case she was targeted. She was a new noble and instantly part of the inner circle, thanks to Liam proposing to her. Easy target. So I moved in. I've been working with her on her confidence ever since and making sure I'm always with her so she can feel safe and secure. But at Applewood, something happened.’

Thomas leaned forward, his eyes widening. ‘...What happened?’

‘You tapped that ass!’ Micah hooted. 

‘Finally, Walker!’ Lou cried.

‘No, someone broke into her room and tried to force himself on her,’ Drake said bluntly. 

The other bodyguards stopped smiling and laughing. Lou was studying Drake with a frown on his face and he was gripping the glass of scotch in his hand. ‘You’re fucking kidding.’

‘Being serious,’ Drake replied, his voice remote. ‘I heard her scream. I kicked down the door and found her in the arms of this guy who was trying to kiss her.’

‘I hope you fucking killed him,’ Micah hissed.

‘I nearly did,’ Drake whispered, looking down at the table. ‘I was this close. Camille brought me out of it. She made me stop. But I swear, all I felt was sheer rage. It was running through my veins, like I couldn’t control it. I just kept punching him and punching him, determined to end him. I’ve never felt something so visceral before. But I needed to protect her and in that moment, I felt like I had failed. I had one job and I failed at it.’

‘You didn’t fail,’ Lou said strongly. ‘You did your job and you kicked the shit of the guy. He didn’t get far with her, right?’

‘No,’ Drake conceded. ‘But if she hadn’t screamed out.. God, I hate to think.’ He broke off and swallowed. He picked up the glass of scotch and tossed it down his throat. 

The others were silent for a moment. 

'When did you realise you loved her?' Thomas asked quietly. 

Drake blinked. 'That's what you want to know?' 

Micah smiled as if proven right. 'No denial..' he teased again, trying to lift the mood. 

Drake closed his eyes. The other waited with bated breath. 

'First time I laid eyes on her,' Drake finally said, his voice cracking. 'That first moment.. I knew I was done for.' 

*************************************

Camille continued to watch My Best Friend’s Wedding but she wasn’t exactly paying attention. The ‘suspicious noise that happened to be the boiler in the kitchen’ scenario had cast her mind with more doubts and anxiety. She couldn’t relax. Her ears were trained now on any new noise that presented itself.

I am alone in this manor, all forty rooms of it. If someone breaks in, all I have to defend myself with is a kitchen knife and I am not exactly Olivia Nevrakis. 

Pausing the film again, Camille decided she needed fresh air to get away from her inner thoughts. Opening the French doors that lead out onto the terrace, she sat down at the table and breathed in the cool night air. 

Yet again, her thoughts turned to Drake.. 

Maybe he can come home?

She sighed.

No. He is having fun with the boys. He is making friends. Also, though he may live here, I doubt he calls the manor his ‘home.’ Get a grip, you’re not married. You’re not his wife who’s waiting up for him to come home from a night out with the guys. You are his employer. 

But she took out her phone and scrolled to his name in her contacts. Her thumb hesitated over his name. 

Stop it. You’re being paranoid. Go back inside and watch Julia Roberts try to wreck Cameron Diaz’s life. 

Camille got to her feet and put her phone back in her pocket. She went back inside the living room and snuggled under the blanket, turning the film back on. 

*************************************

Drake wondered if Camille was having a nice time back home.

She probably was. She loved drinking wine and watching romcoms so really, this was her idea of the perfect evening. Drake hated romcoms but he liked how much they made her laugh and smile. 

He was now whooping Lou’s ass at poker. He was having fun, which he hadn’t expected to. Maybe he could come along to these things more. It seemed they had a weekly thing like this, every Friday night. Of course, Drake would have to ask Camille first.. 

He hoped she was relaxing right now. He didn’t want her to be sat by the phone, wanting to call him for reassurance, but being too scared to do so. Because if she was, Drake hoped she would call. He would leave this poker night in a heartbeat if Camille called him. She was more important.

****************************

Camille was sitting with her phone in her hand wanting to call Drake for reassurance but was too scared to do so. 

You are being pathetic. Keep watching the film, get drunk on wine and just have a fun, girly Friday night. Maybe get the vibrator out?! Just do SOMETHING that isn’t getting your panties in a twist about a hypothetical intruder. 

Camille wished she hadn’t thought of an intruder. Her mind instantly thought of Applewood.

Stop thinking about that creep. Stop it. He got into your room and had his hands on you but he didn’t get far because Drake stopped it. Drake broke down the door and rescued you. It’s done. 

Goosebumps formed on her skin. She felt her throat begin to close up and her heart beat more rapidly as she remembered that night in Applewood. His fingers digging into her arms. The stale scent of beer on his breath. His lips brushing her neck. The overwhelming claustrophobia that she felt as he kept trying to kiss her. 

Camille let out a choked breath. She tried to gather her bearings, relax. 

What can you feel, smell and hear? Focus on the present. Don’t let this get you. Don’t panic. 

Her breath was coming out ragged. She was sweating now and her body wouldn’t stop shaking. Camille took out her phone and her shaking fingers managed to swipe through her contacts to Drake’s number. Without hesitation, she pressed his name and listened to the ringing tone, clutching the phone to her ear with both hands in case she dropped it from shaking.

***********************************

Drake’s phone rang in his pocket. He reached for it but was instantly chastised by Lou. ‘No phones at the table, Walker.’

‘It could be Camille,’ Drake said, ignoring him. He took out the phone and saw that, of course, he was right. He wished he wasn’t. He had been hoping Camille was enjoying herself.

‘Camille, you okay?’ he asked as soon as he answered.

‘D-Drake,’ Camille panted, her breath coming out short. ‘Panic attack, I’m having a panic-’

Drake was on his feet instantly and shrugging on his jacket. ‘I’m coming back,’ he said. ‘Hold tight. Be with you in ten. Lay down, practice your breathing and count as far as you can go, alright?’

‘Okay.’ Her voice was so small and terrified. Drake’s heart ached for her. 

He hung up and waited for the others to berate him. But, to his surprise, they didn’t.

‘Is she okay?’ Thomas asked.

