#there's a load of enemies so my dance involves me kicking you in the face repeatedly

[dinosaurtsukki]

[ it takes two to tango ]

pairing: chuuya nakahara x f!reader

word count: 2.4k words

contains: enemies but they flirt a lot basically, so much sexual tension and teasing, flirty!y/n, fight scenes and dance scenes basically carry the same amount of sexual tension and i will die on this hill

summary: chuuya runs into you, his arch-nemesis, again at a masquerade ball on a mission and reluctantly allies himself with you to fulfill the same goal

a/n: okay here’s ANOTHER chuuya fic from your resident chuuya fangirl. this is my first time writing an enemies to lovers-ish fic and i had so much fun with the setting and sexual tension here so i hope you guys like it 

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chuuya was being watched, he could feel it ever since he walked into the large mansion on undercover mission that mori sent him out to do. at first, he didn’t think much of it since he was going to a masquerade ball, after all. of course there would be a few girls or two who’s eyes he managed to catch. 

except, when he went off on his own inside the mansion to search for info on the enemy faction’s leader, who also happened to be hosting the party, he could tell he was now being followed.  chuuya wasn’t particularly alarmed, he could handle anyone by himself. but he was pretty pissed off when he realized who those familiar footsteps, that grew nearer than ever, belonged to.

without hesitation, chuuya pulled out his knife and whirled around to face a pistol directed at his face. even with the black, feathered mask covering half your face, chuuya would recognize his arch-nemesis anywhere. 

he watched your red lips curl up in a smirk. “fancy seeing you here, nakahara,” you purred.

“fuck, you again?” chuuya growled, not lowering his knife. 

“try as you might, i’m afraid you just can’t avoid me,”  you said, lowering your gun. “so, you’re looking into boss tanaka too, huh? i’m afraid i already searched his office before you came in.” 

“that so?” chuuya snorted, mentally cursing himself for not coming earlier. but then, you were always just one step ahead of him.

you and chuuya had been arch-nemeses ever since you crossed paths at a mission a few years ago. he had never heard of you at all and knew very well that you weren’t part of any organization. rather, you worked alone as a paid criminal: assassinating anyone or stealing information all depending on who your boss was. if you were from an enemy organization, chuuya would have thought better of you. 

“unfortunately not,” you sighed, raising the skirt of your scarlet dress and tucking your gun away in the holster strapped to your thigh. chuuya tried not to let his eyes linger too long on this show off skin and realized, with a lot of discomfort, that you looked really good tonight. the dress you wore complimented the color of your lipstick and fit you like a glove, hugging your curves in all the perfect places. your hair was even done up too.

“like what you see?” you smirked at him, causing chuuya to blush and dart his eyes away, only for you to chuckle at his response. “don’t worry, you’re not the only one enjoying the view tonight,” you winked. unlike chuuya, you were a tad bit more, upfront, about your attraction to him. after all, he was an amazing fighter and ability user, a port mafia executive, and very good-looking to top it all off. and tonight, he was especially stunning in his dark gray suit and the white mask that covered his eyes and part of his left cheek.

oh, if only you two weren’t enemies. but then again, sometimes working together had its benefits.

“boss tanaka’s downstairs mingling with the guests. i recognized a few of his co-executives there with him,” chuuya said, walking ahead down the hallway and back to the dance floor.

“oho? are you suggesting we team up for a bit?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“only until we get what we need, l/n,” chuuya flashed you a look. “after that, it’s free for all, like always.”

“you got it,” you mused as the two of you entered the ballroom of the masquerade ball. you were thankful for the theme giving you an opportunity to look less inconspicuous after you snuck in uninvited. the two of you scanned the sea of masked guests before spotting the unmistakable large figure and bald head of your target in the middle of the dance floor, chatting with a few of his associates.

“alright, follow my lead,” you said, holding your hand out to chuuya. 

“your lead?” he said, looking at your hand with more than a hint of suspicion. you rolled your eyes at him.

“how do you expect us to get close and listen on him without drawing attention?”

chuuya looked from you to the dance floor and understood what you were talking about. still, “no way am i dancing with you.”

“how come? don’t know how?” you mocked, grinning at the infuriated look on chuuya’s face as he grabbed your hand and pulled you with him to the dance floor. 

“you’re following my lead,” he said lowly, placing a hand behind your back and pulling you close. you two were inches apart and up close, you could smell chuuya’s usual cologne and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. then slowly, the two of you began to move with the music. 

chuuya had only happened to learn dancing, from koyou-san of course, when he realized it was useful for certain missions and mingling with a crowd. he was confident with his skill and maneuvered the two of you effortlessly through the dance floor and getting within earshot of boss tanaka. the whole point of dancing with you was to get in close and overhear his plans. 

except, chuuya was unbelievably distracted by how close you were to him. everything from your the intensity of your gaze as you listened into your target’s conversation, to the warmth of your bare arm against his, to the scent of your perfume, was enough to make him feel more than a little warm. damn it, was he attracted to you now?

“one a.m., tonight,” you suddenly leaned in to whisper in his ear. with a start, chuuya realized you were relaying the info you just heard. “they’ll leave for yokohama tower and conduct the trade there. they’ve got a buyer for the information we’re after. about no less than a billion yen, would you believe?” you chuckled.

“good,” chuuya nodded, leading you away to the middle of the dance floor when he felt your grip tighten.

“you’re not thinking of leaving me here, are you?” you narrowed your eyes at him.

“why? so that you can screw me over sooner?” 

“there’s still a few hours until one a.m, it would be strange for us to leave, don’t you think?” you said innocently, smiling when the live orchestra began to play a livelier music piece. “we’ve got time to kill.”

talking to you constantly felt like making deals with a devil. previous experience told chuuya to drop you here right here and now. but the need to be kept on his toes around you was terribly exciting. it was a different kind of rush that chuuya couldn’t get from fighting even the strongest of opponents.

and you were the only one who could give it to him.

chuuya noticed the shift in the music at the same time you did and without warning, moved his hand down to your lower back and dipped you close to the floor. reading his movements, you smirked and wrapped your leg around his as chuuya lowered you.

“good choice, nakahara,” you said, drawing out the syllables of his name and leaning in to whisper in his ear. “it takes two to tango, after all.”

...

years of running into each other in missions and having to fight only made you and chuuya familiar with each other’s movements. when you danced, you were in complete coordination that you didn’t even have to think about where to move your feet. the fact that your faces were partially hidden by masks did nothing to remove the intensity behind your gazes and by the end of the dance, both of you were breathless.

dancing was almost no different from fighting. of course there was movement involved, a whirlwind of limbs but this time with weapons in hand. and then, there was trust involved. but the trust you placed in your dance partner to lead was very different in the trust you placed with a rival who happened to be fighting for your side momentarily.

“well, well, guess we have no choice but to beat all these guys up,” chuuya smirked, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it carefully against the fire exit ladder. he wasn’t sure if he was going to get a chance to fight some people tonight but the chance presented itself when you two barged into the trade-off on top of yokohama tower. 

“i’m sure you enjoy that immensely,” you sighed, eyeing all the mafioso members surrounding boss tanaka that now had you and chuuya surrounded on all sides.

“why, tired?” he taunted you.

“no,” you snorted, taking out your pistol and loading a new magazine. “i just bought this fucking dress.” 

“do you two really think you could get out of this situation?” boss tanaka sneered. you and chuuya broke in right before the trade-off actually happened and he tucked the USB containing the information you two were after into his pocket. maybe he was right to think that, after all he had one of the largest organizations in yokohama second only to the port mafia itself. he dealt in the illegal weapons trade in the city and you could bet that your new client and the port mafia were hoping to take over that. 

but you were a highly-paid mercenary for a reason  and chuuya nakahara was the port mafia’s best fighter. this was child’s play at most.

chuuya rolled up his sleeves and got into his fighting stance beside you. “try not to drag me down, l/n.” 

“speak for yourself, nakahara.” 

and with that, the two of you sprung into action. chuuya, not letting his ability to give an unfair advantage, dodged bullets left and right before sending kick after kick, knocking opponents down to the ground. he easily dodged a punched aimed at his jaw and gripped a man’s arm before throwing him over his back. once he pulled out his knife to use it, he was even more deadly.

as much as he hated to admit it, you caught up with him with easily. you had both pistols out at ready, firing them at your opponents without missing a single shot. your movements were practically seamless, filling in for each other’s blind spots and hitting targets with just the briefest of signals.

at one point, chuuya whirled around to find one of your pistols pointed at him. without a second thought, he moved his head a fraction to the side as a bullet whizzed past his cheek to hit someone behind him.

“that was a bit too close, don’t you think?” he growled at you.

“you really think i’d be dumb enough to kill you with a bullet?” you snorted, walking past him to where boss tanaka now lay on the ground, bleeding from the gunshot wound. 

“im- impossible. those were my best fighters,” he coughed, staring up at you.

“well, rest assured, they did put up a fight,” you smiled sweetly before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the USB you were after. “what do you think’s in here?” 

“trade routes, probably,” chuuya said, taking his jacket and slipping into it again before stuffing his hands in his pockets and addressing you. “so, how are we going to do this?” 

“well, i was the one who killed boss tanaka,” you raised your eyebrows at him, tossing the USB up and down in your hand. 

“yeah, but i killed more of his henchmen,” chuuya reasoned.

“those are henchmen. everyone knows it doesn’t end until you take the boss.” 

“any one of those henchmen could have killed you if i hadn’t taken them out first.” 

you sighed. “i really don’t feel like fighting you tonight, nakahara.” 

“let’s just get it over and done with then, l/n,” chuuya cracked his knuckles and before you knew it he had you bent over backwards against the railing of the rooftop with his hand wrapped around your neck. you tried to move but the red glow around chuuya’s body and the heaviness around you suggested that it was futile.

“no... fair... ability,” you choked out. now it was chuuya’s turn to smirk as he had you right where he wanted you.

“l/n, you’re the last person who gets to talk to me about what’s fair,” he said, plucking the USB out of your hand and tucking it into the pocket of his shirt before finally letting you go. you gasped for air, massaging your throat as you glared at chuuya. “that’s what you get for double-crossing me last time.” 

“guess i kinda deserve it after slashing your motorcycle tires,” you laughed. 

“go to hell, l/n.” 

“are you asking me out on a date, nakahara?” 

“you wish.” 

“one last thing,” you sauntered up to chuuya, your bodies as close as they were earlier while dancing. he braced himself for anything else you might pull. you raised a hand and for a moment, chuuya thought you were going to make another grab for the USB, only for you to lean in and plant a kiss on his cheek.

he was beyond surprised and it took all of chuuya’s willpower to appear uninterested when he could feel his cheeks burning from the contact. the amused smile playing on your lips only aggravated him more. 

“the hell was that for?” he scowled.

“just wanted to see how you’d react,” you shrugged nonchalantly, sliding your pistols back into their holsters. “until next time, nakahara,” you waved before stopping by the door that you two came in and looking at him over your shoulder. “maybe sooner than you think.” 

