#And you kill anyone else who provides hope and a glimpse at what is possible.

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 170

Chapter 170: "Together"

Years ago I had wondered if Isabella's conversation with Peter happened before or after she rallied up the rest of the moms & sisters, but I suppose this flashback within a flashback kinda confirms she spoke to the ladies after she received news that Emma & the other children were on their way to GF. Half of me still believes that it was a bit risky waiting so long to inform everyone else of her plan just in case she couldn't gather up all the support she needed in time, but the other half of me also understands that there always could've been the possibility of the ladies turning on her or not being able to keep the secret well enough around Peter. Of course we know now from ch181.7 that Isabella had already recruited Matilda, Jessica, Sienna & Scarlet to assist her about a month after she was promoted to Grandma, but having everyone contribute to the betrayal is certainly more ideal.

Ya really can't blame the other ladies for being so hesitant. The idea of rebelling against the farm and the life you've been forced to live definitely seems like a sure fire way to get killed, however, as Isabella explains, that you can suffer the same fate just by doing your job, just as Sarah did.

I'm always up to receive flashbacks on characters, but this is one of those rare occasions that I would have to pass. Seeing how hard both Krone & Isabella struggled to survive the farm system are more than enough for me. These quick glimpses of everyone else's training hurt my little heart already. Aaahh, all the women in this series are so strong. Even though death scares the hell outta me, I doubt I'd live through this nightmare of fighting every day and living in fear.

When the training is so efficient that they learn how to lie perfectly to the children in order to keep up the orphanage but also how to lie to themselves (unknowingly) about how they could obtain a better life.

Kinda funny to me how I'll skip pages during some chapters and other times I'll go all in about almost every little thing. Well, now is one of those times I'm gonna ramble a lot, simply because Isabella is involved (as if that wasn't obvious enough whenever she showed up in the past). I absolutely love seeing how angry she is about this cruel world. This hatred of hers has surfaced the day she climbed the wall and saw the cliff surrounded the plantation with her own eyes after Leslie was shipped out and it has been simmering deep inside ever since, so now after waiting patiently for about twenty years, watching so many children be sacrificed to demons, she finally has the power and opportunity to act upon those strong feelings and contribute to changing the world for the better and I'm just so immensely happy that she's able to get this chance. She deserves to get some sort of revenge 110%.

Learning that the fear we saw her show towards Peter during this deal in ch165 was only an act is brilliant. Now, I'm sure Isabella did have moments where she did feel scared due to the uncertainty of what her new promotion would mean for her, but the fact those feelings practically vanished from her heart in such a short amount of time is amazing. This woman was "free" for two days from wearing any sort of mask and jumped right back into that chess-master mindset flawlessly. The list is endless but chalk that up as yet another reason why I love her.

I wouldn't let anyone rule over me either, but um.. I'd make an exception if it was you, ma'am.

I may be giving her too much credit, but I hope she's saying that regardless of what the other ladies decide, that Isabella is gonna provide her children some assistance no matter who stands in her way. If the betrayal really only included her and the four other women already on her side, I'm sure they could've pulled it off. And yes, I appreciate that she sorta mimicked Emma's words to Ray in ch33 despite never hearing the conversation for herself.

Ohh, how this woman must be feeling after hearing her precious children still call her their mom after everything she put them through.. has to so bittersweet, mixed with relief and regret.

The combination of his exaggerated expression and panic next to her calm and complacent reply absolutely sends me.

What I wouldn't give for her to have a moment with her children like that. I mean, it kinda happens.. the hugs, the apologies and everything else, but it should happen more than twice. And definitely without the death.

Hearing her call Peter a boy never fails to crack me up. And I know she refers to Lambda when she mentions the methods he's okay with, but the way her mind also brings up Nat's broken finger is lowkey hilarious, as if she didn't break Emma's leg before. While the original reason was to prevent Emma from escaping, I can see how Isabella might think her actions was another way to spare the girl from getting shipped early (as extreme & messed up as that idea is). Peter just broke Nat's fingers to be a dick. Nothing more, nothing less. am i showing too much favoritism towards this woman? probably. do i care? nope.

As quick as a callback it is, I love how Isabella mentioned last chapter how Emma & the others destroyed everything and how she expresses the same wish now. Also, her inner thoughts make me wanna sob. All Isabella wants is her help her children, she could care less what they think of her. And for a moment you might believe that they won't forgive her due to the look upon Emma's face here.

As expected from our lovable protagonist though, she accepts Isabella's help once she remembers that she and all the other women were victims of the same harsh system they were forced to live under.

I can fathom how this pathetic man manages to secure a gun and escape from being surrounded without getting hit with a single bullet but whatever. At least no one else gets injured by him as he runs away like a complete coward.

Favorite panel/moment:

I've no doubt said this many times, but this is by far the best mother-daughter moment I've ever experienced in my life.

Even though we did reach the raid in the anime, we were denied this panel mostly becuase the second season didn't allow the children to carry guns, which is a terrible shame.. if anything, we were treated to a small smile from Isabella after Emma's "thank you, mom" though. Of course I'd very much prefer the above panel to be animated, but I'll take what I can get. I'm very easy to please when it comes to this woman.

[dclsbaby]

Let You Go - Dominic Calvert-Lewin (One Shot) 🦋

Summary: You leave Dom without warning after his mum expresses her disapproval of you and he tries to get you to come home with him. (Massive thanks to @dee192​ for requesting this, I changed it up a tiny bit but I hope you’ll still like it) 🤍 x

Warnings: painful pain angsty angst

Word Count: 2.1k

masterlist

“She doesn’t want to see you,” you could hear your friend say. “Please, let me just talk to her, fuck, let me just see her!” Dom begs.

“There’s not much I can do Dom, please you have to understand. Seeing you right now isn’t what she wants, or needs!” your friend replies. “What does she not want? Me? She doesn’t want me anymore?” he asks. “I—I don’t,” your friend sighs, not knowing what to say. “That’s right you can’t answer me, so let me fucking see her,” Dom pleads.

“I need answers! Let me fucking in!” his voice getting louder and louder, your friend unable to contain him for much longer.

You rested your head behind the door, trying to listen in on their conversation. Your emotions were all over the place, you so badly wanted to run up to him, tell him that of course you want him, but your relationship just wasn’t on the cards.

Words of “I’ve seen the likes of you before”, “you will never be enough for him” and “you are just another gold digger trying to rob him of all his money” said by his mother play through your mind over and over. And he doesn’t even know it.

Barely half an hour since that painful conversation, you swiftly packed all your things into two full suitcases and left your shared home to take shelter at your friend’s home.

You wiped the house clean of your things with except for a post-it that says,

I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore.

You deserve someone better.

Please just trust me and let me go.

The paper wasn’t big enough to write an explanation, and you weren’t planning to give him one anyway.

Since then, it’s been two weeks of complete silence from your end.

Now, he’s standing in your friend’s driveway, arguing with her after getting a tip from a friend of his on your whereabouts.

***

You are desperate to see him, even for a split second. You needed to see him, just once more, to forever remind yourself of the contours of his face you used to trace with your fingertips, the full lips you sorely miss, and the comfort of his arms you so painfully want to be wrapped in. To remind yourself of your one true love, that no other man after him could ever live up to.

Giving into your impulses, you step behind the window to catch a glimpse of him. One peek was all it took for his head to shoot up to where you stood, as if his senses activated the second you were in sight.

You’ve been seen.

You felt your body freeze, before making a run for the stairs to hide yourself from him.

“(Y/N)...” he whispered. “(Y/N)—No, don’t run away from me!” Dom chases after you. Of course, he beats you to it and grabs your arm, making it impossible to reach the top of the stairs. Reminder to never even be bothered to run away from a professional athlete ever again. There’s no point.

“Don’t fucking run away from me for fuck’s sake!” he yells at you. Catching up to you within milliseconds.

“What the fuck do you want, Dom?” pulling your arm out his grasp, your hostility surprising Dom. You take a step, hovering above him. “What the fuck do I want? I want you to fucking come home! I want you to talk to me so we can work this out like fucking adults!”

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you, I made that very clear,” you tell him. “You left without an explanation, (Y/N)! You honestly think that I deserved that? That I deserved to come home to an empty house, to find the love of my life gone, and a stupid piece of paper telling me that you’ve left? Fuck off,” Dom shakes his head in anger.

“You just have to trust me, please, just leave,” you plead. “I am not fucking leaving until you give me answers.”

“Did you cheat on me?” Dom’s voice barely made it out. “Cheat on you? Of course I didn’t, how, how could you even think that?” taken aback at his question. “I don’t know, maybe you’ve been playing a game this whole time,” his voice gets louder with every syllable.

“A game? You think I’m enjoying this? Fine, the fucking truth is, I am split in two, Dom. I left half of my heart with you in that house that I no longer can function. You haven’t seen what I’ve been like over the past couple of weeks, so you don’t get to accuse me of playing a game,” you retaliate.

“You haven’t seen what I’ve been like!” upset at what you said. “You left for no reason! You barely gave me an explanation! I am so in over my head that I’ve been shit at training, shit at games, I’ve had the entire Goodison yell profanities at me when I got taken off, I’ve disappointed everyone because my mind, my heart, and my fucking soul is set on you!” Dom angrily lets out his thoughts.

“So it’s my fault? Great, another thing that I should take blame for,” you chuckle sarcastically, feeling overwhelmed. “Cheers Dom, nice talk, have a great night,” you proceed to walk up the stairs before Dom pulls you back down.

“I’m not fucking done with you,” he says sternly. “We are working this out now,” gesturing to the floor.

“Fine, not here, you’ll wake the entire neighbourhood up,” you continue your way up the stairs and into your friend’s guest bedroom, with Dom trailing behind you. Dom nearly shudders at the sight of the room, unhappy that you’ve made it into a home with everything so tidy, so in place, so cosy. He briefly wonders if you’ll ever come back.

***

The second the door was shut, you and Dom went back to arguing. And he wasted no time.

“You shut me out for weeks! You packed up your bags and left while I was at training, you don’t pick up my calls, you ignore my texts, you hide out at your friend’s place while we have our own home, you left me with nothing except for that stupid post-it!” he pants. “How the fuck do you think that made me feel? You’ve put our entire relationship in a small piece of fucking paper,” he looks away for a moment. “You couldn’t even say goodbye.”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye to you? Did it ever occur to you that if you ever tried to stop me I would’ve stayed and been with you even though I know it wouldn’t work?” you raise your voice.

“How would you fucking know that it wouldn’t work? You barely gave us a chance to work it out, you just left!” his arms flail in frustration. “I don’t even know what we’re meant to work out, why you even left!”

Silence fills the air before Dom shifts closer to you.

“Why did you leave me?” Dom softly asks, barely making eye contact. You let out a deep breath at his question.

“You don’t get it Dom, you just don’t,” you look onto the floor. “What is it that I don’t get? Tell me, please,” Dom begs.

You’ve been cornered and there is no escape.

“Your mother hates me, and there’s nothing I can do about it,” shaking your head. “My mother? What?” Dom pulls back and sits up straight.

“We had a conversation,” you’re finally about to speak your truth. Dom’s head shot up, confused.

“You weren’t home, she came over and sat me down,” you pause, pressing your lips together, bracing yourself for what’s about to come out of your mouth. “Your mum told me that I am a gold digger, that I’m with you for the money and the fame,” you can feel tears pooling in your eyes. “Wh—what?” Dom takes a sharp inhale in shock. “She sees her as her own daughter and I can’t live up to that,” you refer to his ex.

Dom looks up to the ceiling in disbelief. “Your mom told me she knew I couldn’t make a living for myself with the job that I have, and accused me of preying on you to be set for life,” a tear rolled down your eye to which you quickly wiped. “I—” “And she’s right, in a way,” you look up at him, cutting him off. “You bought us a house, you built us a home, you provide me with comfort, you give me security,” you pause for a moment. “You gave me everything, whilst I gave you nothing.”

Dom stays silent knowing there’s more. And he’s right. “But even if you didn’t have all of those things, even if you barely have a penny in your pocket, I’d still be in love with you. If everything we have, if everything you have would be taken away from you right this second, I’d still be in love with you,” you place a hand on his right cheek, and notice that his eyes have turned bloodshot red.

“But I also can’t handle disapproval. If your mother thinks that you’re better off without me, as much as it kills me,” you begin to cry. “I—I have to respect that,” your voice breaking. “I just want you to be happy, even if that means I’d have to let you go.

Dom pulls you into his arms, holding you, embracing you, harder than ever before.

“I don’t care what my mother thinks, I am in love with you and only you,” Dom assures you whilst trying to process what you said. “You have given me more than I could ever offer. You’ve shown me that I am a man who deserves to be loved. You’ve filled me in with so much love my heart could burst at any given time. You’ve given me more reasons to live and give my all in this world. That is more than anything I could give you.”

“You deserve someone else,” your voice breaks. “I deserve you. I have no interest in reliving my past or even have anyone from my past be a part of my life today, because you are my life,” he says, staring into your eyes hoping you believe him.

You look up to him in shock and relief at the same time, if that’s even possible.

“I love you too much,” he says, holding your face in his hands. “I would marry you right fucking now if I could, I would get eloped with you right now and run away from the world. Just the two of us,” Dom tells you. “We don’t need anyone’s blessing. I don’t care for it,” he confesses. “I just want you.”

“We can’t be together Dom, your mum—” “—I don’t care what she thinks. I am grown enough to know what’s meant for me and what isn’t. She was massively out of line and shouldn’t have made such a despicable accusation,” he says, pissed off.

“Don’t say that, she’s your mother,” you try to calm him down. “I get that, but she’s almost cost me the love of my life, and if I lost you I can’t ever forgive her for that,” he whispers. “We’ll go through this together, you have to believe me when I say that I’m not letting anyone get in the way of us,” he tries to convince you. “You should’ve known that I would do anything to protect what we have.”

“I didn’t want to put you in a position where you had to choose,” you say to him. “I understand, but that isn’t your choice to make baby,” Dom says.

“I love you, (Y/N). No one and nothing can get in the way of that, ever, you have to believe me, please,” Dom begs. “I love you,” you say it back.

Dom puts a hand behind your neck, pulling you close before planting a hard kiss on your tear-stained lips. The kiss was desperate, full of longing, desire, and rage all in one.

It was a kiss that almost went too far, but there was something else you both needed to do.

You broke off the kiss and pulled away from him.

“Come home with me? Please?” Dom asks, hoping you’d come back home and never leave again.

“Only if you help me pack,” you tease. Dom’s face brightens up, dimples on either of his cheeks, his nose scrunching in excitement.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says, a peck on the lips after every ‘I love you’.

You both stood up, ready to make a mess out of your friend’s guest bedroom.

Dom places his hands on your hips tugging them closer to his, before leaning into your face. “Don’t ever leave me again,” he pleads.

“Never.”

[vs-redemption]

hii! i swear i read your request rules but i’m still worried this doesn’t follow them. anyway i figured i’d ask and you can obviously decline ahahah. i just read Gray and it’s so well written and makes my heart shiver and i wanted to ask if you’d write a part 2 or a one shot/scenario of having levi as a soulmate in the same eye color soulmate au as Gray? thank you !! :) (^･ｪ･^)

From Cindy: I apologize for taking so long to get to this! It took me a while to get an idea I liked, and then I had trouble getting into the mindset to write it. Inspiration finally struck though, and this is the result! I hope you like it!

Soulmates (Levi x GN!Reader)

Based on the same AU as Gray (Levi x Gn!Reader)

⚠️angst and hints of sex work (Levi’s Mom)⚠️

Levi loved safety

Being born in an extremely run down and sketchy part of the city was one of the worst fates a person could experience. Ever since Levi could remember, he’d been burdened with warnings from his mother who had learned most lessons about living amongst the dregs of society the hard way. He never stepped a foot outside their tiny one room home without hearing her voice expressing concerns about who he talked to, which streets he went down, how late he stayed out, and which shops he visited. There was danger everywhere and no one to protect him.

“Levi, stay close to me,” the woman would say to him when he was younger. Even going out in the middle of the day was a risk for them because his mother had a reputation. In order to feed him and keep the roof over his head, she’d reduced herself to a line of work that garnered an uncomfortable amount of negative attention. In a world ruled by the existence of soul mates, everything about their lifestyle was wrong and all it took was seeing a woman with duel colored eyes and a child for someone to know she’d committed the biggest taboo.

At first, Levi didn’t understand why anything about his mother’s appearance would cause such a stir. He’d seen plenty of people with two colored eyes, including himself. As he got older though, his curiosity grew and one day he made the mistake of asking about his father. The pained look on his mother’s face filled him with regret immediately, but he sat and listened to her intently as she explained the ways of their harsh reality.

“Your eyes are a promise,” she’d told him as delicately as possible. “A promise not to share yourself with anyone until you meet the person who you are destined to find and be with forever.” Levi had been filled with sadness for his mother when she admitted to breaking her promise. It was clear that she’d only committed such a disapproved act out of absolute necessity. People were judgmental though and could only see the fact that Levi’s father had not been the woman’s soulmate, which is why her eyes remained mismatched.

“You can still find them,” Levi had tried to hold on to a glimmer of hope for her, but she just smiled sadly and shook her head. The likeliness was low at her age, and even if they happened to cross paths, her past and status as a single mother would drive any respectable person away.

Levi loved stability

After learning about and coming to terms with the truth of this mother’s situation, Levi became determined to help her out in any way possible. He didn’t want the woman sacrificing herself for him any longer. And once he got older, he begged her to start staying home while he did what he could to provide for them both.

“It’s not your job to take care of me, Levi.” She’d smiled at this thoughtfulness while cupping his cheek in her delicate hand. “Everything I’ve done will have been worth it as long as you can have a better life than me.”

He understood her sentiment, but was too stubborn to give up. It was hard to find honest work in a town full of desperation and poverty, but Levi did his best. He took odd jobs here and there, and tried not to get mixed up in any of the bad business that ran rampant in the area. The money he earned wasn’t nearly enough to cover the cost of his small home though. After a handful of threats from the landlord to toss them out on the street, Levi knew he had to do more.

Levi loved familiarity

Resorting to petty theft went against everything Levi’s mother had taught him, and he knew it would probably break her heart if she ever found out. Still, he couldn’t allow their home to be taken away, or worse, his mother to return to the work she’d done before.

He had to be smart though. Being caught stealing in his neighborhood could get him killed. Going into the nicer parts of the city would be a better bet. He didn’t know the area as well, of course, but there was the benefit that he wouldn’t be recognized if anyone saw him. If he did happen to get caught by law enforcement, he’d end up in a jail cell rather than a cold ditch somewhere. Neither option was ideal, but stealing from the rich would have to do until a better plan presented itself.

Things went decently for a while, and Levi was a quick learner. He figured out what worked and what didn’t without having too many close calls. He made sure only to take enough to get by since the thought of being too similar to the criminals he’d grown up around made him sick to his stomach. It was only a matter of time though before his luck ran out. Rumors of a pickpocket spread and people began to act more cautiously about carrying their valuables out in the open, forcing Levi to get more reckless with his stunts.

It was on a particularly frustrating day that Levi caught a glimpse of you. More accurately, he caught a glimpse of the leather purse filled with coins hanging from your hip as you chatted away with a friend outside a popular confectionary. With practiced movements, he slipped into the crowd and made his way in your direction, thinking that snatching up the money would be simple and easy. He’d made a mistake though. Your pouch wasn’t tied up like he was used to, but secured with a metal ring designed specifically to prevent the very act he was trying to pull.

You begin to turn around as soon as you feel the tug on your belt and Levi freezes for a moment, trying to think of a way to get out of the situation. One word from you and everyone in the vicinity would be on him. As soon as your duel colored eyes met his however, something happened that put all other thoughts out of both of your minds. Levi watched in shock as you blinked once, twice, and then suddenly your left eye changed color completely to match your right. The look of initial alarm on you face softened and Levi knew he had to get out of there. He turned on his heel, ducked his head down, and walked away as quickly and as naturally as his legs would allow. He waited for any sign that he was being pursued for a moment or two and then broke into a run.

Levi loved certainty

In his panic, Levi didn’t even greet his mother as he rushed past her once arriving at home. His heart was pounding and a light sweat covered his forehead uncomfortably. He went straight to the bathroom to stand in front of the cracked mirror above the sink. It took a few seconds to muster up the courage to look into his reflection and find that everything that had happened was real. The two colored eyes that he was so used to were gone.

“Levi, sweetie, are you all right?” his mother appeared in the doorway, looking scared. “Did something happen at work? You’re not usually home this early!” He turns to look at the woman who notices his matching eyes immediately. Her hands come up to her mouth which spreads into a smile and tears spring into her eyes. “Congratulations! Who is it?”

The question makes Levi feel ill. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he’d meet his soulmate while trying to rob them. And if his mother found out, she’d be so disappointed.

“It doesn’t matter,” He tells her stiffly. “I can’t be with them.”

The words were far from enough to satisfy his mother though, and she nagged him the rest of the evening with questions about what you looked like and where he’d saw you. He kept his lips sealed until he’d had enough of the interrogation.

“Please, my obligation is to you and nobody else,” he tells his mother. “I don’t know anything about this person. Not only do I have no interest in being with them, I’m certain they have no interest in being with me either.”

“Levi, this is all I’ve ever wanted for you,” his mother begs, taking his hands into her own. “Do not live your life feeling empty and alone. Take this chance and find your happiness.”

Levi shakes his head, refusing to even consider it. His only focus had been himself and his mother for so long that it seemed ridiculous to add a third person into the mix now. It was better to pretend he’d never met you, and he imagined you would feel the same way. How disgusted did you feel knowing your soulmate was the infamous pickpocket? It would be even worse once you found out where he lived and about his mother. Surely you were both better off without each other.

Levi hated the thought of a life without you

Despite his resolution to continue on with life as normal, it only took a few days before Levi caved and went back to the spot where he’d encountered you. The image of your face had never once left his mind, and there was an incessant need to see you again that he could not ignore. He thought perhaps one more look couldn’t hurt, and he had to go back anyway if he wanted to collect enough money to pay his landlord that month.

“I hoped you’d come back.”

Levi had been sure you wouldn’t recognize him after only getting that small glimpse, but apparently fate had engrained his face into your memory as well. He whirled around, his gaze immediately locking with yours. It was wild to see the familiar color of your eyes looking back at him. He had no idea why you’d be here looking for the person that tried to steal from you. The cautious smile on your face as you introduced yourself put him on edge as well. “What’s your name?”

“Levi.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but part of him already felt an attachment to you. What was more, hearing your name for the first time felt like a fire had ben lit inside of him. He shakes his head to get his mind straightened out. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“No!” the panic in your features makes him falter, “Please stay. Can’t we talk for a moment?”

“I’m sorry,” Levi backs away, trying to fight off the instincts rising up inside of him. He didn’t want you to be sad and he didn’t want to disappoint you. He knew though that it was inevitable that he would.

“Levi…”

Hearing his own name spill from your lips was enough to have him second guessing everything. Would he really be able to go the rest of his life without hearing it again? He wasn’t sure he was strong enough to stay away. He’d already come crawling back once already after all. As a last resort, he knew what he had to do. He had to tell you everything. And he did. He revealed his entire life story to you without hardly pausing to take a breath, knowing that every detail would drive your further and further away. Having so soulmate at all was much better than having a soulmate like him.

By the time he finished talking, tears had welled up in his eyes as well. His mother had told him to take the chance for happiness, but instead he’d violently thrown it away. A few seconds passed and suddenly you were slipping your hand into his. It was the wrong reaction to the story but he can’t help but tighten his grip around yours anyway, wanting the comforting feeling you brought to last forever.

“I’m so sorry you and your mother have had to fight so hard just to survive,” you tell him softly. “But you won’t have to live that way any longer, or at least, I want to join the fight with you.”  The genuine kindness and determination in your voice was overwhelming for Levi. Somehow he knew you meant every word, and the image of a brighter future for all three of you began to take shape in his mind. He had no idea if such a future was actually possible, but with you at his side he knew he’d definitely be willing to try. Being born in the roughest and seediest part of town had to be one of the worst fates a person could experience. Levi knew that first hand. He also knew he wouldn’t trade that fate for the world if it meant having you as a soulmate.

[fenristheorem]

Hi!^^

Could you make a hc about Lance and Guardian first date? 👀

Hello! This ask turned into a bit of a headcanon / scenario hybrid, I hope you don’t mind! It’s was so tempting to write in-depth about so many things through this that I couldn’t stop myself lol.

Also, I put a couple of my own headcanons on Lance’s dragon form in here because we know basically nothing except how he looks.

~Under the cut~

Lance and Guardienne's first date:

Guardienne may have been the first one to show interest in advancing their relationship from friends to partners (since Lance was very hesitant to do that as he feels he doesn’t deserve it after everything he’s done), but Lance will take it upon himself to initiate the first date after she clearly has interest, and he won’t take it lightly.

His seriousness about this is due to two main reasons: the instinctual nature of being a dragon - which includes all the courtship instincts that are a part of his people’s culture - and the belief that she truly deserves to be taken seriously.

Lance may not have been raised by his people, but dragons are feral creatures by nature and, therefore, instincts are a prominent part of their life. The knowledge that she’s agreeing to date him will be translated into a very basic idea within those instincts: she’s allowing him to court her. There - of course - will be more to their relationship than just Lance trying to court her, but this idea merely shows what instincts will be active through the beginning of their relationship until they’re both sure they want to be together long-term. The point of having courtship instincts is to show a potential mate that said dragon is competent at providing, protecting, and caring for their love interest, so that’s exactly what Lance plans to do. These instincts - combined with knowing her personality and interests - will help him to think of things he can find, plan, or do for her that are specifically chosen because he believes she’ll like it. He wants to show her that he is an ideal mate for her, so he’ll keep trying to prove that relentlessly until they both have confirmed their affection for each other over and over again, in which case Lance will still keep providing and caring for her, but will be less aggressive about it. These instincts also act as a major impulse control for Lance, and this can be either harmful or beneficial for him. They can influence in-the-moment decisions, especially with physical touch, like whether or not he kisses her in one moment or how he chooses to hold her. This can be harmful in the manner where he may pressure her past her boundaries a bit by accident - unknowingly trying to prove how deep his want for her is and being caught up in the moment and his own physical feelings so he’s rendered unable to immediately realize her discomfort unless she makes a clear gesture that she’s not yet interested. The last thing Lance wants it to make her uncomfortable, so he’ll try to keep from doing something unless it’s relatively clear that she’ll react positively to it, but from that thought, this can also be greatly beneficial as it allows him to recognize things that he - or other men - may otherwise overlook. There may be a moment where she’s interested in possibly initiating something, but may be too shy to actually take the first step. He’s very detail orientated, so he’ll likely notice this subtle change in how she acts as she ponders a thought, and can instinctually recognize a few changes in her physical being - like glancing from his eyes to his lips, initiating a few kind but somewhat unnecessary touches, unknowingly accentuating a few attractive parts of her body, and even going as far as detecting a faint change in scent when she’s aroused (although, that last one will come a bit later in the relationship). Sometimes Lance will purposely tamp down any instinctual habits for the sake of proper self-control and not needing to second-guess any action that may actually make her uncomfortable, but usually when Lance detects a few signs that she’s heavily interested in him in the moment - and it’s clearly romantic interest, not interest in just the conversation topic - those instincts will unravel and he won’t be able to stop himself from immediately leaning forward to steal her lips in a kiss.

These instincts overall are very serious to him, and he doesn’t intend to take her courtship lightly - after all, his actions and his manner with her will influence how her feelings develop with him, and that’s influenced by how his instincts effect him in this situation. However, that doesn’t mean he’ll go out of his way to change for her or do things (that he may not like, especially) just because he thinks she’ll like it. If his instincts are continuously telling him to do things that she’s not liking, then perhaps they’re not as compatible as he’d like to think. He’s willing to give her things that are influenced by his instincts that she’ll surely like, but if he needs to think and act differently than who he is, then their relationship will be based off a lie, and he’s not about to base any part of his life - or someone else’s life that concerns him - off of a lie made solely to please.

He’s also taking this date seriously because he feels it would disrespectful of him to not take it seriously. This is a given regardless of who it is, but he feels it applies with her even more than it would with anyone else due to this reasoning: Lance has tried to kill her in the past - multiple times - and he tried to kill her friends and destroy the world that she loves so dearly. So not only would it be disrespectful in general to waste her time with a date that isn’t well planned or thought out, but it would be incredibly disrespectful to the point of being truly unforgivable if he did all of those horrible things and then tried to win her affections by thinking that a shallow, poorly thought out date would even begin to be acceptable in proving that he’s an ideal man for the savior of Eldarya. It takes the idea of wasting her time and thinking poorly of her intelligence and self-worth to a whole new level - and Lance is not about to risk that in any way. This is the woman who actually managed to put up a fight against him (hopeless, but he gives her credit for trying because she believed in her reasoning), who saved Eldarya, and is now moving past bitter old emotions to begin considering taking her past sworn enemy as her future lover. She has gained his respect in a multitude of ways, so there is no way that he’s going to take their first date lightly.

That being said, he struggles for a few days planning what he wants to do with her. He did ask her if there was anything in specific she’d like to do - only for her to say that there was nothing in particular, so all the planning was on him. Lance wants a good balance of including things she likes and would appreciate while also adding in his own interests. He believes that their first date should reflect how he thinks their relationship would manifest - and what he would like it to be and what he thinks she’d like it to be - while being conscious that this will be the first glimpse into a possible intimate life with each other, which can be off putting at first, so he thinks of everything that that would include and / or influence; food, entertainment, traveling, talking, etc. It was a good thing he told her prior to expect to be with him the whole day as he eventually finds himself needing to carefully manage and plan things to assure the date will go as he hopes, otherwise the rest of the day wouldn’t be very ideal. He’s sure to have a few back-up plans, though, just in case something does go awry so the date isn’t a total failure.

Guardienne knows absolutely nothing about what he’s planning, the only thing he told her is to take the whole day off and wear something comfortable yet functional that she isn’t afraid to get dirty. This almost scares her, and for a while she wonders what she got herself into by saying yes to his offer - after all, Lance has always had a creative mind with their “adventures” in the past - but she will admit that she does trust him now, and she follows his advice when the day of their date comes.

Lance is sure to give Huang Hua a few day’s warning about his day off and who he’s leaving in charge that day - she raises an eyebrow and grins the slightest bit when he mentions the exact day he needs to take off, but doesn’t ask any questions - and rises early on the day of their date to meet Guardienne in the Dinning Hall at the time they agreed on.

Now Karuto doesn’t like Lance at all much, and the dragon knows this, so when he originally asked the chef to prepare a few special meals he was turned down very quickly. But then he mentioned that it’s for Guardienne as well...

“Oh? You want me to prepare a special meal for her for you? Ha! Why?”

“Well... we intend to spend the day together so I want to be sure she has a nice time, and you’re cooking is excellent, Karuto. I know Guardienne really appreciates your food, and I don’t want to take any risks of things going wrong, so I was thinking that if we could have a breakfast and dinner at the dinning hall, and a lunch to go, that would be a definite way to begin to make sure she has a nice time.”

Karuto’s ladle clattered to the floor as the Satyr whipped his head around to look Lance dead in the eye, a dumbstruck expression on his face - almost looking as though he’s seen a ghost. Lance met his gaze evenly, expecting this reaction. He knew the chef didn’t like him that much, he didn’t blame him, but he hoped that Karuto could perhaps bless him with this favor for Guardienne’s sake.

“You mean... you have a date with her?” Karuto’s voice was faintly high pitched, reconfirming just how shocked he was. Lance shifted a bit, glancing to the ground as he did before meeting his gaze again.

“Ah, well... yes. So I’d really like things to go well. And try to keep this on the down-low. This is our first date and I think everything would go better overall if it didn’t spread like wildfire through the guard just yet.”

Karuto’s facial features softened a bit as he listened, picking up the ladle and shuffling to throw it in the sink before fishing another from one of the various hooks along the wall and returning to the pot on the stove.

“...Well, I suppose I can’t say no... and... - ahm - congrats? I’ll be sure to keep quiet about this, I guess, for her sake. Now what are you thinking of for the meals?” Karuto still looked quite surprised, but there was a sincerity in his expression and tone that Lance trusted, and he promptly thanked Karuto for doing him this favor. However, the Satyr also made sure to give him the full version of “if you try anything with her and I hear of it, I’ll personally make your life hell.” Lance quickly realizes that Karuto really likes her, and assures him he won’t do anything she doesn’t want. It doesn’t really seem to convince the chef, but he also probably realizes that there’s nothing he can do to stop this. Guardienne can be just as stubborn as the dragon, after all, and she’s already said yes to this.

Fortunately, Karuto kept his word and prepared a special breakfast for the both of them - Lance quickly noticed that his was prepared with quality as well, although the chef gave him a sharp look - and Guardienne soon realized that their breakfast was different than what was being served to others as they settled into a quiet corner of the hall. Lance - somewhat sheepishly - admitted that he’d asked a special favor from Karuto, and Guardienne grinned appreciatively at this.

When they were finished, Lance retrieved the lunches - nodding in thanks to Karuto as he did, the chef still giving him a meaningful look - and stored them in the small travel bag he packed, heading out of the guard with Guardienne to lead her to the open plains.

The next part of his plan was a bit shifty. It’s always possible that she could back out or become uncomfortable, but he feels - despite his anxiousness - that this should be how things are done. If Guardienne at any point became uncomfortable, then he would immediately yield to her wishes, but he really hoped she didn’t. He believes this is where their date can truly begin, and he hopes that she has enough faith in him to follow his plans.

He dropped the bag on the ground and turned to her, leveling a calm stare on her as she tilted her head in curiosity.

“You’ve never rode a dragon, correct?”

“I hope that’s not an innuendo.” She cracks a smile and raises a brow as she looks at him, he grins slyly in return. 

“No - not this time at least.” He can play the game of wit. Guardienne’s smile grows before falling, a faint trace of wistful mourning crossing her expression.

“But, actually I have. Your brother, during the war...” Lance remembered that and his grin dropped, but this was something different. That was into war, when neither were paying attention to the actual experience and were focused on preserving their lives. He needed to know if she actually experienced seeing the world from a dragon’s eye view.

“Yes, I know that, but have you actually rode a dragon and been able to focus on the experience? Flying into war is very different than flying for leisure.”

“No, I haven’t experienced that...” She looked intently at him now, understanding where he was leading the topic.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes... I trust you.” Her eyes met his steadily as she responds. Everything is going as he hoped so far.

Whisps of white and cerulean blue shifted around Lance as he began shifting into his dragon form, stretching his wings out and lifting his head towards the sky to adjust once fully transformed before taking a few steps towards her as Guardienne picked up the travel bag. She admired the beautiful rippling of crystalline blue and snow white scales as he sauntered towards her before crouching down and lowering his neck. Sudden nervousness swept over Guardienne - he was certainly big, easily close to 10 feet tall - if not taller - with a thick, muscular form, but she never actually had the chance to think about riding a dragon before doing so, and that realization seemed intimidating to her now. Will she just hang onto the ice-like horns that adorn his upper neck? Won’t her weight be tiring for him in time? What about her legs, where should she put them? Could he really lift her weight into the air as easily as he seems to think?

Lance took notice of her hesitance and tilted his head and neck to look at her with a piercing eye, watching her as she stared for a moment.

“I...”

“I understand this may seem daunting. If you feel you can trust this, I would recommend doing so - I have wonderful things planned for us - but I won’t force you. I have backup plans closer to the guard if you feel you’re not ready for this.” Lance’s heart twists a bit - he really wanted to do this with her. This was really the only possible hindrance, if she could just get past this and trust him...

“No, it’s fine. I just... how do I hold on?” Guardienne quickly snaps to and laughs a bit, securing the travel bag to her and lifting a leg to straddle his lower neck. She placed her hands on his neck for a moment before curiously running her hands along his scales. Such a wonderful texture...

A purr rumbles from the dragons chest as he relaxes, pleased that she was agreeing with this.

“Hang on to the horns around my neck and wrap your legs around me - be sure to dig your heels in, it’ll help stabilize you.”

Guardienne did as told and instinctively leaned forward on his neck, clinging close to dear life.

“When we’re up in the air you can re-adjust your grip a bit to be more comfortable. Are you ready?” Lance raised his neck from the ground and Guardienne braced herself, already feeling unsettlingly high in the air - but she knew she wanted this.

“Yea.”

Lance tilted his head towards the sky again and spread his wings wide, leaping from the ground to hover for a moment before his wings scored through the air with a loud, windy woosh. Guardienne watched as his wings folded a bit, his scales shimmering beautifully in the sunlight, before stretching out and falling upon the air again. With every down stroke of his wings, Lance’s head and neck raised into the air a bit, the rest of his body following the rippling motion as he climbed higher in the air and gained speed.

Guardienne dared not look down as they rose above the trees, instead hunkering down a bit to press herself closer to the ice dragon. They were heading higher than she’s ever been while riding another creature - and while she did trust Lance, it still unsettled her greatly knowing how far their drop would be if he were thrown off balance and unable to recover. But he has years of experience of flying, she reminded herself. It was unlikely for him to lose control of himself.

Lance could sense a bit of her anxiety and shifted his wing pattern, smoothing out his climb to be more steady and less aggressive in how he moved. Guardienne fortunately seemed to lose some of her worries as he climbed with more subtle movements, and just as she relaxed a bit he shifted his pattern again. They were high enough in the sky now to where Lance just needed to change direction to head towards their destination, so he leveled out in the sky, letting his wings glide through the air.