‘Panic attack,’ Drake said shortly. 

Lou stood up and walked him to the front door. As he opened it for Drake, he turned to him and regarded him with a serious expression on his face.

‘Drake, I know you love her,’ he said. ‘But you got to think of your priorities. Your job has to come first.’

Drake frowned. ‘I know that-’

‘No, you think you know,’ Lou interrupted. ‘But it’s clear to me that right now, your feelings are clouding your judgment. So let me give you some reality. Duchesses… they never go for us. We are there to protect them but they will never think of us as anything more than a human shield. Feelings don’t work in this job, no matter how much you feel for your girl. It means nothing in the end.’

Drake stared at him in shock. ‘But you always brag about fucking Olivia,’ he said. ‘And you make fun of me for loving Camille.’ 

Lou shrugged. ‘Because it’s fun to take the piss out of you,’ he said. He sighed. ‘Sex with Liv is the only way I can be close to her,’ he explained simply. ‘That’s why all of us fuck our Duchesses. Because we want an excuse to be in their bed and pretend it’s something more. But we won’t admit that. Instead, we sit around playing poker and brag about the tits and ass we got last night. But I’m saying this to you, Drake, and if you repeat it I’ll rip your fucking dick off.  Do I want to take her to a fancy restaurant and wine and dine her? Yeah, I do. But she made it clear that she only wants me for two things and fancy dinner dates ain’t one of ‘em.’

***************************************

Drake got back to the manor to find Camille hunched up in the corner of the couch, practicing her breathing. She opened her eyes when she heard him enter the room; guilt flooded her features.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I ruined your night.’

Drake moved quickly across the room to sit beside her. He gently took her hand, wanting to be a physical support. ‘You didn’t,’ he assured her. ‘If you ever feel unsafe or anxious in your own home and I’m not here, call me. Are you alright now?’

‘Sort of,’ she said. ‘But I still feel a little anxious.’

‘What were you thinking about?’

Camille swallowed. ‘Applewood.’

Drake pressed his lips together. Fucking Applewood. He hated how Camille was back to square one with her confidence. All the work they had done the past four months had been obliterated in one evening thanks to the Applewood Fucktard.

‘He won’t come here,’ Drake said quietly, keeping his eyes trained on hers. ‘He doesn’t know where you live.’

‘I wasn’t thinking he would break in,’ Camille explained. ‘Just.. the memories. I felt helpless.’

Drake’s jaw set. ‘You are never helpless,’ he told her. ‘You’re brave and strong-’

‘I screamed when he got in my room,’ Camille interrupted. ‘I could have hit him but I didn’t know the best way to do it. I screamed like a fucking loser instead.’

A lightbulb went off in Drake’s head. Why hadn’t he thought of this before?

‘I’ll teach you self defence,’ he said. ‘Starting tomorrow.’

Camille blinked in surprise. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, really,’ Drake said, determination and hope flooding his veins now. ‘I’ll teach you basic moves so if you’re ever in that position again - which you won’t- at least you will be prepared. How does that sound?’

Camille threw her arms around Drake’s neck, making him chuckle in surprise.

‘Yes!’ she cried against his neck. ‘Make me a badass!’ 

They remained in each others arms for longer than necessary. Drake held her close, glad he could provide some light for her. That was all he wanted; for her to feel safe, light and happy. No worries. Just peace. 

They broke apart. Drake gave her a warm smile and his eyes flicked to the TV. ‘So,’ he said. ‘What’s Leathery Face Mulroney up to now?’

Camille let out a laugh and hit Drake on the arm. ‘Don’t call Dermot Mulroney that!’ she cried. ‘He is gorgeous!’

Drake raised an eyebrow. ‘We’ll see about that. Come on, play the film, subject me to the fluffy and ridiculous plot..’

And so they sat together to finish watching My Best Friend’s Wedding. Drake’s arm stretched out down the back of the couch; Camille leaned back and rested her head against his arm. Drake’s finger reached out to curl a tendril of her hair. 

[yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy]

Silk, Spices and Lies Part 2

At the end of this part, just imagine Hvitserk doing that^ That is THE CUTEST. omg. Tagging @waiting4inspiration​ and @inforapound​ who wanted to be tagged. 

Silk, Spices and Lies Part 2

It took a couple of days to get set up and settled in. In that time, King Harald made no less than seven stops to see if you needed anything and was your group’s first customer. Because your interpreters went out to ascertain the latest news and reports, they confirmed that he did indeed lose his wife, who had been pregnant with his child, and had died on the battlefield. And so you gifted him incense to soothe his spirit so that he could grieve her properly in your opinion and you used your interpreters to explain how to burn it and the next day, it seemed to work, because his spirit seemed much more at ease and he smelled of the incense and he confirmed that he was able to sleep very soundly the night before after burning it in his home and had nothing but good dreams, although he seemed a bit reluctant to share what they were about. 

“So now...do you look for a new queen?” You asked as you insisted on helping get him measured for another tunic, this one, you would make special, giving it a lining of silk and an outer shell of cashmere, a garment fit for any king as you got his measurements of his back while he had taken his shirt off so that you could get the proper measurements to fit him while in the back of your mind, your brain tormented you with thoughts of what else you’d like to be doing to his body as you marveled at all his tattoos and his battle hardened body. You could practically feel your essense drip down your thighs, this was ridiculous. 

Contrary to custom, you had laid with many men, usually to lure them to their deaths, but the thought of doing that to him did not sit well with you and it bothered you and you were so grateful you had not been sent here to do that, you’d be damned if something bad happened to him, especially while you were here. Your instincts screamed at you to take care of him. Even though you knew it was not your place to do so. But you did so in subtle ways anyway. Like giving him a deep discount on the very garment you were making him. You were giving him the fabric at what it cost the group to buy it from the textile place it came from and you were gifting your time in sewing it together. Usually there would be haggling involved but he did not haggle with you. He simply accepted the price you gave him. You were also going to add pockets and a belt for free because you could and you wanted to. 