...

chuuya shrugged out of his jacket and took off his mask as soon as he got into his car. it had been a long night, especially after running into you, and he wanted nothing more than to get home, take a long, relaxing shower, and get as much sleep as he could before going to the office later that day. 

but before all of that, chuuya took out the USB that he had spent all night trying to get and opening his laptop to check its contents. however, when he finally opened it to find a single .txt file inside, he knew something was wrong.

“fucking bitch,” he cursed under his breath, realizing that you must have swapped out the actual USB for one that you brought with you when you kissed him earlier. it was even more frustrating when chuuya remembered that he was caught completely off-guard by it. 

after collecting himself, he finally opened the .txt file, even though he knew it would just contain a gloating message from you. but the message was just two words, typed beside what appeared to be your phone number.

chuuya could almost hear your voice as he read it: call me.

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[fuse2dx]

June '20

Trials of Mana

Maybe not the highest profile remake Square-Enix have put out in recent memory, but one that was pretty exciting for me. I played a fan translation of the Super Famicom original some 20 years ago, so while it's not particularly fresh in my head, there's just enough there to enjoy some infrequent little pangs of nostalgia. The move to 3D has made for some welcome changes to to combat - jumping adds a vertical element to combat that wasn't present before, and enemy specials being clearly telegraphed and avoidable puts a little more control in your hands. There's still a good amount of 16 bit jank though - combo timing feels unreliable, the camera's often a pain, there's plenty of questionable hit detection, and you definitely wouldn't want to leave your fate solely in the hands of your party's AI. Willing to put most of this aside, what actually mattered more to me was that it still had the kind of playful, breezy nature, it looks and plays nicely, and that it progresses at a nice clip. Party selection will change the way you fight moment-to-moment, but only provides minor and very brief deviance from the main storyline, most of which is the kind of schlocky cartoon villainy that will have you looking for a skip button before it would illicit any kind of emotional response. But you know what? Overall, I still enjoyed it a lot.

So while it may not be revolutionising the action RPG, what it does show is that Square-Enix is capable of acknowledging their history of previously untranslated works, and that they also now have a pretty good template for getting a B-tier remake of such titles out in a reasonable timeframe. Where do I send my wish list in to, team?

Sayonara Wild Hearts

As a one-liner found on the back of the box, 'A pop album video game' is about as on-the-nose as it gets. The old "it's not for everyone" adage is definitely applicable, and its defiance of traditional video game metrics is not in any way subtle. How sophisticated is the gameplay? Not particularly. How long is it? Not very. But how does it make you feel? Now you're talking. It presents a simple but deeply relatable story of a broken heart, and leads from there with a catchy tune into a fast and colourful onslaught of new ideas, perspectives, and concepts. That is to say: it has the potential to make you feel all kinds of things. 

One especially celebratory note was how well the game is structured to fit into the album structure it boasts about. Stages flow quickly into one another, and while shorter, more compounding numbers are often about introducing new ideas and themes, moving on to the next is a few simple button presses and a brief, well-hidden loading window away. Inevitably there are more standout stages, those that feel like the hit singles; the longer, verse-chorus-verse type joints that grant the space for more fleshed out visual story telling, and that smartly synchronise their percussive hits, soaring vocals and the like to appropriate beats of play. A lot of the gameplay can easily (and cynically) be reduced to "it's an endless runner", but to liken this to a cheap re-skin of a confirmed hit-maker is to wilfully dismiss so much of what it does better and so much beside. You can play it on damn near everything, and for the time it takes, it's well worth doing. 

Twinkle Star Sprites

I've meant to play this countless times before. I've almost certainly passed it by while strolling through arcades, the Saturn version has never been hoovered up into my collection, and the PS2 collection this particular version belongs to - ADK Damashii - is no longer a cheap addition to anyone's library. The digital version of it for PS4 however was however recently on sale at a point that saw me receive change from a fiver. David Dickinson would be proud.

Having now credit-fed my way through the game's brief arcade mode, there's no doubt in my mind that the nuance of its systems are going to be glossed over in this rather ham-fisted appraisal. At least at face value, there's plenty of character and charm to appreciate in its colourful and cutesy style. As a two-player, vertically split-screen title, its a pretty clean break from a lot of a shooter's typical characteristics - rather than 6(ish) stages of hell, its a series of one on one battles - and all the better suited to 2 players for it. As enemy waves come at you, taking them out in chains can generate attacks to the other player; however if these attacks are too small then it's entirely possible they'll be killed off again, and an even bigger attack will come straight back at you. Think of a bit like competitive Tetris, but with shooting rather than puzzling. It's a neat and curious little game, that's likely best experienced properly, with a friend on the other side of the sofa to hurl abuse at. 

Blasphemous

Let's get the lazy-but-effective description out of the way: it's a 2D MetroidVania Souls-like. You've got "that" type of map, definitely-not-bonfires and definitely-not-Estus Flasks. You are encouraged to return to your body upon death, the combat system is very reliant on parries and dodge-rolls, and there's even a dedicated "lore" button to use on every item you pick up. 

While this likely sounds dismissive, it's more about addressing the elephant in the room. To give some context, these are both types of games that I love, and the end product here has done a pretty good job of bringing them together. The exploration is pleasantly open - gatekeeping is typically done less by specific items and abilities, and more by just which areas you're brave enough to poke your head into. It's a little bit of a shame that most of the new abilities have to be switched out for others rather than adding to a core arsenal of moves, but at the same time its base setup gives you plenty of ways to deal with any number of combat scenarios. This is of course best demonstrated by the boss encounters, which are wonderful affairs - big, gruesome, thoughtful variations on approaches to combat, which drop in at a nice pace to keep you from ever getting too cocky. The theming in general is wonderful, and the name is certainly appropriate - there's a lot of deep catholic inspiration in its gorgeous backdrops and environments, but then layered on top are some chilling elements of religious iconography, along with a cast of disturbing devotees and martyrs to sufficiently unsettle you. It's arguably a small intersection of the gaming population that it'll appeal to, but if you're in there, it's a real treat.

Death Come True

The first thing you see upon starting is the game's central character breaking right through the fourth wall to tell you directly not to stream the game or to share anything that might spoil the story. The first rule of Death Come True, and so on. I consider myself fairly well versed in such etiquette, so to then have the screenshot function entirely disabled for the whole game felt a little like being given a slap on the wrists for a crime I had no intention of committing. I don't envy the team trying to market it, that's for sure. 

The reasoning behind this is clear at least - it's a game that is in total service of its plot. Consider a mash-up of a 'Choose your own adventure' book and a series of full-motion videos, and you're mostly there. Unless you were to walk away from the controller or perhaps fall asleep, there seems very little chance that your play time will deviate from the 3 hour estimate - which will certainly put some people off, but is understandable given the production values, and personally, quite welcome in the first place. In terms of replay value, there are branching paths that a single route will obviously skip: as an example of this, in looking up a screenshot to use in lieu of taking my own, I found a promotional image of the central cast, only to not recognise one of them at all. One thing that such a short run-time does ensure though, is that minute-for-minute, there's plenty of action; without wanting to speak about the story itself (rather than in fear of reprise for doing so, I might add), it kicks off with plenty of intrigue, shortly thereafter switching to full-on action, and then strikes a pretty fine balancing act between the two for its run time. It doesn't get quite as deep or as complex as I would've hoped given the team's pedigree, but I do like it, and think it'd actually be a pretty fun title to play with folks who normally don't concern themselves with games. By the same token, it's probably not for the 'hardcore' types looking for something to string out over dozens of hours. 

Persona 5: Dancing in Starlight 

After the generous main course that was Persona 5 Royal, I figured that I'd follow up with dessert. I did however wait until a weekend where I knew my girlfriend would be away, so as not to trigger any unpleasant flashbacks to looped battle themes, and the chirpy, indecipherable voices of Japanese schoolkids that made it so painful to endure as a non-gaming cohabitant.  

Immediately, it's clear that very little has changed since Persona 4's take on the rhythm action genre. The core game, while still functional and fairly enjoyable, hasn't changed a lick. Perhaps the most notable improvement to the package as a whole is in scaling back on a dedicated story mode, and instead just having a series of uninspired but far less time-consuming set of social link scenes that pad things out. The biggest flaw is repeated wholesale though, in that trying to stretch out noteworthy tracks from a single game's playlist into a dedicated music game leads to repetition - and there is a much less prolific gathering of artists involved in remixes this time. I'd be willing to wager that it's a very similar story once again with Persona 3: Dancing in Moonlight, but I'm not about to ruin a perfectly good dinner to start with the sweet just to find out, if you'll excuse a second outing of the metaphor. Still, again compare these to Theatrhythm though - where Square-Enix plundered the Final Fantasy series in its entirety, along with spin-offs and other standalone titles to put together a library of music worthy for the one single game. Cobble the tunes from Personas 3-5 together into one game, and you're still coming up very short by comparison.

[vagrantblvrd]

Burn the Stars (1/1)

Summary: Trevor meets Alfredo when he’s having one of those pesky out of mech experiences. (The kind preceded by being dropped into a combat zone as support for a Federation Militia squad who is just incompetent enough to lead them into ambush.)

Notes: This video gave me Ideas. I also borrowed elements from Titanfall 2 in this because I love that universe a lot. /o\

(Read on AO3)

Trevor meets Alfredo when he’s having one of those pesky out of mech experiences.

The kind preceded by being dropped into a combat zone as support for a Federation Militia squad who is just incompetent enough to lead them into ambush.

========

While Trevor does love a good I told you so, protecting the squishy humans under his protection comes first. He covers the squad as they retreat into the underbrush and engages in good old-fashioned fisticuffs with the other pilot who has the gall to cheat by using missiles. (Uncouth.)

The Consortium's mech he goes up against is all shiny and new, most likely just off the supply ship that  arrived a few days ago.

And that’s another I told you so right there, since the Militia commander in charge on this planet hasn’t been taking their warnings seriously. Seems to think a bunch of low-life mercenaries know fuck all about war. (Ironic, really, when you think about it.)

“Well now,” Trevor says, information about the mech he’s facing flashing up on a screen for him thanks to the onboard AI. Vanquisher-class combat mech, its key weak points highlighted in red. There’s...not a lot red to speak of really, which is far from ideal.  “This ought to be fun.”

========

Trevor wins, on a technicality.

The Consortium mech goes down, but his own is so badly damaged he has to abandon it. Pulls the AI datacore, and tucks it away all nice and safe in a handy pocket in his pilot suit. Waits until he’s at a safe distance before setting the self-destruct to make sure its chassis doesn’t fall into enemy hands.

From there -

Well.

They were dropped far behind enemy lines and Trevor’s armed with a pistol and a survival knife.

Also, he’s bleeding. (Just a little, because believe it or not, mech battles are brutal things.)

Still, he’s got all his limbs and while they’re a bit battered and bruised, they work well enough to get him started o his way back to base.

If he’s lucky, he’ll run into the militia squad. If not -

Well.

========

Trevor is not lucky.

Not lucky at all.