Guardienne shifted the slightest bit as he leveled out, making sure she had a good grip, and caught sight of the ground below while doing so - but contrary to how terrifying she thought it would feel when seeing it from this distance, it was actually beautiful.

Trees dotted the ground, forming into masses of liquid dark green forests against the pale green of soft grass while blue-silver rivers - the color of moondust - meandered through grass and forest alike, dipping to disappear among trees before emerging again at a very separate location. Dark grey boulders dotted along the rivers and streams, and the occasional creature bolted along the plains as it ran from the shadow of the mighty entity flying above it.

She remained entranced at the landscape below as Lance tilted slightly, gliding elegantly through the air as he banked into a turn. Something of a purr rumbled from his chest as Guardienne leaned against him more, faintly adjusting her grip to hold higher on his horns so she could lean closer to him while admiring the ground.

“The land is much nicer from the air, isn’t it?” Lance called out to her as he tilted his head to glance at her, relief welling in his chest when he noted the starry-eyed gaze Guardienne wore as she looked at the ground.

“It’s beautiful!” Her tone will filled with awe, no hint of nervousness appearing anywhere in her energy anymore. He knew she would love this, she just had to push past the fear.

As they flew, Guardienne became more and more comfortable with flying, eventually allowing herself to sit somewhat upright so she can get a wider view of the great expanse of land stretching endlessly beneath them rather than what’s directly below them. It reminded her a lot of when she flew on airplanes, but this was much more free and wild.

Mountain ranges dotted the distance one way - tall, grey and monumental in the face of all the specks of trees and strings of rivers - and thicker forest canopy darkened the forest in some deeper parts of the trees. Open plains flowed beneath them and, with a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw the deep blue of the ocean behind them, growing further and further away. She basked in the view as Lance glided through the air, and Guardienne came to realize that properly riding a dragon isn’t half as worrisome as she originally thought.

She looked ahead and saw a murky, grey-blue expanse approaching from among the trees and plains - immediately recognizing it as a large lake dotted with large, jutting boulders - and beyond that a small cliff. It was as though a small mountain once stood there, but half was taken and replaced by a lake, leaving the other half a jagged, rocky outcrop against the bright sky as it led further back to sloping plains.

Lance dived faintly, gliding softly downward as they approached the lake. For a moment Guardienne’s thoughts filled with alarm as he seemed to intend to send them straight into the water, and she was about to open her mouth to express her concerns when he tilted his wings a few feet away from the surface and stopped their decline just before the water.

Instead, Guardienne’s breath was taken away from her as she looked into the lake, their reflection mirrored beautifully in the deep blue as they glided mere feet away from the surface of the still water, wakes rippling through as they passed by from the airflow of the dragon she rode. Lance tilted himself just slightly, turning their path to allow the edge of his wing to just faintly brush the surface with a soft hiss as water sprayed out behind. However, left upon the surface in the wake from his wing was a long trail of glittering, cloudy ice - spiked along the edges as it froze the rippling water during it’s impact against the dragon’s wing. She watched in fascination the ice trail that followed them, suddenly wondering how the water felt, and pressed her front completely against Lance as she leaned down. Gripping him tightly with her hand and legs, she took a calming breath and leaned slightly to his side, reaching to the lake. 

Lance tilted his head to look at her again and straightened out, letting them drop closer until he was a risk of sending them straight into the water if he glided any lower. Fortunately, this was all the decline Guardienne needed, and the tips of her fingers brushed through the surface; cold and grating against her skin at their speed - but spraying out in a similar fashion as the water that had sprayed from Lance’s wing - and leaving her breathless from the experience.

The start of an astonished laugh bubbled from her chest before she leaned completely back, readjusting her grip again as she looked across the water on both sides. Exhilaration flowed through her bones and veins as she took in their speed in comparison to the lake and trees along the bank, and she let out a full laugh as she threw her head back to the sky, letting the wind whip over her skin as she embraced the experience of truly riding a dragon. 

Joy bubbled within Lance as he took in her chiming laugh, and as they began to near the occasional large boulder jutting from the lake water he pondered the next part of his plan again. Hopefully she was in the mood for an even more thrilling ride...

He came up upon the first boulder, emerging many feet above the water and shifted his wings again, tilting them to soar upwards and give a flap to keep their speed as he fluently arced above the boulder, letting himself glide slowly down again and targeting two boulders near to each other next. He arced over one again and dived safely above the water, spreading his wings and banking into a sharp, drifting turn to swerve around the second rock. Guardienne shifted on his lower neck as he moved, flattening herself to him and adjusting her balance slightly when needed. When they were level above the water again, approaching their last chance to safely fly away from the approaching cliff, Lance glanced back toward Guardienne to find her studying the immense, jagged rise. She locked her gaze with his one eye, giving a wild grin as she adjusted herself and held on tighter.

Lance knew that she knew his intent, and her grin and tightening grip was all he needed to know that she wanted in on this experience, so he rose slightly above the lake again to beat his wings and gain speed as he scanned the cliff for the best path.

“Have you ever done anything like this?” Guardienne called to him, leaning with him as he tilted to avoid a large rock with an overhanging arch. They passed under it and a crumbling sounded from behind them. She looked back in time to see a fair part of that arch crumble from where they just passed under and splash into the water. Suddenly she was harshly reminded that the landscape could shift due to the wind currents from the dragon, and they don’t have any control over it. Her gaze turned to look at Lance again as he looked back to her.

“If I can fight in the air then I can navigate through cliff sides, and this certainly isn’t the first time I’ve flown through rocky outcrops or forests. Be sure to keep a tight grip, though, this’ll require finessing.”

Guardienne trusted his experience with this, so she nodded her head and gave him a trusting grin - he wouldn’t be doing this if he felt he couldn’t execute it.

Lance turned back to study the sloping cliff and the rocky lake before it again, finding an ideal path upward, and steadied his wings to prepare for the sudden moment where he would enact his first movement. 

Guardienne held onto him, anticipation making her heart race as she studied the rocks as well.

And then Lance banked harshly to the side, heading towards a large, thin ridge rising out of the water that was crumbling on one side.

He tilted back, rising into the air and closing quickly in on the ridge top before arcing himself tightly over it. Nearly immediately on the other side was another jutting formation, and - as he was gliding downward - his wings shifted and he rose his head and neck to the sky to begin to slow their descent and climb again, then tilted nearly vertical to the side to veer around the formation, bringing them closer to the immense cliff edge now nearly directly above them. Lance soared along the length of cliff for a moment, level with the water now as he spotted an arch adjoining the cliff. He glided to it and folded his wings safely in for a moment as they passed through before flicking his wings open on the other side and immediately banked upwards into the sky.

Guardienne held on tight, pressing herself close to Lance as he easily - gracefully - maneuvered around rocks and overhangs, climbing up the cliff at a soaring speed without bringing them too close to risk any harm, but still close enough to feel the humbleness of realizing how small they still are in comparison to the massive stones. Her head swung wildly around, watching the stones they drifted around and embracing the breathtaking view of the water receding below them. Lance dived and arced and rolled in the air, rising and falling as he maneuvered the cliff. Guardienne diligently held herself close to him, doing her best to adjust herself in subtle ways that might make his flying easier for him while embracing the beauty of the light reflecting off of water below and the shadows cast over them as they soared beneath rock formations.

Guardienne looked towards the sky again as Lance soared along the cliff - noticing that they were about rise over the crest - and leaned her head against his neck gently, silently thanking him for the wonderful, thrilling experience he gave her. They rushed past the peak and kept their fast incline upward to let the speed die out on its own, and Guardienne took the chance to look around as they gided. Light shimmered beautifully off streams through muted green grasslands and forests, similar to where they just came from, but large, silver-grey rock formations jutted out of the ground here, like the boulders in the lake. A feeling of calm content rolled through Guardienne as she surveyed the landscape and rested against the dragon, breathing in the fresh air around them as it breezed by her. She almost wanted to cry from the beauty of the landscape and the experience of freely riding a dragon, understanding completely now exactly why Lance wanted to share this with her. This was something that couldn’t possibly be rivaled by any other experience.

They flew peacefully for only a few minutes longer before Lance glided to a slow stop just a few feet above the top of a hill, reaching out with his hind legs to plant firmly on the grass and lean down so Guardienne could dismount. He checked in on her after shifting back to his human form, trying to get a read on her opinion of the ride, only to be pleasantly surprised when she smiled and laughed, rambling about the humbling feeling of rising above the great earth to dance around it’s formations and soar the skies above it. Fortunately, the flying part of the date was also the most questionable - the most likely thing that would make Guardienne regret her choice - but just as Lance expected and planned for, she enjoyed the thrill instead.

Lance didn’t really have much planned after that to be honest, despite the aggressive way he worried about the plans. He intended for a few specific things to come up during their date, but from here it was really just walking and talking until encountering the right scenario for it. However, he did know roughly where he was and where they needed to go for them to spend the next few hours, so he kindly took the travel bag from her and they headed off in the direction he set, keeping a relaxed pace as they trekked over the hills and rock formations towards the forests around them. 

They talked about anything and everything as they walked - although Guardienne was particularly interested in his dragon powers after what she just experienced, and Lance was more than happy to give her all the information she wished for. He kept a close eye on her as they walked as well, darting out to stabilize her when she stumbled over a root or vine and making sure she had a clear path through any poisonous plants so they wouldn’t brush against her. He didn’t want their time together to end early because she had gotten hurt - of which she had a wonderful record of doing.

They came across a river after a while of walking - slow moving and clear enough that they could see the vibrant fish and other aquatic creatures scuffling around beneath the surface. Guardienne knelt next to the water’s edge to watch the display while Lance settled next to her, leaning forward to watch as well while thinking that he could have decided to hunt for her and cook his catch instead of just asking Karuto to create a lunch. However, this was their first date, and Lance was partially prepared for the possibility where she didn’t end up enjoying it as much as she was enjoying it currently. With that in mind, he let the thought pass over him without any regrets - Karuto’s cooking was a sure way to have her enjoy their lunch out here when her final opinions of everything else could still vary - and marked it down as a thought for a later date if she was interested.

“They’re so colorful.” Guardienne smiled and dipped a finger into the water. The creatures in the vicinity of her finger scattered, rushing up or downstream or crawling along the bottom of the stream. A small, regretful grimace came to her face at seeing the reaction, dejectedly pulling her finger out of the water.

“I guess they’re as skittish as the fish back on Earth.” A minor, guilty smile came to her face as she looked at Lance, who grinned gently back and let out an amused huff, leaning his shoulder against her’s softly. Guardienne leaned into him as well and turned back to the expanse of the river, watching as creatures slowly returned from their hiding places. She glanced down the length of the river, recalling what she learned about Lance’s abilities earlier.

“Could you freeze over this whole river? Turn the whole thing into ice?” She asked curiously, wondering exactly the extent of his powers. Lance smiled at her before taking her hand in his.

“Probably, but I much more enjoy doing things like this.” He took her hand in his, his larger palm over the back of her small hand, and dipped their fingers into the water. The creatures - ruffled again from the intrusion into their domain - spread out again, but Guardienne was more interested this time in the pure white, feathery substance that began to spread across the surface of the water, originating from their hands. It looked like frost that spiraled out onto the water in every which way. As the water grew slightly colder - a sharp contrast to the striking warmth of Lance’s hand on hers - a few of the tendrils branched back towards them and crawled along the bank of the river, slipping up to slink across a few plants in it’s path.

Guardienne found herself entranced by the beauty of the living frost, even reaching down to the water with her other hand to brush her fingertips along the thin, fragile swirls. They were cold and hard to the touch, but a small amount of pressure applied made the frost dip under her fingers before she backed away. It was definitely thin and fragile; something beautiful to look at but not to touch.

She leaned against Lance a bit more without speaking, enjoying the quiet, beautiful moment they were sharing. He ran the pad of his thumb over the outer side of hers kindly.

Some time later they were moving again, trekking through light forests that were shifting into rollings hills and flatland. Guardienne savored the light breeze and warm sun as it traveled across the land and brushed her skin. It was a good thing that the weather was nice, otherwise Lance would have needed to change his plans. Guardienne was truly enjoying the date so far - if she knew what this date would be like beforehand, only for it to be changed by the weather, she would have been severely disappointed. However, this brought the thought of what Lance would have done if they couldn’t have gotten this far into the date.

As they walked, they discussed Lance’s backup plans, revealing that he - in the event of bad weather or something else restricting his original plans - would have then opted to spend the day with her in one of their rooms, probably his, or possibly have spent time somewhere else. If the weather wasn’t too bad - just a small bit of rain or something - then he would have even considered taking her to sit underneath the Cherry Tree to spend time in silence together. Frankly, he had a lot of things in mind that they could have done, it just would have depended on her mood and the weather.

They talked for a while until they encountered a shallow ravine, and Lance put his arm out to stop her, staring intently at the pointy, vibrant colored plants that dusted the bottom. He grabbed a nearby branch and stuck one end into the ravine - sinking a few feet into the plants before hitting solid ground - and continued to do the same motion as he walked alongside the dip, poking the stick against the ground every few feet as it hit at a slowly quickening pace. Guardienne watched with interest as Lance continued to walk further before he turned to her with a faint grin and a raised eyebrow.

“I hope you don’t intend to stand there all day. It’ll be easier to cross when the dip is more shallow.”

He turned back to testing the depth and walking as Guardienne snapped out of her watching, a grin making it’s way to her face as she began to follow him. The stick reached only a foot or two deep into the ravine now.

“I don’t know, I was thinking I would stand there until you decided to carry me across like a princess. Add a new twist to the typical story of a princess being kidnapped by a fearsome dragon, you know?” She spoke in a humored tone, turning her gaze away for a moment to look at their surroundings, only to begin to turn her attention back to him when she heard the thump of the stick falling to the ground.

She let out a surprised squeak as she suddenly found herself off the ground, leaning back and being pulled to Lance’s chest as he picked her up with ease. Her hands found holds within his armor to cling to him as he began heading towards the ravine.

“Lance! What are you doing!?” She laughed as she clung to him, pleasantly shocked at his sudden actions.

“Well fortunately the kidnapping part is over, so now this age-old, horrifying tale can be continued in a lighter manner - per se with the beautiful princess being protected by said fearsome dragon from potentially poisonous plants. It’s better if only one of us trek through this instead of both.” He spoke in a light tone as well, a smirk on his face as he glanced over to meet her gaze quickly. The reminder of the kidnapping - and his past overall - weren’t a usually pleasant memory, yet somehow she made it easy to pass over, even joke about on occasion.

“Hey, I probably could have carried you.” Gaurdienne laughs as she says this, looking up at him with a humorous but fierce gaze. Lance found himself shaking with laughter as well.

“I’d like to see you try!” 

He sets her down gently on the other side of the ravine, keeping a hand on her hip as she finds stable footing along the slope and rocks before they head off again, talking and joking with each other all the while.

Lance certainly begins to open up as they walk, and Guardienne’s time with him turns less from a date with the man who once tried to kill her - and who’s loyalty she questions sometimes - to an enjoyable hang-out with someone who might as well have been an old friend. They find themselves laughing about many different things and carrying witty conversations together, occasionally broken by Lance adding in small informational bits regarding things they pass by that Guardienne comments on.

Eventually the forest is left behind them and they start their hike across rolling, wide pastures, the wind breezing through the tall grass as they climbed their way up a sloping hill. A strong wind current hit Guardienne at the top before calming as she looked at the land around them.

A beautiful river curled around the base of the hill, and a small lake sat off not too far in the distance, leading further to forest again. Clouds still dotted the sky, with no storm in sight.

“Are you hungry?” Guardienne turned her attention back to Lance as he spoke, glancing up to note the sun’s position in the sky. It was high above them, but was noticeably starting it’s decline towards the horizon again.

“Yea. Now that you say it, I am starting to get hungry.”

They stopped on the hill and Lance began to scan the ground, fussing with the travel bag as he stared at one spot.

He slightly nervously pulled out a thin, soft blanket from within the small travel bag, letting the faint wind spread it out as he laid it on the ground.

“Wait, did you drag me all the way out here for a picnic?” Guardienne giggled as she watched his ministrations, and a faint dark red brushed Lance’s face as he paused and avoided her gaze.

“I suppose it does look like that.” He grinned broadly and breathed a laugh. Lance originally saw the date as a combination of many things that they’d both enjoy, but it did seem like the main highlight was their lunch now...

“Don’t worry, I’ve enjoyed the whole date so far. Unless the food sprouts wings I don’t think it’ll rival the thrilling ride you gave me.” Guardienne giggled as she approached the blanket he set down.

“Who said I was worried?” He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a sly grin now.

“Ugh, fine then Mr. Cool and Collected... That’s a nice look on you by the ways.” She brushed off his comment and internally laughed at the contradiction she pointed out, looking away before meeting his gaze again with a tinge of smugness. 

“It would look better on you.” Lance quickly retorted. Guardienne couldn’t stop her shy grin and her heart from racing when he turned his sharp blue gaze on her, a blush faintly dusting his face as he grinned dangerously at her through narrowed eyes. Somehow, no matter what state he’s in, he always seems to manage to get her restless. 

They settled onto the blanket - Lance resting his sword on the ground next to the cloth so it was out of the way - and began to unpack the food that Karuto cooked, placing it carefully on slightly uneven ground. They carried on conversations as they ate, enjoying the warmth of the day and the breeze that brushed by, even spotting a wild rabbit-like creature racing across the grassland.

Some time later, after their meal was finished and the scraps packed up tightly in the travel bag to take back, they laid back on the blanket, watching as snowy clouds passed overhead. Guardienne suggested that they stay there for a while and watch the clouds, and she began pointing out certain clouds that looked like shapes or companions to her. Lance quickly caught on to the idea and pointed out a few things as well. They even started debating what clouds looked like what, nipping lightly at each other with humorous words when they scuffled about whether a cloud looked like a Warrifang or a Gallytrot.

Eventually they continued their journey across the prairie, heading towards the small lake in the distance. When it was finally up close - the sun truly beginning it’s descent towards the horizon, casting a chilled breeze across the land and gorgeously highlighting the colors of grass and lake alike - she looked into the water. Small pebbles were scattered across the lake bottom, and she stopped at the edge to peer across the water as Lance walked a bit further. He took her hand gently, drawing her attention back to him to look at him in surprise.

Lance was standing on the water in front of her.

Guardienne looked at the surface of the water that he stood on to find it iced over - a circle that surrounded him by a few feet - thicker where he stood and thinning out until it crackled away at the edges. She looked up to meet his gaze with shock.

"Come on." He urged her to step out onto the ice with him with a humored smile, placing a foot in front of her path to summon another ice circle for her before backing off.

Really, she shouldn't have been so surprised - his abilities heavily vary in their use, so it makes complete sense that he could do this. However, she couldn’t shake the flutter in her chest as she looked at him. Was it his casualness that she was actually taking most attention to? Was she actually enjoying this date more than she realized?

Guardienne reached out with a tentative foot, placing it steadily on the ice. It shifted under her weight, slightly floating away as her foot pressed against it and continuing its journey away even after she took her foot off it. Lance placed a foot on the circle at it began to float away, holding it steady and adding more ice onto it to create a bigger circle for her. She looked back up at him with a grin.

"You're kidding me right? Why just little circles? Why not freeze over the whole lake?"

Her hesitance hid worry underneath the surface that Lance caught on to, and he gently grinned back.

"Freezing over the whole thing could have adverse effects to the environment. It's safer to freeze it in small sections. Now get on the ice before I pick you up and place you on it." His tone turned affectionately amused at the last sentence, and then added in a serious, gentle tone; "I won't let you fall in, I promise."

Guardienne looked back at the ice before gently placing her foot on it again, now a bit more confident that it would be stable with Lance holding it - it was his ice after all. It shifted again slightly under her weight, but she committed to her decision and lifted her other foot off the ground to place on the ice, gripping Lance's arm the whole time for support. He wouldn't let her fall, right?

Lance kept her hand in one of his while his other went to her waist to stabilize her as she grew closer, freezing over the small, thinly-iced gap between them so she could basically press herself against him as she looked at the water around them. Guardienne leaned against him slightly as she faintly caught his scent, feeling safe in his arms from the possibility of taking a lake bath.

"Have you never walked on ice before?" He asked gently. Guardienne looked up at him again.

"Well, I've slipped on ice multiple times, but I don’t think I’ve ever achieved the skillful feat of walking on ice." Her tone was humorous as she grinned. Lance smiled back.

"It's not that hard once you know how, you just need to be careful with how you place your feet. It should be easier since you're expecting to step on ice, too."

Lance took a step forward, heading further onto the lake as ice formed under his foot just before he touched the surface of the water. Guardienne took an awkward step forward as well, hesitantly placing her foot down as ice formed under her as well. A small laugh escaped the dragon next to her.

“You can walk normally, you don’t need to step where you think the ice will form. It’ll appear under you no matter where you step.”

“Why will it just appear under me? How do I know it’s not going to form somewhere else?” Guardienne joined his subtle laugh as she clung to him. The water beneath them was beautiful, but she really didn’t want to get wet at the moment.

“Because I’m watching you, it forms under you because I make it do so.”

“And what if you’re not watching me?”

“That’s impossible.” The response slipped out before he could stop it and Guardienne’s gaze shot back up to look at him with an affectionately amused smile. Lance averted his gaze with a minor blush again, grinning faintly as well. He didn’t mean to say that, but it was true all the same.

“Come on, you won’t slip or fall into the lake, I promise.”

They walked further out into the lake and Guardienne calmed down over time, eventually trusting the ice enough to walk by herself - although she still held Lance’s hand tightly - as she scanned the surface of the water and watched as ice formed under her no matter where she stepped. It was fascinating, really; it formed nearly instantly and immediately faded back to water after she moved further.

Lance managed to distract her a bit by sparking conversations, of which she happily took part in, her gaze shifting between him, the ice and water, and the trees off in the distance that they were heading towards. She squinted her eyes to see a certain tree a bit better. Was that a hint of blue?

A splash in the water stole her attention and she quickly looked down to see a large, scaly shape receding back to the depths of the lake. She continued to walk alongside Lance, but kept her eyes firmly on the water. Another large, scaly shape rushed by, almost translucent but with hints of colors dotting along it’s body. Guardienne froze in her steps with wide eyes - it was nearly half her size!

“Lance there are monsters in these waters.” She held tight to his hand as he stopped beside her, looking down into the water with her. Another creature arced in the water and Lance grinned at her amusing statement.

“Not monsters.” He spoke in a light tone, crouching down on the ice and opening the travel bag to fish out a few bread scraps.

A large chunk of bread landed in the water and floated for a moment. Guardienne crouched down next to Lance, sticking close to his side. After a few moments of waiting, a large, slightly translucent creature reared out of the water, opening a great maw to swallow the bread whole. Beady black eyes whirled around as it breached the surface, locking on the couple before it submerged again.

“Great Oracle, what is that!?” And so began another moment of Lance imparting some of his knowledge to her.

Guardienne eventually relaxed in the presence of the fish-like creatures, hesitantly taking a scrap of bread that Lance gifted her and placing it in the water, her hand hesitating to reel back as she considered pushing it further out. Lance reached out and gently took her hand in his to pull it back, and mere moments after he did so, another creature dashed out and closed it’s jaws around the bread with a snap. Guardienne basically threw herself back against Lance with a squeak.

“Note to self, don’t give them your hand!” She laughed as surprise and amusement fluttered through her being, clinging to him again for a moment.

“It nearly took my hand clean off!” Her gaze turned to meet Lance’s before turning back to where the creature disappeared as Lance shook with laughter.

“You would have been fine!” 

“Are you kidding me? With a big mouth like that it would have taken my arm, too!”

“Suppose I should keep my hand away from your mouth in that case.”

“Oh, hush, you! You know that’s not true!”

Their laughter died down in time and they continued their walk across the water, Guardienne now being a lot more comfortable with the ice below their feet. They approached the shore and Lance let Guardienne step onto the ground first, following immediately after as the ice disappeared back into lake water. Standing at the shore, Guardienne could see the tree she was looking at earlier. It was tall, and it’s branches curved beautifully downward with thick, deep blue flowers stemming from the twigs. The sinking sun beautifully highlighted the deep colors on it and illuminated the grass around the trunk. She stared in awe and Lance turned to look as well. 

“It’s beautiful... what type of tree is it?”

They began to approach it - not realizing that their hands were still clasped together - and stood beneath the draping branches.

“I’m not sure, I’ve seen this type of tree a few times but I don’t know anything of it.” Lance brushed his hand along a curved branch - the wood smooth to the touch - and peered at Guardienne to get a better read on her opinion of the tree.

Guardienne parted herself from Lance to look closer at the blue flowers, lightly touching the silken petals and bending closer to breathe in the faint, sweet scent. She closed her eyes and grinned before looking up at the higher branches, embracing the beautiful color of mixed brown and blue. Light scuffling broke her out of her trance and she looked to the trunk to find Lance on the first few branches above her, curiosity flooding her mind as she stepped a bit closer and watched him scale the tree. He nearly disappeared into the branches and flowers, standing for a few moments on a branch uncomfortably high above the ground before making his way down again, the broken side of a small twig with a beautiful array of sky blue flowers clamped between his teeth.

He landed softly on the ground and presented the twig to her, and Guardienne happily took it to admire the vibrant blue of the flowers compared to the softer cobalt blue of the flowers on branches closer to the ground.

“You know, you could have just picked a twig from one of the branches already in reach.” She joked lightly. Lance grinned.

“What fun would that be? Besides, the ones closer to the ground seem to be starting to wilt, the top of the tree has better flowers.”

He watched Guardienne as she smiled softly at the twig she held in her hand, raising it to breathe in the lighter scent and stroke a petal.

“I would almost think you’d change the tides of water for me.” She spoke softly, affectionately reflecting on everything he did for her today.

Lance heard her all the same, and a warmth bloomed in his chest as he watched the setting sun light her skin aglow with the flower branch. I would move the world for you, he thought. However, he held his tongue - it was too soon to be revealing how deep his affection for her ran, it would likely unsettle her - and instead glanced at the sun’s position on the horizon. It was nearly sunset.

“We should probably head back, it’s getting late and we have a dinner to attend.”

Guardienne glanced at the sun as well.

“Yea... no flying spectacles this time?” She turned her gentle gaze to him and smiled.

“No flying spectacles.” He grinned back with soft eyes and rested a hand on her lower back as they headed into the grassland again, Guardienne safely tucking the flower twig into a snug fold in her shirt so the wind wouldn’t steal it away.

“The flight back should be beautiful with the sunset.” She murmured, lightly nudging against Lance. This date turned out better than she originally hoped, and she reminded herself to thank him for the wonderful experience later.

“It will be.”

Lance shifted into his dragon form and they took to the skies again, Guardienne glancing back at the land that would forever hold a dear place in her heart.

That wasn’t the last time they visited that lake and tree.

I have absolutely no idea on if this is supposed to be a headcanon or a scenario, but I hope you like it regardless! I had so many ideas I wanted to add to this, but by then I’d be writing an actual short story just for their first date lol. Maybe I’ll write a part 2 to their first date (second date I suppose, that’ll be a bit more intimate than this one), or general date headcanons with those ideas.

Thank you for requesting, this was a wonderful ask!

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[1994sunflower]

locked out of heaven. ii (m.c)

pairing: michael clifford x reader

genre: angst, smut

word count: 23.9k

involves: bad boy!michael, college!au, jealous!michael, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, being a bit dirty in public, dirty talk, daddy kink, choking, size kink, face slapping (consensual), spitting kink, praise, degradation/name calling, innocence kink, corruption kink, violence, blood, language, mentions of infidelity, light self-deprecation, mentions of drugs, drinking

summary: months after the breakup, michael has been a wreck. not only in his mind but to everyone else on campus. he’s unmanageable without you. you weren’t faring much better. you’d lost your light and you find yourself trying anything to forget the betrayal. but will a reunion with the very man you had fought against even yourself to avoid be what you needed to fix everything and go back to the happiness you shared with him or will it be just what you needed to finally move on?

part one

Whispers had followed Michael for months.

Different from the whispers he had become accustomed to hearing for the majority of his life. No, these whispers had very little to do with him and everything to do with the sudden breaking of his relationship.

People had become used to seeing the short girl hanging by his arm next to him. They’d finally just started to stop staring every time they saw the colorful clothes and the kind, smiley face next to his glares and dark, chained clothing. But suddenly that was gone and it was all anyone could talk about.

It got even worse when rumors started spreading about the reason of the jarring split. Hushed voices, surprised gasps, disbelieving eyes were everywhere Michael went. Even whispers of the girl’s name, the one he refused to acknowledge, started trailing him. That didn’t last for long though. He went through great lengths to show just how little he wanted to hear of the person that helped him destroy the best thing in his life. And God help whoever tried to bring her, or it, up. It just served to remind him of the night he had began to think of as the ‘night when it all ended.’

Ashton wasn’t really shocked when Michael had started to hole up in his room. Without you to persuade him to go to class, Michael had no reason to. He skipped class and had sworn off parties for the rest of his life. In fact, there were times when he would spend days without ever stepping foot on campus. At that time, he only ever went out to get food. And even then, it was in the late afternoon just to a fast food place or the Union and then right back home. Ashton didn’t even know what he could do in that house, alone all day for days at a time. But Michael managed to do it faithfully for nearly two months now.

After weeks of trying to talk to you, Michael seemed to finally lose his hope. It was over and it was all his fault. He had hurt you, as if he had ever even deserved to have you in the first place. He figured leaving you alone was the least he could do for you to  give you a chance to be happy again, to forget him and move on with your life. Even if it killed him.

And boy did it feel like it was killing him. He was a mess without you, miserable. You were on his mind constantly. Not an hour went by when your beautiful face didn’t enter his mind and he had to clutch his phone painfully in his hand to keep from running out to find you and beg you for just one more chance. He didn’t even sleep the same, not without you. He kept a picture of you as his lock-screen, one he had taken back when both of you were still happy, and a part of him knew it was just to punish himself, forcing himself to look what he had lost. You were it. You were the one.

But he blew it and you were gone. He wasn’t sure he could move on without you, wasn’t sure he even wanted to. Because what was the point of dating if he wasn’t dating you?

Michael had stopped crying a few weeks after your breakup. In fact, to Ashton, the only person to see him on a regular basis, it almost seemed like he had gone empty. No emotions whatsoever. But to Michael, it just felt like he was suffocating with a permanent knot at his throat.

You were gone. You were gone. He hadn’t taken you for granted ever, but even with that, not having you around felt like his heart had left with you, leaving just a cloud of anger and loneliness in its wake with nothing to calm it.

The times Michael would go back on campus, it was just to wreak havoc. He had had a bad reputation before you but it was worse without you.  

“He’s worse now.” Was the talk of the campus. It made the seriousness of the situation obvious when it wasn’t even the students that were saying these things. It was the administration and professors. “I thought he was bad before. He’s just out of control now, it’s like there’s nothing holding him back anymore. I don’t know what we’re going to do with him.”

Before, Michael hadn’t completely stopped his violent streak. But he had restrained himself a lot more than he would’ve without you. And that was just because he wanted to be good for you, keep you happy and unafraid of him. And because, with you, he was a lot happier himself. He had less outbursts because how could he be anything but content when he had you. Now, however, he had that extra anger he wanted to get rid of (granted it was anger towards himself). He wanted to erase what he had done, he wanted you back, but that wasn’t possible. Now he was even angrier and more frustrated than he ever was before.

It only took a look now for Michael to pick his next victim. He had stopped trying to hide his tirade of violence and blood, as well. In fact, it hadn’t become so out of place for a student to be leaving their class building and see Michael beating up some poor soul a few feet away.  

Everything made it very evident that he was his best self when he was with you and without you, he was his worst.

♔

It was considered almost a miracle when Ashton finally got Michael to leave his house, in the middle of the day and for a reason other than to go release his anger. And he got him to even go to the Quad, in the middle of campus. It felt like hell was freezing over.

Now, Michael didn’t do it gladly, of course. It took a lot of persuading and an eventual screaming match that resulted in Ashton physically pulling him out of the house. Michael didn’t crack a smile the entire way there. But he hadn’t been smiling much at all lately anyway. Instead, his gaze kept sweeping the area around them silently and while Ashton didn’t ask and he knew Michael would never admit it, they both knew he was trying to catch a glimpse of you. Anything that could make his cold heart finally start up again. But you were in class.

Ashton knew that because he had started keeping tabs on you. Both for Michael’s sake, looking out for you when he couldn’t, and for your sake, to keep Michael away from you because he didn’t want to see you go through the pain you seemed to relive every time you saw him.

Ashton kind of resented Michael for hurting you in the way he did. He had considered you his friend too, and it was hard to see you hurt. Of course he felt bad for Michael and he knew he would never have done it purposely, but you were such a light in his best friends’ life and to see it be gone, snuffed out by his friend’s own stupid actions made him want to shake Michael. Yell at him for sabotaging his own happiness.

But he didn’t. Instead he watched with barely hidden worry as Michael leaned his head back to rest against the brick wall behind him, holding the cigarette tightly in his hand, the smoke pillowing out of his lips in a rising cloud. His eyes were closed as if this was the only place he received contentment (that nicotine always provided him) recently.

Calum and Chris stood in front of him, their eyes flicking over to the silent Michael ever so often in nervousness, standing apart just enough to give Michael a clear opening to look at the Quad’s center. They were in the shaded part of the area, thanks to the building in the corner they were directly under. Ashton had invited them over just to give Michael more people to be around, he knew he needed it.

Even if Chris and Michael weren’t exactly friends and even if Michael tried everything to not look at Calum; his face reminded him too much of that night, of what he had done and what Calum had stood by and let happen. But he was too good of a friend for Michael to hate, especially when, at the end, the fault fell on Michael’s shoulders. So instead, they just stood silently.

Calum looked intimidating, even in his sweater, and short trimmed hair. He fit right in with Michael and even Ashton but even he eyed Michael with uncertainty. Unsure of what would happen with such a broken boy in front of him. Especially a boy that placed at least some of the blame on him. Not that he had any loyalties to you in the first place, he barely knew you. But still, even he felt a little off every time he saw you on campus. You had lost the bright aura you always carried with you, everyone could see it. Your wide eyed enthusiasm for the world was gone. But you still managed to give him a (now strained) welcoming smile every time you saw him.

So while he had met you only once or twice, he definitely felt a sort of guilt inside himself that his friend had been the one to snuff it out. Which, subsequently just made his own friend get worse in his temper and feelings.

Maybe if he had been more attentive he could’ve, should’ve, stopped it. But he didn’t see it happen. One minute he had gone to get a drink and stopped to chat up some girls, the other Michael was gone. He’d like to think he would have stepped in, snapped Michael out of it, spared you from the humiliation you went through because even he knew you didn’t deserve it.

Chris was the only one who stuck out like a sore thumb in the group. A part of him was excited that he was invited to be a part of such a select group but the other part cursed that Charlie was in class and he was left alone to handle such a sensitive and explosive Michael - and situation.

And that inner turmoil was obvious by Chris’ complete lack of understanding in what okay to talk about in front of Michael and what wasn’t. The topic of you, was definitely on the not okay list.

To be fair, Chris was hesitant to speak but he pushed through the nerves to talk. “Did you hear that Luke asked Y/N out yesterday?”

Ashton shut his eyes in dread at what his friend’s reaction would be and Calum delivered a sharp elbow to Chris’ side.

It was stupid of him to think it was okay to say that. But in his defense, the only real link between him and Michael had been you. So it was the only thing he could talk about with him, really. And that didn’t change even when you broke up just as his yearning to be Michael’s friend hadn’t changed either.

Michael’s eyes sprung open wide as if he had just been punched. “What?”

Ashton’s eyes silently yelled at Chris to shut up, to not say anything more because he knew that if he did, Michael wouldn’t be controlled. He had given you up but that didn’t mean he didn’t still love you, a love that could be deadly in order to protect you and keep you safe, even if he did it quietly so you didn’t realize it. A love that was still fiercely possessive over you because no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t imagine a present where you weren’t his.

Luke was everything he wanted to keep you away from. Especially now when you were at your most vulnerable, when he couldn’t be right there to protect you. A handsome football player that seemed to be stuck in his high school glory days, he was a slime-ball through and through. Rumors of his conquests weren’t like Michael’s, no his rumors were started through his brags and disgusting cat calls. Michael’s were earned. Luke was more well known for his borderline aggressive and down right misogynistic behavior with his prior ‘girlfriends'.

He seemed to have found a one-way rivalry in Michael, though he failed to notice that Michael couldn’t care less about him or his body count. But at the mention of his and your names together, Michael finally felt that burning rage that Luke always seemed to want to induce in him. He couldn’t imagine you, sweet and moral as you were, with someone that would treat you like trash, someone that didn’t deserve you. Though of course, who was he to judge when he obviously didn’t deserve you either, with how much he had hurt you in the end. His fingers all but crushed the cigarette in his hand.

Chris kept his eyes on Ashton, nodding in understanding and was going to stay quiet. Say nevermind and end it there but Michael had his dark, dangerous eyes set on him. “What did you just say?”

Michael was not to be ignored, everyone knew that and unfortunately, Chris was not Ashton, who was the exception. It was the first time Chris had heard that tone Michael was famous for, the threateningly low one that promised pain if ignored. So it was no wonder Chris chose to listen to him over Ashton.

Chris’ eyes were shaking when he answered, “W-well, they’re in the same physics class and I guess he’s been asking for her for help during class and he finally asked her to a movie yesterday.”