“I do, I don’t suppose you’re available?” He returned and your jaw dropped as did your measuring line which made Kezia snicker a laugh at your reaction from behind him as she was writing down your measurements that you were making and watching the scene unfold with great interest. She had watched you shut down every other man’s attempts to flirt with you so to see one finally get somewhere was exciting and to see you react to him like he was the first man to flirt with you was incredibly entertaining. Usually you were really good at demanding the best prices for these fabrics so to see you give discounts and offer things you had not offered anyone, not even yourself when you looked through these fabrics for your own clothing, was telling. She could see that you liked him as easy as one sees the moon in the clear night sky. Being a lady of the Sultana meant that if you were released from her- you could potentially get any man you wanted but the fact that you were falling for a king, even a foreign one made sense. Even she was impressed that Harald was the kind of man he was and she respected that you would be drawn to him. By the accounts, he treated his queen well and she knew norse women had freedoms even she could only dream of. It would be a good match but she also knew that voicing such things would only make you withdraw from him and so she kept her mouth shut. For right now anyway. No sense in saying anything that would embarrass you in front of him at least. , 

“You are a King, you should marry a noble lady, one with a dowry fit for the kingdom you rule. All around the world, it is so. Royalty only marry nobility. I will probably die as common as I was born because my family is poor and I have no dowry.” You stated matter of factly as your face became downcast even though your heart leaped at the thought. Even though you were far from home and you seemed to be in a constant state of culture shock, the romantic notion of marrying a king from a far off land who would not hold you to the strict code of conduct you were raised with, seemed too good to be true. While it was not unheard of for your people to get married to norseman, it wasn’t terribly common either. And he was a warrior king, who knew how long he would live? Could you really sacrifice what you already had...for him? Especially not knowing if you’d be making such a sacrifice only for him to die shortly after and you’d be stuck and stranded in this cold, wet land. You didn’t know. Not yet anyway. 

“I am King, I can make whoever I choose whatever I want, I could grant you nobility and there is no need for a dowry, my kingdom is as rich as it needs to be.” He offered and you were struck by how generous he was being. You didn’t know if he was simply being flirtatious or if he was being serious, but still, that was one hell of a smooth line. For now though, you should be cautious. 

Should. 

“Although your offer is wonderful, I have a family back home who depend on me to serve the Sultan and Sultana the way I do. My family…” You tried to explain but couldn’t find the right words and the interpreters were thankfully far away because right now they’d be arguing with him over such a thing, themselves being eaten alive with jealousy. 

“Do they hold your family hostage until you get back?” He asked, his usually rough voice was surprisingly soft and...very soothing and comforting just now but you could sense just how sincere he was. He was genuinely worried about your family! Oh Allah! You were in so much trouble. 

“No, not that. My parents are poor people, with many daughters, no sons, being a lady to the Sultana, I earn enough to take care of them, since women usually are fobidden to work outside the home. But since I am one of the Sultana’s ladies in waiting- my life...surrounds her and I live to serve her, I have made a vow to her for life, only she can set me free from it. It was she who sent me here and it is she who will call me back and I will have to answer her. Everything I am and have is thanks to her. I owe her everything, my family owes her everything too. It is because she heard about the Great Heathen Army that she sent me here to see it with my own eyes since she is...stuck..or maybe... can not leave.. her palace. As her lady though, I’m allowed to leave, and I am her eyes and ears here, she lives through me while I am away from her and it is her that has paid for them to take care of me while on this tour of the north, otherwise I never could have dreamed of even traveling far enough to see the arabian sea on my own.  She will be happy to know that such a kind king is willing to offer so much to a woman he barely knows, simply because he wants to. You will be blessed for this, my heart tells me so.” You explained as Kezia’s eyebrows nearly went into her hairline, even to her, you concealed your heart, so to hear you say that to him was huge. there was enough sexual tension in this room between you and him that she feared the cloth would set on fire as you came around to his front to measure his arms that were currently outstretched at his sides and offered him an appreciative smile through your rather sheer veil you were wearing today. He could actually almost make out most of your face from this proximity and the gods were torturing him ever so sweetly because you were a goddess, your beauty was unparalleled, while it was true that you were not fair as his culture would consider a fair beauty, you were universally beautiful.  

“So how do you feel about being in such a strange place?” He asked, undeterred. Oh he was going to free you from whatever vow or whatever was keeping you from him. If he had to sail to the Ottoman Empire to see this Sultana himself, he would. He would find a way to claim you for himself. Come the fires of hell or the high waters of flood and if he had to pay your parents for you, he would. He’d try to offer your weight in furs or whatever they wanted. 

“The same way a fish feels when it’s pulled from the water. Where I come from, deserts surround us and any green, we have to work very hard to make it green. Here, there is green everywhere I look, it’s in all the trees, grass covers every step on the ground. There is so much water here it’s even in the air. Where I come from, we only get rain a few times a year, otherwise we have to get water from very, very deep wells. Here, just in the last month that I’ve been traveling, I have seen more rain than I have ever seen before in my life. When the sun shines, everything turns everything into a...hot...um...bathhouse, but when it does not, it turns colder than anything I’ve ever felt. I have spent more money on furs than anything else, I can not pile my bed high enough with them.” You chuckled as that seemed to give him ideas for what to get you although if he was honest, he knew exactly how he would love to warm your body up with his and wondered if you tasted as rich and spicy as you smelled. Your scent was filling his nose and making his mouth water. What he’d give just to be able to lift your skirts and taste your pussy would be obscene. 

When he left Kezia couldn't help but snicker a laugh as she looked at you with a knowing smirk. 

“What?” You asked her, your cheeks burning hotter than fiery coals as you put the fabrics he asked for aside before you picked out a few more that you wanted to make into different clothes for him, picking colors that would compliment his complexion best. 

“You could have been a Queen of Norway just now.” She gently teased. 

“He was flirting, he wasn’t serious.” You dismissed. 

“He seemed pretty serious to me. I thought he’d be putting either a little prince or a little princess in your belly if I turned around for too long.” She hinted and now your ears were burning and your chest was flushed at the thought.  

“Oh hush!” You shushed her which made her snicker more. 