========

No, Trevor runs into a Consortium patrol instead.

Couple of ground troops perched on the shoulders of a Strider-class mech.

Lightly armored, it’s mostly used by civilian law enforcement agencies since they’re perfect for navigating city streets. The Consortium’s adapted them to support patrols on heavily forested planets like this one.

Nimble little things, really.

Terrifying when one’s coming after you, and you become so very aware of how soft and squishy you are in comparison.

Back to a cliff and the Strider looming over you with all it’s shiny weapons primed to fire, when you suddenly remember you never quite got our affairs in order. (Whoever will take care of your precious collection of leftover condiment packets from all those scrumptious MREs now?)

Trevor’s hands are in the air. He’s considering taking his chances with the drop behind him when his earpiece crackles and a voice he doesn’t know reels off a set of numbers.

Coordinates.

He has no idea what he’s supposed to do with that, when a gunshot rings out – and the Strider’s canopy spider-webs around a neat little hole just about the height where its pilot’s head should be.

There’s a moment where the Consortium troops don’t seem to know what just happened, looking around for the source of the gunshot. Haven’t realized the mech pilot is dead, that their major advantage has been taken out of the equation.

And then the sniper fires again, taking out the patrol commander and scattering the others giving Trevor the chance to escape into the forest.

========

The coordinates takes Trevor to a nice little cave where by a gently babbling brook where a group of mercenaries hold him at gunpoint until the sniper makes an appearance.

The mercenaries lose interest in Trevor when the sniper ambles over with a wide grin on his face as Trevor gives him a betrayed look.

“Yeah,” he says, looking Trevor over. “I probably should have given them a head’s up about you.”

It would have been nice, yes, but -

“I mean,” Trevor says. “You did save my life. It would make me seem ungrateful if I held that against you.”

========

Alfredo’s friends are more hospitable when they recognize the patch on Trevor’s shoulder, realize what he was doing out there. (Which squad he must have been with, what with chatter about it being all over their comms.)

“Your squad made it back to base safely,” Alfredo tells him, a little too casual and nonchalant. “No casualties.”

Booked it straight back to base, didn’t bother looking back, which is part and parcel with this whole war thing.

Stings a little bit more sometimes, though, when you’ve got your militia soldiers on one side of things and mercenaries like them on the other.

People fighting for their homes, their loved ones, all nice and noble. Honorable sorts, not like those dirty mercenaries. Cutthroat bastards with no loyalties to speak of to hear some people talk.

Come in with their guns and mechs. Their fancy little ships, and help the militia with their war out here.  Thrown into the thick of things and expected to give their all, and treated like they have no stake in the outcome.

Like most of them are from colony worlds the Consortium has a stranglehold on, like their families aren’t involved. Like they don’t give a damn if the resistance falls, how many friends they lose, because at the end of the day they’re just chasing a paycheck.

“That���s good,” Trevor says, light and carefree. “I’d be annoyed if they hadn’t.”

Alfredo hums, and Trevor nudges him with his elbow as he pulls out his lucky coin and rolls it across his knuckles.

“Want to see a neat trick?”

========

Alfredo’s group gets pulled out a week later, and Trevor goes with them. Hitches a ride here and there until he gets back to his base and Geoff yells at him for being a goddamned idiot for ten minute straight. (Trevor times it.)

He’s put on medical leave – something about injuries and parasites and tap dancing all over Geoff’s last nerve.

Gets drafted to deal with Geoff’s paperwork that piled up in Trevor’s absence because Geoff was too busy trying to get answers out of the militia about his whereabouts. (Very secret, hush-hush, mission that needed a mech to them take out a weapons depot before they walked right into an ambush.)

“Trevor,” Gavin says, sidling up to him with this gleam in his eye that means trouble. “What do you thing would happen if we - “

And Trevor, who’s been eye-deep in paperwork and red tape for days now, turns to him and grabs him by the shoulders.

“I have no idea, Gavin,” he says, very much aware he sounds a bit unhinged. “But whatever it is, let’s do it.”

Gavin blinks, clearly expecting more of a fight to get Trevor to agree.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

There is absolutely no doubt in Trevor’s mind that whatever Gavin is up to is a terrible idea.

The worst.

And yet -

“Yes!” Trevor is going to lose his mind if he has to deal with the mind-numbing tedium any longer. “Yes I am.”

“Okay then,” Gavin says, and pulls out a datapad. “We’re going to need - “

========

There’s a fire.

A tiny, one really.

Certainly not something that necessitates another bout of yelling from Geoff, but he provides it anyway because he’s a generous soul when it comes down to it.

========

Trevor gets a shiny new mech off the assembly line, and decides it looks like a Billy.

“’Billy’,” Ryan says, like he’s not sure he heard Trevor correctly, which is fair as the hangar’s always noisy the day before a mission. “You’re going to name him Billy.”

Trevor grins, sitting pretty in the cockpit of a forty-something ton Titan-class mech. Missile pods on its  shoulders and sweet chainguns mounted on its forearms.

It’s not really a done thing to go around naming a mech chassis when they’ve got AI partners, but Trevor thinks it’s a little rude not to.

“Billy the Murder Robot, yeah.”

The basic AI from his previous mech has been loaded up and it’s getting a feel for the new chassis.

Running diagnostics and poking around like the new tenant it is. Smoothing all the rough edges in the coding and unnecessary redundancies. Making room pretty little bits of code and protocols the engineers back home still haven’t caught on to. (Don’t realize how vital they are no matter how many times Trevor sends a data packet back detailing the reasons why they’re so important.)

A window pops up on the screens in front of Trevor with an ASCII thumbs up.

“See? Hector approves.”

Ryan sighs, but there’s a faint smile on his face as he moves back to the catwalk and to watch Trevor finish running initial checks on Billy with Hector’s help.

========

Geoff worries, Trevor knows.

In charge of a bunch of assholes he sends into combat and wondering when one of them won’t make it back.

A hell of a position to be in, but there’s no one else any of them would trust with it.

“Geoff - “

“Look, asshole,” Geoff says, rubbing his temples and looking a hell of a lot like he'd wants to kick Trevor out of his office on his ass. “The last time I sent you on a mission, you blew your mech up. You think those things grow on trees?”

Well that’s just ridiculous.

Everyone knows that when a mommy mech loves a daddy mech very much -

“Trevor.”

Trevor looks at Geoff, who is using his Serious Voice.

“Geoff.”

Trevor is an asshole.

Geoff scowls at him, because he is very much aware of that.

“I’m cleared for duty,” Trevor says, and does a little spin to demonstrate how uninjured he is. “And you can’t keep sidelining me when you need everyone out there.”

“I know that!” Geoff snaps, but it’s less anger at Trevor and more at the entire situation, this ugly little war.

Trevor waits, because this is Geoff, and after a few moments, he sighs.

“Talk to Ryan, he’s leading the next mission.”

========

It’s a retreat, plain and simple, and Trevor and the others have been called in to back up the Militia’s forces. Protect the dropships as they ferry troops back to the forward base and various outposts.

It’s loud and chaotic, Billy’s filters and scrubbers working overtime to pump clean air into the cockpit, Trevor can still smell the smoke, taste it.

Hector sends up a warning trill before a new voice comes over the cockpit speakers.

It’s Alfredo, and he’s in trouble. Squad pinned down and there’s not much a heavy sniper can do up against the armor plating on a Harbinger-class heavy, but there he is anyway.

Trevor reaches up to tap the pair of fuzzy dice Lindsay gave him for luck, and goes to help. (He’s got a debt to repay after all.)

========

“You know,” Trevor says, when everyone is back at base. “It takes a tank to bring a Harbinger down.”

Or a Titan-class combat mech, not to toot his own horn.

Alfredo gives him a look.

“Hey, you just stick with your mech, and I’ll stick with my sniper,” he says, but there’s laughter in his voice and an easy smile on his face he does.

And to be fair, he has a point.

In a fight everyone’s focus is on the mechs in play. Tend to forget about the squishy human running around with their heavy sniper. Powerful enough to punch through the plasteel canopy of most mechs, and a small enough to go unnoticed in the thick of battle. Slip behind enemy lines unnoticed to take care of enemy commanders and high-value targets.

The base is still in a bit of an uproar, mechanics running around barking order as they race to get damaged mechs back up to fighting speed. Militia soldiers waiting to be ferried back to their own bases, and the odd displaced mercenary like Alfredo just loitering about.

“Alright,” Trevor says, and pulls out that lucky coin of his again, because they’ve got time to kill and everyone loves a good magic trick.

[ohthatbunnygirl]

What I love about your fics is how you're not afraid to write some "dark" stuff. And you have a flair for debauchery that is just my jam. It's not exactly a prompt, but I'd love something involving Asshole!Kylo who is in love with Rey, and Rey who wants him back but plays hard to get lol

This is the best kind of praise!

Dear anon, I’m honestly delighted that you appreciate my stuff since dark debauchery is obviously my jam too. It means a lot that ya’ll like anything I write, and so I drummed up this little drabble for you, and for the earlier anon (who probably will not quite like the turn of the events but maybe will), and for @dvrksister who offered prompt advice that I was soooo down for. 

A super filthy drabble with an asshole Kylo, a dance with Poe, and a war-ravaged leader pulled in too many directions.

                                          __________

Yet again it’s a rough day in a long string of rough days. Despite the submission of thousands at his feet, it appeared that ruling wasn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.

Ruling wasn’t anything he wanted at all.

Months after his failure to abandon the First Order with Rey at his side the invisible feeling of a crown only tightened around Kylo’s curls. Day in and day out, that squeeze intensified, and Rey hated that she experienced that suffocation down the bond. The pressure, and him, and him, and him.

“Good, you should feel bad,” Rey mentally mocked across their connection, baring her teeth.“You should suffer. You should burn.”

Delighting in her flash of malice, Kylo’s fingers splayed against the shower wall: a predator extending his claws as his free fingers drifted lower. Smoothing down his wet, muscular chest, he traced the taut skin that she remembered too well. Teasing all the way to the length so gorgeously heavy between his thighs.

“I only burn for you,” Kylo growled, stroking up. “Come and find me again so we can see who suffers- who begs.”

Bitterness mixed with want flooded into Rey’s body, and turning on her side in her bed didn’t change the image. As sure as Rey were in the same room, she watched the salacious glide of his closed fist up and down his thick shaft. Working himself into obscene steel, relieving the strain of his life with her grunted name on his lips. Crudely telling her what he’d do if she were there with him and Rey sat up in her bed.

Knuckles gone white against the sheets.

Pulse racing.

Livid that he’ll abuse himself again to innocent images of her drenched in the rain that he’s turned sordid, but more angry at herself that sometimes she’s joined in. Touched herself in tandem. Unburdened her shoulders from the increasing weight of endless obligations, lightening the load with rapid finger flicks. Selfishly transported away from expectations, and having only him to thank for the tawdry peace.

It’s addictive to join as they do.

It’s also equally as destructive as any known poison.