And there was Michael’s heartbeat, racing. His eyes flickered every which way, unsure of how to process that. In fact, his mind literally seemed to reject it. You couldn’t have said yes. Even if you knew how much it would hurt Michael, you wouldn’t have. Right? He couldn’t handle it if he destroyed you so much, destroyed your self-worth so badly that you would say yes to be with someone even worse than he was. You were always out of his league. Now, without him, you deserved the world, the happiness Michael couldn’t give you, not to find someone so below your league it was a whole different ball game.

Michael’s mouth ran dry at the thought of you on a date with that bastard who was only doing it to get under his skin. And it was working. Luke Hemmings was finally achieving what he always wanted, to hurt Michael as much as possible - to win.

He could imagine your trusting smile and modest eyes soaking up all the bullshit lies he would throw at you to convince you he was a good guy. His heart constricted at the thought of his hands on you, wrapping themselves around your body like only his were meant to, his words that would surely offend you more than making you feel complimented, ignoring your thoughts and opinions that had always meant the world to Michael (in fact not much mattered more to him). The way he would completely disregard your boundaries and fail to give you the respect you deserved because that was just the way Luke was with women, controlling and dismissive.

It might’ve been luck or it might’ve been the universe’s cruel way of finally making karma catch up with Luke and all his sins. But just as Michael felt like he couldn’t deal with what he was just told, Luke himself walked across the Quad.

Two of his friends trailed behind him, both of them wearing similar shirts declaring which Athletic Department they were a part of. Luke’s blond hair was done up in a quiff and his blinding, charming smile hid well the fact that he was a bad person with an even more tainted heart than Michael.

Michael saw them first, staring at the leader, Luke walking just a few steps ahead of the others. As his eyes followed him, like a predator would look at a prey, he thought about his options. If you had said yes (his heart prayed for the first time in his life that you didn’t), and he beat Luke up, he knew it would hurt you. And Michael didn’t want to hurt you more than he already had. He could put aside his pride for you.

But Luke made the choice for him. And he made it extremely clear.

Luke’s eyes met his and his smile turned into a full blown grin. One filled with taunting malice. His hand went up in a faux friendly wave. “Michael, my man! Asked your girl out yesterday, don’t worry I’ll take real good care of her.” He was practically yelling to make sure Michael heard. He had stopped walking and now stood directly in front of Michael, granted several yards away, right dab in the middle of the Quad. “I bet she’ll be able to take it like a pro too, might have to break her in a bit though.”

He was laughing and his friends chuckled beside him.

Ashton shot his hand out, “Michael don’t.”

But it was too late. Michael had thrown his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it as he began striding angrily towards the smug blond.

It only took a few steps before Michael was close enough to grab the collar of his shirt and punch him square in the face. And once he got that first punch in, he didn’t stop. Punch after punch after punch. He didn’t stop when he felt the blood on his hands and he didn’t stop when he felt the hands of Luke’s friends try to pry him away.

Luke disrespected you. He felt disgusted at the way he sexualized you, like you were nothing but a hole to fuck. When you were Michael’s life, when you were goodness personified, someone who only saw the good in everyone even after the world, and Michael, disappointed you so much. You deserved to be praised, adored.

“Don’t you ever talk about her again. Don’t ever disrespect her like that, you piece of fucking shit.” His angry screams sounded through the now silent Quad.

And then it was the images Luke had planted in his head that bothered him. The thought of your small tight body underneath Luke, moaning his name, blushing beautifully as you made all the small noises you made during sex that he loved so much, calling him daddy, being submissive and letting him do whatever he wanted to you, degrade you, like you always let Michael do, giving yourself to such a piece of shit.

He didn’t want to imagine you that way with anyone but especially not with Luke. The fact that Luke thought he even deserved to talk to you let alone have sex with you. Michael wasn’t ready to think of you moving on in that way, letting someone else have you in a way only Michael had had you before, in a way Michael had planned only he would ever have you. No one knew your body like he did, he had taught you everything and he couldn’t imagine you using that with anyone else. You knew exactly how to please him. Only he knew your body, knew what you liked. No one else. His possessiveness had taken over him.

“She’s mine, you’ll never get to have her like that. You don’t…..deserve……her.”

Each bone crunch that his fists caused wasn’t enough to satisfy his anger like it usually was with others. No, each time he heard Luke’s pathetic sounds, he only got angrier. His fists punched his cheek, his nose, his stomach. Anywhere and it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted to get those imagines, those thoughts out of his head. He wanted you to have said no. He wanted Luke to never even look at you again. He wanted you back in his arms, with him.

You were his. You were still his. Even though he didn’t deserve to think that.

He had ruined that. And that just made him angrier, punch harder. Maybe if he hit Luke enough, all of his regrets would finally stop haunting him. His frustration and self destruction driving him now.

Ashton’s hands were in his hair as he watched his best friend. He watched as Michael kept punching, leaning down further as Luke’s body lost more and more energy, slouching him closer to the ground. His face was almost completely covered in blood.

“He’s going to kill him.” Those were the words he’d always feared he would end up saying.

A few professors had come out of the woodworks, moving closer, calling out for Michael to stop, as if he cared about authority, and of course, to no avail. One professor, a short psychology professor, attempted to pull Michael off but Michael was stronger and just pushed him away.

Ashton didn’t dare try to stop him himself. He was Michael’s friend but Ashton knew his limits and Michael was way beyond his. There was no doubt in Ashton’s mind that he would get beat up quickly if he tried to step in and stop Michael, especially from beating up someone that dared talk about you. Everyone knew when you started dating that you were off limits, you were Michael’s limit. No one was to talk about you, be mean to you, or say anything even resembling degrading to you or they would face Michael. It was the one thing that made him angrier than anything else, even more so if they were to directly attack him. It was a type of anger that didn’t seem to end or be quenched by anything. The rule still applied even well after your breakup. It was worse now, coupled with the anger and turmoil of losing you. Ashton couldn’t number the amount of kids Michael had pummeled after hearing your name spoken in a ridiculing or perverted manner after the break up became well known.

When Michael was beyond his limit, there was no telling what he was willing to do. It was like he had become blinded by rage. He wouldn’t hesitate to fuck everyone up that was in his way.

Well, not everyone.

Ashton cursed under his breath, digging out his phone quickly to find the schedule of the one person that he’d been secretly looking out for, the one person that could stop Michael, if you were up for it. But if it meant you could help someone while simultaneously keeping Michael out of jail for murder, he didn’t doubt you would be. You were too good of a person to say no. Even after everything.

He was still looking down at his phone, ignoring the disgusting sounds of Luke yelling through the gurgling blood in his throat and Michael’s angry grunts only a few yards away when he ordered Chris and Calum. “Try to keep him from killing Luke, okay? I’ll be right back!”

He was running when he called back to make sure they got it, “Stall him!”

He’d gotten your class building and room but to find you and get you there was a race against the clock. Or against Michael.

♔

The whispers that followed you were haunting.

They were worse than the whispers that happened when you and Michael first got together. Because now most of the time, people were talking more about Michael than about you so they didn’t bother to quiet down when you entered the room or walked past.

Instead, you were forced to listen to students and professors alike talk about your boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend now. It felt like you couldn’t have a minute of peace without hearing his name and remembering what he had done to you.

“It’s gotten so bad and no one can calm him down. He used to be a lot more restrained, wonder what happened.” You heard as you entered your small recitation classroom. One of the girls next to you had turned her entire body back to talk to her friend. She was talking animately while her friend listened coolly.

The blonde girl shrugged easily, “I don’t know but he’s literally so scary. Have you seen him walking around campus? He looks like he wants to kill someone all the time. One time I saw him push a girl out of his way. Can you imagine?”

You closed your eyes, willing any and all images of Michael to leave your mind. You knew from experience that many of the rumors of Michael’s angry and aggravated actions were just that: rumors that served to vilify him even more. But you also knew by how much you knew him, that a lot of them were true.

You never saw what everyone else spoke about, though. But you knew Michael’s new actions were a common occurrence just by the sheer amount you heard about it, everywhere. You sometimes wondered if he purposely acted out where he knew you wouldn’t be, to keep you from having to see that violence that he never liked you to be a part of when you were dating.

A part of you felt bad for him because you knew this out of control anger had emerged because you were gone. Especially when he had been trying so hard and working to manage his anger better. And you hated yourself for feeling that way.

You hated that you were the one who felt bad for him, that a part of you wanted to go back to calm him down like you knew you could. Because he was the one who fucked up, who took your heart and stomped on it. But you couldn’t help but know that you were the one who helped ground him and his emotions a lot of the time when you were still together. You knew this outburst was at least partially because you weren’t there anymore.

The worst part was why did you want to help him? You wanted to be with him, you wanted to help soothe his anger and his hurt behind that. It hurt to know he was in pain, to know that, even though you knew he cheated on you, he must’ve felt at least something. He wasn’t completely heartless to your pain. Maybe he had loved you enough to at least regret it. He was making it obvious.

If it wasn’t by how long he had tried to talk to you, gone out of his way just to catch a glimpse of you, it sure was by how he had lost control without you, how his emotions were all over the place with regret and longing for you. But that too stopped after a while. Part of you was thankful for it, you could finally put him behind you, but the other part was hurt even more now that he was giving you the opportunity to forget him. But how could you do that so easily when you had spent so much of your years loving him, seeing a part of him no one else did. The kind, accepting, loving version.

You weren’t sure how much of it was real love and regret and how much was from being caught and losing just a constant in his life he was used to having, a comfort. Any benefit of the doubt and patience that you usually gave Michael had dried out.

Even if it was real, it wasn’t enough to erase what he did, erase your memory of it.

The girl was still ingrained in your thoughts. Michael had made it quite clear that he resented her or maybe associated her with his mistake that he hated so much to remember, avoided all whispers of her name, her face. Avoided her like the plague since then. Even went as far as to warn everyone that mentions of her were to be met with pain, and a lot of it. At least that was what the rumor mill had brought you. You didn’t know who she was and while, at the center of Michael’s wrath, she decided to stay silent, underground and pretend nothing happened, you couldn’t forget. She knew you were dating Michael, everyone on campus did. But she didn’t care and she chose the moment Michael didn’t either.

He didn’t respect you enough, didn’t give a regard to the consequences, what you could have felt in the aftermath. Maybe because he had never intended for you to find out. You had always been okay with his past but maybe that was just a naivety of your part, one he took advantage of. You wondered just how long he had been betraying you while you followed along like being pulled on a string. Maybe that was what had him so messed up, he had still wanted to keep you along for the ride. Just a toy to pick up when he didn’t have other plans. Maybe the Michael you knew wasn’t the real Michael. Just an illusion he wanted you to believe to keep you around.

You hated yourself for still loving him. Despite everything your mind was conjuring up about him, images and thoughts that clashed so violently from the Michael you had known. You still remembered how much he meant to you, how beautiful your relationship was, full of love, protection, acceptance and opening each of you up to new parts of yourself, more adventurous and centered parts. Tainted only by the giant gash at the very end.

You were tainted with it as well. And not in the titillating way Michael had always promised to corrupt you with during sex. No, now, you weren’t the bubbly life loving girl you had been since before you met him. Now you were irreparably different. Life felt gray, as if nothing was what you thought it was. If the man you thought was the love of your life, the one you trusted everything to (including your love and your life), the one you would have been willing to marry, to mother his children, betrayed you in such a painful and humiliating way, what was stopping the rest of the world from doing the same.

The worse thing was that he had given you ever indication of being just as equally devoted to you. How could a man that had been planning so many beautiful things for the two of you end up being such a cheater, a liar?

The relief you felt when your strict TA waltz into the room, forcing the girls into silence was unmeasurable. In fact, you were almost happy to learn about calculus and have only that occupy your mind for the remainder of the hour.

But it seemed like the world didn’t want to give you that happiness, especially when the door behind you was yanked open. The whole class jumped in surprise and swiveled around.

You wished you hadn’t when you turned and saw an out of breath Ashton, grabbing onto the doorway in a sort of panic you’d never seen on him before. His curly hair bounced dramatically as he stepped inside the room.

Even your TA was silent, confused as to what exactly was going on.

Ashton’s eyes search the rows of desks before his gaze finally landed on you. He had definitely ran there as his words came out breathless. “Y/N. I…..I need you to….come…” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees as he tried to even out his breathing. “I need you to come with me right now.”

Your eyes watched him, unamused. You hadn’t seen him since the breakup and you couldn’t deny the hurt you felt at him icing you out, as if you were the villain for breaking it off with Michael and sending him into a spiral of hurt and regret. Especially when you had considered him your friend as well.

“Ash, I’m kind of busy right now.” You gestured to your almost frozen TA at the front of the classroom, standing in front of the whiteboard.

But Ashton was already shaking his head, “No, you don’t understand. Michael, he’s-”

At the sound of Michael’s name, everyone turned away from Ashton and towards you, staring at you in awe. You were Michael’s ex-girlfriend, the one who broke up with him and had started his reign of terror on the campus. The one who made it scary to even just walk to class without the fear of getting beat up or threatened.

Ashton, for his part, looked like he was shaking with how almost afraid he looked. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What was going on?

You shook your head before he could finish, just the sound of Michael’s name had your breath catching. “Ashton, we broke up. I don’t want anything to do with whatever he’s is involved in.”

Ashton looked at the pleadingly door like he was debating if he should just carry you against your will. You were the only one who Michael would listen to, he knew that.

“Michael’s about to kill Luke.”

You blinked, your blood running cold. “What?”

“He’s beating him up at the Quad right now, he’ll only listen to you, you know how he is.”

You knew Michael was mad, that he was hurting, but you never thought it would get to this point. And that feeling of sadness for the man you had cared so much for just spread further.

You were silent for a moment. Unsure if it was that you couldn’t process what you were being told or if you didn’t know what to say.

“Y/N we have to hurry before he does something he’ll regret. I can’t let my best friend ruin his life…again. Please. I know he fucked up - he’s been suffering because of it - but he loves you and you know that, he’d do anything for you. Please.” Ashton was talking fast but none of it registered in your mind.

Because as soon as you understood the gravity of the situation, the very real possibility that Michael had lost himself so much that he could do something he couldn’t take back, you were up. You got up off of your seat quickly, running to Ashton and, when he ran out of the room, guiding you to wherever Michael was, you ran after him too. You didn’t think, you left all your stuff, you left your TA yelling out your name. All that was going through your mind was Michael.

The fact that this would be the first time you saw him in months was very present in your mind. But the dominant thought was his angry face, hitting someone without pause just like you’d seen multiple times before but this time, so much worse. Because this time he had nothing to lose.

You hated yourself a little for caring so much. After what he had done to you, you should hate him. But you tried to convince yourself that you did and that you’d do this for anyone, it was the right thing to do. It was for Luke’s sake too, save him and his health.

But as you finally reached the Quad and saw the back of Michael’s looming figure, it was hard to deny the increasing thumping of your heart beat, the way your breath was taken away at seeing him again. In all his glory.

From afar he looked great. His arms were toned, decorated perfectly with his tattoos, that still made your cheeks flare up in a light blush. He looked as gorgeous as always. In fact, you would’ve appreciated him and his appearance a lot more if his muscles weren’t flexed due to the current beating he was delivering to the boy in your physics class.

If Ashton hadn’t told you it was Luke, it might’ve been hard to recognize him with all the blood. And the fact that he was basically lying on the ground, held up only by Michael’s tight grip on the boy’s shirt.

The sight stopped you cold. You saw everyone else in the Quad, frozen and staring, at the fearsome sight as well.

You’d seen Michael being violent, but Ashton was right to be panicked, you’d never seen it be this bad. Maybe you had a little do to with that; you hated violence and would preach peace religiously, especially to Michael (though he never quite understood your position, he definitely respected it enough to restrain himself). Could this outbreak really be because of your break up? Was he really this uncontrollable without you? A part of you couldn’t imagine him caring so much about something he caused that it would drive him to this point.

But the evidence was right in front of you. As Michael’s face was scrunched up in pure fury and as professors and students alike yelled out his name to no avail. Nothing was stopping him. The only thing that was restraining him from fully exploding was a very strong Calum grabbing around his shoulder blades pulling him back and successfully slowing the assault down as much as possible while Ashton arrived. It wasn’t much, just slowed Michael down but it was enough to possibly stop a tragedy.

You had no idea what Luke could’ve possibly done to him to cause this. They’d had a few run ins before but Michael never seemed to take an interest in him, let alone allow himself to be bothered by his existence.

Ashton stayed behind you and you realized that you were meant to do something. But as you watched the much bigger, both physically and in authority, people surrounding Michael, unable to do much of anything you weren’t sure what. What were you meant to do? Especially as the ex-girlfriend who he obviously didn’t have much respect for. Not enough to stay loyal to anyway.

You took a few timid steps forward, still really unsure of what your purpose was. A part of you felt stupid for running to him as soon as he needed help, when he never even asked for you. What if he didn’t even want to see you?

But as you stared at the violent scene in front of you, you had to do something. You felt sick at it, there was no good in violence even in anger and you knew that wasn’t a feeling Michael reciprocated but when you were together, he had at least started to adopt similar thoughts. He always stopped when he was going too far. But perhaps that was more for your benefit than it was his beliefs. It was hard to believe someone you loved so deeply was capable of being violent to this point.

“Michael!” You yelled out, loud enough for him to hear you over the other voices and his own angry, incomprehensible yelling.

It was magical, almost, how quickly all of his actions stopped. How he froze up at the sound of your voice. You could hardly believe you were the reason, the one who held that power over him.

But it was undeniable as he let go of Luke abruptly, causing the poor guy to drop to the ground with no strength to hold himself up.

Even the professors next to Michael stared at you, wide-eyed. Unsure of how this short, scared looking girl managed to stop the angry giant in front of them. You were just as surprised as they were.

That surprise quickly turned into a deep set concern, one you couldn’t turn off no matter how much you wanted to, when Michael turned around. He turned slowly, almost as if he was afraid his ears had deceived him, given him something he had so desperately wanted to hear: your sweet voice saying his name again.

But it wasn’t a mistake. There you were, in front of him again. You looked gorgeous, though you always did to him. You were finally starting to wear colors again, a light pink dress with small cherries decorated over it. Michael’s heart constricted and his airway felt just a little tighter as he stared at you. You were actually there, for him.

You, on the other hand, furrowed your brows as you looked at Michael’s beautiful face. It was marred with blood (you weren’t sure if it was Luke’s or the blood from his knuckles) and the hints of frustration were still there, along with his red, tear rimmed, eyes. He looked tired, an almost ghostly pallor colored his face. It looked like he hadn’t slept well in weeks. You’d never seen him look this destroyed. You wished you didn’t feel that yearning to throw your arms around him, kiss him and make him feel better.

“Y/N…” Michael’s voice was hesitant yet gruff.

Then he moved forward, quicker than he had in a while, and enveloped you into a tight hug. He wrapped around your entire body and seemed to engulf you entirely. Your head was at his chest and you could feel him nuzzling his face into your neck as much as he could, inhaling your scent. He was finally touching your skin again and that alone let him feel connected to you. Reveling in everything he had been deprived of for months. He missed you so much.

He couldn’t even tell you everything he wanted to say. The million ‘sorry’s he had wanted to say to you since you walked out of his life, the ‘I love you’s were lost to the overwhelming feeling of gratefulness. Grateful that you were there for him, that you didn’t even go to check on Luke. No, the first thing you said was his name.

You, on the other hand, were frozen in his arms. You didn’t move, didn’t reciprocate the hug. In fact, you felt your lip start to tremble. You felt suffocated. Having him this close just reminded you of everything you had lost, everything Michael had thrown away. For a girl who he never even looked at again (he made a point of that).

Wiggling, you hoped he would get the message and let you go. But he was too mesmerized by the situation, wishing to never let you go again to notice. You had a small nagging sentiment that urged you to just let go, enjoy this moment. But the painful hurt that you still felt at just the thought of Michael had you pushing firmly against him.

This time he did loosen his grip on you, giving you opportunity to step back out of his arms. He didn’t want to, you knew it from the pained expression on his face, an expression that told you the last thing he wanted was to let you go.

“Y/N…” He started but your sharp eyes cut him off.

You looked much more sure of yourself than you felt. Your expression was stern and your voice was level. You were really proud of yourself for that.

“We’re over Michael. Don’t.”

How sad was it that even at your harsh words, he took solace in the fact that you had finally spoken to him. Your beautiful voice was finally being directed at him again.

And it was such a small thing compared to your sentence as a whole, but when you called him Michael, he felt a part of him break. Ever since your relationship had gotten serious, you called him Mikey. Such a cute little name for a boy that was anything but. If anyone else called him that, he would hate it and probably hurt the person saying it so they’d know just how much he hated it. But it was a nickname from you, something no one else called him. He’d come to love it just as much as he loved you, because it was something the two of you shared and embodied just how different Michael was with you. He was Mikey.

But it appeared he had destroyed that the moment he had destroyed the relationship.

Sure, you had called him by his full name plenty of times. But never quite with the betrayed and angry eyes, the ones that looked at him as if he was a stranger, as if he was a monster that brought nothing but destruction with him.

His heart felt like it was being constricted to the point where he was afraid it would burst. You walked directly past him without even looking twice at him, as if him having you so close to him for even just a millisecond didn’t kill him inside. He wanted to drop to his knees when you squatted down to check on Luke.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. This shouldn’t have happened. He should’ve had you with him forever, loving each other for the rest of your lives; never worrying about you getting asked out by another man, always feeling loved and needed because that was just how you always made him feel, never missing you because you’d always be there and never feeling alone because all those feelings of abandonment and loneliness he used to feel had disappeared the second he met you.

“I’m so sorry…” He heard your chiming voice say down to Luke, your hands hovering over his face but not touching because of the amount of blood, you didn’t want to hurt him more than he already was.

Michael had to look away. Couldn’t handle seeing your worried eyes, your cutely concerned face directed to the jock. His entire body felt electrified with regret but he wasn’t sure if it was regret at what he had done to you or regret at having beaten Luke, because if he hadn’t, maybe Michael wouldn’t have to witness first hand you solidifying just how much he ruined everything. His entire body was slumped, drained of any energy and any anger he had moments ago. Now all he felt was a deep set longing and regret.

He didn’t think those feelings would ever go away. It felt like they were eating at him.

So when Ashton stepped forward, taking a hold of his shoulders, and began pushing him away; away from you, from the trouble he’d caused, the blood (and away from the responsibility as he knew no one would testify against him), he allowed it.

♔

Your fingers were tapping the edge of your phone nervously. You weren’t really sure what you were thinking, if you were at all. But you had sent the message anyway, forgoing any of your usual overthinking.

You flipped the phone over to illuminate your face in the dusk sky when you felt the vibration of a notification. You held your breath as you opened the text from the man you had been texting nonstop for months now; your sense of security and understanding.

justin

Are you sure? I thought you didn’t like parties much.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. He was right. You didn’t like parties and since Michael cheated on you, it had grown to a full blown hate. You didn’t tend to hate things, it wasn’t who you were. But every time you thought of what happened, the way Michael took a girl home from a party, the way he forgot completely about you because of it, there was no other way to describe the cold feeling pulsing through your body.

So when the invite to a frat party was airdropped to your phone, your first desire was to delete it, throw your phone across the room and cry (or scream, or both). But then you thought about it. Maybe facing the very thing that made you sick to the stomach, made you want to vomit, would be the closure you needed. It could help you finally get over the misguided love and care you still felt for the guy that broke your heart. Even if it didn’t, you were willing to try anything. Maybe you could finally get him out of your mind, get rid of the soft spot, the love you had for him once and for all. Maybe you’d finally be fully happy again, feel like yourself, then.

me

I don’t. But I think it might do me some good to go to one, especially right now. I know you don’t like that scene either but since you’re in town…do you want to come with me?

In town he was. He had flown down for the long weekend and a part of you wasn’t sure what to think about the fact that he had booked the flight right after you told him about what happened with Michael and Luke.

It wasn’t something you liked to think of much. It was jarring to finally see Michael again in that way. To see the man you had been with for so many years, the one you still loved, be so violent and aggressive. You’ve seen him mad, you’ve seen him fight before, but never to that extent. You couldn’t quite get Luke’s bashed face out of your head. You wondered exactly what Luke had done to deserve that, if anything, considering just how much more short tempered Michael had become. At least he was alright now.

It was also a little frightening to see the power you held over Michael, confusing as to why. Who were you to be able to stop him when no one else could, it wasn’t fair to feel as though you were important to him when he had shown you very vividly that you weren’t. That you were replaceable. It was scarier even to have been in his arms again. You hated the way your body betrayed you by longing for it so much, the way you felt instantly calm in his arms, never wanting to leave. The way you still loved him and wanted to go back to him. You pushed those thoughts away as deeply as you could.

When Justin told you all those months ago that you could text him for anything, you took it very literally. And it made you feel so accepted that he didn’t mind you texting him at 3 in the morning to rant about whatever was on your mind. It was what you normally would’ve done with Michael but it felt just as good to do it with Justin. Better even because your memories with the blond boy weren’t tainted. The kiss hadn’t made anything awkward because he was just that great of a guy to know it was something that you did when you weren’t in your right mind. Justin had given you a safe space, one where you could let out all your feelings without being judged or pitied. And you appreciated him for it.

Justin wasn’t one for parties, just like you. In fact, in high school, the two of you would often be together talking about exams, college and homework while the rest of your friends were out celebrating life. And neither of you minded one bit. You were still like that and you definitely knew he was as well. Which is why when his typing bubble came up, you were worried he would deny you and you would have to go by yourself. You’d have to face the shame of going to the scene of the crime alone.

justin

I’ll be right over.

You tried to ignore the fuzzy feeling that was erupting in you.

♔

Michael stared at Ashton incredulously.

“No, I don’t want to go to a fucking party.” He growled at the brown haired boy standing in the doorway of his dim room. He preferred to keep the lights as low as possible, if not off. The last time his room was fully lit was when you were in there. And he wasn’t quite sure he could take that piece of memory and replace it with this much lonelier reality.

Michael had sworn off parties and stopped drinking. In fact, he refused to even hear about it. No one invited him to parties or handed him drinks anymore either because they knew just how sensitive of a topic it was for him. It might’ve been misplaced anger. But it was there nonetheless. As much as he blamed himself, he blamed that culture for what happened. And he refused to be a part of it anymore. Especially when he couldn’t even pass by a frat or sorority house without being hit with the fact that you weren’t his girlfriend anymore and that the reason happened right there. He couldn’t even have a drink in his hand without wanting to chuck it across the room - preferably at someone’s head.

He wasn’t only on a party ban but also on a girl ban. It wasn’t something he was consciously doing but he couldn’t imagine doing anything other than that. And celibacy was not something Michael was used to doing, before or with you. But his body was physically rejecting any girl that came near him, anyone other than you. Not like he went out to find girls, in fact with the way his mind was constantly on you, remembering the good times (before everything went to shit), other women never crossed his mind. Michael only remembered that he was still attracting attention when they approached him and even then, nothing they said ever processed in his mind. All he saw was someone that wasn’t you and he moved along.

Ashton sighed, the only light coming from the living room behind him. He understood where Michael was coming from, he did. Which is why he never forced him to go anywhere, even if he thought it could cheer him up, just like this Epsilon party - his favorite. But after the thing with Luke, it had been hard to get him out of the house at all. It was like he was traumatized from the whole thing, he couldn’t even step on campus.

It had nothing to do with Luke, of course. In fact, when Ashton filled him in that you had in fact, not gone on a date with him, Ashton saw a look of relief on his friend’s face that he had never quite seen before. But it had everything to do with the feeling of drowning, suffocating, coming back after seeing you again; after seeing you and being frozen out of your forgiveness and love. He really fucked up.

Ashton considered his next words. He didn’t want to give his friend false hope, only for it to be snuffed out again. But he knew Michael wouldn’t get up off of his bed if he didn’t, he would stay in that position, listening to angry, sad music alone until he fell asleep and was able to dream of you, dream that everything was like it used to be. He needed out of the house and to confront his sins, instead of wallowing in them.

“Y/N might be there.”

He’d never seen Michael sit up as fast as he did then. And all his hesitancy in giving Michael false ideas had gone to waste, it was evident in the way his face lit up, the way his eyes had the far away look that showed all the what-ifs running through his mind.

“How do you know?”

“Cal invited her.” Ashton murmured, hoping that if he spoke soft and slow, then Michael’s hope might pop, he might come back to reality. “It’s at his frat, Epsilon so he sent her the flyer. I’m pretty sure he said she was interested.”

Michael was already standing up, “What are we waiting for then.” He could put aside his aversion to parties, especially greek life parties for you. He’d do it because of you. If it meant he could see you again, talk to you. Maybe even be able to beg for forgiveness like he’d always wanted to. Like he had been unable to fully do after the fight because he had been too stunned by your presence, at having your beauty in front of him again. It had rendered him too useless to even think.

Ashton struggled to find the right words when Michael pushed past him in the doorway and headed to the front door.

“Right…but, dude, remember she still probably won’t-”

“Don’t say it.” Michael didn’t stop walking but his words were warning. His tone didn’t pack the usual punch though, it was too tinged with choked back sadness to be as threatening as he wanted.

He glanced down at his phone, didn’t unlock it, just stared for a moment in silence. Ashton wished he didn’t see the flash of Michael’s phone before he put it in his pocket, didn’t see your smiling face reflected back at him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have a pit in his stomach at what exactly he was taking his friend to and bringing to you. More heartache?

♔

Michael’s heart was beating a million beats per minute. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt nervous but this was definitely it. Just the thought of seeing you again just for you to brush him off, say you were over him, for you to have finally figured out you were too good for him that entire time. All of that was enough for him to want to go back home, try again some other time. Because he didn’t know if he could handle you not forgiving him and finally losing you for good.

He didn’t care about the calls of his name as soon as he entered the room. He slipped right past Calum who had waited up front to greet Ashton and Michael. He had one goal in being there. To find you. Everything else was irrelevant

He just didn’t expect to find you against the wall, a drink in your hand and Justin standing in front of you, talking to you animately. In the same position you and him had been in multiple times. Justin was leaning down so you could hear him better; the music was so loud. Your lips were slightly parted, your big eyes sparkling like they used to when you looked at him as you nodded at whatever the blond boy was saying to you.

You looked beautiful. You were wearing the short, white dress that contrasted so beautifully with your skin tone. The one he always said made you look like an angel. The one he loved to fuck you in especially, to really solidify him taking away that pureness. But now you didn’t wear it for him.

Michael was already broken hearted. But nothing compared to the feeling of his heart being ripped out of his chest when he saw you with the one man Michael had always felt insecure next to. The one you knew so well, the one who was perfect inside and out and wanted you the same way Michael did though not nearly as intensely and deeply. He hated the blond boy. Why did he always have to be around?

To add insult to injury, Michael watched with frozen horror as you raised the alcohol to your lips and sipped. Your face scrunched up at the taste so at least it hadn’t become a vice of yours. But still, you had slipped into something you never wanted to before. Even if it was just to give you the extra push to let loose, to give you the comfort in a setting that brought you so much pain. Michael pushed you to do something you had been so against. His sweet pure girl. It was his worse nightmare, being such a bad influence in your life. But he had succeeded. And he felt like everything was wrong in the world.

Michael felt a bad taste in his mouth as he saw Justin move closer, too close, so he could whisper in your ear. He wanted to rip off the hand he had on your bare shoulder. When he saw your red cheeks, he wanted to kill something. Your blush was one of Michael’s favorite parts about you, it made your already cute and innocent face look even more so and it did wonders for Michael’s libido and ego, a fact you were very much aware of. A fact that was still true now, even if it wasn’t directed to him. No now, you were blushing for him. For the man that Michael had to fight against in order to keep his relationship in the first place. You had rejected Luke but now it was Justin in front of you. Had he just pushed you back into the rich boy’s arms? Did he give him a free space to finally win your heart?

The bastard was too much of a pussy to even keep that stupid drink away from you like he knew you wanted. He couldn’t protect you like Michael could.

His only solace was when he finally watched Justin move away from you. He watched with jealous eyes as he rounded a corner to find a quiet place to take a call. His phone was already at his ear and his free hand covered his other ear to help him hear the line better.

Michael hadn’t even moved when Ashton and Calum came up beside him, patting his shoulder. “We got you, bro.” And then they followed Justin out of the room, giving him the security that they would buy him some time.

His heart accelerated again, coming alive. Here was his chance, you were alone, right in front of him and he had all the time in the world. But if he didn’t move now, he might lose you forever to the persistent man you came with.

♔

It was so hot.

You weren’t sure if it was the amount of people in the packed house or the drink in your hand. Granted, you’d only taken a grand total of 2 sips and while you definitely figured out it was not for you, the ability of it to help you forget your misfortunes was still to be determined. You were sure it was because you weren’t drunk, if just a bit buzzed, but you had no intention of getting to that level anyway. So for now, it would just be a decoration in your hand.

You touched your cheeks a little after Justin left. They felt burning and you had no doubt you were blushing wildly. More than half of it had to be because of Justin. He was standing so close with those kind blue eyes. He made it so easy to forget.

“Y/N.” But it was impossible to forget completely when you were always within the same campus as the man you were trying so desperately to get out of your head.

It was disheartening the way your stomach dropped at his voice. Especially because this could only mean one thing, he was still partying. Even after what he did, he was still attending, still finding other girls probably. While you were trying hard to forget, he had already forgotten you.

You felt your lips quiver and your ears burned with heat and humiliation by the time he stood in front of you. You were backed into a corner already so there was no way to escape. That didn’t stop your eyes from looking around you from some sort of exit, for Justin to come back, anything. As if his body didn’t block the majority of your eyesight.

So you were forced to just look up, your neck craning to fully look at him. You’d almost forgotten how tall he was, you had stood so far away from him at the Quad it didn’t give you the time to fully appreciate his height.

He looked just as different as he looked at the Quad. His hair was a mess, as if he had just gotten up from bed. Deep purple circles ran alongside the bottom of his eyes from lack of sleep.

But, wearing a black bomber over a black t-shirt, his silver chain contrasting perfectly against the dark fabric, he still looked great. And then you saw them. The tattoos encircling his entire neck were shadowed just right so you could appreciate their dark colors. Then one of his hands moved, allowing you to fully see the artwork that traveled from the edge of his sleeves to the edge of his finger, the ones that drove you especially crazy. Particularly when they were holding your much smaller hand gently, so different from what would be expected. Or when they were around your neck.

You blamed the alcohol for how your body stiffened, a pooling of wetness between your legs. Had it really been that long, were you really so sex-deprived that even just a look at him had you horny? He really had corrupted you. Before, you didn’t think of sex much but you’d gotten too accustomed, spoiled, with the way he made you feel, something that happened so often that just a few months without had left you feeling more lonely than ever.

His eyes explored your face, trailing especially onto your full pink lips before they met your eyes. It was like a trance you were both in and you weren’t completely sure you were breathing.

He took the gross cup from your hands, tossing it aside as if it didn’t contain liquid.

“Who the fuck gave you that?” His words were so familiar and for a moment, you could almost imagine that nothing had happened. That he was still the protective boyfriend you loved so much. “You don’t drink.”

Normally the drink would never reach your hand, Michael would make sure of it. He always wanted to preserve your innocence from any hard substances he partook in. But Justin was just as out of his element as you were, just as nervous. So when you were handed a drink, Justin didn’t do anything to stop it besides looking at you nervously. You wished you didn’t feel the bit of disappointment at just how different he was from what you wanted, from Michael.

The trance was broken as soon as he lifted his hand to your face, to touch your cheek like he had always done without question. But this time you pulled your head back before his fingers could touch your skin.

“Don’t touch me.” Because you were still very aware what him being there meant. The humiliation and betrayal he caused you was still a very fresh wound.

You wished you could take pleasure in the pained look that flashed across his face. His face dropped, much like it did in the Quad, and settled in your neck. He wasn’t touching you but this was his only chance to get you to listen and he wasn’t going to throw it away. Right then, it felt like his entire future was hanging on by a thin strand. He didn’t care what he looked like to anyone watching, didn’t care if he looked weak or whipped. He’d go down on his knees to beg for you back if that’s what it took.

You were blushing again as soon as you felt his breath on your skin. You had to close your eyes and force yourself to breathe, otherwise the breath would be stuck in a knot at your throat.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered so only you heard, his voice was dripping with sincerity. It almost sounded sad. “I was drunk and I thought it was you. I would’ve never….fuck, if I was conscious enough to know, it wouldn’t have happened. It meant nothing. She was nothing. I love you so much, baby girl.” He felt you flinch at the name. “I love you. Too much to do that knowingly and too much to want to. You’re it for me. I know I fucked up, but I’m sorry.”

He repeated his love for you as if there wasn’t enough times that he could say it that would come close to encompassing just how much he did. His heart was thumping so hard he was sure you could hear it. He inhaled your scent, taking pleasure at being so close to you after so long. He finally felt at home again, his heart and body felt like they were buzzing with electricity. You made him feel alive.

“That’s not an excuse.” And then his heart deflated in a way only you had the ability to make it. “If you couldn’t handle your alcohol, that’s your fault. It doesn’t matter if you love me if the way you act the minute I’m not beside you shows the complete opposite. When I did nothing but support and love you, when I was fine even when I knew that you had screwed half of the girls on campus, I trusted you even then. I didn’t deserve that. You humiliated me, Michael, to the entire campus. You betrayed me. I’m not sure you know what love is. Because you’re not the man I thought you were.”

You pushed him away at that point and took solace in the way he let himself be pushed away. Now there were a good couple inches between you and you finally felt like you could breathe again, the fuzziness in your mind at having him so close was fading slowly. Your quick heartbeat, which had started racing the moment he said I love you again, three little words you thought you’d never hear again from his mouth, was still going hard.