“If I were you, I’d be taking him up on the offer. You told me that you had mentioned that you would not try to convert him and that he agreed to not convert you, yet norsewomen have freedoms even we could not hope for or even dream of. They do what they want and even though their cities are not as large or as nice as the ones you’re used to, they have potential for growth and from what I heard about his last queen, is she was a strong willed as he was and he liked her that way. I can see him following you back home just to at least try to buy you from the Sultana himself, and I don’t even need my crystal ball for that.” She shrugged. 

“Did you see his palms?” You questioned thoughtfully. 

“I did, he loves as strongly as he fights fiercely. There is wisdom in his age and experience and he would use all of it to care for you and please you well. He would keep you warm through the long hard winters and while you would rule Norway side by side, in the bedroom, you’d rule him.” She prophesied as your heart swooned. Fuck. 

“Tell no one...” You began. 

“Tell who what?” She returned, feigning ignorance before she pulled another few fabrics and cut a few yards of each and added them to your order for him as she finished making a rough pattern for his body. 

The following two weeks, you didn’t see him at all. Which was both bad because you worried where he went and what happened to him and if he was ok because you had began to look forward to seeing him at least twice a day yet good, because that meant you could get closer to the other sons of Ragnar. To Hvitserk especially. He showed promise as a possible match to your princess. He was royal in that he was technically a prince, he wasn’t necessarily as strong willed as Bjorn was and he seemed pretty easy to manipulate and his loyalty swayed, serving Ivar one moment, Bjorn the next. He was rather perfect for your princess. The poor bastard. You could almost feel sorry for him. 

However the look on Harald’s face when he walked into the long house, carrying in the butchered leg and rack of ribs of a reindeer when he saw you talking with Hvitserk he looked so...wounded and jealous, you realized as an afterthought.  

“Harald!” You exclaimed in relief at seeing him though and practically rushed to him, quickly running across the whole hall which was uncharastically empty which made his facial expression change before you seemed to stop just short of actually embracing him. 

“You’re safe?” You asked as you clutched your hand over your pounding heart, looking him over anxiously to see if any of the blood all over him was actually his. Although sense told you that you didn’t need to be worried for him, he was a mighty warrior, surely it would probably take something like a panther or a pack of wolves or a bear to take him down, not quite getting the right words but the look on his face told you he understood what you meant to say. 

“Yes, I’m safe and I’m ok.” He offered as you blew out a breath of relief. 

“So...not your blood?” You asked as you gestured to it. 

“No, not my blood, the kill’s blood,” he reassured you as you finally relaxed and nodded in understanding. 

“You went...hunting?” You asked as Hvitserk came over to take the carcass from him to take it to the kitchen. 

“She’s been searching the city looking for you and asking everyone for you since you left, I told her you went hunting, she’s been coming by every day to see when you’d be back.” Hvitserk informed Harald with a smirk and a hidden wink and it was Harald’s turn to look relieved and so very pleased. So the feelings and attraction was mutual. Good. 

“Yes, I went hunting, you said that you’ve been cold and you needed furs, I went hunting to get them for you, I wanted it to be a surprise, I didn’t mean to make you worry, I’m sorry, I should have told you.” He informed you and you burst into tears. He...went hunting...for you! He troubled himself with actually trying to provide you with...what you needed! He was so...damn it, he was perfect! Not for the Princess, but still. Perfect you were sure for a norseman. In talking with the others, his men deeply respected him and were loyal to him till death. He led by example and even though he had a relatively small kingdom, you were sure it would be great someday, hopefully in his lifetime. 

“My lord, I am...I am unworthy of such acts. You are a king, a king of Norway, a kingdom that...that has much honor that you are destined to see greatness in your lifetime. I am only a servant. A foreigner at that. You and your life are too precious to be risked for such a thing.” You began to weep as you knelt at his feet, feeling supremely humbled yourself before he reached out and pulled you up to your feet again before he framed your face in his hands. If anyone else dare do such a thing you’d be pressing a blade to their throats after cutting their hands off. 

But yet, here you stood, grasping his wrists gently feeling the strength in them and looking up at him with so much gratitude and adoration. Wanting, no, needing to kiss him as he mirrored your look, the softness in his eyes was something you never thought you’d see in any man’s eyes. It’s always been lust or ownership, which before had always made you feel sick, but now, you wanted to see those things in his eyes. He was unlike anyone you had ever known. 

“Then you are lucky. Because as a king, I can do whatever I want. And I wanted to do this for you. Honor me by accepting my gifts.” He insisted as you were nodding before you realized it before he wiped your tears from your eyes with his thumbs but made no move to remove your veil. Since in talking with Bjorn who had experience with Muslims knew that to remove a woman’s veil was forbidden. 

“Only if you will honor me by accepting a gift in return.” You managed to laugh through your tears, leaning into his touch before Hvertserk came back into the room but only for a heartbeat before he quickly left it again when he saw the scene before him which broke you and Harald out of the little trance you had put yourselves into before you reluctantly pulled away and regained your respectful distance, wiping the tears and smudging the eye makeup you put around your eyes. 

“Name it.” He replied as he simply grasped his own hands in front of him but stayed planted where he was. 

“I will make you a feast fit for the great king you are. It will take me about three days to prepare for it though. Can you be patient?” You asked him hopefully. 

“For you? I’d wait years.” He answered and you had to look away as your cheeks flushed again but you couldn’t help the bashful smile from blooming on your face which made him smile in return. You liked him back! Surely he thought maybe he was too old for you because he couldn’t tell how old you were so he assumed that you were younger than him. But clearly an adult and close enough. 

“Three days, don’t..go away or...get hurt between now and then,” you urged him before you put the package that had his clothes that you made for him into his hands. 

“I swear, I’m not going anywhere or will get hurt between now and then.” He repeated before you said goodbye and took your leave because if you stayed a moment longer you were going to lose all sense and actually try something that was likely to get you killed back home- like fucking him were he stood.  

But nothing was going to stop you from making him a feast greater and finer than any Sultan had ever eaten. Hopefully he would like it. 

“So? How’d it go?” Hvitserk asked giddily as he peeked into the room a few moments later after he witnessed you leaving a giddy and bashful smile on your face, his grin as cheeky as his ass. 