But he’s back again to give Rey her fix, and gripping her head in her hands, she groaned out her misery. Tugging her hair as he tugged. Overwhelmed with the guilt of pleasing someone who everybody expects her to kill, but not kicking him out either. Smearing pre-cum pearls along his cock, a less troubled Kylo breathed harder and harder. Getting off as he felt her emotions gnarl. Turned on that the roles that they play aren’t easy for her either, and all the more sadistically pleased that Rey still hasn’t confessed to anybody that she knows which planet his ship lingers near.

I know why you haven’t told them what you learned during our last visit, pretty pet.

You’d miss me.

This.

Licking the wall in place of her cheek, he rutted faster into his grip.

Flesh met flesh as the butcher of galaxies chased his full body high, and the louder he moaned, the more Rey shook her head. Looking away from the frantic debasement, she called him names under her breath. Putting on an act of hating him above the shoulders even as she soaked the slip of satin between her legs.

“Show me,” Kylo ordered, panting against the tile. “Show me what I’ve earned.”

Despite all the reasons she shouldn’t, Rey tilted her hips up. Following through though she was a leader, the last hope of the galaxy. The damned beacon of good with shaking knees and toes curled for her enemy. Hating herself for doing it, but parting her legs so he could see the sheen against her skin. Possibly even smell the proof of her arousal as her fingers inched closer to claim her own pleasure before a knock at Rey’s door had her scrambling out of her bunk.

“Kriff-” Rey gasped, not bothering with pants on the way to the door.” Sliding the metal open a couple inches with shaking hands, she then croaked out, “What is it?”

“We’ve found him,” Poe announced, unleashing a toothy smile.

Despite his clear excitement, Rey’s brow pinched in confusion. “Who?”

“Ren.”

“Where?”

“The Ryloth system.”

Where nothing before could slow the hammering heartbeats in Rey’s chest, Poe’s news did the trick. Her blood slowed to sludge. Every inch of her world going from smooth to skipping against the needle when she considered meeting up with him again, and Rey’s hand collapsed against the control buttons along the wall. Accidentally opening the door wider, she stood barely clothed in shocked silence until repeating, Y-You found Ren?”

Taking the opening as an invitation, Poe breezed by Rey. Chuckling as he unbuttoned the top of his collar, revealing the dangling necklace with a ring on his chest that he hoped to have her wear one day. “Yeah, the cocky bastard should hire less conspicuous supply freighters.”

“It’s almost like I wanted them to find me,” Kylo mused, continuing to pump his hand up and down, and Rey’s eyes widened twice after first forgetting that he was in the room and then sensing that Poe couldn’t see him.

“We strike in the morning if that’s okay with you.” Sitting on the end of Rey’s bed, Poe couldn’t stop grinning. “It’s insane to think about that, isn’t it? I mean, we’ve waited so long to have him, and now we got him.”

“Send him to me,” Kylo purred, accelerating his strokes. “Send him so that I may send back his handsome head all wrapped up for you.”

No!

Mistaking her decisive head shake for uncertainty, Poe’s smile faltered. “It’s good intel,” he assured her, dark eyes glittering.  “I know that it’s hard to believe, but it’s our best shot in months.”

“A shot they’ll miss,” Kylo’s gravelly laugh broke into a guttural moan.

One then two then too many droplets dribbled down her thigh, and Rey cringed over Kylo finally finding his end when rubbing it in. All it took was a splash of her panic for him to climax, and to splash her in turn. Leaving a filthy, wet reminder sliding down her skin to punctuate his point that they worked better together without any pesky armies or morals in the way.

Rubbing her legs together to smear his stain off of her, Rey couldn’t meet Poe’s eyes.

This is awful.

I’m awful.

What kind of monster enjoys any part of this?

They were friends. At one point, she’d never thought to have a single friend let alone many, but the hotshot pilot and Rey were friends. You don’t go through what they went through without forming a bond. You can’t possibly face death again and again and win without joining a part of your soul together to one of the few that understands, and his humor and bravery didn’t hurt the situation. As any woman- and even some men- on the ship could tell you, Poe Dameron was a lethal combination of charming, confident, and talented. Depending on the day, he could be a hero or even a death sentence to the pilots he leads, but he was also the kind of guy who’d grab Rey for an impromptu dance in the hangar on the worst days. Reminding her with his easy smile and effortless moves what it was they hoped to save.

“Don’t go,” she whimpered, and the crack in her voice made Poe’s chin jerk up to take in her appearance. For the first time since barging in, his grin slipped. Many had noticed Rey’s figure thinning over the past few months, the haunted look lingering in her hazel eyes. They all assumed that it was mourning for Finn, for Leia, for the thousands they lost. On some days, Poe figured that she was only hungry for the end of the fighting, and he wasn’t wrong. More than anything, Rey needed a rest. She was exhausted, pulled thin in too many directions, and Poe blamed that for the disheveled hair, the pale cheeks damp that he mistook for teary. Everything about her appearance shouted out that something was off with Rey, and when she stood there in her underwear and tank top he made the mistake of assuming her fragile as opposed to what she knew she really was.

A bold traitor.

A shameless libertine.

A lovesick general who couldn’t pull the trigger.

Pushing his palms down against the squeaky mattress, Poe got up to his feet again. Reaching out for Rey, he drew her in closer. Strong arms banding around her slender waist, offering comfort, and all the while completely unaware that another man’s affection dripped on her toes. Clueless that each step towards him splattered her skin with Kylo as Poe did his best to improve Rey’s spirits. Thinking that he could fix her with another slow dance. Naively believing that some of her inner battles could be so easily conquered by somebody who couldn’t possibly fathom the warring darkness in her.

Knowing her, but not knowing her at all.

Resting her head on his shoulder, she let Poe comfort her. Step by step allowing him to assume that he could sooth whatever troubled her with another elegant spin. Dredging up a small smile for him, she hoped that the boost to confidence might help him in the battles of her making. Let him believe for a while that they were on the same team- no conflict in her heart- and when he left the room Rey pressed her forehead to the door with a low sob.

The tears coming fast, quick, and uselessly.

The shame already nipping at her heels even before she felt his leather glove skim down her spine.

“Go away,” she gasped, rolling her lips in. “I don’t want this.”

Placing a small kiss on each shoulder, Kylo hummed against her skin.“You’re only upset because you know that he’s not your path.” Dragging his teeth down to her hips, he licked between bites. “Mmm, it would be easier to desire someone so simple, but that’s not you, Rey. You grew up in filth. You wouldn’t know what to do with something so pure if you had it.”

Clapping a hand against her mouth, Rey sobbed harder.

“But you’re worth more than him,” Kylo continued. Resting his gloved hand against the base of her spine, he slowly bent her over. “Oh, you’re precious, but you’ll never want easy. You’ve fought too hard and too long to have anything handed to you. Hating me is the most fun you have all day, and that’s why it’s okay to admit it because the universe didn’t join us together so he could fulfill you with a cock still warm from the last bed he jumped into.”

As much as her mouth twisted in disgust, Rey couldn’t flat out reject that the universe didn’t devise a plan for them. Many Admirals, Commanders, and Super Leaders had failed to sway this endless war one way or another, but always Kylo and Rey remained at the center of the struggle. The heirs apparent to the light and dark feud but bound together, bonded by a tie that cared nothing about the inconvenience.  

Quieting her cries, Rey glared over her shoulder. “You don’t know anything about Poe.”

“Tsk,” Kylo gripped her hips possessively, tender with a dig of his nails. “You forget that I’ve been in his head. I know all about Dameron. All his fears that wouldn’t even make you blink, all his insecure weakness.”

“You’re just jealous.”

Snapping her hips back to let her feel his hardened erection, Kylo tsked again. “Now why would I be jealous when I know that you’re mine, pet?”

“Because he’s here and you’re not,” Rey spat out, lip curled up.  

Fighting him where she could, she lost anyway. All at once, the sound of his zipper going down filled the room, and Rey whipped her head back towards the door. Breathing out heavily, she flushed. He’d obviously dressed so that she could feel the scratchy fibers against her skin, listen to the mouthwatering sound of leather sliding through belt loops. Smell his masculine cologne mixed with the freshly laundered uniform. The plan was to taunt her with every sense, and she clenched her jaw in aggravated understanding. Yes, her tormenter dressed to grab control again, and she refused to meet his eyes. She wouldn’t give him sight- not yet.

Hiding the eagerness in her gaze, she masked the want building with every touch- the thrills rippling down her skin that came from hearing him call her his. Ever since their initial hand-holding, Rey frequently wondered about who acted as the host in this symbiotic relationship. One could easily assume that it was Kylo Ren in control, but Rey wasn’t so sure when he knew every dirty way to please her. Answering her each time she needed him without knowing it, and he was the one on his knees that very morning doing her bidding.

“How shall I prove how very here I am?” Kylo snarled, voice sharp as he softly grazed her inner thighs and up. Sliding her underwear down, playing with extremes. Stroking a finger then two in and out mercilessly around the wet from earlier, burying his seed deep in her with words and touch. “Will you accept it when I fuck you?”

“Uhh-”

“Is that what you want, precious thing?”

Groaning against the door, Rey nodded.

The end of denying him having arrived.

The beginning of fulfilling her now commencing.

Shifting forward, Kylo entered her with a hard thrust.

Answering her prayers and fears, he slowly impaled his little martyr. Quickening the back and forth with every stroke. Stretching her around his girth until the door shook and Rey choked on his name. Words lost, everything lost when it felt this good, this wrong, this all-consuming.

“Please,” she gasped, carving her nails into the door. “Please-”

Shoving his hand between her thighs, Kylo Ren gave her what she needed.

Swirling around her clit in sloppy perfect circles, slicking leather until even closing her eyes couldn’t hide the stars.

With an arch of her back, she cried out through her orgasm. Putty in his hands while breathlessly repeating his name. Hopelessly soft and sweet for him, but he wasn’t anywhere close to done with her yet. Spinning Rey around, Kylo yanked her thigh up to his hip before plunging back inside of her. Face to face. Smacking her back against the door with each savage thrust, fucking her raw and relentless when she gave in and sucked on his throat. Marking him. Licking where nobody could see this symbol of good gone bad. Shaking already on the edge of a fresh wave of passion that she didn’t believe possible, but she was tensing around his cock. Close again, feeling her stomach tightening before Kylo slowed while staring at where they joined together. “Tell me what time you’ll launch them tomorrow.”

“Kylo-”

“Tell me,” he ordered, ripping off her tank strap. Smacking, pinching, and torturing how she wanted him to. Rough with her softest parts, making her mewl for him to go harder. “Tell me what time you’ll send Poe and the others.”

Closing her eyes, Rey whined. “I-I can’t”

Drawing her nipple between his teeth, Kylo purred against her flesh, “I’ll have them all crash into each other- all of our troubles gone like that. Only you, me, and this left,” he lapped at her, biting down. “Both sides gone so I can feel your tight cunt all day long, work only for all your sounds. Stars above…mmm, tell me when.”

Writhing in his grip, the truth came as they both did.