Your eyes were watering over, tears threatening to fall but your face screamed anger. The anger you had felt for months finally letting out. But it was an anger mixed with a sad frustration which couldn’t be taken out of your expression. And that was what hurt Michael the most.

Seeing you look so in pain, so broken when all you deserved to be was happy and loved. He had done this. But even when his heart stuttered as he looked at you, he wanted nothing more to hug you, kiss the pain the away. He was selfish. Too selfish for you. But he loved you too much to let you go. You were the best thing thats ever happened to him, the best thing in his life.

His hand moved again, this time, taking a hold of your upper arms. He only meant to hold you, test the waters to see if maybe his touch could bring you back to him. But he didn’t expect the gasp that escaped you as soon as his cool fingertips grazed along your warm skin. Michael watched with wonder as your eyes widened and your blush deepened. You were a goddess.

A goddess with a reaction that Michael knew more than well. Michael watched you carefully, the way your teeth caught your bottom lip, the way your pressed your thighs together as you attempted to step back. He had missed the way your body reacted to him. How could he have ever mistaken you when you were so obviously awe-inspiringly beautiful and magical to watch unfold. Just watching you was enough to get him off.

Sex was what got him in this mess in the first place. But it was also the one thing he knew you would still want him for, need him for. And he was desperate enough to fill in that role, even if it would just result in more hope and heartbreak for him, even if, for you, he would only act as a means to an end. Anything to have you in his life for a little while longer. Anything to hold back to inevitable and nonreversible separation you no doubt wanted. He would take what he could get.

He had said to you once that he would ruin you for all men so that eventually you would always need him, always run back to him, even if it was only to get off. Neither of you had expected to get to the point where it would come true. But here you were.

Michael knew you so well, knew what you liked, what you reacted for. So it was no big surprise when he closed the gap between you two, pushing you against the wall with his lips directly at your ear, taking advantage of your state.

“Missed you, little one.”

The way he ducked down, the way his hands were trapping you in place. Everything made you feel so small, so dominated that you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your mouth. And he loved it too, seeing your small frame so tiny and fragile, helpless. His for the taking, his to break. His.

You hated feeling this weak in front of him but it’d been too long, you needed it, you needed him. Because no matter how much you hated him at that moment, there was no doubt that no one could make you feel as good, as satisfied as he could. Not that there was anyone else you trusted or loved enough to try.

“You’re still so good for me, bet your body has missed me, missed my cock. Do you remember how good it feels?” You were sure he chose his words carefully. Saying what he knew had you weak to the knees so you couldn’t deny him.

Michael watched your small figure, looking up at him with innocently hungry eyes. His hand on your arm trailed tantalizingly upward and downward. Your skin burned wherever he touched. His other hand rested firmly on your hips, holding you as if you would disappear if he loosened his grip. All he could think was that he was actually touching you again. It was like he could breathe for the first time in a long time.

But this was wrong. You were giving in and you could feel your self control slipping from you. It was replaced with an urge to let him do whatever he wanted to you, to let out all your pent up emotions through one night that you knew would blow you away.

Michael’s eyes focused on your lips, his thumb moving up to them and this time you let him. His thumb played with your bottom lip while the rest of his fingers rested on your jaw. You felt his thumb move into your mouth superficially. Your gaze never left his as your tongue slid on the pad of his digit before he brought it back out, using it to drag your bottom lip down.

You were ethereal and he was nothing short of hellish. But it was the type of destruction you couldn’t seem to stay away from.

“It’s been so long, baby girl. I’ve wanted you for months, missed your tight little pussy taking my cock so well. Jacked off so much thinking about it.” Michael’s words were filthy, too filthy for a public party where the only thing between you and the rest of the partygoers was Michael’s large frame draped around you. In fact, you weren’t sure anyone could even see you as Michael’s broad shoulders covered you entirely. It just seemed as if he was standing hunched over nothing. That particular thought drew a moan out of your mouth.

“Bet you’ve been needy. My spoiled girl wanting to get her pussy wrecked by my big cock like you’re used to, but your fingers just don’t feel the same, do they?” Michael nipped at your neck slightly making you nod out desperately.

You’d missed this so much, the feeling of complete domination over you, the way he treated you so roughly yet lovingly at the same time. That feeling was complete when his lips found your neck while his hand came down to the base of your throat and squeezed. He didn’t kiss your neck, not yet, not without your words. But his lips feathered over your skin like a ghost, enough for you to just get a taste. Enough for you to want more.

“Come on, little one. Let me help. Let me make you feel good.”

Michael groaned out as he saw your blush deepened and one of his knees came up between your bodies, prying your legs open just enough for the fabric of his ripped jeans to touch your damp panties. One of his hands tugged sharply at your hair.

“M-Michael…” You couldn’t think straight. You were turned on in a way only he was able to do. All you could think was of his scent, the way his strong shoulders felt when your hands finally touched him for the first time in months. His muscles felt firm and powerful, the intimidating and possessive aura that seemed to scream at everyone to stay away was held there and as you squeezed them, feeling his body, the fire burning beneath your heart and your sex was scorching hot. You were clenching helplessly around nothing. You needed him.

But then you saw him, the boy you had come to the party with. The one you had invited. The one who had stayed by your side and cared for you. Justin was staring at you with wide eyes. His hand was in his ruffled hair, unsure of what to do or say as he watched you come undone just by Michael’s presence. Calum was right behind him, flustered at having him slip away.

It was almost shameful to think of what you must look like to him. Weak, desperate, lustful, submissive. You felt bad, even after everything, you were choosing Michael again. Even after Justin comforted you, even after that kiss. And he had front row tickets this time. Your face burned as you breathed out for Michael to stop.

Michael moved away, his focus entirely on you, his large hand entwining in yours as he pulled you back from against the wall. “Let’s go.”

Your heart was stuttering when you stared at Justin. There were so many mixed emotions in your mind. You were desperate for Michael at that point, if you hadn’t been gazing at Justin’s hurt face, you would’ve left without question. But Justin was there and worse he was there for you. You were the one that invited him, you were the one who took him out of his own life so he could be there for you. And now you were abandoning him for the guy that hurt you in the first place.

You hoped your eyes translated all the regret you felt at how you were making him feel at the moment. You didn’t meant to play with his feelings or lead him on, in fact you were sure your own feelings were starting to be messed with in the process. But you were too far gone to reject Michael, to think logically. You needed something only he could satisfy you with and you needed that gratification.

When you saw a small nod come from Justin, you almost sighed in relief. You didn’t need his permission but his understanding, or at least acceptance of what you were doing made you feel less guilty when you nodded up at Michael. Not for the first time were you struck with his beauty, he reminded you of danger in a way. But you weren’t scared. Instead you were letting him lead you wherever he wanted. His dark hair swept across his forehead perfectly. His deep eyes still stared at you with the same adoration they always had and the secretive smile that was only for you was still there as well.

It felt especially familiar when he pulled you into his side, wrapping one arm protectively around your shoulder, keeping you there and proudly showing off who you still belonged to, to the entire party. He knew that in the state you were in right then, the horny mess he had left you in, you wouldn’t resist. Michael was on cloud nine. He was finally getting what he wanted, had been desperately needing this whole time. You were back in his arms like you were always meant to be, where you belonged and after finally claiming you again, getting to feel your body again, you could finally listen to him, forgive him even. But you found it ironic; how you came to the party to get closure but you were leaving in his arms.

You didn’t miss the stares your little reunion was getting. It was no secret on campus the breakup had been messy, so messy Michael had become unmanageable. So to see your small figure right next to him again was surprising, even more so to see him looking so content in a way no one had seen him look in months.

The only thought that could make you feel less pathetic was the knowledge that this wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t mean anything. You weren’t docile, he was just a good fuck. Once you got it out of your system, once you got him out of your system, you could officially move on. Just one more night for the books. That’s what you told yourself at least.

♔

Michael pushed you against the corridor walls as soon as he closed the front door. He had his hand where your jaw met your neck, holding your face up to him. The chain around his neck dangled between you due to the height difference of him having to very much lean down and over to reach your lips. You were so small. But you fit so perfectly with him. The kiss was hot and heavy. It was mixed with everything: longing, regret, desperation and lust. He held your jaw still so he could control the pace and you were more than happy to let him. His tongue explored your mouth expertly and you moaned against his lips. You had missed him. He felt like he was in a dream, getting to kiss you again. You wished you didn’t still feel the completeness, the security you always felt with him.

“Missed you so much.” He said as he pulled away, pecking your lips once more before stepping aside. “You have no idea how much I love you, princess.”

Your breath was taken away at the sound of the loving nickname. You could almost cry at how good it felt to feel his love and sincerity again, coming right from his mouth. You had lost so much.

But you didn’t answer, you weren’t there to forgive him. So you didn’t. Instead you walked to where his door met the living room. He let you, following behind you closely but not without the setting of his jaw. But still, he couldn’t shake the disbelief he felt that you were finally back home. He was finally back home with you.

The house felt like you were coming back home. Everything was just as you left it, if not just slightly messier. It was bittersweet walking the familiar corridor to the living room.

That is where you stopped cold. The couch. The stupid couch.

There it was, the black, cracked old couch where Michael had cheated on you. It was still in the living room and you felt as you did when you first walked in on them. To think he didn’t even care enough to get rid of it. Probably sat on it everyday without even caring what happened on it. Physically recoiling, your mind cleared up just a bit to scream at you to leave. What were you even doing back there? Hurting yourself more.

You wanted to run, to go back home and cry your feelings out but you were frozen in place. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sofa. You’d never hated an inanimate object more. You were humiliated all over again.

You didn’t realize you weren’t breathing until you felt Michael slide his arms around your body from behind. One of his hands moved down to hold your hand while the other arm was around your waist. You felt his upper body on you, his chest touching your back. You even felt his hardness poke your thigh. He hunched down enough to place his chin on top of your head. You didn’t want to be comforted, not by him. But you couldn’t help but close your eyes and take in a fresh breath at the security his embrace provided you.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated and you almost wondered if he was going to say anything beside that the entire night. “I’m going to get rid of it, I promise.”

You swallowed thickly, “I don’t care.”

His grip on you tightened and the butterflies in your stomach fluttered, “Don’t say that. I can’t even look at that thing without hating the memory of it.” His thumb drew circles on your hand, “I barely leave my room so I won’t have to pass by it.”

It felt like your heart skipped a beat. You could almost bring yourself to believe that he regretted what he did, that he ever loved you like he claimed. But you weren’t there for that.

So you stepped out of his grasp easily and moved to go into the room that you had come to know so well but had become nothing more than a memory. You had a feeling that, as you turned the lights on in his otherwise dark room, it was the first time in a while his room had been illuminated with light. His room was messy, strewn with cigarette buds on every surface, some blunts laid out in the open. Unidentified pills strewn every once and a while. You stopped looking after a while, it hurt too much to think of just what exactly he had been resorting to without you. You had used academics to take away the pain, Michael had evidently chosen a different route.

Michael did not miss a beat following you into his room like a lost puppy (a way he would only be like when following you), closing his door behind him in anticipation. He didn’t want to risk losing the mood, the spark that was currently burning bright between you two.

When you reached up and, by his neck, pulled him down to kiss you again, he let you. He let himself be guided back to his bed until he fell on top of you. Holding himself up with one hand, the other traveled down to push the straps of your dress off of your shoulders. A part of him wondered how hot it would be to fuck you in that dress, to see you coming undone for him in such a unblemished design. But he needed to see your body, see you bare and vulnerable for him after so much time.

And the sight was everything he remembered it being. The way you were so responsive to him, the small whines of pleasure leaving your kiss-plumped lips. His lips traveled down your familiar body, basking in the fact that you weren’t pushing him away but instead begging for more. You had gone home with him, you had abandoned Justin for him. He was feeling much like a starving man getting his first taste of satisfaction in a while.

“Who’s pussy is this?”

When you first felt Michael’s tongue on you, your back arched involuntarily, a gasp leaving your lips. It’d been so long. You had almost forgotten how good it felt, how good he was at everything. But your body hadn’t forgotten, it had been yearning for him and now that it had him back, you couldn’t help the way you reacted so easily to him.

“Yours, daddy” The words came to naturally to you even then.

Your words were a lot for him. You were submitting to him so beautifully in a way he wasn’t sure you would anymore. But you felt so blissful with him again, more than you’ve felt in a while, you couldn’t help it. To hear you call yourself his again had his stomach in flutters. He hadn’t lost you. Even more so to have you letting him dominate you like he deemed fit again.

You felt his tongue flick up your slit, between your folds. Vibrations sounded pleasurably as he moaned at your taste. He swirled his tongue around your clit as his open mouth encased it, sucking it at just the right moments that felt your eyes almost rolling back into your head.

Your moans were high pitched and desperate as you grabbed onto his dark hair and kept him right where he was. Not that he would’ve tried to stop anyway. He was at wonder with how good you tasted, your body’s sweet reaction to him, and how wet you were - for him. The bulge in his pants was infinitely bigger and more strained than it was before, if that were possible.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, keeping your writhing form still so he could stay in between your legs. And it wasn’t something you wanted to be thinking about but seeing his tattooed hands and fingers around your own untouched skin, a sight you had missed so much for so long, had you whining, pushing your hips against his face.

Michael took his mouth off of you only for a second. Using his index and middle finger, he spread your lips to leave you completely exposed to him. In the way you only ever were with him.

His glance at you had you biting you lip, “You’re soaking, baby girl. I missed this cunt so much.”  

And then his lips were back on you. His tongue licked your hole and your back arched when he dipped inside you just a bit. But it was enough for you to be pulling at his hair roughly and for you to hear him hiss and curse out in pleasure at the hint of pain.

He teased your entrance just a bit longer before going back to your clit, nibbling it in the slightest way. And you wish you could have the decency to be embarrassed at how quickly you came all over his face afterward.

But you didn’t feel embarrassed. How could you when all he did was lick up your juices before coming back up to his full towering height over you, taking a hold of the back of your neck and smashing his mouth to yours. You tasted yourself as his tongue explored your mouth. Michael’s eyes were dark with his pupils almost blown out with the euphoria of not just having you back with him but having you just cum again because of him. It was like all his dirty fantasies he had dreamed of since the breakup, but this time he wouldn’t have to get off with his own hand, annoyed and alone. This time it was real.

His hand found its way your neck, choking you just so. Both on your knees, your smaller figure had to look up at him by craning your neck. He was still fully clothed while you were in front of him, completely naked. You felt one of his fingers prod your lips open and as he stared down at you, his hand squeezing your neck a little more, you knew what he wanted to see.

“You taste so good.” You opened your mouth easily, trying not to think of the way you were too turned on by what was going to happen. When he spit in your awaiting mouth, you saw him rubbing himself through his jeans at the sight of you swallowing. You were still his. “Dirty girl.”

His words, your submission, it was almost like nothing had changed. Your small hands even reached out and unbuckled his belt and seeing that, coupled with your shy eyes staring up at him, made him sigh in bliss as he helped you get his pants and boxers off.

His dick was harder than it had been for months and he almost forgot the feeling of your tight walls around him but he had definitely still remembered the overwhelming need to be inside you, to be connected with you in such an intimate way that he only ever experienced with you.

He wanted to cherish the moment as much as he could because he wasn’t sure what time would bring after it. But at the same time he wanted to completely ruin you, fuck you until your mind was only filled with his name, until you could barely walk, so much that you wouldn’t leave him, if only for the pleasure he brought you. And you made those dark needs easier with your innocent wide eyes and cute whines leaving your writhing body.

But it was as if the delicate moment was broken the minute Michael laid you down completely and moved on top of you, held up only by one of his hands. Both of you naked, you couldn’t help but stare up at him and only see what that other girl saw the night of the party. You thought only of the same words Michael was using with you tonight being directed to her. She experienced something that was only ever meant for you. And suddenly you felt dirty. His hands trailing up and down your body, the same ones that had felt the blonde’s body, felt as if they were burning you.

“Wait, stop.” You laid your hand on his shoulder before he could even start lining up to your entrance. And a part of your heart melted in appreciation when he did stop, without question. You had lost a great boyfriend that respected your boundaries, consent and wishes. But then you caught yourself. He lost you.

Michael’s eyes snapped to you immediately, looking for any sign of what he did wrong. An apology was already at his lips when your eyes started watering.

“I ca-I can’t. I’m only picturing what you did with…with her.” Michael felt his shoulders sag at the way his actions were breaking you apart, preventing you from even feeling the love he had always been able to translate through to you with sex. “This isn’t special anymore Michael, you-you gave this to another girl, I feel gross.”

But Michael was shaking his head, his eyes never leaving yours. He felt a sense of urgency and sadness strike in him. Sadness that the girl who he loved, the only one who has ever owned his heart more than even himself, felt like she wasn’t special. As if Michael didn’t need to breath you in to feel alive, to feel anything but the anger swirling in what seemed like a constant storm within him. And urgency to get you to see that he didn’t give what you and him had to anyone. No one has ever and will never experience what you experienced with him. How could they? Nothing feels right when it’s not with you.

He leaned as close as he dared, “I didn’t…I didn’t touch her or talk to her like I do when I’m with you. I’ve never done that with anyone else…I’m only like that with you. You’re the only girl I’ll ever show that side to because you’re my girlfriend, you’re the only girl I’ve been with that I love. No one else.” It was the first time you’d heard him stutter. You weren’t his girlfriend, not anymore. But you didn’t correct him.

You felt Michael’s lips on your neck, kissing right where your pulse was. One of his hands moved your hair out of the way gently and that felt more intimate than anything else you had just done. His lips trailed to your ear.

“It was only one time.” He continued and both of you cringed at that. Once or not, it didn’t matter and he knew it. The deep, soul wrenching regret he still felt was proof of it. But still he continued, “And it was a mistake, I regret it. It’ll never happen again. I fucking went soft halfway through because even when I was drunk out of my mind I couldn’t be like that with anyone but you. She’s nothing to me. I haven’t touched anyone else. I haven’t wanted to.”

It was hard for you to wrap your head around; that something that seemed so intimate and special to you, could mean practically nothing to him if it wasn’t with you.

Despite your best efforts to deny his effect on you, his affection had calmed you. Your breathing had evened but you still looked hesitant, “But you still go out partying…” You wished you didn’t sound so jealous when you said it. You wished you could even look him in the eyes.

He nipped at your ear, sending goosebumps down your arms. “I don’t. I only went tonight for you.”

Your eyes set on his at his confession. “You’re more than special.”

You weren’t sure you believed him, or if you even wanted to consider his words and their implications to everything you had thought was true during your breakup; was he actually just as in pain as you were all this time? It was such a break from what you expected him to be, the player who just saw you as another notch in his belt. Either way, your heart felt as if it fell still at the sincerity and intensity in his voice.

When you pressed your lips against his again, it wasn’t in forgiveness. It was a kiss that was more for you. Whether he truly believed it or not, you were going to make him see just what he had given up, just how irreplaceable you were. Because after years with him, you were no longer inexperienced, and you were Michael’s only girlfriend. He was able to teach you everything he liked, in vivid detail.

“Just fuck me.” You whispered through your heated kisses. You allowed his tongue to explore your mouth further as you moaned.

Michael had no issue giving you just want you wanted. How could he not with the way your naked body clung and rubbed deliciously against him. He had the sneaking idea that it was impossible not to be hard around you, constantly. He missed you so much.

He loved how easy it was to control your small frame, throwing you under him without much effort. He dominated you so easily. It was one of the things he most missed about you. The memory of your little body had been enough to get him off during the lonely nights but the real sight was so much better. He cherished the way you gasped slightly as your body bounced after being dropped.

He almost felt giddy as he ran his tip over your wet slit. But that couldn’t compare to the feeling of completeness he got when he finally slid into you raw. He was finally home. After so many months without feeling your pussy around him, he leaned over you as he groaned out. His hand had been nothing compared to this. It took a bit for you to take him in all the way. It’d been so long since he’s been inside of you, your body had grown accustomed without him.

You already felt so full of him when he was only halfway inside of you and he didn’t know what was hotter, the way your small body looked stuffed already with just half of his cock or the way you were still begging for all of it. He pushed fully into you, enjoying the way you mewled and pressed closer to him, finally being relieved a bit of the ache you’ve had since the break up. This was exactly what you needed. He was right, you would always need him to find that release.

It had been too long.

It was punishment to have forgotten just how it felt to be inside you, how tight you were, how you hugged him so deliciously that it almost felt like he could cum right then and there. His hands twisted the bedsheets next to you as he tried to control himself. He needed to relish this, he didn’t want to finish too early.

But then you started whining under him and he gladly began thrusting into you, his hips bucking at the feeling of being squeezed while he fucked into your warm and wet hole. He couldn’t prevent the pleased moaning and growls that escaped him at how good you felt. It was obvious in his mind that nothing was better than this, nothing was better than you. And he felt like a fool, more so than he had felt for months, for having lost you, for fucking up. He was addicted to you.

He hoped you realized that this was so different from anything else he could’ve experienced without you, that you shouldn’t feel gross or unimportant because the way he was touching you, the hands he held you with, the way he fucked you was so different than he was with anyone else. He almost felt like a teenager having sex for the first time, the feeling of wonder and nervousness at finally being able to be with you again, the self doubt, desperate need to please you and of course, the hope.

Your beautiful gasps and moans called him to pick up his pace. He felt his heart constrict at having you moan for him again. Your noises were like music to his ears and he was desperate to keep you making them, get you louder for him, make you feel as good as possible. Because for that moment, seeing your face washed in pleasure because of him, he could almost imagine that you were still his. That you didn’t feel those negative feelings of betrayal, distrust towards him. That you didn’t see him as a monster like everyone else did. This was what you still needed him for and he would make sure he wouldn’t disappoint. That this wouldn’t be a one time thing. Even if that’s exactly where your mind was.

You had forgotten how much of an expert he was at this. How his thrusts seemed to be timed just perfectly that they always reached so deep and rubbed against your walls just enough that your hips were moving alongside with them without you even realizing. You felt stretched out, filled to the brim with his girth for the first time in a while, it almost burned. But it was the perfect sort of feeling. It was a feeling that had you wanting more, begging for more.

At your responsiveness, he seemed to have gotten back the confidence he had always had when having sex with you. He had one of your legs in his hand, spreading you more open for him in a way only he had ever been able to control your body. His eyes never tore away from your withering body under him. He needed to see everything, everything he had been missing so badly. Your innocent little body being tainted by him once again.

“Fuck me harder.” You whimpered out. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed. At each thrust, you felt a pit of pleasure pooling hotly in your stomach. You were already moaning loudly, holding on to Michael as you finally felt the delicious drive of him into you after months of deprivation. Each time his skin slapped to yours, at each glance you saw him take to the point where you two were connected, where his dick was currently disappearing into you, you were nearly spasming at the heightened feelings. He was looking at you like he worshipped you.

“You’re taking me so well, little one. You’re so fucking tight.” He murmured, his voice strained as he gripped your hips tightly. He followed your orders, his thrusts became faster, more punctuated and so rough you were clenching onto him. Michael growled under his breath at the feeling of your already tight grip get even tighter. Your skills certainly weren’t lacking, even with your lack of recent practice. He wasn’t sure just exactly how long he would last with you.

You were amazing, and he had been so lucky to be able to not only have you like this now but have had you for so many years beforehand. “Missed it, didn’t you? Haven’t had a cock in you for so long, right? Wanting my dick in your tight cunt. Haven’t been able to get what you wanted without me.”

Your back was arched and you couldn’t answer him. Your moans had increased with his rough thrusts, broken as your body moved in sync with his, bouncing with each thrust. You felt the tip of his cock brush your g-spot and you jolted in his arms before grinding as he bottomed out into you again, desperate for everything he was making you feel. It was hard to breathe. You couldn’t even moan anymore, your mouth just open uselessly at the stimulation.

“Yes, Michael, yes.” You weren’t sure if you were answering his question or his actions.

Either way, Michael wasn’t satisfied. His hand went to your neck immediately, choking you just enough in warning. “Tell me you haven’t been with anyone else. Tell me I’m still your only.”

It was downright sinful for you to see the visual of his tattooed hand encircling your neck. It adorned you perfectly, like you belonged right there in his palm and you spread your legs further to get him deeper inside of you. Your moan was a mixture of his name and a desperate whine.

When you didn’t answer, he slapped you once on your cheek. The sting was so familiar and it was what had you remaining silent knowing what would happen, begging for more. As if he could sense that, Michael chuckled darkly under his breath. He slapped you again, harder this time. His aggressive thrusts never faltered.

“You’re still such a fucking slut for me, still mine. Even your body knows it. Say it.” He needed you to say it again. After so long, he wished he could draw you to say that forever.

“H-Haven’t been with anyone else.” You whimpered, “Fuck…so good…Y-you’re still the only one who’s ever had me. Still yours.” Your hand was on his wrist, keeping his hand to your throat, choking you so mouth-wateringly.

It was so easy to forget with him thrusting into you like that. So easy to pretend that the nightmare of the past few months had never happened and that you were still together, still happy. That this was just one of the many times you had sex that happened so often during your relationship.

“Even Justin?” He said the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“He could never have me, couldn’t make me feel as good as you can. No one can.” Your words were cruel. But your head was so clouded that you didn’t care. All you cared was telling Michael exactly what he wanted to hear, to please him like you couldn’t help but want to. Besides, you couldn’t deny that your words were true. Justin was kind and he had a big role in your life and heart but you didn’t feel that magnetic connection with him that you felt with Michael, that all encompassing love and desire. Michael really had ruined you for all other men, no one could come close to him. You needed him. At least for this.

The sigh he let out was of unexpected relief. His smile nothing short of devilish. He hadn’t doubted what the answer would be but he loved to hear you say it. Especially when he had you like this, it fed into an animalistic pride, a possessive pit in his being that had his grip on you tightening and his mouth leaning down to take in one of your tits, licking at your nipple before circling it with his tongue.

“You’re mine.” To hear you say that about the man who had been causing him so many issues, insecurities, felt more than good. He would never get the chance to have you like this, touch you like Michael had just done.  Your body would only respond to Michael. The only thing you could do was push your chest up to give him more access, moaning loudly and wantonly.

Your legs were nearly bent all the way back and he went deeper and harder than before, if that was possible. Your hand went down to your pussy but all you did was feel each driving thrust under your hand as you screamed out obscenities to the air. You wondered briefly how you had been able to go so long without him when it felt this good.

You were both so sweaty already. The heat of your reunion, the entanglement of your bodies, had you frenzied against one another and breathing hard. Somehow he, glistening, looked even hotter than before. His tattoos on full display stuck out even more and you whined, moving to help him move deeper into you.

“Say my name.” His voice was barely a whisper but there was an edge to it. One that screamed to not be defied. Because he needed to hear his name from your mouth while you were under him and moaning for him again. Needed to feel like you had come back to him entirely. His hand was kneading your boob, still glistening from his spit. He loved the way he could do whatever he wanted to you. That you were letting him. Hope blossomed in him uncontrollably.

He stopped his thrusts for just a second before going back to slamming his hips into yours into an unrelenting vigor. And you were sure he did it on purpose to hear how broken and weak your voice sounded when you spoke his name. It ended up being a scream with much more added syllables to his name than necessary.

“That’s right…moan for daddy.” He smirked.

Your cheeks were dusted pink but it wasn’t embarrassment. It was the look of complete submissiveness that Michael loved to see. His hips stuttered at the sight of you. Blushing and ruined.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath. “Such a good girl.”

You shouldn’t feel so happy at his praise, especially after everything. But your heart soared regardless. Because at the end, you still yearned for him and that included pleasing him.

“Look at how perfectly you fit with me.” You felt his hand in your hair, pulling it harshly to pull your gaze onto his cock thrusting into you. Your mouth fell open and you could only moan at the sight. The way you were spread open, the way his cock was glistening from your wetness each time he pulled back. His pace seemed to have quickened impossibly so as you watched. “You were made for me.”

You were gasping, your head tilted back again, a particularly loud moan leaving you as he hit just the right spot inside of you once again. You were unashamed at the noises you were making for him. You didn’t care if it made you seem weak, desperate. You were being pleased like you hadn’t been in months, in a way you had once been accustomed to being pleased, a way only Michael could do to you, and your body was helpless but to respond to it. Only he stretched you out so completely, filled you out perfectly as if he were your missing piece. Your body only responded to him. He was right, your body was made for him. You were made for him.

When he hit that spot again, you came around him almost instantly. It was a shattering orgasm, one that rocked your body until you felt it at the very tips of your being. You finally reached a release, in a violent shake, that has been evading you nearly since the time you broke up, one you couldn’t quite reach by yourself. The one only he had ever been able to give you because he had been right at the party, your fingers weren’t enough. Not when you had already gotten a taste of him and what he could give you.

And this was it. This was exactly why you had given into him tonight and you didn’t regret it one bit. Your body pulsed. Your second orgasm of the night and as he kept thrusting through your release, never slowing down, you felt your third just a few moments later. You were whining against him at the overstimulation but he held on to your weakening figure.

“Where…” He grunted at the feeling of you clenching around him, your juices painting both of your thighs messily. The feeling of you breaking down under him, the feeling of your walls tightening around him impossibly and your cum around him was too much. “Where can I cum?”

He hadn’t said that to you in years. It brought you back tearfully to your first time together. How had things gotten so wrong?

“Cum in me.” You didn’t hesitate to answer. You hadn’t stopped taking the pill, mostly out of habit. Maybe you should have, not giving him the chance you knew he desperately wanted, to claim you completely again. To cum inside you, taint your walls with his cum and watch with possessive fervor as it trickled out of you once he pulled out. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care, you wanted it just as badly as he did. You wanted to feel his cum in you, get the feel of him entirely which you had been missing for so long, feel as if he was still yours just for a while. It was one of his favorite things in the world. Even more so knowing he was the only one to have done that to you, to leave you in that glistening, weak, submissive mess. To fill you up.

It was what he had been wanting you to say, needing to hear from your mouth.  He didn’t know if you were still on the pill. Frankly, he wouldn’t have cared either way. He’d be more than happy with filling you up even with the likelihood of getting you pregnant, maybe even more so. If you wanted that.

You weren’t surprised much at the deep, pleased groan that erupted from deep in his throat. He leaned down, careful not to crush your little body under him, and buried his face in your dark hair. “God, I love you so much.” His elated, adoring voice was raspy at your ear.

He came as he said it and you moaned lowly at the feeling as you milked him completely until he finally pulled out of you. And the feeling of emptiness you felt without him inside of you had you whimpering.

Michael pulled out slowly, regretfully almost. He would stay inside of you longer if he thought he still had that right. But he didn’t so instead he tried to be satisfied with just watching the way his cum oozed out of you, covering your inner thighs and cunt so beautifully he almost felt himself wanting to get hard again. His cum inside of you, it made him feel like you were his again. As if he had ever stopped considering you his.

You didn’t answer him. Even if your heart flopped at his words, his tone. You still loved him, you couldn’t deny it. Especially after all this. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not when thinking to all he had put you through, what he had done to you. It wasn’t fair that he could say it so freely while you had tears in your eyes just thinking how you used to trust him, love him and where that had gotten you. Hurt, betrayed and alone.

It was bittersweet when he cleaned you up and laid down beside you. His hands were gentle on your skin, as if you would break. Despite everything, you felt your heart warm at the knowledge that you were the only girl he cared enough for to treat so sweetly. The only girl he had enough regard for.

When you felt his lips at your cheeks, you shot up. This wasn’t what you came for. You came for the closure the party hadn’t been able to give you, to cross off that final vice he had left you with.  Not to forgive him or pretend like what he had done never happened. You tried to ignore the ache in your legs. “I should go.” Your tone was wavering.

You didn’t regret what you had just done. It was amazing and being so close to the man you loved made you feel alive again. But you shouldn’t have done it. It had just made everything messy. All the progress you’d made without him, the closure you had wanted so badly was even further from your grip because now all you wanted was to stay in his arms and love him freely. You cursed your weakness. You should have walked away at that party. But instead you had ended up in his bed. Now, you felt like another one of his quick conquests at the end of each party. When, once upon a time, you had been so much more. Or at least that’s what you believed. You weren’t sure anymore.

“What? No, stay.” His hand caught your arm as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. His tone was panicked. You couldn’t leave. He couldn’t watch you leave his life again, this time, likely forever. Not after he finally got to have you again.

You swallowed through the knot at your throat. But still you stood up and threw your clothes on messily. “You don’t like it when your one night stands stay over.”

Your words were mean and you didn’t mean to sound so bitter when you said it. But you had gone years being okay with his past just for it to have been the exact thing that had come back to destroy your relationship.

Michael’s eyes widened and you saw him rear back in surprise. “That’s not - this isn’t…You’re not a one night stand.”

How you could compare yourself to those other girls was lost on him. He didn’t want to believe that he had really ruined everything so much that you couldn’t see your value in his life, how much he loved you. You were his everything, his heart, his home, his life. Tonight felt like his world was finally coming back together. So much more than one night.

“But I am. That’s what this was Michael.” You said, suddenly angry. “Because we’re not together and this was just something to help me finally get over you. It won’t happen again.”

He put on his pants in a hurry, following you quickly when you walked through the doorway of his room. His limbs felt cold from the anxious feeling numbing his body. He was going to lose you again and he might just go crazy if he did. It was hard for him to breathe.

He caught you right at the corridor leading to the door. The same one you had been making out in at the beginning of the night. You stayed in place but your eyes looked in pain.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I don’t go to parties anymore. I haven’t been to one since we…broke up.” He hated saying it out loud. “They never really mattered to me anyway, I always rathered a night in with you over them. I only went tonight because Ashton told me you’d be there. There’s been no other girls. No one could replace you. I-I stopped drinking too because that’s the shit that lead me to fucking up. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise, I love you too much to even want to. But I promise you, I don’t forget you or cheat on you the minute you’re not around like you think. You’re it for me, once I met you, I stopped sleeping around. I stopped everything because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It never happened before and it won’t happen again. I just hadn’t gotten that drunk in so long and I really thought you were…”

He took a deep breath, stopping to gather his thoughts. He needed to say everything right. It all came out in a rush because he felt as if he didn’t get it all out, everything would unravel. This was his last chance. You’d never heard him sound so worked up. The great Michael, the one the entire campus feared, was coming undone in front of you.

“I regret it. I’ve never fucking regretted anything more. I wish I could go back and stop everything so that you would still be with me and we’d be happy together, like we were meant to. I thought it was you. I couldn’t even fucking see straight enough to know it wasn’t. I’ve never even thought of other girls because you make me feel more than happy and pleased. I know you’ve always been insecure about that but you don’t have to be, no one else has ever made me feel so good. I don’t need or want anyone else, never did. As soon as I found out what I did I kicked her out, I haven’t seen her since. You have to believe me. I’ve been shit without you. I’m angry all the time, I feel alone without you. I need you.”

You weren’t sure what to think of his words. Whether or not you believed him. You wanted to. So badly. You saw firsthand just how badly he had treated himself since the breakup. He didn’t look like he slept much, he isolated himself and he had taken to smoking and fighting so much, you worried for his health. He no longer went to class, he stopped caring a lot about bettering himself or keeping his temper in check. You had heard rumors that he stopped partying but you never thought it was because of you.

He repeated the same story; he was drunk, he wouldn’t have cheated on you if he was in his right mind. The thought was only a bit comforting. Because it meant that his mistake had nothing to do with you or how much you did or didn’t please him, how pretty you were. You hadn’t been wrong about him all along. He did love you and he did regret it. More than you could imagine. None of your relationship had been a lie. He wasn’t that cheating player you had convinced yourself he was. He wanted his girlfriend back. He missed you, he wanted to live his life with you.

You missed him. The laughs, the love, the safety, the warm feeling in your belly every time he was with you.

But you didn’t want to be with someone that you couldn’t trust anymore.

Somehow though, the thought that he had given up everything he was known for because it was something that hurt you, that took away his relationship that he cherished so much, made you long to wrap your arms around him. Even more so because he hadn’t continued his wild behavior with girls when he could have, his heart and thoughts still remained on you. If he had stopped drinking and partying for you, you could believe everything would be different, be the way it had always been before. That it wouldn’t happen again. At least now you were sure that you still knew him enough, knew how much he loved you, to know that. He loved you.

You felt the wavering of your heart as you stared at him. It was impossible not to be reminded of the good times or to feel yourself yearn for him. His words filled in the puzzle pieces you had been missing, the ones you had filled in for yourself in the worst possible way and had brought you a final piece that showed you the Michael you had known from the beginning, not the evil one you had conjured up in your head. One you could almost forgive.

But that didn’t stop the pain you had been through. It didn’t erase the memory of walking in on him.

“That doesn’t take away what you did, Michael.”

“Stop calling me that!” His voice rose and you cringed back. Your reaction was the only thing that had him softening his tone. He didn’t want to scare you, that was the last thing he wanted. “Mikey. You call me Mikey…I’m Mikey to you.”

His voice sounded so broken, so sad that you felt tears spring up to your own eyes. You wished you could put everything aside and hug him, allow him back into your heart easily and go back to how happy, secure, not alone you had been before everything blew up. But you shouldn’t feel bad when you were the one he had wronged. So you stayed in place.

“You cheated on me. I walked in on you getting dressed while she sat there on your couch! I still think about it every day.” You were crying, tears running freely down your cheeks. The satisfaction you had from your night together was wearing off. “How could you do that to me? I loved you, I trusted you. I was planning to have a future with you. You hurt me.”

Michael took hold of your arms and you let him. “I only found out what happened when I woke up, you walked in before I could even figure everything out. You never should have seen that. I looked everywhere for you after. I tried talking to you, fuck, I would do anything to even just get a glance at you going to class. Anything to just see you again.” He moved closer to you, holding you against him and willing your eyes to his light ones, glistening just a bit with unshed tears. His knees were bent, lowering himself to your height. “It will never happen again.”