“How would you like to go to the Ottoman Empire with me to free her from her Sultana?” Harald asked him with a grin just as mischievous before he walked over to a nearby table to unwrap the parcel and marveled at your handiwork before he realized, you made him a few garments! There was a tunic that could be worn two ways, either inside out or right side in, one side had the silk. The other- the softest wool- you had called it cashmere, from a goat apparently on the other and both sides were decorated and a matching pair of pants! He didn’t remember you ever taking measurements for his legs but still. They were reversible too and the colors and designs of the fabrics, you had used pieces of both to trim the other so you could wear one- one way and match it by wearing the other- the other way. It was brilliantly done. His best garments he now owned before he realized he now had a few tunics, all made exceptionally well, with extra fabric at the seems so that it could be taken in or let out accordingly and it even had extras that he didn’t remember ever picking out but they were perfect. He knew you must have spent the entire time he was away making these for him and he was so touched. He would definitely be wearing these to the feast you were going to make him. Which that initself he could hardly wait for. 

“Sound’s fun to me.” Hvitserk nodded in agreement.

[ripuels]

Rival Gangs AU: warnings of blood, violence, swearing, bruising, etc.

For @annabellioncourt thank you!

(This got too long so I’m publishing as a text post to use a Read More that’ll actually work. This website is amazing. Really. Also I’m Very Tired, sorry if the editing looks like a four year old did it)

“Are you the one who's been following me? Stalking me?”

Amanda had recognised the eyes straight away, the depth of brown peering over a khaki bandana, pinched tight over his nose and tied at the base of his neck. The switchblade pressing against his throat shaves a tuft of green from it. 

“Fucking answer me, pretty boy.”

His hand moves gingerly as if he were defusing a bomb, a knife rolls from his fingers and clatters into the blue metal like a gunshot in the dark.

“I’m sorry, Ripley.” The synthetic with every reason to flinch doesn't. This woman, more leather and machine grease than human, holding him fast against the tunnel wall, shivers with unpredictability. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You couldn't scare me if you tried. Fuck,” she grimaces against the fading adrenaline, leaving her a dizzy creature, a lamb, holding up a lion. 

They both know a severed throat wouldn't do much to stop a berserk synthetic, especially not with her struggling grip. He stands still regardless, unfazed by the threat. 

“How the hell did you even find me, Samuels?” 

He glances to the blood leading down the train line. A dot-to-dot probably leading all the way from the outskirts of snob-hill to here, X marks the spot right over his chest, staining his cashmere sweater.

Amanda grunts in comprehension and shoves herself off the wall, leaving him to brush his clothes smooth. “Okay, good point.”

Samuels wishes it wasn't. “You've lost a lot of blood. Are you alright?” 

“Fucking peachy.” She says, retreating onto her gang's side of the tracks, replacing the switchblade into her leather jacket with incomprehensible speed. “Wish I could say the same about my bike, I swear to God, if there's so much as a scratch on it, I’ll kill the lot of ‘em.”

She brushes her fingers back through her hair, her hood falling down and he pans over her injuries.

“What happened to you?”

Ripley scoffs in disbelief, leaning a heavy shoulder into the dark emergency alcove. “Like you don't know.”

“I was told nothing more than they intended to attack. They know I'm conflicted by protocols. That I struggle in a fight. I think they try to be kind by not inviting me.”

“Or they know you'll get in their way.” Which he does, far too often to go unnoticed by David. “You're too good for this life, Samuels. It's going to catch up to you one day, believe me.”

This synthetic's deep frown flinches, easing to something far, far worse. Sadness. After all this time, after so many close encounters with others like him, she'd never seen one be that before. 

“Was no big deal.” Amanda can't bare his gaze. “Got jumped behind the garage when everyone fucked off home, too pissed to ride. Fucking cowards, I got shoved in a boot, driven out, and I got away, but... Well,” she gestures vaguely at her face. “It's obvious they didn't want to kill me.”

Christopher knows it's because she would absolutely be dead, and they'd have war on their hands. No, this freckle of red and staining of blue was a scare tactic, an obviously ineffective one as she winces her next breath. Heavy, resolute. Plotting. 

“They shouldn't have been on your side of town.” His voice sounds accusing, but for what it's unclear. 

“I didn't fucking provoke them, if that's what you're asking. Your lil' biker gang of Decepticon wannabees probably just don’t like the fact we kicked your ass in the park district. It's ours now. You want it back? Fine, time and place. Name it.” 

“I personally couldn't care less.” Samuels says rather than stating her very existence seems to egg his crew, his family, on. “I'm worried why you were left alone in the first place, is there still no honour amongst thieves?”

“It's Sunday.” Amanda shrugs as though it explains everything. “Believe it or not, we don't live to terrorize you, we all have jobs to go to tomorrow. Real lives outside this territorial bullshit. To be honest though,” she trembles to dab her brow and winces, a bruise beginning to darken the outer corner of her eye. “I could really use a day off.”

“I'm sorry.” He mumbles and it surprises her.

“Why? You had nothing to do with it. Funnily enough, you never do.” 

“Yes, I did.” A hardness sets in Samuels' gaze, the purity and innocence vanishing in a heartbreaking fall. She can't help but feel as though it's like an angel from grace. “I could have warned you, but by the time I heard-” 

“Shit, Samuels. Don't start blaming yourself, you would'a been killed for stepping foot over the tracks anyway, let alone coming to the workshop. You didn't do anything wrong, I know that. We're good.” It kills to give her direct rival such power. “And yeah, we might be from different worlds completely, but I don't let the actions of some reflect on the whole thing.” 

“Who was it?” He doesn't need to ask, just go back to the clubhouse and see who's missing teeth or some digits. Find someone sourcing parts for repair. “Ash? David?”

“Doesn't matter who it was, they'll be on their guard for a bit now. No need to protect them.” The quiet rage surprises them both, just as genuine as it is violent. “Yet.”