“Eight,” Rey whimpered, claiming his lips for the most selfish kiss in her life. “I’ll send them at eight.”

[bevioletskies]

20 questions [10/20]

characters: peter/gamora, guardians-centric

fandom: avengers academy/marvel cinematic universe

summary: wasp has a new competition in store for the students of avengers academy, and there’s money involved. so obviously, peter and gamora have to pretend to be a couple in order to win. wait, what?

chapter preview: peter needs a distraction, gamora has a lot of feelings, and mantis is trying her best, you guys.

word count: 4835 | total word count: 118k

a/n: i made a slight deviation from vol. 2, as if peter had talked about their unspoken thing here in the way he had in the movie, they would definitely not be questioning the nature of their relationship or how they feel about each other. no spoilers otherwise!

ao3 | previously | next | masterpost

The campus was buzzing the day that voting ballots were released. Director Fury did his best to rein everyone in, remind them that they had classes to attend, but everyone was too excited about discussing their choices with each other to really pay attention. “You kids do remember you don’t actually have a summer vacation, right?”

Peter found it odd, watching campus life happen around him. He still felt like he had an arm missing without his entire team by his side (an analogy he suspects both Barnes and Misty Knight wouldn’t appreciate), joking and arguing and fighting as they always did. And yet, everyone went about their day as usual.

“You really gotta quit mopin’, boy,” Yondu had said to him last night, when Peter had zoned out during dinner and nearly took his own eye out with a fork. “You think Gamora wants to see you like this? And you know Drax would kick your ass for slackin’.”

He threw himself into his studies and working on the Milano, which, to his surprise, was almost completely back to normal. He suspected that Stark had snuck some extra things into their supply locker when no one was looking, because Peter was pretty sure Rocket wouldn’t be caught dead with some of these Stark-branded tools lying around. He also got in some legitimate training sessions in the Combat Simulator and got up earlier to go jogging at the Academy Stadium, and as much as he hated it, the exercise took his mind off things for a little while, enough to let the fog lift from his brain.

Peter: happy five-month anniversary. how’s it going?

Gamora: seems like nebula found us. she sent a team of thugs and we ended up in a firefight.

Gamora: everyone is ok though, but i did slice open one of my hands. it’s recovering

Peter: ouch. but at least you’re making progress. any estimate?

Gamora: hopefully end of the week

“Don’t think I’ve seen you so attached to your tablet before, Quill,” Rocket commented. The four of them were eating lunch together on the Milano, attempting to study for a superhero law exam. Well, three of them - Groot wasn’t actually enrolled in any classes on account of being child-sized at the moment, though he sat with them for support. “Gamora again?”

“What’d I tell you?” Yondu threw his hands up in the air, nearly flinging his pencil across the room in the process.

“I just wanted to see if anything changed, and she said they’ll be back by the end of the week,” Peter said defensively. “Besides, it’s technically our five-month anniversary today.”

“For a relationship that don’t exist,” Rocket snorted. “C’mon, Quill, just give in and ask her out for real. Stop being so miserable about it, she’ll probably say yes.”

“I am Groot!”

“No, I don’t think Quill should sing to her. That won’t end well,” Rocket said, patting Groot on the head. “Good effort, though.”

Peter leaned back in the armchair, frustrated. Exercise, studying, and repairs helped, but he needed a bigger distraction. One that wouldn’t remind him of his relationship that wasn’t real, and the fact that his friends could be dying somewhere far away at any time, and no one would know.

As if to answer his pleas, a voice came in from above. “Hello? Guardians?” For a single, crazy moment, Peter thought it was some god speaking to him (as in that trickster, Loki, not the big man upstairs), until he remembered the comms unit in the cockpit. He leaped up and took the ladder two rungs at a time, eager for something, anything to keep his mind off of her - er, them.

“Hey, this is Quill,” he said, failing to tamper down the excitement in his voice.

“Uh, it’s Parker. You know. The other Peter,” said the voice. “Was hoping you guys were on the Milano, because there’s some stuff going on by the Academy gates? And everyone else is freaking out? Fury wanted to make sure you guys were okay.”

“What’s going on?” Peter’s mind was racing with the possibilities. Had Gamora and the others returned? Was Thanos here?

“Well.” Parker sounded reluctant to answer. “I was telling everyone that there might be some weirdness going on, because of me, because y’know, typical Parker luck. So, uh, Carnage might’ve arrived with some Symbiotes. Along with some of my ex-enemies, friends, and another two of my sort-of girlfriends?”

“…how many sort-of girlfriends do you have, dude?”

“That’s not the point! I just, argh, we’ve got our hands full with the Symbiotes - me and Janet and Gwen and MJ are trying to take ‘em on - and I know you guys are probably super sad about half your team being gone, so here, distraction. They need a tour guide to get ‘em settled in, and the last time I asked Pepper she yelled at me about always being busy, and I’d get Stark to do it, but he hits on everything that moves, so please don’t flirt with Cindy, Anya, or Silver, especially because your girlfriend will kill you, and - ”

“Whoa, slow down,” Peter huffed. He always felt a bit exhausted talking to the other Peter. “Fine, I’ll help.”

“Great! They’re at Avengers Hall right now, so if you’re not doing anything…”

______

Gamora woke up in the dark, slightly disoriented. She blinked for a moment to allow her enhanced vision to kick in, glancing over at Mantis, who was curled up next to her, her toes grazing Gamora’s ankles. Drax was a few feet away, snoring like there was nothing better to do. The three of them had decided to sleep in the common area of the ship instead of their own rooms, admittedly because they were starting to feel lonely in beds that weren’t actually theirs. Unlike Sanctuary, when she had been afraid to fall asleep, it was a comfort to have their bodies close by, the steady sounds of their breathing, the rise and fall of their chests, worries smoothed out of their faces as they slept.

Stretching, Gamora lithely pulled herself away as to not disturb Mantis, then got to her feet, walking over to the loading bay, taking in her surroundings. They had tracked Nebula to Berhert, oddly enough. It was as if she were retracing the Guardians’ stops throughout their missions. As for why, Gamora wasn’t sure. All she knew was that Nebula had been spotted at some military camp nearby and, curiously, hadn’t killed anyone yet.

She supposed when it came to redemption, Nebula’s chance at grasping it was slipping away with every kill she made. Fury only had so many chances he would afford her before he would think she was past the point of no return. It had been a conversation he had with Gamora all too many times before, noting that while Gamora appeared to be both noble in intention and remorseful in past actions, Nebula was a wild card, perhaps too wild. “But we can’t give up yet,” Fury had said, his voice gentler than she’d ever heard. “I know she’s important to you, which is why I’m letting her stay. We’ll guide her towards being a proper hero.”

Her mind wandered to Peter again, curious about what he would say if he were here. They had to keep their text communication short due to limited time, but she had a feeling - no, she knew - he would console her if they were physically together. He was good at things like that - it was why he was their leader, his silver tongue and quick thinking got them out of more scrapes than she could remember.

I miss Quill, Gamora thought with surprising ferocity. His soft laugh, his lopsided grin, that dewy-eyed look on his face when she said something he thought was interesting or funny. It had been four agonizingly long weeks since she’d seen that look. Four long weeks since she’d held his hand, felt the calloused fingers tangled with hers, their shoulders pressed together like they’d been doing it forever. And the near kiss? She simply alluded it to a misstep on both their parts, an impulsive desire that couldn’t have possibly meant to him what it meant to her.

Of course, there were moments in which Gamora considered whether Peter liked her in that way. He had flirted with her constantly before they became a team, and flirted with her every so often in small ways since then. On Ego’s planet, when they had danced together, he commented about how people would misunderstand their relationship if they were to witness it, but had otherwise made no other wisecrack about being a couple or implying he saw her as anything but a friend. As for other instances, she couldn’t be sure if it was any different to how he was with all the other girls on campus. And there were a lot of girls on campus - beautiful, strong, intelligent women who also lived and breathed the hero lifestyle, but without the baggage of being a former assassin.

And that was where the problem was, wasn’t it? Gamora let out a shaky exhale as she mulled over her train of thought. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t deserve Peter, she wasn’t on that level of self-loathing, it was that she couldn’t possibly be Peter’s type. Aside from the surface stuff - dancing, music, movies - they couldn’t possibly be compatible. He was cheerful, warm, emotional, full of curiosity. Meanwhile, Gamora felt like she was an emotional brick wall in comparison, a sullen soul who didn’t see value in seeking out new things or new people. Her pragmatism was what kept the Guardians in check, butting heads with Peter’s impulsiveness more than half a dozen times. They were complete opposites in so many ways.

But damn, she was warming up to the idea of actually being Peter’s girlfriend. It probably wasn’t all that different to how they were acting now - the affectionate banter, the cuddles, the music and movies. Spending time together in a higher capacity didn’t sound all that bad. After all, some of her happiest moments for the past month had been in his company. The only difference was him expecting…more, that is, physically. Gamora had never been with anyone that way before, but she knew Peter had. His confidence alone spoke volumes about his comfort level with touch. And maybe, just maybe, she felt as if Peter was one of the few people she had ever been curious about touching in that way. She could almost picture it now - the way he’d held her close when they danced, or when they’d hugged in front of the Director - with his hands sliding further down her body, his breath hot on her neck…

“Gamora? Is everything okay?”

She spun around, alarmed, warmth rising in her cheeks. For some reason, she felt like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have. “Mantis, you shouldn’t sneak up on me, I could’ve accidentally stabbed you!”

“I am sorry,” Mantis whispered, mouth twisting a little in fear. “Are you having trouble sleeping? I can help.” She reached out as if to touch Gamora’s bicep, but she was instantly swatted away.

“Please don’t,” Gamora said cooly. Then she softened, knowing Mantis only wanted to help. “I’m fine. Did I wake you?”

“A little bit, but that is okay,” Mantis shrugged, moving to sit next to Gamora. “You appear to be deep in thought.”

“Worried about Nebula,” Gamora said, glancing down at her hands. “Nothing new there.”

Mantis’s antennae moved slowly, bending towards her. Her powers had improved immensely since she was recruited to the Academy, now being able to pick up faint empathic signals without physical contact. “You are thinking about how much you miss Peter.”

Gamora didn’t have the energy to scold Mantis about using her powers without consent. Sometimes, it just happened on its own. “It sounds silly, but our ‘anniversary’ was a few days ago. I was considering what to do if people ever find out it’s all a ruse.”

An odd look passed over the other girl’s face. “What if it was not a ruse?”

Gamora’s brow raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just mean, that you and Peter have gotten very close over the past month. You have always been friends, but now you are inseparable. You both seem sad without the other,” Mantis commented thoughtfully. “What if…you tried being a couple for real?”

“Why would we do that?” Gamora hoped Mantis couldn’t hear her voice crack the slightest bit on the last word.

“You care about each other very much, you spend a lot of time together, and I know Peter finds you very pretty. Do you think Peter is attractive?” Mantis asked.

“I - what? When did he say that?”

Mantis smiled serenely. “I am his sister. He tells me these things.”