When you didn’t answer, when you looked away from him and eyed the door, he grew desperate. He had to bring you back to him. “Tell me what you want and I’ll do it. Do you want me to get the shit beat out of me? I’ll find the biggest guy on campus and let him pummel me. I know I deserve it. Do you want me to go on my knees? I’ll do it. Just please, don’t leave me.”

His voice cracked at the sheer vulnerability of his voice. The sadness, regret and begging seeped in his words so intricately you wondered how you could have the strength to continue fighting him and his love. Because the truth was, even now, you had him wrapped around your finger. He would do anything you asked.

“I want for it not to have happened!” You did anyway. You snatched your arms away from him and took a step backward.

Michael flinched. He actually flinched at your words because it was the one thing he couldn’t give you, no matter how much he wished he could.

“How would you feel?” You asked, “What would you do if it were you in my shoes. If you walked into my apartment and saw a guy getting dressed while I lay there naked next to him?”

Whether he regretted it, understood how wrong it was, whether he even still loved you and did it by accident was irrelevant. He had to understand why, despite your love for him, you couldn’t forgive him so easily. What exactly he was asking you to forget and let go of when he asked you to take him back.

And that’s exactly what your question did. You saw it in the way his eyes darkened and his shoulders stiffened. Just like with Luke, the thought of you with anyone else, worst that he should be there to see the remnants, had him shaking. The anger that had been swirling inside of him since the moment you left seemed to multiply to a level he didn’t know it could get. He didn’t want to imagine the anger, pain, hurt, betrayal that he would feel. To know the woman he loved more than anything else in the world had gone to someone else, let him have something, experience you and your responsive submissiveness and innocence, that was only meant to be between the two of you. He couldn’t imagine the way his body would completely shut down the moment he opened the door and saw. His body went cold at the thought.

But it was what you experienced. And he felt his heart break all over again at what he put you through. Again, he felt the flash of resentment at himself. How selfish he was to be there, demanding you back as if he had any legs to stand on.

“I’d kill him.” It was almost scary, the sincerity in his voice and the dark angry look in his eyes at just the thought. He was so different like that than he was with you. Than the boy currently desperately begging for you. Why had he let himself slip? You could have been so happy right then if that night never happened, if he hadn’t gotten drunk, if he hadn’t gone to the party.

Your resilience was breaking. The happiness you had felt with him was all that was running through your mind. He finally understood you, at least as much as he could. You had convinced yourself he was a lying cheater but as he told you everything, poured out his feelings and regrets, made the changes necessary while still yearning for you even while being ‘free’ and single, you couldn’t help but rewrite what you had classified him as. You were tired of fighting him. You wanted to walk into his arms again and work to move forward, see him fight for you.

“I kissed Justin.” You didn’t know why you said it. Maybe it was to hurt him, one final attempt to fight against what every fiber of your being was screaming at you to do: take the leap of faith, give him another chance, go back to him, be happy and loved again in the way you had only experienced with him. If it was, then your words definitely hit the mark.

Michael felt his throat close up and dry out. Those three little words made his world feel like it was caving in. The room was spinning. So he hadn’t been just jealous at the party, there had been something in the air between you two. Justin had been given a little taste of you, a taste Michael had given him access to. A taste he never should have had. Michael wasn’t the only man who had felt your lips anymore. There would always be Justin, the boy that seemed to be the perfect fit for you. The one Michael knew would probably be better for you.

“When?” He was breathless. A deep pain ran along his chest. He should have driven Justin away once and for all when he had the chance. Instead, he drove you to him.

“After I caught you.” You whispered back. “It was just once.”

You had meant to make him feel bad but at seeing him look so defeated, so utterly sad at your words, you wanted to cushion the blow. You still loved him too much to hurt him, even if he hadn’t given you the same consideration.

It didn’t work. But, you watched in wonder as, instead of blowing up, getting angry and going after Justin, he just hung his head. He looked repentant, guilty, self-accusing. You saw a tear rolling down his cheek. He was crying. You’d never seen your ex cry, never thought he would even be capable of it when he was so strong and so defiant. It almost looked wrong on him, when his body art screamed ‘scary’, ‘obscene’, ‘aggressive’ to have him look so powerless, so defenseless, exposed. But the knowledge of what you had suffered, what he had done, how much he finally understood your side of it had him being vulnerable to you.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured softly. Because it was his fault. He knew it. He drove you to drink, to kiss Justin, to everything that wasn’t who you were, to self destruction. Because he had destroyed your trust, your happiness. He ended up bringing you down just like everyone warned. And he would blame himself for it everyday.

He was mad, of course he was. His temper was flaring and he had his fists clenched tightly at his sides, shaking just slightly to know that your soft lips, your pure smile after a kiss, had been experienced by someone else. If he felt as if he had the right to, he’d go back to the party and show Justin just how much that kiss didn’t matter because you were still his and he’d never get that chance again. But maybe, despite his efforts, despite tonight, he really had lost that right.

It was that vulnerability, that putting aside of his pride, his temper and anger because he put first your feelings, your hurt, that had your knees feeling weak, your heart and mind finally connecting again to the possibility of going back to him. He had hurt you, didn’t consider your feelings when he did, but it was becoming apparent that it wasn’t from lack of caring or love for you. Because when he was himself, when he could think straight, you were the only thing in his mind. The only thing he cared about, and the only person he was willing to submit his being and heart to. Even in the face of the one thing that hurt him most.

The large, scary, cold, and sometimes cruel, man in front of you would go to his knees and accept anything for you. This man wanted a future with you, wanted to have a family with you, love you ’til death do you part, he always had. He had never stopped. And he always will.

Your hand reached out and cupped his cheek hesitantly. You were shaking when you did. Michael leaned into your touch as soon as he felt it, his eyes fluttering closed and you felt your heart constrict even more. Right then, he seemed so harmless. He wasn’t a violent man, he wasn’t a cheater. You weren’t sure if it was at the sight of him or the pain that you still felt, probably would always feel at least a bit.

But you didn’t doubt Michael would fight for you, work to make that pain go away as intensely as if he felt it himself. He would work to show you his love, his complete devotion to you. He’d take the pain for himself if he could, he would shield you from any memories, any whispers, any doubts, any insecurities that you ever might have had. He resented everything he had done already so much more than you could ever imagine, he’d never add to it. Because he was so sure you were it for him, that he’d never do anything to hurt you or pull you away from him again. He loved you too much, he’d never want to cheat, never want to do anything that wasn’t to worship you entirely. He adored you.

“It’s going to take me some time to be completely okay.” It wouldn’t be an easy road, the sting of betrayal will be a shadow following you for a long time. But you were willing to take the time, the effort, the risk of future pain. Because, staring at the man who stood in front of you, the one who resembled the man you fell in love with, you didn’t think you would have a problem. He loved you, he was patient, kind, with you. He’d do anything to keep you at his side, the girl who loved him despite his flaws. He would protect you, now knowing what he’d lost already, he wouldn’t hurt you again. He wouldn’t let anything hurt you again.

What he had done was a choice he would still have to be confronted with, still pay for, but it was one he could learn from, one he would cast aside and never experience again because he wouldn’t let himself ruin his relationship again. He was devoted completely to you, had never stopped. Even still, even this heart broken version of him.

Michael’s eyes snapped open at your words. His eyes were swirling with impossible hope, his mouth open in surprise. He was too afraid to ask but he had to anyway, had to make sure he wasn’t hearing things. “Does that mean-”

“Just one more chance. One more and if it happens again, Michael, I swear I’m gone. For good.” It wouldn’t be the same either, for a while at least. He would have to keep fighting for you. But he’d at least have that opportunity.

It was a strict condition. But one you wouldn’t have to worry about. Because while you knew Michael regretted his actions, you’d never really know just how much that regret ran. Enough that, if you had even a hint, you’d know just how much of a mistake that girl, that night was. One he never wanted to even think of again, let alone repeat. He wouldn’t even dream of it when he had you and no one else could compare to how you made him feel, both in and out of the bedroom. No one could feel as good, respond as well, make him so happy, loved and as if he finally had a home.

“It won’t. Never again.” You could barely hear what he said before he wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly. He held you like his life depended on it, like this would turn out just to be a dream if he let you go.

Maybe you were making a mistake. But as you closed your eyes and breathed in his scent, allowed yourself to relish the feeling of being in his arms, you didn’t think so. You’d missed him so much, and right then you felt the warmth, adoration and complete safety you always felt with him. You finally felt calm and happy again at the prospect of a future with him at your side again, not on edge completely and sad all the time. You didn’t feel apprehension of what you had just done, at forgiving him.

You felt hope. Hope that things could be different, that you could go back to the relationship and man that had given you so much, including a feeling of home, belonging and love. And this time learning without the shadow of the past behind you because you’d eventually move past it, he’d show you only your present and future. He’d make you finally understand that despite his past and his awful mistake, you’d never have to compare yourself to other girls. Because your experience with him was unique and no one else would see or feel the mean, violent, tattooed boy in front of you the same way you would.

“I love you so much.” He murmured again and you could hear the pure emotion through his voice. The gratitude. The awe. You were so forgiving, such a good person. And he still didn’t deserve you.

This time you took a deep breath before conceding what you had tried to keep hidden for all these past months, even from yourself. To no avail because it had never wavered, never withered. Just hurt the more and more you tried to cast it aside.

“I love you, too.”

You felt the sigh of relief pull through his body and when he pulled away from you, it was just enough for him to place his forehead against yours. His eyes were still closed as if he was trying to ingrain this in his memory, the feeling of your merciful forgiveness, your body against his against, your love back on him. He would never let this go again, he’d never take it for granted (he never did).

“But no more drinking so much.” You said, half joking, as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. Michael wanted to cry out at the feeling he thought he would never get to experience again. He had more time with you, more chances to have you in his arms, be vulnerable, be happy without the cloud of anger swirling in his heart because he could never be angry with you around.

His laugh was good natured, one he had lost for a bit without you. His eyes and smile brighter than they had been for a while. He looked alive, happy. The way he’d only ever been with you. Your eyes were still strained with hurt, but you were sure your expression matched. His face buried itself in the crook of your neck, shielded by your dark hair.

“I promise.” And you’d have to learn to finally trust his word again. But you could, especially when he would prove his loyalty, his love like never before. He’d work for your trust back and he was willing to do anything to do so just like you were willing to let him. “I’ll prove to you that you never have anything to worry about ever again, that you can trust me. You’re the love of my life, princess. I’ll never let you go again. I want a life with you, forever.”

When his lips found yours in a slow, loving kiss, you let his hands cup your face, one in your hair. And you kissed back. It was a kiss that translated his disbelief of having you back, his repentance and his adoration of you that transcended everything else in his life. He picked your small frame up, holding you so he could reach you and kiss you as deeply, hold you as closely, as he wanted to. You weren’t looking at him like he was a bad guy anymore. You looked so cute and happy with that big smile he had missed so badly, held up by his arms, your white dress hanging off of you loosely and contrasted starkly against the black tattoos lining his arms. He was the luckiest man in the world.

The very thing he now held a deep resentment for was what had brought you back to him. If you hadn’t gone to the party, if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be his girlfriend again. And while he was determined never to look back at them, he couldn’t help but thank the heavens that you were back to him, back in his arms. Everything felt just as it was meant to be.

It was still there. The overwhelming chemistry between you. The click that sounded whenever you two were together because you were just so right together. You were soulmates.

You would be alright.

♔

the end.

♔

thank you to everyone who has read and followed this series! i loved it so much and bringing the story out of my mind and to life has been so exciting. i can’t say how happy it makes me that you have read it, liked it, shared it, and even talked to me about it. i appreciate you all so much.

i loved their little world and following their relationship & dynamic so much and leaving it makes me so sad.

hopefully we can see more of it in the future (am i hinting at an ash story…..maybe)

[strangerobin]

Rue: Chapter 1 (A Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

Summary:

Just know that, in another life where I was free of lies and deceit, I would move heaven and earth just to stay alongside you. To spend a lifetime with you. Body and soul.

Or

A chance encounter reunites two lost lovers centuries after their devastating break up. One hardened by life and providence, has forgotten what it is to love and be loved; while the other though hurt by love, has lost neither hope nor heart. When the two worlds collide once again, will it be disaster waiting to happen, or the brink of a new horizon?

Or

Stolen away just nights before their wedding, Jasper had mourned the loss of his lover, Adeline, for centuries. Until a similar face showed up one day out of the blue, just as beautiful and just as youthful.

But you know that I could never stay.

No amount of love or the ring you put on my finger will ever change that.

Save it. Save it for another that will be dearest to your heart, someone who could love you equally, unconditionally, honestly.

For I am underserving. I have much in my life that I wish I could explain to you. Yet this back has been carrying far more that it was made to shoulder already. And I cannot possibly burden you with anymore than you deserve.

So I will go. I will not shackle you to a life of secrets and miseries. Nor will I bind you to eternal gloom and slaughter your happiness, take your sun and hide your moon.

Just know that, in another life where I was free of lies and deceit, I would move heaven and earth just to stay alongside you.

To spend a lifetime with you.

Body and soul.

He took a deep shuddering breath, trying in futile to calm the anguish that was threatening to leak out of his body.

For a moment, he thought his dead heart was ready to burst anytime. But of course his heart had long since ceased its beating, and It had only left with him an equally terrible sense of emptiness.

Why had he decided to go over this again? To rip open scars that were long buried. Old memories that he should long have concealed, lost somewhere in the ocean of his long pitiful existence. He thought he’d be over this by now, after the millionth time. But clearly some things never truly die away.

With care he produced from a small velvet pouch-

A single diamond ring.

It glittered under the moon, splaying the light of a million rainbow everywhere it touched.

Just like how her eyes had shone that day.

When he got down on one knee and proposed to her.

Her mouth agape, lips quivering, staring at him in shock and disbelief. His stomach had churned then when she had simply stood there, dumbfounded; worried that he had taken a wrong move, that she did not love him enough to want to be tied down with him. That perhaps he was still too young, too poor to offer her the life that she deserved.

But then a single tear had dropped from her eyes.

And it was followed by another, and another.

He was thrown in a panic by then, unsure of the mistake he had committed but ready to make any amend just to stop the onslaught of her tears.

Except she had then tackled him to the ground, laughing amidst her tears. Murmuring into his ears, the answer that had only mattered to him.

Yes, yes, yes.

She had kissed him so ferociously that day, stealing his breath away as if she herself would be stolen away the next moment.

A thousand times yes.

And stolen she was indeed.

Left alone in the cold morning light, sheets crumpled from the night they had shared, her scent still lingering in the air. His heart had froze, left with only an emptiness that would rage within him for the next two centuries.

She had only left with him a note and her wedding ring.

Hers. Not his; because he could not tolerate the thought of it being anything else.

And an everlasting memory that would haunt him for the rest of eternity. An aching want and need, a desire left unsaid in the dead of the night.

In those terrible formative years, when he had just been turned, night after nights he would imagine the ghost of a lip, tracing up his spine. Warm breaths at his neck; the touch of a hand, cupping his face gently, as if he were made of glass. Sweet-nothings whispered, empty promises of a life that could have been, might have been. Except none of them were real and every one of which only a figment of his imagination and memory.

Some night he would go on a killing spree, desperate to escape from memories of her that had long since turned into a never-ending nightmare, his raging storm of emotions.

A century and a half later, there were still nights like these, nights where he would meticulously finger the exquisite cravings over her engagement ring. Her name a silent mantra, a prayer from his mouth to the gods he had once worshipped and forsaken.

The pain had dampen over the years but the scars had remained. And the memories still fresh. New companionship may have eased him out of his shell of sorrow. But while he may hold another in his arms now, how could he love anyone in half? When he had long since given away half of his soul to the one who had claimed as hers on that fateful day.

But that was another story for another day.

And his pitiful being could not bear the grief all at once on any given nights; it was alright to remember in portions and halves. That way he would not lose his mind to the remembrance of her then. The one he had lost but must continue to solider on without.

“Oh Adeline.”

“My sweet Adeline, why must you torture me so?”

*

On the run.

It seemed she was always on the run these days.

No permanent roof ever above her head; even the feeling of a soft pillow and a down quilt seemed foreign to her now. She was more familiar with green moss beneath her head and the stars as her canopy; clothes she snagged from stores, and meals of little preys here and there now. She was always careful not to leave a trace.

Stopping over at the riverbed to cleanse her dusty face; she mulled over her circumstances.

Family they- he, her father had called her.

And yet it was also him who made her life a living hell.

Always asking, always demanding for a hand, a chore to be done, her duties to him as her father, mentor, creator. And when she could not tolerate his iron fist of a control, she did the only thing she was good at.

She ran.

Companionship. Father had told her once. No one can live for long without companionship.

She would’ve proved him wrong then. Scoffed at him. Told him that creatures like them did not deserve anything but misery, and least of all a hint of humanity. Only humans crave company; they had sinned far too much to be deserving of any.

How much blood must be spilled, to satisfy his want for his so called companionships?

But even at times, she had been tempted. A short stay in a town, a job, an education, a short fling. Mindless chatters, a warm embrace to fall asleep to at night. Anything to make herself forget just for awhile how different she was, how she could never blend in with anyone. How over the years she had lost so much, she thought she might as well have lost her heart.

Except her strange family. Whom she completely despised. Mostly.

Ah how she missed those good old days. That one summer when everything was golden and life was simple; the scorching Texan sun, the swaying wheat fields, the straw thatch cottage and its warm hearth and Hettie’s hearty soups, Ralph’s incessant chatter. And those gentle brown eyes and that mop of flaxen hair, shining like golden peat in the summer sun-

She would not let her mind wander there now.

Lock the doors and throw away the key.

She needed to stay vigilant. Her family were not the only ones she was running from. There were more dangerous and mysterious beings out there, ones she did not dare cross. Every little shift in the air, whiff of smell was a signal to her instinct. Even a falling leave could be a sign of the things to come. And right now they were telling her to head north, pass the borders, and into the Canada. There would be ample food and her family would not think to look for her there. In time, she might be able to join a small community, live a life for a little while before moving on to the next.

Keep inland, you’ll be safe. Her instinct whispered.

But she wanted to see the ocean. And the Pacific Northwest coast was a marvel. She knew of a coven near the peninsula; but surely if she stayed to herself, she should be able to cross into Vancouver without a hitch?

Keep inland.

Keep inland.

Keep inland.

Her instinct only whispered on.

It was the scent she came across first.

The sweet invigorating smell of vanilla and washed linen, that of a babe’s. She froze unnaturally amidst her stroll; this was not the scent of a human, it was… it reminded her of her siblings. Of her kind.

Turnawayturnawayturnaway-

But curiosity got the better of her.

Surely, just surely, a glimpse would not hurt. There shouldn’t be any out there like her. None of the old kinds had the knowledge of… Father had confirmed of this. Or was he mistaken?

And as she tracked the child’s scent; she came into a large clearing of blooming heathers, yet not even the overwhelming floral scent could overpower the child’s scent.

There in the gleaming sun was a child of twelve or thirteen, bronze curls flowing in the air as she twirled around in peals of laughter. Her porcelain skin illuminated; and her heart was thrumming like a little hummingbird.

‘It cannot be.’ She whispered to herself in a daze.

Gasping, the child turned towards her at once, clearly finally discovering that she was alone no more. Initially agitated, the child was quick to drop her caution when she noted how the stranger was still in a trance, staring agape at her. Nor did she miss the equally alluring scent of the intruder, her soft glowing skin and the quick humming of her heart.

Timidly, the child shuffled towards her eyeing her with curiosity. Until the two were face to face each other, apprising the other.

“Are you perhaps…” Like me? Was the unvoiced question.

“Dear God, Child.” She finally found the strength within to muster a few shaky breaths of words, disbelief evidently dominating her countenance. “How is this possible?”

With shaking hands she cupped the child’s cheeks, tenderly stroking the smoothness of her cheeks and soaking up the warmth.

“What of your maker?” She swallowed thickly. “Is he treating you well, Child?”

“Do you mean my Mum and Dad, Miss?” The child furrowed her pretty brows. “They should be just around I think. If you would like to meet them…”

That broke her out of her trance and she immediately straightened her stance. This was dangerous, she was treading on thin ice. A child like her kind would not be left unguarded, her guardians were nearby and no doubt treasured her greatly, judging from her clean attire and priciness of her garments. Any contact would be deemed a threat. She had already overstayed her welcome. And she did not want a fight. Sure she was quick and escaping and hiding had always been a forte of hers, but should she engage in battle, there was no telling if she could even gain upper hand long enough for her to run.

“I must go.” She muttered gravely to the child.

“Wait Miss!” The child chirped in a sing-song manner, unaware of the gravity of the situation. “I’m sure Mum and Dad will be delighted to meet you! And grandpa he-“

Shit. Was this the coven Father had mentioned before?

The idea of meeting an entire coven made her stomach churn. She did not quite understand how the child had come to be, nor did she understand how the Volturi would allow such a coven to exist in plain sight. And she did not intend to find out.

“Child. Child!” She hissed, surveying her surrounding in caution now. “Listen, you must take care. There are people out there who will harm you without a thought or a blink. You must be careful, don’t be so trustworthy of any strangers now.”

She looked the child dead in the eye then.

“Not even me.”

“But you didn’t hurt me! I know you wouldn’t! And aren’t we the same?” The child pleaded imploringly.

“No, not even your kind. And certainly not me.” She smoothed the child’s hair gently and tucked them behind her ear. “Trust no one. Not even your makers.”

“That’s just sad then.” The child replied solemnly.

She stood up and straightened her jacket. “Well, it's a sad and pitiful existence that we lead, Child.” She smiled bitterly then and turned to go. “One day you’ll know.”

She was just about to run when she felt a tuck at her sleeves. Turning sharply, she eyed the child in confusion.

“My name’s Renesmee, Miss. What’s yours?”

She grimaced slightly; well so much for telling the child off, she mused.

“Adeline, my name’s Adeline, Child.”

In hindsight, Adeline really should have seen the attack coming. Her instincts had been screaming at her the whole time after all.

But in a moment of distraction, she had heeded her instincts too late. She did manage to subdue the attack at her jugular with a block, but was still hurled halfway across the clearing. Twisting her body, she managed to land in a crouch; eyes trained on her attacker. He was a strong built man- vampire, tall and handsome, the usual package. And she was surprised to find his eyes golden, not that there was much time to marvel at it. His crouching stance indicated that he was ready for battle and he bared his fangs at her, guarding his child protectively

“Stay away from my daughter.” He growled.

Adeline couldn’t help but rolled her eyes. “That, I had every intention of doing.”

“Stop! Dad! Stop!” She could hear the child- Renesmee crying in the distance. But there was no time for that now.

Leftleftleftleftleft-

Turning to her left, she kicked a pouncing werewolf right in the gut, slamming it into a nearby tree. Right. And then threw a punch at the female vampire that was ready to lunge at her right. Down. Blocked another blow. Shoulder. Landed a hit on shoulder of the she-vampire. Duck. Barely escaped from the wolf’s pouncing attack. Roll. And managed to withdraw herself from the fighting two.

With a final glance at the father and child; Adeline focused her mind in concealing herself before darting out of the clearing.

Promising to herself to avoid the Pacific Northwest at all cost from now on. Wary of the rest of the coven she would find there.

Not to mention the wolves.

And that was how Adeline came across the Cullens for the very first time.

[ao3bronte]

when chaos reigns [the sirens come to play]

A Merman AU. (Rated T with some suggestive language.) Now on AO3! READ PROLOGUE - PART 2 HERE!

[Part 3]

Covid-19 forced a lot of people to stay stuck in their homes until they inevitably went mad and uploaded cringe videos of themselves dancing to Blinding Lights on TikTok. But Adrien Agreste, having been unable to leave his underwater ivory tower since the mysterious disappearance of his mother, really doesn’t know any different. 

“Final question. Who was the fifth king of the Sea of Okhotsk?”

Slumped against his seagrass cushion, Adrien sighs into his palm. “The Sea of Okhotsk doesn’t have a king. They have clans and elders.”

“Excellent,” Nathalie Sancoeur responds, wordlessly motioning for him to stop slouching. “I think that concludes political history for this evening. Onto diplomacy—”

“Can you give me a minute?” Adrien tries not to give away his intentions as he glances through a porthole. “I think Father is home and I’d like to greet him.”

Nathalie raises a brow. “He won’t change his mind, you know.”

“Didn't we just talk about erosion?” With a firm flick of his tail, Adrien makes his way towards his usually barred bedroom door. “It works on rocks, so why can’t it work on him?”

“Your father is not a rock, Adrien.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Adrien murmurs under his breath, leaving anyway. He snakes his way through the narrow halls of his palatial home towards Father’s atelier and hopes he doesn’t miss him; he rarely sees Father at all these days...sometimes it feels like Adrien hardly knows him at all.

Especially when he’d announced that Adrien was going to mate with his betrothed, whether he liked it or not!

“Good afternoon, Father.” Adrien straightens and bows his head in greeting, swallowing painfully as his father peers down at him from his pedestal. “I’m thankful that you made it back home safely.”

His father sighs. “If you’re here to argue with me once again—”

“But Father!”

“You are NOT getting out of this arrangement! I already told you!”

“Please, Father. Hear me out—”

“I have no intention of letting you leave this kingdom,” his father rages, slashing his hand through the water with enough force to shake the entire structure around them. “Everything you need is right here where I can keep an eye on you. I will not have you outside in this dangerous world.”

“It's not dangerous, Father. I'm always stuck in here by myself. Why can't I leave our home? Why can’t I explore the Ligurian Kingdom and make friends just like everyone else?”

“Because you’re not like everyone else! You are my son! You are the heir to my—” his father stops himself and pauses to gather his composure, his eyes ablaze with discontent. “Adrien, the kingdom of the Tyrrhenian Sea is relying on me to unite our families. You don’t want to disappoint an entire kingdom, do you?”

Adrien’s shoulders cave. “No.”

“Then don’t continue to disappoint me. Return to your studies immediately and do not trouble me with this matter again.” His father turns and ushers him away with a shoo of his webbed fingers. “Nathalie, where is the sentimonster you promised for the administrator? M. Damoclès has wronged me for the last time.”

“It will be finished this evening,” Nathalie responds, her fingers gently toying with the enamel brooch hanging from her neck. 

“When I hired you as my assistant, you assured me that you could complete tasks on time.”

“I did.” Nathalie flicks her crimson tail in irritation. “And I will continue to serve your interests in a timely fashion. Is there anything else I can do for you at this time, sir?”

The imposing interim leader of the Ligurian Kingdom simply pinches the bridge of his nose. “That is all. Ensure Adrien’s bedroom is secured immediately. And get on land as soon as possible to finish your spellcasting; I didn’t hire a sea witch for her to rest on her laurels.”

“Of course, your Regency.”

~

“You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”

Nathalie tries not to smirk as her sheepish charge continues to wriggle his way through the barred porthole in his bedroom. “That depends entirely on what you plan on doing with your freedom, providing you can get your dorsal fin uncaught.”

“I’m—” Adrien grunts, desperately trying to shimmy his backside through the stone barricade. “—I want to go back to where you took me before!”

Nathalie quirks an eyebrow as he finally manages to free his dorsal fins and slither outside his bedroom relatively unscathed. “Humans are not to be trifled with.” 

“Says the sea witch who can transform into one!”

“My Miraculous doesn’t exactly work underwater.” Nathalie explains, raising a sculpted brow. “I don’t suppose you plan on visiting the grotto?”

Adrien nods in earnest. “The flowers are out and I wanted to see them again! And there aren’t any humans there, so I’ll be fine!”

Flower pollen, of course, is like catnip to merpeople. One whiff of the stuff and it’s Boogie Nights for anyone with a tail and a propensity for caterwauling sea shanties. 

“Be back by nightfall.” Nathalie tells him, having orchestrated this escape since the very beginning. She watches him swim away as fast as his tail will take him none the wiser, and grazes her nails down the curved edges of her Peacock Miraculous, the likes of which holds the immeasurable magic of a mermaid on a mission that will surely bring the Mediterranean to its knees.

[Part 4]

For all of Marinette’s near compulsive need to prepare for things ahead of time, it can be assumed that she is most definitely not prepared to find a merman scooching his body up on shore like a sea lion and shoving his face into an oleander bush. 

And her screams of shock and horror most certainly confirm it.

“Aaaaaauuugh!!!!!” Marinette, having just crawled through a small cavern to a grotto to investigate the golden gleam, falls flat on her face yet again. “Oh my god! Oh my god!”

The merman, equally as frightened, shrieks and rolls backwards as ungainly as one can when you’ve just been caught shoving your face into an oleander bush. She catches a brief glimpse of his face — speckled and smeared with golden pollen — before he promptly flings himself back into the sea.

Marinette is horrified. Astounded. Dumbfounded! Merpeople are impossible to find and even more impossible to survive! And she just—it was right in front of her! Green and gold and—she saw it! With her very own eyeballs! It was there! Huffing flowers! 

For the second time in almost as many minutes, Marinette sits down and stares dumbly at the waves.

Merpeople kill humans for fun...and she just survived! Holy crap!

Marinette keeps one eye on the watery mouth of the grotto and the other on her surroundings. She never would have spotted the grotto had she not performed the act of becoming a human pancake back out on the main beach; the entrance to this cave is so small and so hidden that Marinette wonders if anyone has ever discovered it before. It’s about the size of a lorry and covered in moss and spindly vines that meander up towards the small window of sunlight at the top. The limestone walls are strangely warm here, radiating heat and spurring the growth of the plants that are blooming as if it were summertime. Even the sand is different here; startlingly white with speckles of black and grey, the tiny shoreline creeps down into a cerulean underground cavern alight with bioluminescence.

It’s magnificent, but she’s not safe here. “Are you still there?”

Marinette nearly enters cardiac arrest when a mop of golden hair suddenly pops up from the vibrant depths. He heard her? Can he understand her?

The merman blinks. “Uhhh… I…”

“Are you waiting for me to leave? Because I can leave,” Marinette says, pointing towards the tiny crevice she’d just crawled through, “But then I’d have to take my eyes off of you and then you could drag me into the ocean and drown me and then my grandmother would be looking all over for me and then the police would have to come here and try to find my dead body and my parents, they’re stuck in Paris because of the coronavirus and—”

“—No, no! I was just trying to—” The merman disappears under the water for a moment, only to emerge at the edge of the beach. “—I didn’t mean to scare you! You scared me!”

Marinette screeches and scurries backwards to create some more distance between them. “How do you know how to speak French?!”

“How do you know how to speak Nereid?”

“I asked you first!”

“Well, I don’t speak French. I speak Nereid!”

“What’s that, merman language?”

“Yeah.” The merman cocks his head. “What’s French? Human language?”

“Well, for some humans, yes.” Marinette crosses her arms across her chest and narrows her eyes. “Wait a minute...are you making fun of me?”

The merman flashes his gleaming set of triangular teeth just long enough for Marinette to notice that he has not just one row of razor-sharp teeth in his mouth, but two. “I wouldn’t dream of causing a commocean.”

Marinette’s nose wrinkles at the pun. “Now you really are making fun of me.”

“I mean, maybe.” The merman winks. “It’s kind of fun seeing you turn pink. Is that a human thing too?”

“I’m not turning pink.” Marinette harrumphs, turning her shoulder away from him. “And humans turn pink because...because they’re warm. I’m just warm, that’s all.”

“It’s probably because of your...” The merman gestures to her raincoat and jeans. “Do you need help getting out of them?”

With all of the poise of a particularly erratic squirrel, Marinette simply splutters. “What?!” 

“Well, you must be trapped in them or you would have taken them off already. We get stuck in your human garbage all the time, it’s awful.” The merman opens his mouth and taps against one of his larger teeth with his fingernail. “Here, I can cut them off for you if you want—”

“You’re not coming anywhere near me with those things!” Marinette recoils, scooching towards the oleander bushes on her bottom. “You could rip me apart!”

“I’m not going to kill you!” The merman exclaims with a huff. “Besides, if I was hungry, I’d have eaten you already!”

Marinette’s eyes nearly bulge out of her skull. “You eat people?!”

“Sometimes.” The merman shrugs as if it’s no big deal, “Haven’t you ever had human fingers before? Crunchy, yet satisfying.”

“No! That’s disgusting!”

The merman’s straight face dissolves into laughter at Marinette’s expression of utter horror. “Now, I’m actually making fun of you!”

“Well, it’s not funny!” Marinette grabs a handful of sand and hurls it at him, dusting his face and hair. He continues to giggle at her expense and Marinette has had just about enough of him. “Stop it!”

“Sorry!” The merman grapples to get himself together. “I just wanted to show you that I’m funny, I swear! I've never really been out on my own before and I've never had friends. It's all sort of new to me.���

“Joking about eating people is not how you make friends,” Marinette grumbles, still keeping a wary eye on the merman before her until the implications of his words catch up with her ears. “Wait, you don’t have any friends? How come?”

“Father doesn’t let me out of my home...ever.” The merman rubs the back of his head nervously. “I kind of escaped to come see the flowers, which is how I met you!”

“Is...is that normal for merpeople?” 

“To come see the flowers? Yeah, we love flowers!”

Marinette shakes her head. “No, I meant the ‘being stuck in your house’ thing. Why don’t you...you know, swim around and, uh...talk to people?”

“It doesn’t matter.” The merman waves her off, looking a little uncomfortable before turning his attention back to her. “What does matter is that we can be friends! Would you like to be friends?” The merman shimmies forwards with excitement and thrusts his hand right under her nose. “I’m Adrien! Pleased to make your aquantance.”

Marinette looks at his outstretched hand and hesitates. “You’re not going to pull me into the water and drown me, are you?”

“I’m not a dolphin, you know, I have manners.” Adrien huffs, hoisting himself further up onto the sand bank. “See? Only my tail fins are in the water now, I couldn’t pull you in even if I tried.”

Marinette carefully reaches out and gently clasps his hand, revelling in the strange texture of his skin. He cups his other hand over hers and she mimics the gesture, smiling a little as he squeezes his fingers and then shakes once before letting go. “There. Now we’re friends!”

“I don’t know about that,” Marinette says, still keeping a wary eye on the merman in front of her. He settles back down on his elbows and Marinette’s eyes are drawn to his chest as he brushes the granules of ivory sand from his sides, his muscles clenching at the movement. “You’re a merman and I’m a human. We aren’t supposed to be friends.”

[NEXT PART]

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 29 (NSFW-lite)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read chapter twenty-eight (NSFW)

Title: ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

Words: 5.6k

Summary: I am very uncomfortable with the vibe we have created in the studio Infirmary today...

Warnings: mentions of abuse, suicide

ST Rambles: So... I graduated nursing school. And will be taking my licensure exam next month and start working as well...

In my time away, other than the above mentioned accomplishments, I've been reading a lot of books and even went to see an internet friend just last weekend. Life got insane and I needed to focus on school, and I do appreciate the patience and enthusiasm.

I hope this was worth the wait. I hope the next part will be even more so ;)

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER // @elmidol

Fucking, fuck!

“I know in academy you were told to pierce the skin at a forty-five-degree angle, but it works a lot better if you-,”

“Go in at a fifteen-degree-angle, go parallel to the skin. I know,” you huffed, embarrassment burning your skin. “That’s not the issue. I do that. The issue is-,”

“That is the issue,” Silver corrected, interrupted. Your preceptor-for-all-intents-and-purposes crossed her arms and stared at you with hard, unyielding eyes. “You won’t listen to me,” she spat. “You are the issue.”

Calliope Silvren, or “Silver”, as she’d informed you upon meeting, was everything you were supposed to be. And you hated her for that fact, hated her for that and so much more.

She was intelligent and concise and respected, she knew everything and made sure you were aware that you didn’t. During the past eleven hours, not with so many words, Silver had made it clear that you were never supposed to be here to begin with, that hers was the name in the original provider candidate pool and you were nothing but a fluke, a nobody, nothing.

Compared to Silver, compared to Calliope fucking Silvren, who’d graduated valedictorian, who had star-white hair and golden skin, whose eyes were a harsh sea of frozen cerulean, whose legs were long and lips were full and head was high and posture was perfect – compared to the program’s prototype? What were you other than a fluke? A whim? Compared to her, how were you anything more than the fascination you’d been labeled as from the very start?

As you stared up at her, her height almost that of Kylo’s, and felt the wrath of that frozen sea that resided behind her glare, you couldn’t speak. Every word of defense left you, and your mouth dried and your chest hollowed. Because her words not only rippled through your head but echoed through the unit’s halls so every nurse and physician and maintenance worker had heard them. Heard her and how superior she was, heard how incompetent you were.

Silver knew what she’d done, could feel the eyes of her coworkers gawking at her scolding; you knew by the smallest quirk to her lip, the slightest tick in her platinum brow. She had you trapped and on display, and all you could do was stand here and take it. The Board was watching, and so was Hux – CB-7070 always shadowing ten paces behind – you had no choice but to remain neutral-faced and silent.

She spoke your name and it was beautiful, a voice like sugar even when it slithered and bit like venom, “We’ll pick up tomorrow. If you absolutely need me, I’ll be organizing my report sheets for the oncoming shift.” When no one was looking anymore, her eyes narrowed and she leaned in. “Busy yourself for the next hour.” A sneer slipped past the benevolent mask she wore. “Don’t need me.”