“Please, don’t do this.” Despite all the warnings in his programming, Samuels steps over, ducking into the small archway she's hunkering in. “I’m sick of the bloodshed, on both sides. I'm thinking about- No, I am certain. I'm out, Ripley.”

“You think so, do you?” 

“Yes.” He says in a way that makes her believe him. “I can't see people like this anymore, I can't keep repairing my friends and pretending that it's not all for nothing. That they aren't terrible enough they can do this to you, a human. That you, or one of your friends won't kill us in a few months when tensions run high again anyway.”

Tensions are always high, Amanda thinks as he moves towards her, licking his thumb and scrubbing at a spot of blood on her cheek. It makes no difference in the grand scheme, one mark amongst hundreds. He licks it again and she recoils, almost in disgust, but he stares like steel, nonchalantly taking to the mass of red on her cheekbone. She winces, but doesn't pull away.

“You look a mess.” Samuels hums thoughtfully, tugging his bandana off his neck and sucking on a corner, using it to clean her lip. “They shouldn't have gone this far.”

“Had worse. Done worse.” 

“Seen worse.” He states flatly. “Doesn't mean it's not upsetting to me.” 

“To your protocols.” Amanda doesn't mean to make it sound so much like a weakness, rather than she actually admired it about this one. 

“That too.”

“Speaking of which, since when have you been carrying a knife?” Amanda cocks her head away into his other palm under her ear, a little skeptic, a little in pain. “You expecting a fight or something?”

“With Amanda Ripley involved, always.” He says deadpan, but there's an attempted note of humour in his voice. Her reputation is littered in grey, some awful things proven to be small town gossip; and other more harrowing tales that perhaps only he knows, absolute truth. “But it wasn't for you, I was worried about being followed.”

“Like you were following me?” Her voice finally cracks in good humour, it's short lived but Samuels falters. 

“Just- keep still, will you?”

“Yes, okay, Christopher.” How anyone with a self appointed ID like that ended up in any gang at all is beyond her. She nudges him. “What the hell kind of name is Christopher anyway? Doesn’t exactly scream synthetic delinquent.”

“Like you're one to talk,” he finally smiles, “Amy.” 

They fall into a relaxed silence in the dim, a damp trickle of moisture running from the overpass nearby, fog rolling in down the way. They are relatively secluded, the green exit sign casting them both in a nebulous glow as her wounds are silently tended to in less than sanitary conditions. His eyes leave the mess of injury for hers every few seconds, searching for a tell of her discomfort. Of course it is always relative. Now, it's not so much his proximity to her that's cranking at her anxiety, but the thought that if he was seen on their turf, even by a metre or two, he'd be killed. If they were seen so close, they both might be, the speed of which would depend on who came across them first. 

She remembers Zula, the best damn right hand Amanda ever had, and that Davis, he was alright for a military device. They'd been chased to the edge of the world when David found out about them. They were nothing more than friendly, familiar, but they've yet to stop running for it. An anonymous letter is delivered every now and again, no return address, but one day, she knows they're going to stop. 

This, she thinks, is far too close to that.

“What is it?” Christopher asks the darkening of her face, the silence waning of it's humour. 

“Why the hell are you here? You know if I'm seen with you they'll fucking kill me.” She pushes off the wall, nearly right into his chest. Though her stature is found sorely wanting, her entire demeanour screams louder than Samuels ever could in raw, fearsome, violence. Barely contained in a 5’ 5 cage. “Get the fuck out of here Samuels, before you get us both-”

She swallows her words as his lips crash onto her own, hesitating briefly until her hands take his jaw with a demanding hardness. Shoving herself into him, they hit the far wall hard enough to encourage a deep grumble amongst a slew of colourful names for idiocy, and more specifically, him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Her body presents no complaint. “Chris- think about this.”

“I am- I have.” He brushes down to her neck, detects her tensing, pushing back harder as he finds a firm lump of bruise. A footprint. Fucking David.

It's a wonder what it would be like to feel, anything, let alone pain, learn what about it grounds this woman. It would be a fair deal, he supposes, to have a sense of the worst rather than nothing at all

“Then you're an idiot and a deadman.”

“You don't scare me, Amy.” He says as her angry kisses take control of him. Holding her, bloody and bruised, just tight enough to hurt in all the places it doesn't yet, until his systems blare that it's too much. That it encourages the alarming grip she has of his hair or neck or shoulders. 

“I should.” She hisses in response.

Christopher knows it too. The ghastly stories she had whispered, melting from her lips as her icy exterior thaws over his chest. Her leather and flannels, his denim and cashmere, both of their embroidered patches, all scattered over the floor of dingy motels. Completely bare together, stripped of identity in the next town over, then the next. Riding further and further until one day they might never stop. 

Never need to retreat with their fallen. To lick wounds. To prepare for next time. 

Next time. 

Because there were plenty. So often they met on the field, in the canyon, at the lookout, her hands stained white taking life, his red from saving it. For years Christopher would always find her after the fights by an upturned motorcycle, pacing at an old inn or bar, fingers through her hair, and he'd lead them to a room. They'd find relief from the wounds and the damage, the over-stimulation and adrenaline. Take whatever was left out on each other. It became their ritual.

Now, just like every other time, he takes the side of her face, but offers something new. “Leave with me. Right now. For good. Don't make me beg.” 

“What?” Her lips are yet to leave his, but Samuels' eyes open to slits, slowly pulling away to gauge her. 

“Why do we ever come back, Amy? We know how to get out, in the chaos of the aftermath, we abandon our people to fuck in cheap rooms and play it off as hunting down each other's stragglers. How long do you think we can keep this lie up? How long until they learn where we really go?” Samuels allows himself to lean in, accept a kiss that feels awfully final as her hands grow unbearably tight at his shoulders, taking him by the collar with a rough shake. 

“Jesus, Chris, you can’t be serious. Open your Goddamn eyes.” A demand weaponized by a glance down, their different attire barely touching at the chest but worlds apart, threatening to collide like two orbits never meant to meet. On course to implode, or burn out. It's impossible to tell. “Look at us. I’m a greaser. A criminal. I darken the city with a pitch black bike, and run red into the streets. I am a fucking menace to society just like the rest of us. And you, fuck, you’re a synthetic with a heart of gold. And if you- if you let me, I’m going to ruin that. Ruin you. Shit, I mean you already look forward to the turf wars, because you know what comes after.”