Gamora looked up again, her fingers beginning to tap restlessly on her thigh. Mantis was so different from her and Nebula despite also being taken from her home at a young age. She could only hope Mantis would continue to find joy in the smallest of things for as long as possible. “Speaking of sisters…”

“You are changing the subject,” Mantis said, teasing. “But go on.”

“Sometimes…sometimes I wish that I could detach myself from Nebula. Emotionally, I mean. And I’ve tried, but I can’t do it. I love her, and I want her to see how good she can be. She came so close when we were fighting Ego, but recently it seems like she’s snapped again. I don’t know what caused it, but it feels like this could really be the end for her this time.” She let out a slow sigh. “Quill is lucky to have a sister like you. You are a joy in our lives, Mantis, while Nebula feels like a storm cloud, threatening to strike.”

“I am not perfect, but I appreciate your kind words,” Mantis said. Her face was glowing, and not because of her antennae. “I believe Nebula will do the right thing. She wants to kill Thanos, yes?” Gamora nodded. “Then that is already the right thing, even if she is doing it the wrong way. Killing may not be the answer, but it may be the only choice if us heroes are to stop Thanos. She wants him to stop hurting and torturing and killing people, so that is already a noble cause. She just needs to understand not to kill several other people to do it.”

“I like the way you think,” Gamora said softly. “Thank you, Mantis.” There was a comfortable silence, save for the muffled sounds of Drax’s snoring. She then decided to throw Mantis a bone, and besides, she couldn’t help but be curious. “Quill thinks I’m very pretty, huh?”

Mantis laughed. “Peter has told me the story of when you first met back at the Cosmic Conservatory. He almost walked into a door when he first saw you.”

Gamora flushed deeply. She vaguely remembered that moment, how awkward it had been for him while she had rolled her eyes and resumed the task at hand. It had barely registered to her at the time, this odd, misplaced Terran boy who seemed quite clumsy. Now she wasn’t sure what life would be like without him, though she was getting a glimpse of it now, and it was, frankly, awful.

Gamora [unsent]: i look forward to returning home. i miss you.

______

Peter should have known the other Guardians were going to follow him to the Avengers Hall, despite trying to make up some story that would shoo them away. Yondu had perked up at the sound of more girls, while Groot was simply curious, and Rocket grumbled about how he was responsible for looking out for Groot, resulting in the four of them traipsing down to the quad.

The girls were being checked in by a frantic-looking Pepper, who was, as always, buried under a mountain of paperwork. She looked up when the door opened, poised to yell at whoever had come to bother her, and was surprisingly relieved at the sight of the Guardians. “Oh good, you’re here,” she sighed. “Ladies, these four will be your guides today, since I have way too much on my plate right now. Peter, introduce yourself.”

Smiling his most winning of smiles, Peter introduced himself and the others, reaching out to shake their hands. “Another Peter, huh?” Cindy said upon hearing his name. “Nice to meet you.”

“What a cute little el árbol you have there,” Anya said, pointing at Groot, who was sitting on Peter’s shoulder, idly gnawing at one of the leaves growing out of his elbow. “What’s his name?”

“I am Groot!” he said proudly, puffing up his tiny little chest. Silver let out a little “aww” and reached over to gently pat his face with her finger, moving closer to Peter in the process.

“Who knew Groot would be so popular with the girls,” Rocket murmured to Yondu, watching as the three girls shuffled closer and began chatting amicably with the other two Guardians. “Quill’s gotta be happy about that.”

“Don’t forget the plan, boy,” Yondu whispered back. To Peter, he loudly said, “Should get goin’ before we run outta time and end up late for dinner, Quill! Plus you should prob’ly check in with your girlfriend soon. Make sure she’s still alive and all that.”

Peter turned to shoot Yondu a dirty look before looking back at the girls. “My girlfriend, Gamora, she’s off-planet on a mission right now. But, uh, never mind that. Who here likes dancing? Because on this campus, you would not believe it…”

______

In hindsight, Gamora should have never expected Nebula to be predictable. She told herself this as she went sprinting through the forest as fast as she possibly could, dodging what felt like an infinite amount of energy blasts coming from behind.

Drax was only a few feet behind, being more of a man of strength than a man of speed, but poor Mantis, who was still not completely up to par on her physical training, had resorted to ducking into a particularly thick bush, trembling, hoping Nebula and her team of military goons (and how had that happened?) couldn’t see her.

“NEBULA!” Gamora hollered behind her. “SISTER, PLEASE!” She let out a startled shriek as Nebula dropped out of one of the trees in front of her, landing on her feet with impressively little impact. “Nebula,” she said, struggling for breath. “You have to come home, please.”

“So you do remember that I exist, how nice,” Nebula sneered, lowering her blaster so she could stare Gamora down. “I refuse to continue playing house any longer, not when Thanos is out there. Do not get in my way.”

“You cannot do it alone, Nebula,” Gamora said, her voice pleading. Drax had come to a stop behind her, and Mantis had crawled out as well, tentatively walking towards them. “You know that. Come home with us, and we’ll work together towards stopping him. I don’t even know if it’s possible, but we can try, together.”

There was a stutter of hesitation in Nebula’s footsteps, as if the fight had suddenly left her body. It wasn’t as if Gamora was telling her anything new - she had stressed, over and over again, that as strong as they were, as strong as they could be, there was only so much they could do alone. But Gamora also knew it was a cycle with her - Nebula became jealous, or stressed, or simply bored, and ideas would start forming in her brain, ideas of achieving the near impossible. Even as children, living in Sanctuary, she would become impatient with their other siblings and attempt to kill them in their sleep, desperate to prove herself. It was a foreign concept to Nebula, the idea of waiting, or even worse (in her mind), working with other people to wait.

“Look who’s become something of an idealist,” Nebula said, though it admittedly lacked the heat of her words before. She dropped her blaster on the ground with a loud clatter, causing her followers to exchange slightly relieved looks behind her. “You really think teamwork is the answer?”

“I know it is,” Gamora said fiercely, stepping forward to grasp Nebula’s hands in hers. “Nebula, I know you better than anyone. And you know me. You know how I almost left the Academy immediately after defeating Ronan. I had no desire to stay behind on this planet, with this group of people, when the real threat, Thanos, was still out there. But if there is anything I have learned in the past year we’ve been residing on Terra, is that it’s not about whether you can prove your worth alone, it’s about whether you believe you are better when you have others by your side. I have found that the answer is almost always yes.”

To her surprise, Nebula’s shoulders shook slightly, and there was the tiniest of sniffles, so quiet that Gamora was almost certain she imagined it. “Quill’s awful speech-making skills are rubbing off on you.” She lifted her head, her dark eyes meeting her sister’s. “I suppose I will come back. But only if you promise that we will form a proper plan of attack to kill our father. And that you’ll stop the tree from trying to be my friend.”

“I can’t guarantee Groot leaving you alone,” Gamora said through a watery laugh, and oh gosh, now she was kind of crying, too, “but we can start strategizing. I promise.”

Finally, finally, she managed to pull Nebula into a sort of hug, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, burying her face into Nebula’s neck. She could feel Nebula half-smiling against her shoulder, patting her on the back rather awkwardly. “You have become so sentimental,” Nebula said, half-mockingly, half-fondly. In the distance, the girls could hear Drax crying a little, too. “Let’s go before I change my mind - and I will change my mind.”

______

Upon returning to the ship, Gamora led Nebula to one of the beds, knowing her sister was likely exhausted of emotions and required rest, but was too stubborn to say so out loud. Before leaving, she hesitated at the door, curious. “You were retracing the steps of our Guardians’ missions. Why?”

Nebula became uncharacteristically shifty-eyed, squirming slightly in her spot. “I thought Thanos would try to find you there.”

“You think I believe that?” Gamora folded her arms defiantly. “Come on, what’s the real reason?”

“I…suppose I wanted to understand the life you were living without me. When I was simply the one chasing you down, or being dragged along as your prisoner, instead of being by your side, as I have always been.” Nebula’s head bowed. “That bar you went to on Knowhere, the clearing on Berhert. The Kyln, where you first formed an alliance with your Guardians.”

“Our Guardians,” Gamora corrected softly. “You are a Guardian too, Nebula. If you behave, Director Fury will allow you to join our missions, and we can work side-by-side again. Okay?”

“Always so patronizing,” Nebula said softly, looking back up at Gamora with suspiciously glassy eyes. “Fly us back, already.”

Gamora simply nodded and left, making her way up to the pilot’s seat, a giant grin on her face. Mantis, who had decided to park herself in the co-pilot’s seat out of boredom, immediately commented on this. “You were wrong before, Gamora. You are the best sister of all of us.”

She smiled over at Mantis before moving to start the controls. “Considering the amount of tests and projects I’ve missed in our absence, trying to get her back? I should hope so.” She passed her tablet over to Mantis. “Can you tell Quill we’re returning with Nebula now?”

Mantis nodded, eagerly tapping away. There was a comfortable silence for a few minutes as she focused on her task, while Gamora began their ascent. Drax ambled in casually, settling down in the passenger seat and nodding at them both in greeting. “Gamora? What is this message here in your drafts?”

Gamora felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her, though she knew she couldn’t take her eyes off the dashboard window to get her tablet back. “It’s nothing. Delete it.”

“What have you found, Mantis?” Drax said curiously, leaning forwards to read, his eyes widening in response. “Gamora. Have you and Quill started a romantic relationship for real and not told us?”

For a moment, she felt trapped. They clearly were reading a little too closely into her message, implying that they thought it held romantic connotations, but it didn’t. Gamora just felt it was too…honest, that was all. The only reason she hadn’t sent it, obviously. “No, we haven’t,” she said through gritted teeth. “I just thought that Quill might try to join us if he thought we were having trouble, so I didn’t send it. That’s all.”

“If you say so,” Mantis said, sounding irritatingly delighted at Gamora’s discomfort. “I still think you should consider it.”

______

It was a particularly nice Sunday, the day that Gamora, Mantis, Drax, and Nebula returned. Everyone was outside, sunning themselves, soaking up the rays and enjoying their shared moment of peace, after Parker and the other spider heroes had chased off Carnage’s Symbiotes (hopefully, for good, optimistically, not likely).

The newest spider recruits had taken a liking to the Guardians, it seemed, particularly Peter and his cheerful, sweet demeanor. Cindy seemed determined to stay away from Spider-Man (she had muttered something about spider pheromones that Peter really didn’t want to know about), and had taken to chatting with Peter whenever they passed each other by.

“You gotta have a cool backstory,” Peter told her that Sunday afternoon. “Every hero has one. So what’s yours?”

“I was bitten by the same spider that bit Peter Parker and then kidnapped and held hostage for years,” Cindy said, far more energy in her voice than her words warranted. Peter could only blink in response.

“I’m…so sorry?” he said, confused. “You seem pretty chipper for someone who had to go through something like that.”

“I really like being a superhero,” she confessed. “But at the same time, sometimes people say things that I don’t really understand. I guess it’s because I was locked away for so long, long enough that I don’t really follow the new culture anymore.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Same here! I mean, sort of, I had free will and everything, but being away from my home planet so long meant coming back to a place I didn’t really know anymore.”