With a steel spine, she whipped past you, stalking off toward her task, the white of her hair streaking from your periphery. And there you were, clutching an IV starter kit – missing the needle, much like you’d missed the vein – trying your hardest to keep from showing any emotion whatsoever. Less people were gawking now that Silver had left, but you still felt eyes on you. Whatever lay in those lingering stares, pity or humor or apathy, it all burned you, reminded you how temporary you were. Not only in this place – the “Infirmary” as the staff referred to it – but in your life, as well.

Smoothing the skirt of your uniform, you cleared your throat and turned to do as you were instructed, catching CB-7070’s visor for a second before peering around the unit. She faced you, and even though you couldn’t see her face, you knew she may be the only one around who was on your side. The white of her helmet glinted as she gave a small nod in your periphery. Yeah, she wasn’t so bad, no matter who she’d report to the second you got back to the Consulate.

The Infirmary was a large unit, and, unlike any place you’d practiced in since graduation, it was efficiently staffed and stocked. Safe nurse-to-patient ratios, sufficient supplies, and an allocated provider available for any emergent orders or treatments. It was a surreal representation of the “hospital utopia” you’d heard of all throughout school.

But, aside from its apparent perfection, some characteristics of the unit confused you, but you didn’t ask about it because no one else seemed to think it was weird, and Silver didn’t exactly foster a great learning environment.

What struck you first was the Infirmary’s construction and layout. It was all glass, floor to ceiling windows that offered full views of each patient in their respective rooms. You’d watched the sun dance across the sky as the day went on, nothing hindering you from the beautiful view of the sea beyond the fanned-out city below. The only thing that offered a semblance of privacy for each patient was the wall-spanning mirror positioned in front of their beds. None of them saw each other, but it was still odd that there seemed to be no concern towards the errant lapse in privacy policy the design created.

At the center was the nurses’ station, large and circular, a skylight fixed right above. The staff used the lack of patient privacy to their advantage, peering above the counter to make sure their assignments were doing alright. Their assignments who were all under the age of twenty. Some much younger, just grasping at adolescence, others kissing young adulthood – those seemed much worse off, something darker rimmed their eyes, ghosted behind the lifeless face all of them wore.

It was a strange environment to be in, even more so due to how vague the progress notes were, history and physicals extremely short and never too in depth, especially when it concerned anything related to the patients’ family history or living situations. Something seemed off, something that tugged at you and made you yearn to break past the flat affect each patient met you with.

So many were here for a few hours and then gone the next, a constant influx of admissions and discharges. But, so strangely, there was never any patient education given, never any parents or guardians for the younger ones to go home to. They were always escorted from the unit by two “official personnel”. And watching their faces as Silver told them they were done with treatment and could leave, it killed you to see the faintest slash of fear quiver their bottom lips.

Beyond that, beyond seeing these younglings so fearful and defenseless, what clawed at your gut the most was that none of them had a name. They had no birthdate information, no address listed, no family contacts entered or even offered. They were all in the system only by the letters “FL” followed by a code of eight numbers. The nurses would refer to them by their room numbers to make it simpler, but none of them shared your concern for the lack of identity these patients were plagued with.

Yes, something seemed off, seemed wrong here. Something waswrong here, but you feared you would be gone before you ever knew what that was.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a tray left on an isolation cart next to a door. Heeding Silver’s command, you approached it, discarding the IV kit and feeling CB-7070’s focus catch your every step. You’d passed this door frequently, never seeing anyone approach it for longer than a few seconds at a time, assuming it was a closet for extra supplies or scanning machines. But the meal card on the tray indicated differently.

This was a patient’s room. The room number matched, there were no other doors labeled with it that you could see. No staff paid you any attention as you peered around. The only one watching was your white-armored shadow standing against a pane of glass.

Shrugging to yourself, feeling you couldn’t possibly get in trouble for delivering a patient’s food, you said over your shoulder to CB-7070, “I’m taking this in. I shouldn’t be long. Don’t follow me in here.” More to yourself, you sighed, “Even if I am the only one here concerned about privacy, I’d prefer not to violate anyone’s rights on my first day.”

CB-7070 nodded. “Affirmative,” her modulator croaked.

A swipe of your new badge gained you access past the door, a whoosh of air whipping through your skirt as it closed behind you. It was pitch dark, the only light coming from a holo-chart programmed into the wall. It appeared you were in an antechamber, those that often came with isolation patients, but there was nothing indicating this patient had any infection or ailment that necessitated a gown or mask.

The air was stale, like nothing and no one had stirred it in a few days, and the only glass visible was that of a window peering into the room beyond – or, it would be peering, were there not closed blinds on the other side of it.

You saw yourself in that darkened pane, clutching the tray to yourself, the first glimpse you caught of your face since the start of shift. Truthfully, you looked awful. Hair frizzed at your temples, a sheen of oil had gathered on your forehead, and exhaustion was evident in the puffy bags beneath your eyes.

But it was an earned appearance, no matter what Silver wanted you and everyone else to believe. Today you did your best and you interpreted and communicated abnormal findings, you assessed every patient without bias and documented everything you did. There were things you were unsure of, not having performed many skills while being assigned to Kylo, but you always asked for help, even though you realized it would be met with disgruntled aggravation after the first few times.

You had done everything right, understanding the consequences if you didn’t. As far as you were concerned, and even as much doubt as she’s caused you in the singular day you’ve known her, Silver was the problem. Not you.

And, not for nothing, the IV you missed earlier… not entirely your fault.

Kylo Ren picked the wrong day to Force-edge you. Or maybe it was you who really initiated the torture, but he’d been the one to follow through with his threat. Every hour had been memorable.

The first three had luckily occurred when you were away from patients but did earn you a few wary glances from the unit staff, your jaw set firm as you gave them a reassuring nod, hoping they couldn’t see how badly you were shaking as your cunt spasmed toward orgasm, but never got there.

There was something vicious in the rate at which he was forcing you toward the edge. Even though you couldn’t see or hear him, you felt like he was tormenting you with spite in mind rather than pleasure, like something you’d said or thought had angered him.

You didn’t have much time to consider that, though, as the hours went on and you’d begged the stars that the slick slipping from your center wouldn’t go past the hem of your dress. A few times you’d cursed the damned uniform, but quickly turned to cursing Kylo Ren for the ever-so-slightly too high hem. It’d surprised you that he never acted on those silent curses aimed at him, that it hadn’t earn you another hour riding the edge of pleasure while choking down the gasps and moans he’d surely intended to draw from you.

During lunch, you’d found a corner and ate alone, speaking to the wall and scorning Kylo under your breath, spitting empty threats, telling him to stop, to slow down. When that hadn’t worked and the Force picked up in pattern and pressure, nudging your clit just right, your hands had clamped around a plastic fork as you held on for dear life. He was nowhere near you and you’d almost cum four times over the course of your twenty-five-minute break. At that point, you’d considered begging him to let you cum, but part of you knew that would only lengthen his schemes.

Other times during shift, when Silver was rolling her eyes when you’d asked for her help, you’d felt the light, teasing lance of the Force trail along your neck. When you were priming tubing for a new admission, you’d felt the strange, unseen presence caress your ear like Kylo’s tongue might. And one hour, right after the previous had left you wondering if you’d be able to stand the next time you needed to – that hour where you’d traded your curses for pleading, traded the harshness you were spitting for the simple, hushed breaths you needed to outlast the never-ending torrent of pleasure he kept surging through you – the Force was kinder, something sentimental in the way it’d weighted your body like Kylo would, draped itself along your shoulders as sweat dried on your brow and the shaking of your legs settled.

A delicate, “Thank you,” had breathed over your lips when the Force – when Kylo’s teasing – seemed it would let up for the remainder of your shift.

But, of course, that peace had been temporary, a strategy to lapse your guard, to make you vulnerable when you’d most needed a clear mind and a steady hand. It had started with the gentle lulls you’d been left with, a stroking tendril swift over the column of your neck, the tourniquet tight to the patient’s arm as you poked their forearm in search of a vein. And when you informed Silver you’d found one, the Force deftly switched its attention to your pussy.

Silver had been scrutinizing you before, but when your shaking hand and short, shallow breaths appeared as fear instead of the pleasure they were born from, her brow had narrowed that much more. When you’d anchored the vein and aligned the needle – at her all-important fifteen-degree angle – your hand had shifted, jumped as your thighs tightened and you fought to trap a moan in your throat. It was an accident that the needle pierced the patient – and, worse, through the vein – at a greater angle, and it wrought you with emotion. Guilt for hurting the patient, shame for screwing up under Silver’s icy appraisal, and unyielding anger for Kylo Ren for causing your fuck up and not being able to explain that.

So here you were, taking the brunt of criticism and punishment for a mistake you wouldn’t have made had it not been for Kylo Ren, and studying your reflection in the scant light offered from the holo-chart of a patient you hadn’t known existed up until three minutes ago.

“Kylo,” you breathed, reaching for the second badge-scanner, “I can’t look bad here. The Board is watching. Hux is watching.” You glimpsed the radar fastened to your wrist, directing your tired eyes at Kylo’s indicator like he could feel your attention on him. “Give me this last hour and let me be good. Let me do well. Let me prove that I can to everyone who believes otherwise.”

A few seconds passed by as you waited for a reaction. Nothing came. The Force remained absent from you, and your shoulders dropped in relief. With a final glance at the chart, noting the patient’s identifier and checking it against the meal ticket, you swiped your badge and the entrance rushed open.

Darkness met you once more, but this darkness was heavier somehow. Not in the way untouched rooms are usually heavy – not with dust or grime – but a heaviness that clutched at your heart. It pressed into you, taunted you even as you remained a step outside the threshold. It was only shadows, unmoving and unremarkable darkness, but it clawed at you. It writhed at your feet and stirred your heart.

This was the darkness that lived behind each of those younglings’ eyes, but here it was concentrated, like this was the very source of it. Like this was its home.

“Hello?” you croaked, still not daring to pass into the shadow-thick room.

No answer, not even a stir. Nothing but that unyielding darkness.

You cleared your throat. “I, um, I have your dinner.” You took a small step forward. “Sorry for the wait… if there was one.”

More of the same. More of nothing.

A light switch entered your periphery with your next step, and you reached for it, but before you could flip it—

“If I wanted it on, do you think I’d be sitting in here like this?”

The voice was weak, small, but not that of a child. Not even that of an ill person, or an elderly one. It was male, though. Boyish, but not a boy’s. Somehow, the voice was young and old at the same time, as if the boy had lived long years already, and those years had worn him down.

The voice was a singular stream against the dark’s thick, silent wrath, and it was hollow, empty like the shadows before you should be. As the question ended, you found that it wasn’t bitterness or pain that lived in its tone, but rather a broken apathy, like whoever this was had cared and fought for so long but had ultimately lost in the end.

“Not that anyone here is really concerned about what I want,” came the voice again, an edge weighting its words.

Finally, you stepped completely into the room. You had to swallow a gasp when the entrance at your back locked shut. The tray jostled in your arms, but you succeeded at remaining upright.

With a sugary tone, you asked, “How will you eat if you can’t see your food?”

A huffed laugh, tired and bitter. “You should work on that nurse voice. Not very convincing.” A long, deep breath filled a few otherwise silent moments. “Send that tray back. Give it to someone who wants it.”

Without your “nurse voice”, you said, “Why did you order it—”

“—I didn’t. I never do. I’m being kept here, why would I want to sustain myself to make my stay that much longer?”

“Kept?” you whispered.

The longer you stood in place, the more your eyes adjusted. The room was still suffocated by the swamp of darkness, but there was some light after all. Scant, but there, a beam of the setting sun speared the room, and from what you had begun to make out of the body in front of you – a small form curled in the center of a bed – you found he was staring out of the broken blinds from which it came, like he was looking at something. Looking forsomething.

“Kept. Held prisoner. Restrained but not restrained because thatwould make this whole operation illegal, right? Whatever way you want to put it, I’ve made it obvious I don’t want to be here.” A long pause and a sad sigh. “Starvation is a better fate than most here, anyway.”

The more he spoke, the clearer it became that his voice wasn’t hollow, but burning with quiet fury. For what, you weren’t sure, but you realized this was the first patient who had spoken all day. And his tone, his words, only solidified the fact that there was something very, very wrong going on.

You walked closer to him, past the foot of his bed until you saw where the small slant of light was focused, what he continued to brokenly fawn over.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, leaning down so you could match your view with his.

He turned his head from the mostly covered window, the creak of light only possible through a bend in the blinds, and he looked at you, a flash of realization spreading through his features before he reined his expression into a void of dull emotion.

He stared at you as you stared at him, appraising you just the same. He was young, but it appeared as though his youth had been leeched from him. Long dark brunette curls framed his face and teased his shoulders, heavy with oil inherent of unkemptness. An immense sadness lived in the downturned state of his mouth, a contrasting anger set in the crease of his brow. And when you finally found his eyes, you restrained a shiver, as the deep hazel burned with that cleave of sun and struck you with the anvil of pain and desperation that lived in them.

He wasn’t alarmed at your proximity but confused. With a shaky voice, and something of a weak sneer biting at his mouth, he said, “You’re a sick, brutal cunt, you know that?”

“What? What do you—”

“What am I looking at? Do not patronize me!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Are you stupid or just cruel?”

“I’m not either, I—”

“You’re both!”

“I’m temporary! I don’t work here! I’ve been here for one shift! I’ve been on this planet for one day!”

Without missing a beat, but less heated and more restrained, the boy said, “Just stupid then.”

He continued to glare at you, but your eyes wandered back to the break in the blinds, and with narrowed eyes you found something that resembled a racing track. It was far out in the distance, but you knew that was what he had been focused on, sure of it by the way his demeanor shifted when you looked back down at him.

“Help me understand, then, if I am so stupid,” you whispered.

“You aren’t any different from the others, no matter if you’re temporary or not. Whatever that means, anyway.” The boy’s jaw set so firm you swore you heard it crack. “You don’t want to understand. If you did, if anyone cared so much, the Infirmary wouldn’t exist.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Help me?” the boy barked. He considered you for a moment, sun and shadow warring across the hollows of his cheeks as he did. Those pained eyes narrowed a fraction. “Who are you? What does temporary mean?”

You leaned away from him, straightening your posture and setting his tray on a counter off to the side. You offered your name, just the first, and dragged an absent-minded finger over the embroidery of your uniform. “Temporary means…”

Perhaps it was his already non-existent trust in you, but you did not think that informing him of the real reason you were here – telling him that your license and life were on the line and you were here so the Board of Physicians would have ease in their decision to end your life or not – would do much to foster his confidence in you, you took a second to frame it in a way that would appeal to him.

Clearing your throat, you kept his stare and said, “Temporary means that I’m here for less than two weeks, and I have no loyalties to any staff here. Temporary means that I do care so much, and I do want to help because temporary also means that I’ve seen some weird shit today, and I don’t understand it.” The boy’s brows raised for a fragmented second, but you knew you’d gained at least a small portion of his respect, so you continued.

With a lowered voice and an unbreakable stare, you said, “Temporary means that I am on your side, and if you let me, if you help me to understand what is going on, I will help you as best as I can.”

The boy shifted, ringing a hand around his opposite wrist, toying with the identification band secured there. He never stopped looking into your eyes, and you knew he was searching for deceit, but the longer he stared, the more he came up short.

You offered him your hand, observing how he flinched away from it, but keeping it extended as he considered it for another few moments.

“I told you who I am. Will you tell me who you are?”

It seemed like the darkness that surrounded you was watching with bated breath, watching in awe as the boy’s gaze remained on your extended hand.

He swallowed, and ever so slowly, with a hesitation that struck through your heart, he lifted his hand and clasped it around yours. The light from the broken blinds coiled around your matched hands, and for the first time today, you felt hopeful. And no matter how dim and breathless it was, a flicker of that same hopefulness played through his eyes.

“I…” the boy hesitated, so you squeezed his hand and offered a reassuring nod. His shoulders relaxed with his next breath. “I am Quynnland. With a ‘Y’.”

“Quynnland,” you parroted, trying it out and letting his hand go. “Do you have any nicknames? Like Quynn? Quynnie?”

“No one calls me Quynnie!” he roared. “Nobody calls me that except…” Quynnland shifted in bed, away from you, turning his face back toward that racing track. His bottom lip quivered, and he appeared as if you’d just lashed him with molten plasma.

“Quynnland,” you soothed, “nobody calls you that except who?”

He remained quiet, but he shuddered, and you saw the light glint off a stream that found its way down the slate of his cheek.

“I want to understand. I want to help you.” You swallowed against your throat, which had become markedly thicker since you last spoke. “Please, help me help you.”

Quynnland’s chin rose, his eyes fell shut, and he balled his hands into tight fists. He wasn’t angry, but in pain, and you knew from the sight of how broken he was that he’d been in pain for a long time now. Perhaps, it seemed, he had never known a day without it.

Just when you were about to speak, Quynnland coughed against a sob and whispered, “They won’t let me see him. He’s there on his own. He’s never been alone for this long.” A tight breath whipped into his chest. “They’re keeping me here so I age out. They’re keeping me away from him.”

“Who is he? What are you aging out of?” The more he offered, the more questions you thought of.

“I almost got us out this time,” he whispered. “I almost saved us both, but they caught me and dragged me away from him. He’s young, but that never stopped them before.” A wheeze of pain slipped from Quynnland’s lips. “They probably broke him just enough so he could still work.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you kept quiet.

After what seemed like an eternity, Quynnland spoke again. “My brother. That’s who gets to call me ‘Quynnie’. That’s who I tried to save, and that’s who is suffering because I failed.” He pushed an aggravated sound from his lungs. “The only way you can help me, is if you help him.”

“How do I do that?” you asked, watching as his fists relaxed at his sides.

Quynnland opened his eyes and bore the full weight of their pain into yours. He took a long breath and squared his jaw. “You get him away from the wardens, and then you get him out.”

“Where is he?” you asked, needing to know what that racing track he kept glancing toward was.

He went to answer, but a rush of motion sounded beyond his door, and just as quickly, the entrance to his room shot open. Quynnland ducked his head and balled his fists, and you turned to see that it was Silver who stood in his doorway. She wore an unfamiliar face, one of shock and terror, and you went to speak, but her hand whipped out and signaled that you would notbe saying a word until you left this room.

She stared at Quynnland a moment longer, surveying him like she’d never seen him before. “Eat your dinner. I won’t have you starving to death under my license, not now that this will be your last stay here.” Silver more so talked at him rather than directly to him, and her tone was hard and full of disgust.

It gave you another reason to hate her.

You wanted to reach out and take Quynnland’s hand, but Silver snapped at you before you could. “You,” she sneered. “Out. Now.”

The ice behind her eyes had seeped to her tongue, and her words froze the very blood in your veins. She watched you as you stepped around her and into the antechamber, and you glanced the final withering, aghast glare she shot at Quynnland as you did.

When you reached toward the door that opened to the hall, Silver caught your wrist just before your badge met it. She was eerily silent for a moment, and you swore she was practically shaking with rage, but then she settled herself and stared down at you with such concentrated antagonization that it knocked the breath right from your lungs.

“What made you think you could go into this room? I never went near this room with you today. Why would you be allowed to enter it alone?” She was seething, but she hid it behind something of a gnarled smile.

“There was a tray just sitting outside, unattended to. I figured I would find something to do and deliver it to the patient. No harm done.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes on you. “Are you aware what this patient is here for?” she asked sweetly, but it came off as clear condescension.

Silver waited for you to answer, but you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction she wanted from humiliating you again. So you remained silent, and she sneered at you. “Exactly what I thought. So why would you interact with a patient you know nothing about? And did the double security not tip you off that you were somewhere you shouldn’t be?”

“Look, Silver,” you huffed, enjoying the disgust that smeared across her features as you said her name, “I saw a tray. I had nothing better to do. My badge had access to the room. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

She cast you an undying glare, and her eye twitched when she gave you a once-over. “This patient willfully tried to kill himself and his brother last week. Did he tell you that?”

Your heart blackened, and your ears rang with silence as she let her words sink in.

Silver was pleased with your shocked silence. She went on. “Oh, and did he tell you just how many times he’s tried to do this exact thing in the past?” You remained wordless, feeling betrayed for reasons you couldn’t understand. “No? Not even a guess? Well, he’s a unit regular, if that gives any indication.”

She waited again and was once more elated to be met with silence. “It’s the same story every time. The wardens say he takes his kid brother to the shore and plans on swimming out to the Falls and either drowning to death or dying from impact.”

You swallowed in vain, mouth drier than sand. A part of your knew you didn’t want the answer, but you still asked, “How old… how old is his brother?”

A sick, deathly smile creaked across her perfect face. “Of course, we don’t know exactly, but previous scans estimate that he’s no older than seven.”

Seven. A child. Quynnland had tried to kill his brother… had tried to kill himself and his kid brother…

“Next time, don’t poke around business you don’t understand,” Silver cut your panic short, her frigid tone icing your skin with gooseflesh. “Your shift is up.”

She shoved your shoulder on her way past, but before she could activate the door the room filled with bright red light, and a shrill alarm screamed through the ruby darkness.

It was your watch.

Endless, screeching notes sounded from your wrist. Your stomach dropped, and you couldn’t think for a moment, completely thrown back to that last hour on Starkiller Base.

Kylo was in trouble. Kylo was hurt. Kylo needed you and you weren’t there.

When you lifted your arm as your heart sank through the floor and you read the continuous scrawling message, your feet pounded the ground and carried you away from the unit to wherever he was, wherever your radar was guiding you.

All you could think of was him lying under you, his blood slipping along your skin, and his still, comatose body. And as you made your way to him, not seeing the world around you, hardly aware of CB-7070’s footfalls booming behind you, you kept rereading the message that raced along your watch’s screen, and as you turned corner after corner and fled down hundreds of steps and staircases, the simple, abbreviated message taunted you with the past.

ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

As it scrawled endlessly across the small screen, all you could think of was how this felt too familiar to the day Starkiller exploded. And the only thought that remained, the only one out of the thousand that flooded back from that day, was that you would fight for the future you’d realized you wanted then.

Only now did you admit the full truth of that thought: the only future you wanted was one where you could be with Kylo. The only future worth having, you realized, was the one where you would spend it with him.

So you ran toward your future. Just as you had run that day not so long ago, you ran toward Kylo Ren.

[spectrumed]

8. book

I decided to start writing a book. A novel, it’s going to be fiction. It’s a big project. I dread big projects. I don’t feel as if I am ever able to complete them. It’s going to be left unfinished, why do I even bother? So many projects that I’ve started and never finished. I get an idea, then I can’t make myself do the actual work to make it a reality. Why do I think I can write a book when I can barely read books without becoming distracted and doing something else instead? I give up too easily. But, then again, do I really have it in me to produce something that is good? That people would want to read? Insecurity creeps in, telling me that I will fail. I fear failure. Of course I do, who doesn’t? Whenever people say that their greatest fear is failure, all I wonder is who out there is not afraid of failure? Is there someone out there with so much confidence that they absolutely do not in any way fear failure? Even narcissists technically fear failure, it is what leads them to such ridiculous overcompensation, putting on the facade of bravado to mask their actual dire sense of insecurity. Do not fall for the scams, no person is truly without self-doubt. (Well, I guess maybe psychopaths, but there’s a whole lot of things amiss with them.)

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve entertained myself by coming up with stories, fictional universes that I would populate with characters of my own invention. When I was a kid, what I really wanted was to become a comic book writer and artist. Well, in between other gigs I imagined would suit me, including at one point wanting to be a “singing farmer,” as I put it. Still, I’ve always returned to fiction and storytelling. There’s something about creating a world that lets you so fully distract yourself from all the stressful daily hullabaloo that goes on around you. Escapism, it’s fun, it’s therapeutic, I think. There’s a reason why humans have been telling each other stories for millennia, since even before we lived in houses. Back when we were all huddled around the fire, wearing our best comfortable animal furs, sharing tales of the hunt. Your uncle who once took part in killing a mammoth, the impressive beast nearly gorging him with its big tusks. How clever he was when he noticed that the mammoth had one leg weaker than the others, and used that to his advantage. How the entire hunting party banded together to bring the behemoth down, getting all that meat to feed their families with for months! Stories make you feel good. Like as if you have something to celebrate, even when you might be starving due to the more recent hunts not having gone as well. Damn that saber-tooth tiger that killed your uncle…

Storytelling is linked to acting. Both with acting and with storytelling you have to commit. Whatever you are doing, whatever role you are performing, you have to sell it. You may be on stage talking about that time you went scuba diving with your future wife, and how you encountered an oyster with the most magnificent pearl inside, and how you made a ring for the pearl and used it when you proposed to her. You have to sell it. You have to get the audience laughing, gasping, crying, going “aww,” feeling as if they were there with you that day. Of course, they don’t know it is all just lies. You made it up. It’s all fiction. But you committed, so they won’t ever know. Storytelling is a gift to others, people will appreciate you if you tell good stories, but you’re also kinda deviant. Even if it’s technically based on a true story, you’ve certainly added your embellishments. You’re a trickster, a devious individual. No wonder actors have historically been seen as dubious folks. They come into town, romances all the young women and men, telling them big tales of their lives on the road, and they can’t possibly know if you are telling the truth or not. You may just be lying. You probably are lying. Let’s be honest, you’ve probably not told a single true thing in your life.

I am bad at the hustle. No, I can talk quite well, and I can keep people’s attention for a long while. But I can’t be a huckster. Going out there, putting myself on the line hoping people will swallow my bullshit. I can’t really avoid speaking from my heart when I do speak. Or when I write, as I happen to be doing now. This blog has so far been thoroughly candid in places, in such a way I may come across like I’m at a confessional. Not that I have much evil to confess, but I can’t help but be transparent. I can’t flip into different kinds of personalities, each with its own schemes and plots, being some master manipulator, someone who you can never figure out what they're truly up to, or what they truly want. No, what I am is clearly written on my face. I’ve got one self, and it is the one before you. He’s hairy, and tall, and a bit of a dork. I am happy to talk to you, to engage with you, but I won’t be anyone but myself. I am me. I hope that’ll do.

Of course you are familiar with all those pick-up artists that plagues the internet. Or well, not just the internet. Go into any old-fashioned bookstore (where they store books on paper, not in digital code,) and you are bound to find some sleazy book written by a sleazy guy about how to sleazily seduce women. Those books don’t want you acting like me. According to them, seduction is all about manipulation. To figure out the very right thing to say to get women to fawn all over you. They don’t want you to be sincere, telling the truth as you see it. Nah, you gotta keep that stuff bottled up, deep down inside your soul, because most likely, your true self is ugly. It’s interesting how you can get little details from these pick-up artists depending on the sort of things they say, the tips they provide. The fact that all of them seem to harbour this festering misogyny is no big surprise, but every so often, you get these little glimpses of these people’s true worldview, one where power is everything, true love is a fallacy, and happiness is a lie manufactured by Hollywood to make us all into docile consumers. No wonder the “red-pill” so often leads to people taking the “black-pill.” First hucksters will lure you in, telling you that they’ve got the secret as to how to be a success, then when they’ve got you isolated, they reveal to you how truly misanthropic and bleak their actual beliefs are.

I am fascinated with cults, for much of the same reason why I am fascinated with storytelling. What is a cult leader if not just a great storyteller? They’re something like the modern day shaman, capable of spellbinding people with their weird idiosyncratic way of speaking. High-functioning people with autism are often said to have an idiosyncratic way of speaking. No, I am not suggesting that cult leaders are all somewhere on the spectrum, though it wouldn’t surprise me if some famous cult leaders did turn out to have been on the spectrum. However, for an autistic person to become a cult leader, I think they would have to be a true believer, and not some fraud just looking to scam others. Ultimately, no autistic person would want to surround themselves with people unless they truly do believe it is essential, to like, save mankind from damnation or something. It’s the difference between sincerity and insincerity. It is difficult for autistic people to be insincere, as insincerity requires a lot of social skills that autistic people struggle with. Having to juggle all these balls in the air, making sure you keep the big lie going, that you remember to change your behaviour depending on who you are speaking to in order to keep them from figuring out that you’re a bullshitter. Hollow people are great at being insincere. People like L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of the highly profitable cult that is Scientology, was at his core a hollow individual. He had no problems twisting the minds of the people around him, because he never felt a need to be sincere. If an autistic person were to become a cult leader, I can guarantee you that it wouldn’t be a profitable cult. Nah, autistic people aren’t in it for the money, we’re all about keeping it real.

Being a sincere person, surely I should be able to write a novel and make it feel earnest. Like it was delivered with passion, because I wouldn’t be able to write anything that wasn’t true to myself. Well, I do hope so. Having something I’ve made be referred to as genuine is something I see as a great compliment. I’m a student of art history, I’ve made some “serious” art before, I know how terrible art can be when it is not delivered with good faith. Sure, some art is cynical, or ironic, but even then, it tends to come from a real place. Good artists, even when they’re fully armed with the dada mindset, must believe in what they are doing. Whether they are doing it for a laugh or not, that’s irrelevant. Even if all you wish is to be silly and make something that is comical, you have to believe in what you are creating. Or else people won’t bother engaging with it. Why look at a painting by someone who is just interested in making money? Insincere artists do exist, and they can end up becoming quite successful, but ultimately, history won’t be kind to them. Damien Hirst comes to mind, heard he's into NFTs now.

Sure, I don’t like insincere people. Does that make me a bigot? Like, it’s not as if they can help themselves. It’s just who they are, spineless maggots with no soul. It doesn’t mean we have to hate them. No, no, no... I am just generalising. Don’t go thinking there’s just two kinds of people in the world, the sincere and the insincere. It’s not a binary. Most people are both, just like with introverts and extroverts, humans are complex. But there are definitely those that decide to feed into their insincere side, realising that it is often the key to success. Through insincerity, you learn to let go of self-doubt, you stop worrying so much about what others think of you, because you are never truly yourself. If they hate you, then so what? They don’t actually hate you, they just hate a role that you are playing. So what if you seduced that woman, made her feel as if you were the perfect match, then you ghosted her and completely forgot about her? It’s her fault for falling for your tricks. You were clearly just playing the game, being a super-seducer, she should have known better. By embracing insincerity, it’s like gaining a superpower. No longer do you have to care about the impact you have on others, no longer do you have to worry about what it means to be a social human being making choices that affect the others around you. Because you’re not the person they think you are. Actually, you’re not quite sure you’re the person you think you are… Who are you?

I’ve got the plot all laid out in my head for the novel. It’s going to be based in the fantasy world that I’ve been working on for the last few years. I’ve been working on this world for almost half a decade now, come to think of it. Why do I keep feeling as if I am never able to keep to a project, when I’ve clearly been working on a massive project all this time? Sure, it’s all just in my head, but it’s not as if most people have the kind of patience to keep going back to a single big project, even if it is just in their head. Not once, while thinking about my fantasy world have I been distracted and started thinking about cute puppies, instead. And you know how difficult that is. Maybe I am too hard on myself. Maybe I will finish this book, and maybe people will want to read it. Maybe it will even get a minimal number of angry reviews, like, I may get a book published without some folks trying to harass me into committing suicide for daring to think I can write. Some people may even be enthusiastic, blowing up my ego with great praise. Maybe someone will come along and tell me that they want to buy the rights to make my book into a movie or a television series. Maybe I will get rich? Maybe I will get famous! Woo! Success here I come!

Well, no, here I go being insincere. That’s not what it’s about. I should be writing this book because I want to write it. Because I want to prove to myself that I am able to write it. Sure, it’s not as if there’s not a little brain goblin inside my mind whispering sweet nothings about how one day I might turn out a real respected author. One with real fans that gets to do big book tours talking about how brilliant I am, how brilliant my work is, and how brilliant things are going for me. I am not going to pretend I don’t have the same aspirations for success that others have. Inside of me you will find the same greedy piglet of an ego hungry for more adoration and more validation that you will find in any person. Humans don’t know when to quit, we always want more. But I am at least safe knowing that I will never debase myself, descending to the same depths as those inhabited by soulless grifters who go through life abusing the trust of others in order to get by. I’m sincere, in the end. I always turn out sincere, in the end. I am a good boy.

And I am also really sexy. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before on this blog, but I am really, REALLY, sexy. Like, you wouldn’t believe it. Oh, I am so hot. And if you follow and subscribe and hit that bell, I will teach you how you can be just as sexy as I am! And buy my book! And my merch! And my new single! And of course, my new cryptocurrency, by the name of “autism-coin.” It’s going to be a real success on 4chan, let me tell ya!

[rhmg-au]

Prequel part 2.

Man this was sitting here uncompleted for around, I don’t know, a month? Really need to get better at this.

This AU belongs to @rhmg-au . Please follow them, reblog their art, give them fanart, support them in any way possible, etc.

TW: Mentions of emotional manipulation, blood and gore

Mod Swanno: Read more due to length and content! :]

———

This isn’t right. None of this is okay.

Those were Charles’s first thoughts when he found out what happened to Right Hand- Green.

No amount of counterarguments can ever change his mind on one fact, that being that he never, ever deserved this. It’s not okay, they stripped him from who he used to be and turned him into a puppet, making him dance to their strings without realizing it.

But he never dared to approach the general about it.

He would get overpowered easily and he can guilt-trip him into going along with what he believes, though it never lasts long thankfully. He doesn’t know what could happen if he was under his influence permanently.

He would always say things like “it’s for the world’s own good” or “it’s in the name of the law”, but none of this feels like it. This is utterly wrong in every form.

He may be naive, but not that naive as most thought. Even when it gets to him sometimes.

Everyday he had been trying to help Green out from his brainwashed state, he wanted to help, no, he needed to help. He couldn’t let this go any further.

But he doesn’t want to die either. If he dies, he can’t help anymore.

Days after days of planning, strategizing, ways he can help the cyborg out of this while also still hanging onto his privilege of life.

There has to be a way, there has to be. There’s always one right?

———

“We have to find him! He has to be out there somewhere!” Charles practically begged, concern written all over his face, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

He had been at it for couple minutes at most, or was it hours even? He couldn’t remember, the argument felt like it lasted an eternity but it also had the feeling of quickness to it simultaneously. It’s just been a few hours and he noticed that there was something wrong with Rupert, he couldn’t find him anywhere on the premises. He called him multiple times, and all he hears is a voice message saying that he should call back later. None of his co-workers haven’t seen him either, or aren’t concerned whatsoever. It’s like he vanished off from the face of the earth entirely.

Galeforce shook his head, the pilot doesn’t know if the pity on his face was genuine or another facade made by him to play with his emotions. It was definitely the latter possibility, or maybe it isn’t. Maybe he really did care for the soldiers. “Charlie, even if there’s a chance he’s still alive, we’re not going to go and try to find him, heartless I know, but it’s for the better good.”

“Better good?!” The male let the water stuck in his irises escape when he blinked, the bubbles streaming down his cheeks as his voice raised. “He’s one of your best soldiers and you’re not concerned with him missing?!”

“Charlie, if you still think he’s just missing, then how do you explain this?” The general held up a hat with the emblem that signifies someone’s position in the government, but there was a difference to it - it was covered in dried stains of blood.

Charles felt his body stiffen, almost unmoving like a statue. “N-no, are you sure it’s just from his struggling?” He refused to believe this, he refused to, he refused to! This can’t be happening…

Galeforce sighed, still holding the bloodied hat out for him to see. “Unfortunately, a possibility like that is impossible to consider as long as this is still around.” His expression held guilt, genuine or not, it doesn’t matter at this point. What matters is the safety of his co-worker.

But is he still alive?

That’s one question he desperately wanted to seek for.

“We, we can’t determine his condition based on one thing!” He protested, more tears were shed as rage boiled inside of him to a dangerous degree.

Galeforce’s stare never left him, it was almost - actually no, unsettling. “There’s nothing we can do, Charlie. This hat is irrefutable proof that he’s no longer here with us…I’m sorry.”

“He has to be alive…”

“I said it once, and I’ll say it again, you need to let it go. He’s not coming back. I’ll leave you be to think about what I said.” The general then left, taking the blood stained and ruined hat along with him, leaving the pilot by himself and his tears and emotions.

Impulsively, he squeezed his elbow with one hand so hard he was surprised no blood came out from the amount of force he was putting on his limb. Was Galeforce this heartless to not care about his soldier? Would he go as far as that?

What happened to the caring one he knew?

Why had it come to this?

Why…

———

Charles doesn’t know anything anymore.

Okay, maybe not anything, but he felt like he lost so much purpose  for not being able to help Green…

…or him.

The only times he can truly feel at peace is when he flies around in his helicopter. In the sky, all of his troubles fade away. The clouds give him some form of hope that somehow, someway, he’ll find a solution to this.

He always liked the sky, no one can hurt him up there.

Anyways, the air isn’t what’s bothering him at the moment.

Something horrible happened just yesterday.

The Toppats attacked the government to get Green back.

Now, under normal circumstances, he would’ve been relieved, as this gives Green a way to escape the government’s grasp and return to his former self.

But what occurred wasn’t what he would call “normal circumstances.”

Henry Stickmin, the leader of the Toppats, was captured.

Galeforce intended to use him as bait to get his right hand lady to initiate another attack so he can get both of them and ship them off to the Wall, as part of a deal he had with the warden, Dmitri Petrov, he believed that was his name.

Henry hadn’t said much since his capture, which is most likely because of Green. The distraught look he had when he heard and seen what had become of his former friend…it reminded him of when he heard that Rupert’s dead (he still doubts this, but he’s starting to believe it with every passing day).

Charles’s determination to save Green have increased since this event, he couldn’t afford to endanger anymore lives due to his fear of getting killed, he couldn’t…he was supposed to be someone who protects the helpless right? And at this very moment in time, the Toppats are the ones who are helpless.

The pilot headed to where the cells are located, nodding to the two soldiers who were put on guard duty to let them know he’s trustworthy, and allowed him to pass.