“I do not look forward to them, but being there means I can keep an eye out for you if you need.” His gaze moves away lazily, unapologetic. “They do herald the time we spend together, but it's not that which I like. It's the fact we can escape for a while, just us. A breath of fresh air amongst all of this.”

“And we come back because we know they’ll-” her voice cracks, “they'll find us. Out there is a big fucking world that we already know we can't hide in, we'd never find peace. There's no future, not for me and you.”

“What are you saying?” 

“I mean.” She stands back again. Breaking away. “I mean I'm out too. Of this. Of us.”

His face, already torn between sadness and fear, falls further. “Do you think there is peace here? At least we have a chance out there. Movement, that's what will keep us safe. On the road, under the sun and stars, rain and shine, I don't fucking care. As long as you say you'll come.”

“Samuels, we’ve tried before, to run,” she mumbles softly, “and we were caught. Hurting the others, I don't give a shit, you know I fucking don't, but having to hurt you-”

“Do not dare blame yourself.” He says sternly, holding his shoulder where a long jagged ridge of repaired silicone pushes back. “I didn't feel a thing. They had to believe me, it was the only way.”

“No,” the tremble cheats the strength in her voice, in her eyes. A hundred times he’d looked into them and not seen this. “There was another way, there was always another way, we just don't want to admit it.” 

“And I never will. You cannot convince me to move on, to leave you.”

“You have to. My people will try to kill me, and they'll definitely kill you, and-”

“Then I'll die.”

“Christopher...” She closes the gap between them, hesitant and desperate arms crashing around each other. No longer willing to exchange needy kisses, but fill a void. Squeeze so hard his respiratory system freezes. “Where are we meeting this time?”

“Pardon?”

“I need to get my bike, and you need to get off this side of town. But then what?”

He frowns deeply, for the first time he doesn't want to go through with it. “For our usual rendezvous?”

She convinces herself to back away, catching the last fragments of him like this, his fingers loosening their suddenly paper gentle grip on her waist. “I've been called many things, Christopher Samuels, but never shy of a challenge. Let's get the fuck out of here.”

Chris takes a step forward but stops, “Amanda,” he whispers, not wanting to ask if she's serious, strain this already brittle, whimsical promise. “Sunrise. The lookout.”

“Be there. Oh, and one more thing?” She calls back down the tracks, “I love you.” Her voice echoes in the dark long after she's gone. 

[smhtxmhxlland]

Quit

Artist: Cashmere Cat

Relationship: Reader X Peter Parker

Summary: You meet Peter, but you’re afraid to open up because of a dark past experience. 

Warnings: Dark Past

Word Count: 2,020

Want a Song?

You weren’t always so dark.

People loved you. 

Until they didn’t. 

You became quite shallow once your fellow peers began to push you away. After that horrid day that destroyed your life…..your reputation, nothing was the same. The only person to stick around had been a few of your close friends. Everyone made sure to keep their distance.

It didn’t make sense.

You asked over and over. Why?

Why had you become the devil when he held his head high? You hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet you were the one who everyone had suddenly feared. As if what he had done to you was contagious. Like, if they touched you, maybe no one would want to touch them. 

Unfortunately your friends didn’t have an answer. They encouraged you to forget about it. That they were there for you. That they would help you, and that they loved you no matter what. 

It didn’t keep it from eating at your insides. 

You sighed as the clock noisily ticked over your left shoulder. Scribbling down your final answer, you inwardly cursed as you stood to make your way to the front of the class. You dropped your test into the wired tray that sat at the edge of the teacher’s desk, then carefully walked back to your seat with your eyes glued to the ground. 

Your eyes flicked up at the sound of shoes scraping against the ugly tiled floor of the classroom. However, your reaction had been too late. The boy smacked into you on your journey to the back of the class. You groaned slightly when his elbow made contact with your rib.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry.” His voice came out in a rush, slightly squeaky as he apologized, startled. 

You glared up at him slightly and hurriedly pushed past him. You kept your reputation the same. The reputation that earned you the hushed whispers, not-so-secretly calling you the Devil. Your eyes had torn through his skin.

Sitting down, you watched the boy as he walked the rest of the way to the desk and set his finished exam into the tray, just as you had. He turned around and his eyes found yours. Heat soared through your body as your eyes met. Your cheeks flared and the breath was taken from you.

You hadn’t noticed him before, but he was beautiful. You knew his name, Peter Parker, but only from roll being called at the beginning of class everyday. You suddenly regretted being so rude to him. It wasn’t often that someone offered kindness to you. Even when they do bump you in the hallways, he had apologized without hesitation. 

“Since everyone is done, I believe I can introduce our next homework assignment.” Your teacher’s wretched voice crashed through your thoughts, pulling you back to the real world.

Peter looked back at you, and your cheeks flared back up again. You tried mouthing the words ‘sorry’ to him, but he didn’t see you. He wasn’t seeing you at all. You didn’t realize he’d just been staring at the clock until the final bell rang, indicating that school was over. Your heart tore apart a bit as he wasted no time in packing his things and rushing out of the classroom. Almost as if it was on fire.

“Slow down. So you feel bad because you didn’t tell him it was fine that he bumped into you?”

You nodded at your friend as you both took your time walking to a nearby coffee shop. 

She laughed a bit. “That’s ridiculous, he probably didn’t even notice.”

“Okay, well then why do I feel so terrible?” You asked her, but mostly asked yourself. 

You had become an expert in the art of not caring. Ever since people had turned their back on you and treated you like you killed puppies for a living….you had stopped paying attention to the glares. Why was this boy suddenly so different than the rest. It came to you slowly.

“He didn’t glare at me. (Y/B/F), he genuinely looked worried.”

She hummed to herself, opening the shop’s door. You both sat in our regular booth and she didn’t speak until she was settled.

“Okay, so he’s a human.”

You rolled my eyes. She wasn’t hearing you. 