“Exactly how I feel!” Cindy was practically bouncing at this point. “It’s like, everything looks and feels the same at first, and you start to think that maybe it’s just you that’s changed.”

“But then you realize you haven’t changed at all, and it’s kind of depressing, because you feel like your life came to a stop at some point and you didn’t notice it happening,” Peter nodded. “Look at that - we have something weirdly specific in common.”

She grinned widely, reaching to squeeze his arm. “Kindred spirits.”

______

Gamora was pretty sure she wanted to sleep for at least five days straight, but she knew she could last longer than the others, who had dragged themselves back to the Milano, to their real beds, the moment they had touched down. She needed - no, wanted, Gamora, don’t get those mixed up - to see Peter so he would know they were back.

As always, Jessica Jones was helpful in informing Gamora that everyone was out on the lawn by the quad. “You might want to give your boyfriend a talking-to,” she had also added, though wouldn’t divulge anything when prodded further. Confused, exhausted, and slightly irritated, Gamora made her way over, only to witness something that made her stomach curl.

It seemed normal, at first. Yondu was sprawled out on the lawn without a care in the world, Rocket was using a water pistol to create a “jump rope” of water for Groot who seemed more interested in drinking it, and Peter was…talking to a girl. A very pretty girl, with dark hair and eyes, who was laughing and touching his arm, a warm smile on her face. “Kindred spirits,” she said.

When looking back on that moment, Gamora wasn’t sure what she was thinking, or if she was even thinking at all. However, what she did know was that Peter certainly wasn’t expecting Gamora to stalk up to him, grab him by the collar, and kiss him senseless. Once they pulled apart, Gamora cupped Peter’s face in her hands, searching, desperately, for that sappy look on his face again.

He smiled at her, eyes glassy with joy, his hands immediately going to her waist and squeezing, a warmth stirring in her belly at the simple touch. “Hey, Gamora. I mi-…it’s good to see you.”

a/n: gamora - goddamn superhero, great sister, kinda thirsty for peter. same, girl.

in case anyone was wondering, the three girls are spider-girl, silver sable, and silk. i thought cindy was a pretty good choice for someone who could relate to peter, plus I just love cindy a lot regardless. also, gamora’s feelings towards cindy may not be what you think, as you’ll find out in the next chapter (hint: she’s not exactly jealous, it’s something else).

[sserpente]

A/N: I’ve announced it, so here it is. The first Captain James Conrad Imagine out of many yet to come. Enjoy! ;-)

Words: 1566 Warnings: combat fighting/violence

As the daughter of a former military force officer of the United States of America, you had always lived a very paranoid and careful life. Your now retired father always thought his enemies would one day find him and his family and take vengeance for all the lives he had once taken.

You lived in a private mansion with an electric high-security fence and your own bodyguards—two very silent young men who barely ever talked but posed a great and challenging competition when it came to a nice game of chess.

You were perfectly protected and still, only four days ago, a group of burglars had managed to break in, steal loads of money and jewellery and leave a threat, painted onto the wall with red paint. A real cliché, perhaps a stupid joke or a thoughtless prank. Your father had freaked nonetheless.

So many staff members had been fired that day—it was almost like Alice in Wonderland and the evil Red Queen. You feared that he would soon scream “Off with their heads”.

Instead, on a rather rainy day, he asked you to come to his office to talk about something “highly important”.

Even your bodyguards had to wait outside the door as you walked in, only to make eye contact with a complete stranger sitting opposite your father. A handsome stranger at that.

He was well-built, with stunning blue eyes and an angular face with high cheekbones. A light three-day beard and a dark blue shirt completed his mysterious and breath-taking appearance.

“(Y/N), please come on in. This is Captain James Conrad. British SAS officer, very successful. I hoped that this day would never come. I know you dismiss aggressive sports but given the circumstances…”

You eyed him, hesitating of what to think of the appealing man right in front of you. He remained silent, his gaze unyielding. He just sat there with his arms crossed, granting you a marvellous view of his biceps.

“I have hired Captain Conrad to teach you the ways of combat fighting as well as basic skills in terms of shooting guns and use of other weapons. I need you to be able to defend yourself in case of an emergency,” He paused. “…in case something like this happens again.”

Your eyes widened at his words. You were a convinced pacifist, thank you very much!

“Is that… are you serious?”

“I am. From now on, James and you will be training four times a week. He will be accommodated in one of our guest rooms on your floor.” Blinking, you shook your head.

“Why would I do that? I have bodyguards! Besides… you know how much I hate violence!” You exclaimed. Rage was boiling in your chest, preparing you to lash out. Suddenly, however, the handsome stranger spoke up.

“Basic combat fighting has nothing to do with violence. It’s an art and combines several very interesting Asian techniques which I have come to adopt over the years. Imagine it like… a dance.”

You swallowed. His voice was deep, soft and a little throaty. Each of his words seemed well chosen, like he knew exactly what he was talking about—which was probably the case. Still, you raised your eyebrows, not willing to give in yet.

“And shooting somebody with a gun, is that a dance too?”

“No,” He simply replied. He didn’t even blink in the process, just staring at you boldly.

“(Y/N), we won’t be discussing this,” Your father interrupted, his tone allowing no contradiction. “You may leave now. Meet James in the gym in the cellar in half an hour.”

Clenching your fists in anger, you gritted your teeth as you attacked one of your pillows. Blow after blow was swallowed by the soft material, accompanied by your indignant screams. Training! Combat fighting! Shooting! Fighting with an SAS officer! Had your father lost his mind?

Unfortunately though, you knew that once he had decided for something, there was no way to persuade him to stop. That way, thirty minutes later, you found yourself in the gym.

Several fitness machines decorated the big room, in the middle a huge black mat with the sole purpose of cushioning heavy falls.

Conrad was already waiting for you when you entered, his arms once more crossed. He watched your every move as you put your bag containing a towel and a water bottle on the ground and suspiciously approached him.

“Alright. I want you to warm up a little. Do you exercise a lot?”

“Four times a week. I usually go for a run or use the machines here.”

The SAS officer nodded as if to consider your answer. You had literally spat your words at him, making it clear you preferred to be everywhere else but here right now. He, on the other hand, seemed equally thrilled.

“Tell me, how much money did my father pay you for babysitting me?” You sneered, starting by stretching your muscles. Conrad watched you intently, not saying a word.

“Great, you’re mute now?”

“Your father is only trying to protect you.” He finally replied after a while as you reached for your toes. You were quite flexible when it came to gymnastics. Hopefully it would help.

“Is he? I feel like he’s exaggerating. I’m perfectly fine, besides I have my own bodyguards. What could possibly happen to m—“ Gasping for air, you were cut off. Conrad had grabbed you by the wrists, spun you around and pressed you against his muscly chest. He was strong—way too strong for you to break free when he used one of his hands to restrain yours with his fingers and then slung his other right around your throat; all that so fast, calculated and graceful that you had trouble keeping up with what had actually just happened.

Your heart was in your mouth. He was not actually going to attack you, right? This much body contact was almost too much to bear, for strangely, it was incredibly hot. What was this? His method of teaching you respect? A demonstration of power?

“What are you doing?! Is this some kind of weird foreplay?”

Biting your lower lip, you struggled in his tight grip, attempting to get away from him. He didn’t even budge until you managed kick him and then jumped forward, only to be tripped up by him the second after. Right before you fell, however, he caught you so you rested in his arms like a bride.

“Do you see how easy this is? How easy I could overbear you? This is why your father has hired me to train you.” Conrad’s lips were pressed together in a thin line while staring you down.

In that light, from this angle, his eyes looked incredibly blue—almost green at that. The shadows the lights caused were framing one side of his face, adding to your sudden confusion.  He really was handsome. But that… that wasn’t the point, right? The point wasn’t falling for him, it was fighting back and defending yourself… right?

“You have to keep tension in the upper part of your body. Here.” He released you, only to grab your waist the moment after. Jolts of electricity surged through your body. Shit, this was definitely not supposed to happen.

“Now clench your fists.”

“Like this?”

“No,” Conrad stepped forward, his outrageously blue eyes never leaving yours as he grabbed your hands and corrected you. “Never put your thumb inside your fingers. The impact could break it then.”

“Alright,” You swallowed thickly, fighting hard to keep your composure. Jesus Christ, what was happening to you? How was he confusing you so much? You were supposed to hate him for taking money from your father for training you. And yet now, here you were, lusting over him and imagining what he would look like without this tight blue shirt of his.

“Now punch me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Punch me.”

For about three seconds, you just blinked, staring him down like he had just asked you to kiss him—fine, you wouldn’t have said no to that either. When you finally prepared to beat him, however, he effortlessly caught your hand in mid-air, faster than a lightning.

“The hell?”

“You’re predictable. Try again.”

Frowning, you opened your mouth in protest. “Of course I’m predictable, you told me to punch you!”

“And if I told you to jump off a cliff, would you do that as well? Now try again. Remember to keep tension in your upper body. Watch my movements, search for weak spots and don’t just wave about.”

“Yeah, well that’s easy for you to talk.” The urge to make him punish you for your mouth rose with every second you spent with him. Briefly, you even wondered what it would be like if he spanked you for it. You, completely naked and exposed, bent over his lap with his palm smacking against your sensitive skin over and over again… fuck.

Concentrating was hard when Conrad continued correcting your stance and movements several times more, creating more body contact than necessary. After three hours involving curses, naughty thoughts and a lot of sweat and bruises, he finally dismissed you.

A cool shower was what you needed to calm yourself now, especially since you could still feel his penetrating gaze in your back as you left. Certainly, the upcoming weeks would appear to be very interesting.

A/N: You can find Part II on my masterlist!