These cells used to contain Toppats, he remembered every one of their faces, how utterly defeated they looked, every little word he managed to pick up…now these confined places no longer have them. Executed for not obliging with the interrogations. By their own friend no less.

How many lives were ruined or taken away because of Galeforce’s actions?

Countless, that’s the only word he can find to describe it.

Charles stopped at the cell that contains the leader, sitting on the bed provided in the small and cramped confines, facing away from him and by the looks of it, he was fiddling with a piece of clothing, the collar of his shirt if he glances at him in the right angle. “Hey, Henry.”

Said man slowly turned around to get a glimpse of his new visitor, then whipped back to lock his gaze on the wall again, like it somehow became more important than anything else in the world. “What do you want?”

Can’t back out now. Charles reminded himself. You asked for this. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. This isn’t Galeforce or Dr. V or anyone who’s scary, he’s okay, it’s just Henry.

“I wanted to let you know that…you’re not alone.” No one’s listening, it’s them both alone.

His words prompted Henry to turn back around, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re joking right?” He asked with a scoff. Apparently he hasn’t believed him yet, understandable.

Charles masked his face with a look of determination, hoping that it would be enough to let the leader understand his intentions. “No, I’m completely serious about this.” His tone was firm, if his expression wasn’t the key, then his voice should be the nail in the coffin.

Silence reigned for while, sitting on its throne as the two males stared blankly at each other, every now and again the pilot broke eye contact to see if anyone was in the hallway or listening in on them, and thankfully neither of those had been activated yet.

Eventually, the silence was kicked off the chair of power when Henry spoke.

“I knew you weren’t under his control after all.”

Charles smiled softly, to of which the other returned. “I couldn’t stand by and watch, none of this is right. I’ll get you and Right out of here.” It felt weird to call Green by his old name, but it felt reliving too.

Henry nodded, standing up from the bed and walked over to him, or at least, as close as he could get when he’s behind bars. “You’ll help us?”

“You have my word.”

“How’s it going to go?”

“I actually haven’t figured that out yet.” Charles said sheepishly, playing with the fluff the encircled his jacket. “I just needed to let you know you’re not alone here.”

Henry’s smile never faltered. “How about we develop one now?”

Charles took one more glance around, making sure to cover everywhere in the hallway of cells before nodding. “Yeah, it feels good to work with you again Henry.”

“Likewise.”

———

Two days now, and nothing of the sorts have happened.

The plan has to be flawless, if executed in a poor manner, there’s no second chances or redos.

Which is why the plan is taking two days, maybe even more if nothing has been figured out today.

“Is there any potential escape routes we can take?” Henry asked, a scrap of paper in one hand and a pen in another, Charles had given him those so they can keep track of the progress they’re making and the possibilities they have to consider.

“My helicopter is one option, but I’ll have to hide you and Right inside, which’ll be difficult since even during the nights and early mornings, soldiers would be patrolling the area, and I’m pretty sure most of them aren’t on our side.” The pilot responded, racking his brain for another way to transport them out of the base before the raid could commence. His right hand lady would be planning it, and Henry wants to minimize as much damage done to the Toppats as possible.

“You think you can get me some military clothing and disguise me as a soldier to take me along with you undetected?” Henry proposed next, scribbling on the piece of paper he was given to rule out the option he wrote.

“Then I’ll have to take someone here with me, knock them out, and put their clothes on you. And how are you going to get your belongings out with you?” Charles questioned, this can’t go wrong, if it does he’ll never forgive himself ever.

“I’ll…figure it out.” The leader said, drawing something on the paper.

“So we’re going along with this, you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Henry glanced up from drawing, eyes widening with fear. “Watch out!”

“Huh?” Charles didn’t react in time and was smacked on the head, collapsing against the steel bars of the cell and slumping onto the ground, black teasing around the edges of his eyes.

Before he could get a chance to get up, he was picked up and thrown to the wall, his fighting spirit fading fast as the darkness was overwhelming.

The last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered shut was Henry’s distressed face, and an evil grin of someone he used to look up to.

[scarletaire]

homeland (Chapter 4)

A/N: This is the chapter I’ve been most looking forward to and most nervous about to write! I’m excited to finally put it out into the world ❤️

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Genre/s: Contains Fluff, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Smut

Rating: E

Tags: Post-QON, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Protective!Cardan, Bewildered!Jude, Jude and Cardan discuss the Undersea, but they get a little Distracted

Description:

Cardan’s eyes flash open.

“Why?” he repeats, and Jude feels the power shift between them. “Don’t you remember, wife?” he croons. “It was the Undersea who stole you away from me.”

And Jude has only enough time to think, danger, before he lunges at her.

or:

Cardan and Jude work on removing their armor. Taking off this particularly stubborn piece happens in varying states of undress.

Links: Masterlist | AO3

Jude wakes alone to an empty room.

The first thing she notices is that she’s in the royal suite. Someone has laid her out on the giant silkspun bed and folded the covers gently over her. She’s been stripped of her clothes and returned to the nightgown that she slept in.

The second thing she notices – her head is killing her.

She struggles into a sitting position and immediately regrets it. There is a cold ache at the base of her skull, and it radiates up into her skull without mercy the more that she tries to move. She has to catch her forehead in her hand because it’s almost impossible to keep her head up. Her muscles feel sore, like she’s just finished a brutal sword match with five of Grima Mog at the same time.

Has she been poisoned?

Pressing the heels of her palms over her eyes, Jude tries to think through the fog of pain. She runs through the list of poisons that she once upon a time routinely fed herself in order to bargain immunity. She comes up worryingly short: it isn’t wraithberry, because the speed of her pulse when she presses her fingers to her wrist is normal, if a little slow from slumber. It isn’t blusher mushroom, either, because paralysis should have set in by now. And the fact that she woke up from sleep at all refutes the possibility of deathsweet.

Her body aches, her head is pounding, her blood is cold underneath her skin despite all of the blankets, and more than anything, she’s pissed.

It’s either someone failed spectacularly at poisoning her properly, or whatever it is, it’s something completely new.

And new means that she has no immediate plan for it. New means that she’s just as helpless as anyone else.

All she has consumed up to this point came from the food tray she ate from before she set out for Insear. That immediately rules it out because then that means that Cardan should also be –

Her thoughts screech to a halt.

Cardan.

She told Cardan about kissing Balekin in the Undersea.

And then she’d – blacked out.

Jude’s mind races to recall his reaction. Was he angry? Insulted? Disgusted? But just like with the poison she draws a blank. Her memory of that moment is too foggy to sift through, and she is left wondering if she’s made a mistake.

She needs to talk to Cardan. She needs to talk to him now.

That’s when Tatterfell comes bustling in.

She takes one look at Jude, her black eyes roving over her undressed form, and tuts. “You should be ready for the revel.”

Jude attempts to sit up a little straighter, but it only makes her grit her teeth when her head swims. “Where is the High King?”

“It appears he has stepped out.”

“Out?”

Tatterfell shakes her head. “He left in a hurry. The night’s revels are about to begin. Perhaps he went to check on preparations.”

“Of course. Preparations.”

If the imp is put off by Jude’s monotone responses, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she motions for her to take her place in front of the mirror. Jude makes her way over, but her body is sluggish and slow to respond. She clenches her fists and pushes herself out of bed, refusing to show any weakness in front of her old attendant.

“Anything will do for tonight,” Jude says, nodding at the closet. The last thing she cares about right now is what she’s going to wear. Her mind reels with all the things she needs to say to Cardan, with all the things that he could say to her. She’ll find him at the revel, and then they’ll… talk.

“No matter.” Tatterfell’s voice is inscrutable. “Your garments have already been provided for.”

With a flourish, she unfurls the dress that she is carrying over her arms. It’s styled after a peacock: plumed feathers of royal blue and vibrant turquoise make up the bodice, and a fall of shimmering, night sky fabric makes up the skirt.

Despite everything, Jude’s eyes go wide.

This time, there is no sleep-softened husband to help her into her clothes. No soft looks from beneath eyelashes. No lingering touches. Instead, Tatterfell unlaces the discernibly negligible back of the dress, and looks up at her impatiently.

When Jude steps into it, the soft tips of the feathers kiss her bare collarbones, and the iridescent skirt flows down close to her legs; it spreads out where it reaches the floor, the multi-colored hem fanning out to mimic the way a peacock spreads its plumage.

The effect is extraordinary. Elaborate. Extravagant.

It has Cardan written all over it.

“Troublesome affair, this Insear business,” Tatterfell remarks, pulling Jude’s hair up into a high ponytail. She’s extending the ends of it with lengths of gold-tipped feathers that spill like a peacock’s crest down her back.

Jude’s head is now twice as heavy, and her headache now twice as powerful.

It takes far more effort than it should to respond. “I expect that after tonight it won’t be a problem anymore.”

“Yes, I should very well hope so. For the king’s sake.”

The comment is odd, but Jude’s too weary to mull it over. The way the dress bares her shoulders and arms does nothing to ward off the chill on her skin. Tatterfell clucks at the gooseflesh as she begins the finishing touches of makeup and bodypaint.

“Woe the constitution of a mortal,” she mutters under her breath. It seems that the honor of attending to the High Queen of Elfhame is not enough to rid her of her conservations. “Just today your sister snapped at the servants and commanded that all meals be delivered to her rooms. Complaining of swollen feet and an aching back, of all things.”

“Yes,” Jude says, dryly, “I suspect that’s what being eight months pregnant will do to anyone.”

Tatterfell is unfazed. “She says to tell you she’s sorry to miss the revel. But she sends her well wishes to you and His Majesty.”

Looking in the mirror, Jude thinks of the way Taryn’s features have swelled and changed while carrying her child. It’s all entirely too easy to imagine the changes on herself, because they look so much alike. But as Tatterfell finishes dusting shimmering blue and turquoise powder over her eyelids and cheekbones, then her collarbones, and her wrists, the comparison ends abruptly.

The woman looking back at her in the mirror is unearthly – untouchable, in her own way. She does not look like a nauseous, fatigued human. She looks like the High Queen of Faerie, with her dress of majestic feathers and glittering stars.

The only thing missing is her king.

If he wanted me to wear something he picked out, she thinks to herself, settling her crown on top of her head, he should’ve helped put it on me himself.

Well. That means that she’ll just have to show him, and make him regret it.

_______________

The revel is in full swing when Jude arrives.

The crowd of Folk clap and bow and part to make a path for her, and she gets her full glimpse of Cardan’s Insear peace revel for the first time.

He’s outdone himself. The high ceilings of the ballroom are a mastery of golden lanterns and strings of deep blue roses. No branch goes unadorned, no vine left empty. The whole room is effused with soft, enchanting light, the revelers plied with glasses of bubbling, aquamarine liquor. Even the moss on the walls seem to glow with serene luminescence. This is no space for fighting or hostility. A peace revel, through and through.

And it’s with a jolt that Jude realizes that the room, the decor – the gold, the blue, the turquoise –

It matches her. It matches her dress.

Here, in this revel that Cardan has crafted, she completely and wholly belongs.

Something trips in her chest. It might be her heart.

Jude turns her head immediately toward the throne, where she knows he’ll be waiting. The gravity in the room shifts the moment Cardan comes into her field of vision, and she finds herself tilting in his direction without even thinking. It is disconcerting, how easily he pulls her toward him. She can’t tell if it’s because he wields the power of all of Elfhame or because she’s hopelessly in love with him.

Tonight he wears a cape of ebony feathers and silver chains; dressed head to toe in black, he is the stark midnight contrast to her. He looks every inch the king she made him. His smile holds more promise than a knife.

Jude straightens her back, ignoring the soreness in her limbs and the ache in her head. He wants her to come to him? Fine.

But he’s already getting up from the throne and walking away. The tips of his black curls disappear into the crowd while she stands there, frozen.

He walked away. He turned his back on her.

The fury is icy in her veins. The feeling is close to embarrassment if she were being truthful with herself, but in this moment, she can’t care enough to think about it. She stalks after him, as gracefully as she can amidst the crowd of revelers watching her every move, and she ends up following the tail of his feathered cape all the way up to the secret door behind the throne. Jude sweeps aside the curtain of evergreen and storms inside.

The room has been altered only slightly for the revel. There is the same couch pushed up against the far corner, but the ceiling has been painted over in golden constellations to match the glowing lanterns outside.

“Interesting choice for a meeting place.”

The voice comes from behind her, and Jude moves on instinct. The knife comes from the holster on her ankle, and it gleams silver under the ivy-filtered moonlight as she turns on her visitor, shoving him roughly against the mossy wall.

“I was wondering where you were keeping that,” Cardan says, idly.

“Cardan,” Jude hisses. “How did you sneak up on me?” She hadn’t heard him approach at all. Just how badly is the poison affecting her?

He raises an imperious eyebrow, looking far too comfortable for someone with a knife to his throat. “Must I remind you, I am every bit a part of the Court of Shadows as you are.”

She grits her teeth. “I was supposed to be following you.”

“Yes. And then I decided to follow you instead.” Now both of his eyebrows go up. “I didn’t foresee that you would pick here of all places, what with the revel and all, but I can’t say I’m not intrigued.”

“Stop deflecting.” Because that’s exactly what he’s doing, isn’t it? With his easy posture and the smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. She sees right through him, but not enough to understand why there’s a mask in the first place. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Something shutters in his expression, the edges of his amusement going the slightest bit duller. “No, Jude. You’re the only thing I can’t run away from.”

She presses him harder against the wall. She’s too tired for any of this. Her body aches. Her head hurts. She doesn’t have the energy or the patience left for another one of Cardan’s moods. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But instead of answering, Cardan hooks his ankle behind hers and pulls her stance out from under her. Jude loses her balance, and he uses the momentum to swing her around and press her against the wall. She’s too dizzy to fight it, the sudden movement making her head swim.

Her knife falls to the ground, cushioned by the soft, grassy loam.

His smile has returned. But it’s the one he hides behind, the one that she thought she was seeing less and less of when it was just the two of them together. Something cold settles in her stomach the moment she sees it.

“Shall we play a little game, darling?” he croons into her ear.

“This is no time for games,” she snaps.

“Oh, I disagree. I think this is the perfect occasion.”

“Cardan.”

“Want to know what the game is?” His voice has gone deadly soft. “It’s called, ‘Show me how he touched you.’”

Jude goes very, very still.

He pulls back just enough so that he can gauge her expression. So that she can see the hard emotion in his eyes as he looks her over. She gets the uncomfortable feeling that it’s something she should recognize.

Her first thought is that he is being facetious. She searches his eyes for any trace of drink or drug. She finds none. This is no jest. He is being entirely, unlaughably serious.

And not for the first time when it comes to him, Jude finds that she is the tiniest bit afraid.

Cardan closes the scant distance between them again, bracing an arm against the wall by her head. He doesn’t trap her physically. No, it’s much worse. He traps her by the promise of his proximity, a promise that she could gorge herself on and never get her fill.

And that’s what she’s most afraid of, really. Not him. But what she’s willing to let him do to her, if only he would come closer.

“This is all I could think of,” he murmurs, “watching you during the revel. You can never make it easy for me, can you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s not a lie.

“No, I don’t suppose you would. You have a way of doing that to me. Making me suffer with nary a forethought.”

“Cardan –”

“Tell me.” His voice is so steady, so calm. Too calm. “Did he come close to you, like this?”

As he speaks, his other hand comes up to rest on the wall as well, so that he is holding himself above her, their bodies merely inches apart.

She doesn’t respond.

“It’s easy,” he says, gently. Almost kindly. Jude doesn’t believe it for a second. “I’ll make a guess, and you tell me if I’m right. Is this how my brother approached you?”

Whatever she thought would come out of her confessing the truth about Balekin, it definitely wasn’t this.

“Answer me, Jude. Play the game.”

A short breath escapes her. “No.”

“No?”

There’s a hidden question there, and Jude realizes her response must have sounded like a rejection. She could stop this game if she wanted to. He’d let her.

But now that it’s started, now that she has him right here, in front of her, she needs to see it through. He’s saying something with his eyes and the tense lines of his body that she should have been able to decipher by now, and she has never been able to deny him. Even now, when this whole thing feels like she’s being handed a winning card that she doesn’t know what to do with, she will take everything that she can get.

She raises her chin. “No, he didn’t approach me like that.”

A slight furrow in his eyebrows, almost imperceptible, there and then gone just as quickly – it’s the first real reaction she has procured since the revel began.

“I see,” is all he says.

His hands drift lower against the walls until they are level with her waist. He’s not touching her, but she can almost imagine the feeling of them settling on her hips. “Did he put his hands on you to pull you closer?”

Jude tries to keep her voice steady. It doesn’t work as well as she wants. “No.”

He pauses. It’s difficult to see his expression, because he’s leaning down to speak in her ear now and all she can see is the mess of his black curls. She wonders if he’s trying to tell if she’s lying.

“All right,” he says. “How about here?” One of his hands finally leaves the wall, rising until the backs of his fingers are a moth’s wing away from the swell of her cheek. “Did he touch you here?”

“No.”

His fingers drift lower, wandering down her jawline to the sensitive skin of her neck. He’s still not touching her. His thumb hovers at the pulse point fluttering under her skin.

“And what about here?”

Jude closes her eyes. “No.”

She can hear Cardan breathing, long inhales and deeper exhales. It’s gotten louder the longer this game went on. This game, Jude realizes, that he is trying very hard to hide behind. This game that is perhaps instead showing his hand. Little by little. She just wants him to look at her. She wants to see the emotion in his face, devoid of any artifice.

His hand poises over her collarbones, and she can almost feel the heat of his skin on hers, bared by the open collar of her dress. She wants to arch into him, close the distance that he won’t. The phantom of his touches is a physical thing she feels in the pit of her stomach.

She waits for the question. But this time it doesn’t come right away, as if he is afraid to even ask it, as if he doesn’t want to hear the answer. Jude has to wonder at his hesitation now. “Did he –”

Jude cuts him off, because there is something she realizes she should have made clear from the beginning. Something that she can’t believe she has waited this long to say. It seems they both have a long way to go until they are rid of the games they have grown so used to. Until then, she will meet him on this chosen battleground.

“No, Cardan.” She steels herself beneath him, and reaches up to take his hand, suspended in the air, in her own. He stills. Their hands drop, intertwined, between them. “The answer will always be no. He didn’t touch me. Not like that. Cardan, he could barely stand to kiss me.”

He says nothing, and Jude barrels on.

“He thought I was under a geas,” she explains. “No one knew that I was resistant, not him, not Orlagh. It was my choice to pretend. I had to, or they’d kill me. Towards the end, Balekin told me to kiss him the way I kiss you.” She’s never told anyone this before. “I think… I think he wanted to know something. Something about you.”

Abruptly, Cardan steps back.

Jude gets her first good look at him since the whole revel started. And she is stunned to the raw, blazing emotion written plainly in his face. His mask is gone now. Any hint of a carefully crafted smile has been replaced by the hard set of his mouth. Any fickle amusement in his eyes has been burned out by something more powerful. She watches, pinned to the wall, as a muscle ticks in his jaw.

Jude is struck by the ominous feeling that they’ve reached a point of no return.

Something like self-preservation kicks in, making her straighten her spine under the force of his emotion. “I don’t regret it. I did what I had to.”

It’s only a beat later that she understands, on some level of animal instinct – saying that has just made it worse.

Cardan snaps.

It happens so fast – and Jude is already so lightheaded – that she finds herself falling against the couch in the far corner within the dizzying blink of an eye. She hits the cushions, the high velvet back of the couch engulfing her.

Cardan looms over her, planting a knee into the cushions between her legs. “You say that like it’s supposed to make me feel better,” he snarls, and, oh, the way his voice shoots through her blood. His hands are clenched into fists, the knuckles turning white.

Jude fights against the protests of her aching body and struggles to sit up. “I don’t understand.” Cardan doesn’t let up, dropping to his hands and knees above her. She sinks back into the ridiculously padded armrest at her back, glaring. His mouth finds its place beside the shell of her ear.

“Jude. You know me better than that.” One hand curls against the back of her neck, and she jumps at the feel of his touch, searing hot against her clammy skin. He angles her head closer as he speaks. “I am neither good, nor gentle.” His voice lowers into something rough around the edges – Jude is surrounded, overwhelmed by the sudden nearness of him. “And I do not forgive.”

Cardan’s mouth descends upon hers.

It’s not the kiss that she’s been waiting for ever since they got interrupted in their bed. It’s not the kiss she would have received from the one who had dressed her so gently, so carefully after they woke.

No. This is something else entirely.

Cardan kisses her like he would kiss an enemy: hard, calculated, every move bearing specific intent. He is demanding something from her with the insistent press of his lips, and she can barely keep up.

Pinned as she is under the warm weight of his body, Jude can only kiss back in kind, the worthy opponent she has trained herself to be. When he presses her back against the cushions, she licks at the seam of his mouth. When he hooks one of her legs around his hips, she tangles her fingers into his hair, desperate with the urge to retaliate.

He groans into her mouth.

But as her mind begins that slow, familiar slide, Jude is struck by the feeling that this kiss is a battle she’s not going to win. Because she’s finally starting to understand a little of what he’s telling her.

It’s in the lingering pecks on the corner of her mouth in between searing kisses. It’s in the way he cradles her face even as he’s pulling her roughly closer. It’s in the way he’s holding on to her, hands fisted in the shimmering fabric of her skirts, even though she’s already wrapped tightly around him.

She thought, all this time, that he was angry with her. Furious. Outraged.

She’s not so sure anymore.

They break apart with the same abruptness with which they came together. She knows it now, this kiss has changed something, chipped away at the final vestiges of whatever mask he was hiding behind.

“Jude.” Her name is a barely veiled plea. “I need you to indulge me something.” That’s when she hears it, that first crack of something fragile breaking in his voice. She feels a tender thing, right there behind her ribcage, unfurl at the sound of it.

“Of course,” she says, immediately, without thinking. “Anything.”

A sigh leaves Cardan’s body. She could have sworn it looked like relief.

But then Jude is swearing for a different reason, because Cardan is now suddenly moving down her body. The breath gets caught in her throat.

“What are you doing?”

“Let me take it away,” he says, voice muffled by her collarbones. “Let me burn away the memory of him. Of the Undersea.”

It takes longer than it should for her mind, honeyed by his kisses, to catch up. She rears back a little, but he’s already leaving a trail of wet marks over the exposed tops of her breasts. “Cardan. The revel. We don’t have time for this.”

His head bows under some strong emotion. The feathers on her dress stand out stark against his dark head. “How dare they,” he whispers. “How dare they use you–” He sends a growl of frustration into the skin of her neck, resuming his path downwards with fevered determination. “I couldn’t do anything then.” He punctuates his sentence with a bruising kiss on the soft spot right underneath her ear, and she squirms. He’s touching all the places he’d asked her about during their game. “Let me do this now.” Another kiss, his lips leaving a wet mark above the crest of feathers between her breasts. She arches into him without forethought. “Indulge me this. I beg of you.”

And this is what gives Jude pause. Because Cardan never begs.

When he reaches down to hook her right leg over his shoulder – when he presses another hot, open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive, tender skin of her ankle –

Jude groans, throwing her head back. It’s an acquiescence and a surrender all at once.

Cardan makes quick work of the silk underwear beneath her dress. It’s gone before she can even protest, lost to the grassy carpet beneath them, and swiftly forgotten. Her husband begins a new path with his mouth, trailing lips and tongue now up the length of her leg. First past her ankle, then up to her bare calf, littering his way with featherlight kisses.

When he gets to her knee, Jude is a mess of anticipation and rumpled blue skirts beneath him. All aches and chills are forgotten. Eyes alight with dark mischief, he traces the tip of his tongue against the fold of her knee, with the barest hint of suggestion, taking his sweet time.

“Cardan,” she says through gritted teeth. “No more games. Just hurry up.”

She is rewarded when he abruptly turns his head and sucks a searing bruise into the inside of her thigh. She jolts, the heel of her foot digging into his shoulder, and he has the nerve to chuckle.

She stares at the swollen curve of his lips, the traces of peacock blue dust on his cheekbones, the way he’s kneeling before her now as if in reverence, and wonders if he was created for her own destruction.

It certainly feels that way when he finally lowers his mouth and seals his lips over her.

Jude falls back against the cushions with a soft moan, muffled against her palm.

Out of all the things they have done, it is somehow this that brings out some semblance of shyness in her. As if she can’t believe how much she enjoys it – but, of course she enjoys it, because Cardan’s mouth has never been anything but wicked, his fingers anything but clever. No, it’s that she can’t quite believe how much he enjoys doing it to her.

And damn him if he doesn’t get her every fucking time.

He presses his lips to the wetness at her entrance, and Jude swallows the next gasp that threatens to leave her lips.

“None of that.” She feels his breath, hot against her slick flesh, when he speaks. She almost whines at the interruption. “Let me hear you properly.”

“Cardan, the revel.” Her words are more breath than actual words. “They’ll hear.”

As if in response, Cardan licks. One long, luscious stroke up the length of her. Opening her up. Making her feel him, right where she wants him. When he reaches her clit, the tip of his tongue flicks over it, the pressure intense and then gone again just as fast. Her whole body jerks, as if the pleasure is a force like an electric shock up her spine.

“Let them hear.” A slow grin spreads his lips, shinier now than they were moments before. “Don’t you want them to?”

The thought that anyone can come in at any moment and see the Queen with her skirts pushed up to her hips, and the King kneeling before her with her legs thrown over his shoulders – well. It sounds like the exact kind of danger that Jude thrives on.

“I –” But she doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Cardan pounces on the hesitation in her voice and sucks her clit into his mouth. Jude’s spine leaves the cushions, her hands fisting in his hair for anything to hold on to. Another moan would have left her mouth as well, but she’s determined not to give him the satisfaction.

She’s not sure how long she will last.

“One last game,” he says, eyes burning. “I’ll touch you in all the places my brother didn’t –” His thumb continues his work while he speaks, rubbing slow, steady circles that are both too much and not enough “– and in return, you’ll let me know how good you feel. You’ll let everyone outside this room know if that’s what it takes.”

This, she learned early on, is something that Cardan has always known more about than her. And the more time that he has spent learning her body has only proven to her how little she stands a chance against him on this particular battlefield. It is one of the few things that she can never begrudge him for being better than her at.

Even now, when he’s wielding it against her, she can’t begrudge him a thing. How can she, when he returns his mouth to her clit and sweeps his tongue over her so perfectly – fast, even strokes across the entirety of it, exactly the way she likes it, as if he means to evaporate the ghost of Balekin’s kiss with every flick. How can she, when he swirls a fingertip at her entrance, nudging it inside just enough so that she can feel the barest of stretches, just enough so that her hips immediately roll trying to get more.

Time melts away after that. Jude’s head is thrown back against the couch, and stars fill her vision, the myriad of constellations painted on the ceiling blurring together into specks of glitter and gold, disjointed and effervescent like the pleasure coursing through her body.

She can barely remember the cold depths of the Undersea. There is only his touch, skin warmed against skin, and his mouth, his lips, his tongue, hotter than anything she’s ever felt before.

“You like this a little, don’t you? Knowing that the entire kingdom is out there waiting for us.” And as if on cue, the music swells as the revelers begin another dance, their cheers audible through the thin mossy walls of the room. “They’re right outside, Jude. Do you think they’ll hear it when you come?”

Her answer is a whimper. She passed the point of words a long many moments ago. The sounds are escaping her mouth with more abandon. He’s done his best to wear her down, and it’s working far too well.

She can feel something immense building tight in her belly. She’s a tiny bit afraid of what it took to get her here. She’s a tiny bit afraid of how little more she needs before it all comes crashing down.

“Do you want to know what I was thinking about when I saw you walk into the room tonight, wearing the dress I handpicked for you?” The sound she makes is less a query and more of a plea for him to continue, whether it’s speaking or ruining her with his mouth, she’s not entirely sure anymore. “I thought to myself that the Undersea will live in nothing but fear, for all the time that you draw breath. And then I thought about how their fear will never be good enough for you.”

He times the next swirl of his tongue – the hardest one thus far – with a perfectly placed flick of his finger, hooking behind her pubic bone and pressing up against that spot that makes her feel like bursting. And it’s over.

Jude comes with something that’s very nearly a scream, if only she weren’t digging her teeth into the back of her hand. Her toes curling. Her body writhing. It builds and it builds, like an earthquake ready to rend her world apart.

She returns to herself only to find that she’s thrown her arms up over her eyes: it’s blessedly dark and uncomplicated behind her eyelids. She finds that she’s a little embarrassed by how strongly he’s made her come. It’s slow work lowering her arms and peeling her eyes open, and when she finally sees him, she’s struck to the bone by the intensity of his gaze.

Even though she’s the one that’s just come all over his mouth and hands, he’s the one that looks like he’s received something he doesn’t deserve.

Cardan leans over her once more to smooth down the fall of her skirts, to fix the positioning of the feathers on her chest. Without thinking, her arms come up to wrap around his shoulders and to bring him closer but then – he’s pulling away.

“I knew the dress would suit you,” he says, eyes burning with something unsated, lips swollen and shining with the evidence of what he’s done to her. “You were never one to hide your true colors.”

And then he stands and walks away.

Again.

___________________

Chapter Visuals:

Moodboard.

Inspiration for Cardan.

(The artist is @nanfe on Tumblr, Twitter, and Instagram.)

Inspiration for Jude’s peacock dress.

(Context: I want to be Tessa Virtue when I grow up, but it’s unfortunately not going to work out because one, who am I kidding, and two, I pulled a muscle just watching this, so suffice to say an Olympic career is definitely not in the cards for me. Still, this video takes my breath away, and bonus, the song arguably fits Jude really well, too.)

 _______________

[End Notes]

I wrote this chapter intending it to mirror that scene in Chapter 15 of The Wicked King (you know which one I’m talking about). I also tried to play with the canon idea of Jude being an “unreliable” narrator when it comes to understanding Cardan. As with all things, she doesn't make it easy. 

Would love to know what you think! ❤️

P.S. Why, yes, that is a Dark Shadows (2012) reference.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Forged Through Fire (1/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

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Rated: T

[AO3]

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Content warning for this chapter: Domestic abuse – parent on child; parental neglect; mentions of abortion.

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Forged Through Fire

One

From the moment Riza woke up, she knew that it was going to be a bad day. Her back felt like it was on fire, and she wondered if this was how the mannequins that Roy used for target practice felt like once he’d finished with them.

If she was being completely honest with herself then she wasn’t even surprised that this had happened. She’d been expecting it at some point; she was lucky to have made it this far into the process before it had happened.

Or, of course, she was extremely unlucky.

She got out of bed, looking down at the damp patch of sweat staining the sheets. Laundry could wait until she’d assessed the damage. Her nightgown was sticking to her, and she winced as she inched it up over her head, craning over her shoulder to try and see what was going on in the mirror.

As expected, the tattoo was horrifically infected. Considering her father’s penchant for getting the array down on her skin without much thought for anything else, including the cleanliness of his needles, it was only a matter of time before it happened. She reached round and touched the worst-inflamed parts of her skin, the final pieces of the array that he’d added a couple of days ago. The pain brought tears to her eyes and she clamped her jaws tight shut to avoid crying out.

Maybe she could just let the infection run its course and it would be fine. Riza shook her head. She didn’t really have much choice in the matter. It wasn’t like she could go to a doctor. The minute anyone saw the tattoo she’d be thrown in front of a firing squad.

Sometimes she wondered if her father even realised what he’d been condemning her to when he’d started to etch his life’s work onto her so indelibly. She’d known. She’d always known. She’d just never been in a position to contradict him.

Somehow, Riza didn’t think that it had ever crossed his mind. The most important thing in Berthold Hawkeye’s life had always been his research, and he’d always walked the line between the legal and the forbidden, never trusting the government with the full extent of his work.

Like all licensed alchemists, he had dutifully submitted his arrays for recording at the central library and received permission to use them and teach them to others.

The array on Riza’s back, however, had been put there and not on paper for the precise reason that he did not want anyone else to get their hands on it. Never mind that creating arrays and not submitting them for governmental approval was illegal and could carry a death sentence depending on the potency of the alchemy involved. Never mind that even though Riza wasn’t the one to mark her skin and couldn’t see the array to use it, she’d be the one to suffer.

There wasn’t really a lot she could do about it.

Still trying not to cry with the pain, Riza made her way to the bathroom, scrambling through the cabinets for antiseptic. There wasn’t any. Why wasn’t she surprised? At least there were bandages; although she wasn’t sure how much good they would do, they’d be better than nothing.

She heard the knock on the door below her, and then Roy’s voice as her father let him in. Of course this would have to happen on one of the days that Roy was due to come for a session, because her skin couldn’t have seen fit to start trying to kill her on a day when she didn’t have to worry about strangers in the house potentially finding out about the elephant in the room and on her back.

Not that Roy was really a stranger, though. Riza reflected on their strange relationship as she cleaned up and bandaged her back as best she could. They’d been practically living in each other’s pockets for the last two years ever since her father had taken Roy on as an apprentice, begrudgingly accepting that caveat of keeping his state license and finally realising that all the research into flame alchemy in the world would be for nothing if he simply took it with him to his grave.

Riza still didn’t really know what that made them to each other, though. She liked to think that they were friends, although he spent most of his time these days holed up in the study. The more secretive her father had become about the full array, the less time the three of them had spent together in a more social setting; Roy was no longer welcome to stay for dinner, as much as Riza was ever desperate for a conversation partner and someone to deflect her father’s attention onto.

Her father was yelling at her to brew some tea and get breakfast ready, and Riza sighed, trying to adopt as normal a stance as possible, not letting show that something was wrong and that she was in pain. Not that her father would care (although perhaps he would – if her back got really bad then it might ruin his array, after all), but she didn’t want Roy to worry about her.

She downed a couple of painkillers – government issue and barely better than sugar pills but she could hope for a kind of placebo effect – and made her way downstairs to start the day. She could hear Roy and her father arguing over his decision to join the military academy. It was the same argument they had every time. Riza had never questioned Roy’s decision; his life was his own and in a place like a Amestris, the rigid life of the military was ironically the best place to gain a modicum of freedom. If you can’t beat them, join them and all that.

“Riza? Are you ok?”

She jumped at the voice and immediately spun round; she’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed Roy follow her out of the study after she’d collected the tea things.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? There’s blood on your back.”

“What? Shit!” She tried to look over her shoulder, finally catching a glimpse in the shiny metal of the oven door. Sure enough, spots of blood and fluid were seeping through the bandage and onto the back of her shirt.

“Riza?”

For the first time in her life, Riza could only feel utter blind panic.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“Riza, you look like you’re in pain. What happened?”

“Nothing!”

“Are you…”

“MUSTANG!”

Roy rolled his eyes at the summons. “You’re not fine,” he said, with a tone of stern finality that Riza had never heard in his voice before. He turned to leave the room and return to her father, and Riza felt herself sag, leaning back against the oven. Everything had just got so much worse.

Still, at least the cold metal was nice and numbing against her back.

She wasn’t really sure how long she stayed there, back pressed against the oven door and knowing she’d leave a wet smear there when she moved away. She should probably go and hide in her room so that Roy couldn’t question her again when he left, but at the same time, there was something in the back of her mind that wanted to speak to him again.

He was concerned about her. Riza couldn’t remember the last time that someone had been concerned about her, but now that she really thought about it, Roy had always looked out for her ever since he had first come into the house. The small part of her that had not completely given up all hope was nudging her to take the potential lifeline that might have been offered and cling to it. Surely Roy, of all people, would understand. He wouldn’t shop her to the military police if she told him about the tattoo. He knew her father, after all, knew what kind of a man he was even as he continued to learn under him.

She could trust Roy.

She hoped she could trust Roy. Roy trusted her, after all. She was pretty sure her father didn’t know that he’d grown up in a speakeasy and knew more about dodging the law than any nineteen-year-old should.

Perhaps that was part of the reason why he’d chosen to join the military. It was easier to protect the people you loved if you had inside knowledge of when the raids would be going on.

Roy trusted her. Roy knew all about living in less than legal circumstances beyond your control.

She could trust Roy.

Eventually, she could hear the sounds of the day’s session coming to a close, and her father yelling for her to show Roy out. She crept out into the hallway, waiting until he’d vanished back into his study before grabbing Roy and yanking him into the kitchen, barricading the door with a chair for good measure.

“Riza? What’s going on, are you ok?”

She shushed him.

“I need help,” she admitted. “I have no idea how you can help but I’m just hoping you might be able to give me some advice.”

“OK. You’re scaring me a little. And why is the door barricaded?”

“My father.”

“Right. Enough said, sorry. So, how can I help?”

Riza took a deep breath, turned her back and took her shirt off, crossing her arms over her chest even though she knew Roy couldn’t see anything. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he looked at the stark black ink and the wet and bloody bandages.

“Oh my God, Riza… How could he have done this to you?”

“What’s done is done.”

“Riza, I’m not a doctor but this is really bad, you need to see someone.”

“How can I, Roy? It’s an unregistered array, no doctor would touch it with a bargepole, they’ll just call the cops.”

There was silence for a long time, and Riza glanced over her shoulder at him. His brow was furrowed in deep thought, looking down at his spark gloves and the simplified flame array – the legal flame array – dyed into them.

“Please don’t kick up a fuss,” she begged. “If he knows you’ve seen the full array…”

“My lips are sealed, I promise. I think I know how to help you. Can you get out of the house tonight?”

He moved past her towards the fridge and Riza scrambled to put her shirt back on, ignoring the pain as the damp fabric brushed her inflamed skin.

“Have you got anything you can use as a cold compress until then?”

“No.”