“No! He didn’t look at me like I did anything wrong. You know all the rumors that went around last year. He looked at me like he never heard any of them before.”

She sighed, looking at you. “Honey, no one cares about those rumors anymore. It’s all in your head.”

This angered you. She knew that wasn’t true. You were still treated like you didn’t belong anymore. You were still the outcast and no one cared about how you felt. This was an overreaction, but you couldn’t get his gaze out of your head. 

“Wait,” You said suddenly, pulling yourself away from your brainstorm. “he’d been staring at the clock. He nearly knocked everyone out of the way trying to get out of the classroom. Don’t you find that the least bit odd?”

She nodded, sipping at the coffee that the waitress had just sat down in front of her. “Ask him about it?”

You almost choked. “Me? Asking someone? About themselves?”

“(Y/N), it’s about time you get over the isolation. You partially do it to yourself.”

She was right, you never corrected the rumors. You just let those people roll your over and stab you in the heart. You build up an insane amount of walls, impossible to knock down. Only few had a key. 

“Hey, I gotta go. Think about it though, yeah? He could be a good thing for you.” 

She got up and left, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The sound of the front bell rang as the door clamored shut behind her. You hadn’t noticed the boy walk in after she left.

You turned to scurry out of the booth when your heart leaped in your chest. He turned away from the counter, catching your eyes once again. You didn’t turn around fast enough though, he began his trek over to you.

“Hey,” he said, a smile glued to his face.

Your heart was pounding. “Hi.”

His hair was messy and he looked amazing. He was wearing a loose tee with a pair of jeans. You smiled slightly at the science joke printed on his shirt.

“Nice one,” you chirped, your voice almost failing you as he sat in the seat across from you.

“Thanks. Mind if I sit here?”

You shook your head, indicating that it was okay that he sat there. This was so odd. He seemed so quiet in class. The nerdy type, never the one to have confidence enough to come up to a complete stranger. Especially a stranger with rumors flying around their head. The Devil.

“How come you sit in the back of the class all the time?” he questioned.

You shrugged. “I like to know who’s around me. Can’t see them when they’re behind me.”

He smiled at this. “Smart, always keep your enemies at your front.”

You stared at him. “I didn’t say anything about them being my enemies.”

He shrugged. “You seem to never want to speak to everyone, so I just assumed you weren’t a fan of people.”

“Uh huh, so that’s why you decided to come sit with me?” The Devil.

“Everyone could use a friend.”

You cackled, a short, mocking laugh. “I have friends. You don’t seem like such a people person either. Why’d you run so fast out of the classroom today? Did I really scare you that bad.”

This time You received a full laugh from him. “No no, I really hate school. I had things to do as well.”  

“Like what?”

He looked panicked at the question, but immediately came up with something to say. “I have an internship with Mr. Stark.”

You were taken aback by this ridiculous remark. “Mr. Stark? As in Iron Man? Richest man in the world?”

He swallowed. “Ah, maybe not the richest, but yes.”

You thought about this for a second, contemplating whether or not the smartest kid at your school was telling a lie. He could very well have an internship with a billionaire genius, he was a genius himself, but it seemed so bizarre. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but he interrupted you. “I’m sorry I have to go.”

He didn’t give you the chance to respond before he raced out of the coffee shop. He was nearly sprinting. Such an odd person…

“He has an internship with Mr. Stark and he ran out of the shop like it was on fire. Just like in school today. What kind of internship makes it so you randomly rush out of places?”

You were laying on your bed, facetiming your best friend. 

“I don’t know honey. Sounds a little off to me…..Oh my god!” 

“What?” You asked her, staring at her through the screen as she paused to go look at something.

“Look at what I just sent you. We have a superhero on our street!”

You pressed the notification at the top of my iphone and stared at the image of a guy in red a blue spandex. Spider-man. 

“Spider-man? What the…?”

Your friend nearly screamed. “He’s gotta be cute, don’t you think?”

You shrugged to yourself, not really caring. Why would we need a super hero? 

“Can we get back to what I was saying?” You asked, still stuck on Peter. He was so cute. You couldn’t get him out of your head. 

She sighed heavily, reappearing on the screen. “Yeah, okay, but I’m so doing more research on this guy when we’re done.”

You laughed. “Alright you do that, but anyway….”

“WAIT! Did you get his number?” She asked you. 

I shook my head, but then a twitter DM notification appeared. 

‘Peter Parker followed you!’

You sucked in a breath as he almost immediately DMed you.

“No, but guess who just messaged me on twitter.”

She laughed on the other end of your screen. “Damn, get some.”

You shook my head, the smile never leaving my face. 

“I’ll let you speak to your lover boy. I gotta go stalk this secret hero.”

You didn’t pay any attention to her as she ended the facetime call. 

‘Can we hang out again sometime?’

You didn’t hesitate with your response. 

‘You seriously wanna hang out with me again? I was for sure that the sudden outburst had been out of fear.’

You were already joking with this boy, your walls slowly falling as you felt your heart swell when the read check mark appeared underneath the message you had just sent. 

‘Stark internship. Movies at my house?’

Your heart stopped. You haven’t been to a boy’s house since the night that ruined your life. Your phone vibrated again before you could think of a response.

‘Or we could go to yours? Or go out to the movies? I know some people like going out before they get to know someone….’

You smiled at that.

‘Movie night sounds great. We could do it at your place if you want…’

You weren’t sure if going to his place was the best idea, but you missed movie nights. Your friends never had them anymore because you hadn’t wanted to leave the house. Besides, Peter seemed like a nice boy. 

“His place this soon?” Your best friend asked.

You nodded. “I figured it would be fun.”

“Yeah….it’s just. What happened the last time. I mean, Peter is Peter, but what happens if….”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to think about it. Peter was Peter after all and although you didn’t know him super well, you knew he was different. It was going to be okay.

“You’re going to suffocate….he’s gonna suffocate you, (Y/N).”

Your eyes narrowed. “What does that mean.”

She shook her head at you. “You always fall way too hard too fast.”

You sighed, staring at her directly. “I know, but I can’t quit him. I’m already addicted, he won’t get out of my head. I need to know him.”