[jameypants1-blog]

Reading Makes A Country Great MY PET GOAT Emergency 911 The Terror War begins Ignorance is Bliss stand Proud and United rally around the Flag cross your heart swear to Sacrifice thank the least among you for their military home invasion mass murder Service keeping Authority placated rock the Vote respect the Law and State's Finest army of police who serve and protect them, Respect the Honor and Authority of the blind justice arbitrated by ritual black robed Judges and the prejudiced juries of peers any skilled Liar can persuade to Verdict The educated are educated to Accept The Free are not Brave enough to Resist Swear to tell the Truth so help you God is an Obscenity and offensive to a populace bursting with the enlightenment of Science, the premise that Flesh is the Origin of Species and Intelligence a side effect of gas Love thy Leader Hate thy neighbor Kill and chain thy neighbor Earn your Keep Pay your Taxes Death is certain It is not the size of the horn but how it's used that betrays best gets praised for elite public service Performance How fortunate it is for leaders that men do not think, Hitler intimated, forthcoming as any candidate for Office who smiles kissing maggot babies and shaking fools hands telling each in line thanks for their support couldn't do this without them Hell hides behind details and simpering political correctness, kind words expressing best intentions the enemies of which are branded crazy and evil and dealt with. How fortunate men do not think. Lest leaders and the Hell they maintain be naked by Light of the Truth. You can handle the Truth. You can be brave and free. It's these so called elite who can't. Never ask what they can do for you or you for them. Don't give up your food stamps just yet they trade for drugs just don't Serve them, Loyalty to them is so universal I am ignored and insulted. In Contempt. That's the price of Love. Let's change that. Perception is reality is their constant refrain. It is not. Reality is this fraction of a single percent of the population is a basket of deplorables in perpetual conspiracy to violate and ruin every human being on Earth. It's shocking and horrific but people can handle the Truth. Here is Wisdom: Had a customer tonight guy in his sixties cropped back hair going gray one of those Freddy Mercury mustaches adopted by law enforcement to remind everyone they're tops cocksuckers not pigs bc pigs don't have mustaches. he was wearing a black tshirt and jeans, never seen him before, recognize most of the customers, we have the same regulars rotating through for the most part. He came in right after I did, like my second grill order after clocking in. Gave me the stinkeye, and instead of going to sit in the dining room until his order was called he stayed in the lobby, got behind the Pepsi ketchup fridge by register, from the nose up visible over the fridgetop. I was on second flip before I noticed him again, glaring at me still. Eye contact, rage in his eyes. Made his burgers to perfection, ignoring him but for sidelong peeks to see if he still there; he was still there looking pissed off. I strongly suspect him to have been involved with lie enforcement, that or ive got one of those faces brings out the hate in frustrated Dom bondage specialists. kept my face expressionless, sent the burgers out and he left not long after. Felt the loathing in the air leave with him. He hates me for my freedom, like to put me in cuffs and bugger me into some Respect for his Authority lavished from God unto Moses unto the Chosen People, the Elite, who gifted us all with the world's two biggest religions Islam and Christianity to refer to in the establishent of State, Islamic States still widely fundamentalist in extrapolations and ammendments to the fundamentals Law, even today stones striking pleading girls in the face until the glistening bone pulp shows, eyeball popped out shattered socket debt paid for her adultry of being raped by a man she wasn't married to, lacivious temptress women not tolerated, kept virtuous by Ordained killers sanctimonious witless butchers in judicious black robes black masks, love and peace delegates, spread the beautiful religion into Eastern Europe and jerusalm, effective Evangelical technique of the option to submit you are the slave of Allah, either submit or get your head looped off. Beautiful religion. The castles of Europe erected to fortify against the sacred Islamic state conquering all of Elite Europe, price of doing Business, business of giving people the business, keep them stoneage and in check until final act, today thousands of Muslim migrants fleeing Syria region where isis, the royal president, Russia and the United States are mass murdering the population in alternating sweeps all claiming success against the terrorists who are any one of the four mass destroyers depending on which regions fake news one watches, the cities in ruins, the people still left sparse and debilitated, the dregs, hundreds of thousands more turning sections of Germany France great Britain etc into ghettos, young girls being raped in public parks, a seven yo girl in France gang raped in Germany lone German teens stalked in the streets by packs of Muslim youth and beaten half to death teens boasting they will take multiple wives across region have dozens of children each and breed out the natives, conquer Europe with their cocks now that the dear leaders of the region had welcomed them in. Beautiful religion. on their knees five times a day to take a facefull of dirt groveling praises toward the black cube in Mecca which Abraham built and shat inside marking the turf, holy kabba, over ten feet tall and ten feet wide the wonder of the Islamic world which one day all of Islamic Europe shall pilgrimage to link arms and dance ring around the cubicle singing and shouting trampling each other then setting off across hard desert terrain, many every haj die along the route hail Allah that the prophet Mahomet, may he rest in stink took wandering the sand ocean from sand dune to sand valley to sand mount where pilgrims collapse into the sand and commune with Allah catching spiderwebs of shade from the spray of spindly limbed trees rising several feet high here and there, terrain as beautiful as Islam itself and straight to Judgement for those sun dried brain fried dead before completing the last leg of the blessed trudge to the sacrificial slaughter barns where depending on what slaves of Allah can afford to slice the throat of a variety of animals await blood ritual, goats camels sheep sand chickens and coming soon pigs once the half breed desert princes of Frankfurt introuce fat juicy pork weenies into the Islamic diet, blonde haired blue eyed pink bellied pigs recognized to be far too majestic to be interbred with Jews, fine swine imported from outside the East where the scruffy big snout kosher breed forages in feral packs, hear them oinking Hebrew and Yiddish gibberish rooting in alley trash like dogs, dirtiest animals in all of creation, howling and squealing together during crawl in place borg prayers tuned in to Abraham's outhouse ever amid ring around the square dancing, stumbling, trampled underfoot weaklings hoe down haj stop in the stadium built around the squat edifice that thousands may sit and cheer rendering inaudible the tinny prayers from around the globe every couple hours, dogs howling offended every prayer, kick the snarling curs at risk of losing toes and sandles get tangled up in black man dress and fall down surrounded by curly tailed rabbi and black dogs foaming at the mouth eyes rolling from echoes of lalalalalalalala eeeeeek eeeeeeek eeeeeeek barnyardesque broadcasts from loud speakers leading the haj hails between free time to marry and divorce multiple times a day and trade goats for girls to marry and divorce trade back for chickens or a dozen eggs if she's missing ears tip of her nose or digits from administering divine law rehabilitation mutilations, sometimes new divorcees only fetch a bucket of fertile shit, hobbled hunchback prolapsed asshole tounge sliced into fork for her hissing disobedience to swallow the donkey load of bountiful seed diligently fed her everyday in lieu of lunch meanwhile back at the last stop of holy haj long walk baby animals and ton tall spitting camels shriek and wail, hawk lunger loads of camel snot pink with slashed throat blood spew onto the walls, slick spots on the straw, bled out into tubs and running down beards drank in hot clotted toasts to Allah who the sacrificed animals were stacked like cordwood into earthen pits and burned to appease blessings to all and to all a good time at the hotel after parties where newly married couples meet, consumate, get divorced and the just single ladies reintroduced to next end of haj celebratent to be smitten and fallen in love until the boredom of domestic life after orgasm left him dissatisfied with this woman who used to be useful but went back to the singles mixer sore and cooperative awaiting true love perhaps next bus in full of blood spattered fresh inducties into the walkabout God's country for days purification event everyone owed it themselves to do at least once a lifetime to truly get the most out of Islam the impending new religion of the well served everywhere from Africa to Piccadilly square, to be renamed Mahomet Kaba King Boulevard erected in the center of the square a scale replica of the Kaba with Mahomet himself weilding scrimtar of faith from head to toe dressed in black mounted upon his goat horse chimera Pegasus thingy reared up like a reindeer representing the flight taken to heaven to lead the prayer circle in heaven where all had deferred to him to lead the prayer circle of Prophets in Allah's den, Jesus fresh as the Daisy he'd been since the day he'd cleverly avoided crucifixion by Jerry curling his big black bushy beard and sneaking out of town on his gf's ass while another fellow, whose beard was styled similarly to his and who had assembled a small crowd outside town to demonstrate a new stain removal product for even the toughest stains like days caked Hersey splats from loincloths see comes right out and with the herbal infused formula eliminates some of the stench of urine baked in since pissing it in a wine induced stupor earlier that afternoon as jews were known to do between assuming their posts begging for pennies outside the bank, that guy had looked and sounded like the upstart they were looking for and after his miracle product failed to impress the honorable pontus Pilate with any supernatural stain removal properties except when applied to soiled underpants, a demonstration he didn't need to see twice since his underpants indeed came out clean the first attempt, hardly a miracle but in a good mood since his ass felt and smelled so fresh after the man who kept persisting I am not the Jew you were looking for I'm just an alchemist with a revolutionary new product for removing stains the secret formula is just leavening soda and grapeseed pumice mixed with water and lavender leaves ofc it's not a miracle I am not the king of the universe I've never even met the guy no one does but he doesn't travel alone with a bucket of my new secret formula removing shit stains from underwear, he's a stand up magician or something, heard there's strippers too, Im just a humble asshole freshener your honor and feeling magnanimous floral fragrance of his anus clinging to the finger he scratched along his craft to sniff while contemplating opens the honorable Pilate said let's let these Jews outside demanding their picked pockets wallets and jewelery back stolen by the whores and at least a dozen confidence men known to be traveling with this wanted man who said fuck the centurions fuck the flag fuck hannaka fuck Elysian fields fuck the Senate fuck caesaer fuck Rome fuck caiphus fuck the Torah fuck yo mama and fuck all of you cringing sex slave submissives bending over and getting fucked everyday to earn wheat penny Caesars that aren't worth a tin shit except for your belief in Caesar says, Caesar says hail Caesar I say fuck Caesar render unto casear these piles of Caesars ugly cunt lips embossed nickles and dimes and shove em up Caesars ass let him go pawn these pieces of shit off on some other idiots bc we're Jews brothers and sisters and Jews don't need no stinking sick economy sicker fools who'd diminish themselves by going along with this madness, Caesar is a paper god you drunks this money charade is just a game and your the losers for playing so fuck him fuck Rome and fuck all these fake ass God's and curly tailed shit eating elites got us all playing along counting stacks of worthless legal tender whoopty Doo what caesar says and fuck his court of whimsy and don't bend over only ever acquire what he gives you and dont obey every stupid lie he tells you is the law, tell him to take this Nation of lies and the shiney lie sanctioned house chips he rode in on and shove it up his ass bc if you don't you'll all be spending your lives sucking Satan's cock doing as Satan says and get paid in Satan tokens worth your life loyalty and labors and in return a flag to admire and fight for a song of the murder glory of this shithole to cross your hearts and sing that all who hear it know how unified and proud you are and you'll be paid to with every Betrayal his crown can afford to give you now that you've given him lives to spend. Have a free flag coffin shroud a medal of Honor for service unto Casear human sacrife pin and a bedpan full of shiney Benjamin's to spend at super Caesars super savers everywhere Rome is maurading, hail Caesar full of grace give you nothing give him everything and that sumbitch drugged the watered down wine him and his whores and degenerates robbed us and fuck yes that's him I recognize the beard kill him set Barbarossa free and so despite insisting he was not their King nor a crook the wrong man was crucified that day and Jesus told this straight to Mahomet so you know it's true bc Mahomet word is gold then Jesus said I am the slave of Allah and Mo he's instructed me to let his biggest ho Mo lead the ass in the air prayers from now on bc I'm always broke have never tipped a red Satan cent to tithe and insist that Allah sound a dry heave so does every single thing you said Mo so you're deffo the man to lead prayer to that bullshitters bullshit, guess it keep you busy long enough not to butcher or mutilate anyone for five minutes at least. Raise your Voice be offended by this beastial religion we're diminished under by these sneering aristocrats who practice it, they're the crew can't handle the Truth. Lies are all they got. Be eloquent. Knowing and not choosing a side is just a mess. I bring you. Pallid incompotence hanging from a mic stand. Prime example of why there's no having it both ways. Fuck it 🌊 https://g.co/kgs/ACnHqS