“OK, well, try putting a couple of towels in the fridge or something to try and help keep any swelling down. If you can get out tonight, meet me by the phone booth in the park at nine o’clock, I should have got something organised by then.”

Riza nodded her understanding and removed the chair from under the door handle, letting Roy out of the house. Her father would probably have passed out by then, and it wasn’t the first time she’d snuck out after dark for a breath of fresh air and freedom.

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the front door with a sigh. If Roy couldn’t come through for her she didn’t know what she’d do, but she trusted that he’d think of something.

She trusted that he cared enough.

X

“Roy, this is your aunt’s speakeasy. When they said alcohol can be used as a disinfectant, I don’t think they were talking about bathtub moonshine.”

“Madam Christmas does not serve bathtub moonshine. I’ve never pried into where she gets it, but I know it’s not out of a bathtub. Anyway, we’re not here for the alcohol.”

Riza shivered in the cool night air, looking around at the deserted street. There were never many people around after dark. There wasn’t officially a curfew in Central City, but the police presence on the streets always doubled once the sun went down, and people weren’t inclined to hang around. Not that they were inclined to hang around much in the daytime, either. Even just going to the market to get groceries, everyone walked with purpose, eyes down.

“It’s a double front. Aunt Chris rents out a couple of the back rooms to an unlicensed medical alchemist. He’s not the cheapest, but he’s the safest. And he’s kind.”

“I know what that’s code for. Great. Now everyone’s going to think I’m here because I got myself in trouble.”

“Hohenheim does a lot more than that. Actually the thing he does most is stab wounds, as you do. But I won’t deny he does do a lot of that. Is that a problem?”

“Having my illegal alchemy tattoo treated by an illegal abortionist? No, Roy, that won’t be a problem.”

They entered into the quiet bookshop that served as a front for the speakeasy. Officially it was closed, although the lights were still on in the back and there was a girl sitting behind the counter, looking bored out of her mind by the pulp fiction romance novel she was reading. She just nodded at Roy, a regular visitor enough to be trusted without getting the third degree from the doorman, and he went through to the back room, opening the door to the basement and gesturing for Riza to go through.

“After you.”

She’d been in here once, a year ago now. It had been the middle of the day at the time and the bar hadn’t been properly open, just a few die-hard regulars in the corners. It had still been an experience though. Anything that wasn’t the four walls of her house was an experience. Her father had passed out and Roy had invited her to come for a walk with him, and they’d ended up in the speakeasy. She’d just turned seventeen and her father had just started to mark her back, and she’d been feeling rebellious – if I have a tattoo that might get me killed, might as well go to a place that might get me killed too.

Despite everything, including the undercurrent of fear at being caught either by the police or by her father, Riza still felt a certain warmth towards the place. It felt like more than just an illegal bar to her. It felt like a home. Maybe because it had been Roy’s home for so long, and he had seemed so at ease and alive in there.

He wasn’t quite as easy today, but he smiled at her when she looked back over her shoulder at him as they descended the stairs and entered the bar itself. It was busier tonight, in the height of its peak time, and Riza felt extremely self-conscious as Roy guided her through the room, bypassing the bar entirely and going towards the draped off area on the back wall.

He pulled back one of the curtains to reveal a suspiciously ordinary looking door. The door itself wasn’t suspicious, it was a normal wooden door, but there was something about it that made it look out of place, as if it shouldn’t have been there – like it hadn’t been there one moment and had mysteriously appeared the next. Maybe it had. Alchemy could do all kinds of things, after all.

Roy lifted his hand to knock but stopped short and turned to her. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

Riza shook her head. “No. I’ll be ok.” Honestly, she wanted nothing more than for Roy to come in with her, because whilst she definitely trusted him, she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted anyone else in the establishment; but since she was already paranoid about people getting the wrong impression as to why she was visiting an unregistered alchemist, she didn’t want them to think that Roy was the one who had potentially got her into that non-existent state.

That said, no one in the bar seemed to be paying them any mind, all too focussed on their drinks and on each other. They were in an illegal speakeasy after all, so they didn’t have all that much room to judge her.

“Ok. Well, Trisha can always come and grab me if you need me.”

Riza didn’t ask who Trisha was, and Roy left her alone, letting the curtain drop back down behind her and cutting her off from the heavy smell of alcohol and the muffled music.

She knocked timidly.

“Come in.”

Like most average, law-abiding citizens, Riza had never been to an unlicensed doctor or alchemist before, and from the gossip she’d heard flying around about them, she’d been expecting a scene from a horror film.

She was a little taken aback when she entered a clean, well-lit room with a couch covered in crisp white sheets, no sign of bloody surgical tools anywhere. The alchemist was washing his hands in the corner and he turned as she entered.

“Hello. Riza, is it? I’m Hohenheim, pleased to meet you. Roy said something about a skin problem, but he didn’t give me any details.”

Riza nodded. “I have a tattoo on my back, it’s infected.” She paused. “It’s an illegal alchemy array. My father is licensed, but he likes to experiment.”

Hohenheim’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “On you?”

“No. Well. Not exactly. I’m just the notebook. He needs to write it down and he figured this was more secure than putting it on paper.”

“Hmm.” Although he said nothing more on the subject, there was sympathy in his golden eyes as he gestured to the couch. “If you take your top off and lie down on your front on the couch, I’ll take a look. Are you all right on your own? My wife’s just next door in the dispensary; she’ll happily come in if you would be more comfortable having another lady with you.”

“No, it’s ok.”

He turned his back as she pulled her coat and shirt off, and she saw him twitch as she let out an involuntary hiss of pain.

“I’m ready.”

His hands were warm on her back as he removed the dressings; she’d changed the bandages twice throughout the day, but she didn’t think it had made all that much difference to the infection.

“You’re in a lot of pain.” It was a statement, not a question. “It’s not as bad as it could have been, you managed to catch it early. If you’d left it any longer it might have caused some real damage.”

He draped her coat back over her. “Sit up a moment, I’ll need to draw the array.”

Riza watched as he worked straight onto the sheets with blue tailor chalk, marking out an intricate circle.

“That doesn’t look like alchemy.”

“It’s Xingese alkahestry. Far more widely used for medical purposes than destructive ones and sadly far more illegal in Amestris.”

“You’re from Xing?”

Hohenheim laughed. “No. I just spent a lot of time there.”

He glanced sideways at her and Riza noticed the golden eyes again. He might not be from Xing, but she didn’t think that he was entirely from Amestris either. Eye colour was usually a good indicator.

“Where are you from?”

“Nowhere.” There was sadness in the eyes now. “Lie back down, this won’t take a minute. It might sting a little.”

It was more like an electric shock than a sting, the lightning crackle of alchemy dancing over her skin, but when it was over, there was just blissful, blessed relief.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Hohenheim went over to the door in the corner as Riza got dressed again, tapping lightly. “Is it ready, Trisha?”

“Yes, love.” The door opened to reveal a small room barely bigger than a closet, filled from floor to ceiling with shelves of jars and bottles. A young woman wearing an apron came out and pressed a small pot into Riza’s hand.

“It’s a tea-tree salve, a natural antiseptic,” she said. “Rub it in every night before bed for a couple of weeks and everything should clear right up.”

“Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?” She’d raided the housekeeping and the scant savings she kept under her bed; she knew how much medical treatment cost ordinarily, but this was very different.

Hohenheim shook his head. “Roy paid in advance; didn’t he say?”

“Oh. No. Oh. Well. Thank you.”

She left the room, fighting her way through the curtain and out into the main room again. Roy was sitting at the bar waiting for her.

“All sorted?”

Riza nodded. “Yes, thanks.”

“Great. Can I get you a drink to calm your nerves?”

“Roy, she’s only seventeen.” Behind the bar, Madam Christmas gave her nephew a pointed look, before heaving a long sigh. “I guess there’s no legal drinking age in a country where no one’s allowed to drink anyway. Pick your poison, hun, but I’m not serving you spirits.”

Riza shook her head. “If he smells it on me there’ll be hell to pay. I should probably be getting back before he realises I’m out.”

Roy nodded, and the brief flash of sorrowful sympathy in his face did not go unnoticed. He slid off his bar stool, walking through the bar with her.

“I’ll walk you home in case of patrols.”

They didn’t speak for a long time after they left the shop, both of them lost in their thoughts. It was only once they were nearing the Hawkeye home on the outskirts of the town that Riza remembered she hadn’t thanked Roy properly.

“Hohenheim said you paid for my treatment.”

“Yeah.” Roy’s smile was sheepish in the dim moonlight. “I figured it was only fair. It’s not your fault the tattoo you had no say in getting got infected. Why should you have to pay the price for it?”

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

They stopped at the gate, and Riza knew that if this was a romance novel of the type that the bookshop front sold, now would be the point where they would kiss and declare their undying love for each other.

It wasn’t really undying love, per se, but there was definitely something there, something that Riza could not quite define yet.

Feeling emboldened now that she was no longer in pain, she darted in and pressed a peck to Roy’s cheek. Even in the darkness, she could see the beginnings of colour coming up in his face, and she could feel that hers was just the same.

“Good night, Roy.”

“Good night, Riza.”

[prayerith]

it’s beginning to look a lot like checkout

summary: Joey is trying to survive working as a cashier during the holiday season. When a cute customer manages to turn around his entire day, he doesn't think he'll ever see the guy again. But when he keeps turning up, will Joey manage to form a relationship with him?

howdy! yes, i’m posting a multi-chapter fic for once. you can also read it on ao3 here <3 hope y’all enjoy!

Not for the first time today, Joey eyed the speaker embedded in the ceiling above his cash register and wondered how difficult it would be to smash it from the ground. Sure, it was a few feet up, but if he threw something hard enough at it, he could probably damage it, right? The stapler at his register wasn’t too heavy, but it was solid enough that it might fritz it out. Then again, he would almost certainly be fired, but he would take that if it meant that the speaker was at least non-functional. Anything to stop being forced to listen to that damn Christmas music.

Normally, he couldn’t really hear the music pumped through the hardware store at which he was (regrettably) employed, being too quiet to hear over the general din of a retail environment. The only exceptions were with songs he knew, which he was able to pick out easier, or when there was hardly anyone in the store making noise to drown out the speakers overhead. However, that all changed when Thanksgiving ended. Once that happened, corporate switched their generally palatable 70’s playlist to Christmas music, and Joey’s annual nightmare began.

That’s not to say he didn’t like Christmas; he wasn’t religious, so he didn’t really celebrate it except in the most bare-bones sense of getting his dad and sister a present on the day, but he thought the holiday season in general was fine. It was listening to the same damn songs for hours on end that was driving him up the wall. While he might hear a repeat or two on the standard playlist if he had a long shift, when Christmas rolled around, it was very possible to hear the same song three different times in only a few hours. If Joey ever met the person that designed this playlist and told their store to play it, he would give them a piece of his mind—and a piece of his fist besides.

Damn brain, he thought, resting his chin on his elbows, which were crossed on the counter. Can’t pay attention to somebody when they’re talking to me, but I can’t stop paying attention to Christmas music. Figures.

Furtively, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time: 3:15 pm. Only forty-five minutes until he got to clock out, but he knew this would be the longest part of his shift. It was after lunch but before most people got off work, meaning that business had slowed to a crawl. Normally, he was grateful for any downtime at work, especially later in his shift, but as “Silver Bells” started up for the fourth time that day, Joey was actively wishing someone would come to his register, just so he would be able to tune out the music.

The irritation from the music just added to everything else miserable about working in retail; Joey’s knees were killing him from having to stand all day on a concrete floor, and he was in that half-bored, half-stressed state that came with a slow moment at the register. He wanted to zone out, think about what he would make for dinner or come up with something fun to do with Serenity over her school break, but he couldn’t risk getting interrupted by a customer. So, he was stuck, unable to sit and rest his knees and forced to pay attention to his surroundings. Which, unfortunately, included the music.

The tell-tale beeping of a register being activated was a welcome distraction, and he picked his chin off his elbows to look in the direction of the noise. It wasn’t especially eventful; just his coworker, Ryou, being forced into scanning some lady’s entire basket, despite the fact that she was at a clearly labeled self-checkout register. Joey felt bad for him; Ryou was a sweet guy, which meant that he often got roped into doing way more than he should. He did, however, have more than a passing interest in the occult, which he weaponized against customers that pissed him off, so he was helpful to have around when dealing with someone annoying. He was a real wild card; Joey appreciated that about him.

“Hello? Can I check out here?”

God damn it.

“Yeah, sure thing!” Joey said, putting on his best Customer Service Voice. He whipped his head back around, coming face-to-face with the customer who had managed to sneak up on him, despite his earlier promises to not zone out. Immediately, however, Joey forgot everything about work, his mind going blank except for one thought: this guy was cute.

At first, Joey had made eye contact with his hair, rather than his face, given that the customer was pretty short and his hair was pretty tall. After a stray thought as to how much gel someone had to use to get it to stay that way, his eyes dropped to his actual face; that was when his brain had really started to short-circuit. How was he supposed to focus on making this guy pay for his stuff when he had such clear, violet eyes, such a friendly smile? Joey was only human, after all. The glimpse of a leather choker underneath the scarf the customer wore only made things worse.

“Is everything alright?” Fuck, the customer must have asked him a question. Not only that, but all his stuff was on the counter, and he was looking at Joey with an expectant, if confused, expression.

“Uh, yeah, just zoned out for a second.” It wasn’t a lie; he had zoned out, but he wasn’t going to tell the customer why. He grabbed the customer’s first item—a string of white Christmas lights—and scanned it as quick as he could, hoping to make up for lost time. “Did you, uh, find everything okay?”

“Yes, I did, thanks,” the customer responded, sounding just as friendly as he did when he first asked to check out. “I’m glad you still had some white lights! I really needed them, and they were sold out at the first two stores I checked.”

“Oh yeah? I’m glad we could provide, then.” Joey continued scanning his items, noting that they were all Christmas decorations. He found it odd that the only lights the customer wanted to buy were white and blue, but maybe he was going for an unconventional Christmas tree design. Joey wasn’t here to judge people’s purchases, only make sure they happen. “Alright, your total is $32.64, cash or card?”

The customer held up a debit card in response, and Joey indicated the card reader in front of him. He finished paying in relative silence, leaving Joey to almost-zone-out at least a dozen more times, getting stuck on different aspects of the customer’s appearance. How much work is it for him to dye his hair three different colors? His nose scrunches up when he concentrates, that’s cute. Would it be too weird to ask for his number?

Too quickly, however, the card reader beeped, prompting the customer to remove his card. “Thanks so much!” he said, with a smile that was too charming for Joey’s poor, flustered heart to take.

“No problem,” he managed to say, despite being sure that he was going to ascend out of his body at any moment. He grabbed the customer’s receipt from the printer and handed to its owner; if he held it in a way to where he ensured that their fingers didn’t brush, well, that was self-preservation. “Thanks, and have a nice day.”

“Thanks, uh, Joey,” the customer said, peering at his name tag, “and happy holidays!” He waved goodbye with the hand not holding his bags, still with that blinding smile on his face, and turned to leave. Joey propped his chin back on his hand and watched him walk to the exit door, smiling at the way he pulled his scarf up over his nose before facing the cold.

“Fall in love with a customer, Joey?”

Joey yelled, losing his balance and nearly smashing his chin onto the counter, before he caught himself and spun around to face the person who had just spoken. “Ryou, what the fuck? You can’t just sneak up on me like that, you’re gonna get me killed.”

Ryou giggled, his elbows on the low wall that separated self-checkout from Joey’s register. There wasn’t a customer in sight—which meant that Joey was now fair game for ridicule. “Not my fault you were distracted. He’s cute though, did you get his number?”

“No, I don’t even know his name,” Joey grumbled. That made him remember that the customer had said his name, though, which made his face heat up. Didn’t think my name could sound that nice. He peeled open a new plastic bag, just for the sake of having something to do that meant he didn’t have to look Ryou in the eyes. “Besides, I can’t just ask a customer for his number! What if he thinks I’m weird, and writes me up, and gets me fired?”

“You have a point.” Ryou hummed, tapping his finger on his chin. “But what if he thought you were also cute?”

“It’s not like I’ll ever find out.” Joey sighed, putting his head in his hands. “He said he went to other stores for white lights before he found them here, which means he probably doesn’t live around here, which means I’ll probably never see him again. Better to just forget about it.”

Ryou made a sympathetic sound, and Joey didn’t have to see his face to know he was looking at him with pity. “I suppose,” he said slowly. “Still, you seemed happy when you were talking to him. You never smile like that when you’re working, it was a nice change.”

Joey just sighed again, before the clearing of a stranger’s throat made him look up to realize that someone was ready to check out—right as the strains of “Blue Christmas” reached his ears from the damned speaker above him. Right, he had work to do, and on-the-nose Christmas music to endure. He plastered on his Work Smile, ready to greet his customer with all the fake friendliness a retail employee could muster.

Ryou was right; while talking to that cute customer, he had been genuinely happy. Unfortunately, it made his return to dismal reality all the sadder.

[ibijau]

A continuation of NHS being revealed as half-demon after the Sunshot Campaign. Since I don’t think we ever see any demons in mdzs, I tried to borrow from Scum Villain for the general attitude towards them

With a frantic nervousness he could not quite contain, Nie Huaisang rearranged his hair once more, only for it to come out as ridiculous as everything he'd already tried. He'd spent hours on this, desperate attempts to hide what everyone would know was there anyway. He was tempted to beg his brother to buy him some white powder, even though he'd already tried that back in Qinghe, with little success. The mark on his forehead had shined through the makeup, bright red. 

A stupid hairdo really was his only chance to keep it away from prying eyes, but to show himself looking so stupid, and in Carp Tower of all places was… 

Catching a glimpse of himself in the copper mirror he'd been using, Nie Huaisang let out a frustrated groan. After being teased for years over his vanity, his own reflection was now so hateful to him that he grabbed that innocent mirror and threw it at the inn's wall just as Nie Mingjue entered the room. 

His brother gave him on long, unimpressed look before picking up the mirror. 

"Do your hair properly, and do it quick. I'd rather not be late." 

"I'm not going," Nie Huaisang announced, but he still started combing his hair in a more acceptable fashion. "What's the point anyway? If I'm here, it'll just make everything harder." 

Nie Mingjue handed him back the mirror, but stole the comb from his hand and sat behind him. Nie Huaisang couldn't help a shiver as his brother started brushing his hair, then separating some strands for the rest so they could be braided. It had been years since Nie Mingjue had done this for him. He had never thought to miss him, too proud of finally being old enough to do it himself, but there was a comfort in being taken care of in this way. 

"You have to be here," Nie Mingjue said as he started braiding. "You are not a danger to anyone. One incident doesn't make you dangerous."

"There could be other incidents," Nie Huaisang muttered. "If you got hurt again…" 

"I won't." 

In spite of his mood, Nie Huaisang snorted at hid brother's assurance. At the same time, if there was one man capable of making such a promise, it was Nie Mingjue. The only people who had ever managed to hurt him had been Wen Ruohan at the height of his power, and one lucky yet impossibly unfortunate Wen cultivator whom Nie Huaisang had promptly… 

He shivered at the memory. It was still unclear to him where that power had come from, or how he had unleashed it with such rageful precision. But it had been there, and he could still feel it thruming within him every time his emotions grew too strong. So far, it had never exploded again. It might, though. Nie Huaisang had spent the last few weeks in fear of himself. 

"What do you think they'll say?" Nie Huaisang whispered. 

"Nothing if they're smart," Nie Mingjue barked, starting another braid and pulling a little too hard. "You've done nothing wrong. You did not harm anyone on our side, that's more than Wei Wuxian can say."

"But Wei Wuxian is human." 

Nie Mingjue's hands stilled on his hair. They both tried to avoid a certain word when they spoke about the matter, but avoiding it didn't change the truth. 

"You're human too," Nie Mingjue claimed, his hands resuming their movement. "Human enough, and raised as one. You are Qinghe Nie's second master, you are my heir until I get children. You are one of us, and anyone who attacks my brother will have to deal with me."

That was exactly what scared Nie Huaisang, although he judged it wiser to keep quiet. But in protecting him, Nie Mingjue might be endangered, and it was the sight of him wounded and bleeding which had awakened Nie Huaisang’s nature. They had been lucky the first time, the people he had slaughtered had been enemies to all. But if someone else harmed Nie Mingjue, if Nie Huaisang became enraged and killed allies… 

The Great Four Clans rarely had dealings with demons, but smaller ones situated in wilder places did, and bore them little love. They would take offence to seeing a member of this despised race treated as an equal, as a superior even. It would create trouble. After all they were cultivators. Bickering over imagined slights was what they all did best. 

"I really think it'd be best if I didn't come," Nie Huaisang repeated.

"They have to see you're not dangerous. And I cannot leave you alone. I'm not taking that risk. If some idiot decides to attack you while I'm gone, you'll end up dead or in serious trouble."

Nie Huaisang sighed but did not insist, and allowed his brother to finish doing his hair in silence. When Nie Mingjue was finished, he checked himself in the mirror. The braids were elegant, almost dainty, just the way he liked to do them for himself and which got him scolded sometimes… But all Nie Huaisang could really see was that burning mark on his skin, like the brand of a criminal. 

It was going to be one very unpleasant conference. 

--

Officially, the reason so many clans, large and small, had made it to Lanling on such short notice was that with the war over, many matters needed to be settled. But even a fool would have noticed how conversations dropped the instant Nie Huaisang and his brother entered the halls, the way everyone's attention turned their way. It was not exactly new of course, because Nie Mingjue was the sort of man who nobody could ignore. If Nie Huaisang tried very hard, he could pretend it was his brother they were looking at.

“Stay close,” Nie Mingjue ordered as they walked to greet their host. “Don’t make waves.”

The same orders as always, and it comforted Nie Huaisang a little. He could tell himself everything was the same, that nobody was staring at his forehead, that they weren’t whispering about him with expressions going from fear to disgust. Maybe he should have come with that stupid hairdo he’d tried, just so people would at least have a better reason to stare. 

Still, among all those faces turned on him, at least one broke into a smile. Certainly Wei Wuxian was the center of enough fear and suspicion that his support would mean little, but Nie Huaisang still felt relieved. At least one person out there treated him normally. Two people in fact, since Jiang Cheng, noticing his brother's smile, gave Nie Huaisang a stern nod. Coming from him, it was the equivalent of shouting Nie Huaisang’s name while waving at him. And Lan Xichen had promised his support of course, as had Jin Guangyao, and… And there was Mingjue at his side of course. 

Nie Huaisang wasn't alone, and as long as he ket his calm, everything would be fine. 

When they arrived before Jin Guangshan, both brothers bowed. Nie Huaisang made an extra effort to keep his movements graceful, as much as a woman's, hoping to demonstrate how utterly harmless he was even though two dozen cultivators of all ranks could testify otherwise. 

"Sect Leader Nie, it is a pleasure to have you here," Jin Guangshan announced, lying through his teeth as always. Nie Huaisang rarely minded politics, but even he had to notice certain things. Then, to his shock and horror, Jin Guangshan looked at him, and smiled. "Second Master Nie, I'm glad you could make it as well." 

Nie Huaisang’s mind went blank at being addressed this way. As far as he could remember, Jin Guangshan had never said a word to him before, rightfully judging that the bastard second master of Qinghe Nie was beneath his consideration. It took Nie Mingjue elbowing him in the ribs to get him out of his daze, pushing him to mumble some words of thanks for the warm welcome. 

Thankfully Jin Guangshan did not push for more conversation at that moment, and they were able to go take their seats. A few more sects arrived after them, but soon enough everyone was there and the debates could start. Usually Nie Huaisang paid little attention to those conferences. If at all possible, he liked to bring a book to keep on his lap, hidden from other cultivators and from his brother. Otherwise he daydreamed, or observed the outfits of other guests, hoping that soon enough he’d have a chance to complain about them with Jiang Cheng. But that day, Nie Huaisang forced himself to listen to that tedious, boring litany of territory disputes and petty problems. Through it all, he could still feel eyes on him.

After a while of nothing but insignificant arguments, Nie Huaisang started relaxing a little. Nothing important seemed to be happening, and there was still time to look around and be judgmental of at least some outfits. He looked around for Sect Leader Yao, always certain to provide a few faux-pas to laugh about with Jiang Cheng. Indeed, that day the insufferable man was wearing an outer robe with a most atrocious pattern, and…

“It has been hard enough to fight off demons in the past,” a voice said, instantly drawing Nie Huaisang’s attention back to the conversation. “How are we going to deal with them once they learn that some major sects are willing to offer them help and protection?”

Nie Huaisang felt his stomach flip at the accusation, one rather more direct than he’d have expected to hear, but did his best to keep his composure when all eyes turned on him again. He looked for the man who had spoken, and found that it was someone he did not know. A small, outer sect then. Judging by where he was seated and the look of horrified embarrassment on Jin Guangyao’s face, he must have been linked to Lanling Jin to some degree. Nie Huaisang looked at his brother who ignored him, as if none of this concerned them.

“I’m sure nobody here would offer assistance to demons,” Jin Guangshan assured that sect leader, and he too made efforts not to look at Nie Huaisang. “It goes against the principles of every decent sect to collude with those creatures. I know what stories you might have heard, Sect Leader Ling, and I assure you they are being investigated, but demons are still not tolerated anywhere.”

“And yet there’s one sitting among us right now!”

Nie Huaisang tensed, and looked down at his lap, hoping against all hope that if he lowered his head enough, the mark would become less visible. Next to him, his brother chose instead to sit straighter, if such a thing were possible.

“I will hear no idle accusations made against my brother,” Nie Mingjue warned with worrying calm. “Nie Huaisang is a member of Qinghe Nie and will be treated as such.”

“So you do claim that creature as your own blood?” Sect Leader Ling asked.

“If Nie Huaisang did any evil, the principles of Qinghe Nie would dictate that he face justice for it. Those same principles also state that no injustice will be tolerated against the innocent. Unless he starts acting in a way that demands punishment, my brother is my brother. The details of his birth do not change that.”

“You will protect a demon!”

“Only if anyone is foolish enough to threaten him without cause,” Nie Mingjue said.

Whispers rose from amongst the assembled cultivators and Nie Huaisang wished he hadn’t come. In his absence, Nie Mingjue’s words would have had more impact, people would only have thought of Nie Huaisang as the short, foolish boy who always trailed behind his brother and laughed too loud sometimes. But being there, it was impossible for them not to see the mark on his forehead, and thus it was impossible not to see what he was.

In his absence, Nie Mingjue’s words would have come off as legitimate protectiveness. Instead, they were taken as arrogance, as rebellion even. For the leader of such a great sect to show himself with a demon at his side… 

“No one is threatening anyone,” Jin Guangshan intervened with a good natured laugh, as if he were merely breaking a squabble between children. “Sect Leader Ling’s concerns are not baseless, but Sect Leader Nie is right as well. As I understand it, there has only been one incident involving his brother, and it was in legitimate defence, wasn’t it?”

He looked at Jin Guangyao who smiled at his father and nodded.

“There was an ambush, and Nie Huaisang saved many lives by defeating some Wen cultivators who had previously escaped capture,” Jin Guangyao stated. “I am sure all of us who were present that day are very grateful for his quick intervention and we do not care how he happened to protect us.”

He said that with such conviction that Nie Huaisang himself would have believed him, if he hadn't seen how even Qinghe Nie disciples avoided him since that day, how servants at home refused to approach him. Even Lan Xichen had flinched when during a conversation Nie Huaisang had carelessly touched him, as he always did. The only person to show no disgust was Nie Mingjue, but even that might still change. 

"Isn't that just the same as admitting he's dangerous?" Sect Leader Ling objected. "He's had his first taste of blood now. I've fought enough demons to tell you once they learn to kill, there's no going back. It's their nature, they are vicious." 

Had the situation not been so dire, Nie Huaisang might have laughed. He had never liked violence much, and now less than ever. He still shivered in horror every time he thought about that incident and the things he'd done. 

And yet, part of him did not hate it as much as he should have. Blood and death still made him faint, but the thrill of having protected his brother, of being the stronger one for once, of returning the favour at last after a lifetime of hiding behind Nie Mingjue at the first sign of trouble… 

But that did not make him a monster, did it? It was normal to wish to protect his brother, it did not make him bloodthirsty and wild, did it? 

On the other side of Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen rose from his seat, calm and elegant as always but with a rare hardness to his smile. 

"Sect Leader Ling, do you really wish to bring people's nature into this?" he asked. "The nature of humans is to be weak and die early. Yet as cultivators we all seek to avoid that fate, to reach great strength and acquire immortality. If we can go against our own nature and be accepted and encouraged by our peers, Nie Huaisang should deserve the same chance. I have known him for years and never once saw him act with cruelty. My uncle taught him and never saw a trace of evil within him, or he would have taken appropriate measures. Is there anyone here who has reproaches to make, not on what Nie Huaisang could do, but on what he has already done?"

As he sat down again, silence fell all around. Nie Huaisang could have kissed Lan Xichen for defending him this way, and he saw his brother relax a little as well. No matter how strong it had become, Qinghe Nie was still a butcher's sect. But Gusu Lan had a spotless reputation for purity and righteousness, so its leader's defence of Nie Huaisang hit differently. Even sect leader Ling appeared more hesitant after this. 

“I have said what I had to say on this matter!” he claimed, glaring first at Lan Xichen, then at the Nie brothers. “Give a demon all the chances you like, if you think it can become other than what it is. When it turns against you, do not come crying for help.”

Apparently satisfied with his intervention, sect leader Ling allowed the matter to be dropped. There was a moment of awkwardness as no one could quite figure out how to go on with the conference after so much tension. But quickly enough sect leader Yao, bless him, appeared to remember that he had no sense of shame and simply started complaining about a dispute he had with a neighbouring sect. Everyone was forced to listen to that annoying man, while Nie Huaisang allowed himself to relax and risked a glance at his brother. Nie Mingjue still looked deeply unhappy, but he managed a tense smile when their eyes met.

The situation wasn’t ideal, but they could do this. They still had friends, and even if they ended up losing those friends, they would at least have each other.

[babycracker]

first line tag game

thank you for the tag @amlovelies! 🤍

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some of your favourite authors!

1. pranks (litg: bobby/mc)

“Hey Jenna!” Bobby jogs over to join her as she walks back in through the front door, and she raises an eyebrow at his cheerier-than-usual demeanor.

“Did I miss anything while I was away?” she asks, returning his smile all the same because his happiness is infectious

2. love or money (litg: bobby/mc)

Bobby’s eyes cracked open, peering into the darkness like every other morning. He always woke up before the lights came on. Even after a month in the Villa, for a split second he forgot where he was and a pang of panic shot through him when he felt Amanda shift beside him before the last twenty-nine days came flooding back to him, and he allowed himself the tiniest of smug smirks.

3. when bobby met lani (litg: bobby/mc) explicit, minors dni

The beer's cheap and nasty, the bouncers are more interested in hitting on the girls coming through the door than actually providing any kind of security detail, and the male talent is… subpar. The music's half okay though, Lani thinks to herself as she chokes down the last of the God awful beer she'd ordered. The barman, who's barely taken his eyes off of her since she sat down, nods toward her empty bottle with his eyebrows raised.

4. the one that got away, chapter 23 (litg: bobby/f!oc) main story is explicit, minors dni

His phone beeping and vibrating across Tash's nightstand woke Bobby up. He groaned and squinted at it, the small light flashing in the corner indicating a text message. He heard Tash groan from where her face was pressed into his back as he reached out for it.

"What're you doing?" she murmured as she shifted to lay her head on his chest when he rolled onto his back, squeezing her eyes closed against the sudden light.

"I got a text, sorry."

"How much did it take for you not to yell that?"

He felt her grin against him and chuckled, "not as much as it used to."

5. keep on running, chapter 8 (litg: bobby/god knows honestly the boy was a ho)

Bobby slips his phone, keys and wallet into his pockets and steps out from behind the counter of the music store, ready to head home, but stops short when he sees Gary standing just inside the door waiting for him. He offers a small smile, which Bobby doesn’t return as he tries to walk past him and out onto the street. Gary’s arm shoots out, his hand on Bobby’s chest to stop him from moving, and he sighs and looks over at him.

6. while the cats are away, chapter 3 (litg: bobby&f!oc)

As usual Bobby was the first to wake up, and had quietly made his way to the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day while he had a few moments of peace. By the time he was done and heading back out to the bedroom, he was passing some of the others on their way to the bathroom. Tash was perched up on the edge of their bed waiting for him, holding a cup out to him as he made his way closer to the bed.

7. untitled (litg: ????)

Noah sat at their usual booth in the back of the bar, running his finger around the rim of his glass before letting out a sigh and checking the time on his phone again. He’d arrived early so he knew he had no business being impatient, but he’d needed to get out of that damn house, away from Hope.

It had been bad enough when they’d been playing nice. Watching her smile to his face while knowing that she was more than likely trashing him to whoever would listen as soon as his back was turned. Not that he had a right to be pissed off about that lately; he’d been doing the same thing for the last few weeks. But since signing the divorce papers, Hope had become a she-devil straight from the depths of Hell.

8. 25 (holi)days of wayhaven, day 31 (twc: adam/f!detective)

They’ve come a long way, and both of them feel it whenever they’re together. A long way from Jordan deliberately riling him up because she knew that just about everything she did irritated him. A long way from Adam going out of his way to spend as little time with her as possible.

It’s taken them a long time to realise that they were doing these things - leaning into their dislike for each other - as a way to distract themselves from the fact that they have always liked each other. Maybe they’ve always loved each other, though neither of them are willing to say that out loud.

9. untitled (twc: felix/f!detective)

Felix can't sit still. It's not as though it's unusual for him by any means, but it seems to be exaggerated when he's spent the last six hours in a place where there is literally nothing to do.

He's slumped on the chair beside the hospital bed, slouched down so low that his ass isn't even on the seat anymore, one of his legs jiggling up and down and both hands drumming erratically on his knees.

He lets out an impatient sigh and sits upright again, taking his hat off and running a hand through his hair.

10. sick like me, chapter 20 (litg: bobby/mc) explicit, minors dni

It had happened slowly, so slowly that if Lani hadn’t found herself (mostly) weirdly excited about it she might not have even noticed that it was happening. But Bobby was most definitely moving in, slowly but surely. It started with little things, a change of clothes here and there, some toiletries, until she was helping him sell off some of his bigger furniture, stuff that they both knew wouldn’t fit into Lani’s apartment.

After a few weeks, the two of them stood in the middle of what used to be his living room but was now nothing more than an empty space, as Bobby turned his keys over and over in his hand.

11. fire meet gasoline, chapter 4 (twc: morgan/m!oc)

She'd expected him to dress down a little, seeing that they are likely venturing into a sewer this morning. But all that's missing is his jacket; he's still wearing his usual long sleeve dress shirt and vest though his sleeves have been partially folded back, revealing the smallest glimpse of a tattoo on the outside of his right forearm.

"You know you're probably going to get covered in crap, right?"

"Wrong. But if you want to keep doubting me, go right ahead," he grins an obnoxiously cocky grin at her before turning and heading around the warehouse towards the sewers.

12. 28 dates with unit bravo, day 10 (twc: morgan/m!oc)

She doesn't like him. He's hot, that's all. And kind of cocky and kind of an asshole and what can she say? Morgan's into it. Maybe it's because he's the same as her; not relationship material by a long shot, but she has a feeling he knows his way around the bedroom. Probably the kitchen, bathroom and any number of outdoor locations as well. That, and he’s hot.

13. untitled (twc: adam/f!detective)

He can hear her pacing the hall outside of his room. She pauses every time she passes his door, and everytime she does he tenses, only to relax again just slightly when she returns to pacing.

Part of him wants to throw his door open and drag her into his room. Another part wants to stick his head out the door and order her to return to her room and stop shuffling around outside of his. But a part bigger than both of them makes him stay put, sitting on the edge of his bed and carefully unlacing his boots.

14. luck of the unit, day 20 (twc: adam/f!detective)

"Say another one!" Jordan can barely get the words out between gasps of laughter, only becoming more hysterical every time she catches a glimpse of the unimpressed expression on Adam’s face.

“This is hardly the best use of your time here,” he points out, pausing to gesture around the study, “you are supposed to be studying.”

“I am studying, I’m learning a foreign language,” she insists with a defiant nod, and when his shoulders sag in defeat she knows she’s got him. “Come on, another one.”

15. untitled (tanner, not fanfic)

"Does it hurt?"

"Nah."

"Liar."

Tanner pauses for a moment, unable to hold back a wince when the tattooist starts again. "Little bit."

Skylar grins at him and sits up straight in the seat again, smiling smugly at him before spinning the seat and herself around in a circle.

"Dad's gonna kill you," she points out when she finally stops herself from spinning, and Tanner rolls his eyes at her.

16. echoes in the forest, chapter 13 (twc: adam/f!detective)

“I got a bad feeling about this,” Felix murmurs quietly, trudging along between Nate and Mason. Jordan and Adam are walking up ahead close by the boy as he continues wandering through the forest.

“You mean you haven’t felt that way since we got here?” Mason scoffs, not bothering to lift his eyes from the ground in front of him.

“Yeah, but worse now,” Felix answers, and Nate places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“It will be alright,” he tries, but somehow Felix doesn’t find himself as reassured as he usually does when Nate attempts to comfort him.

oop, didn’t quite make 20. and jfc did i have to dive down to the bottom of the barrel to get what i did, some of these were almost a year ago. i’m noticing now that i start with a character’s name more often than not. honestly i don’t think i can pick a favourite, i’ve been thinking on it for like 15 minutes now and i honestly dunno.

and i know some of you think that you know everything that i have written even if it hasn’t been/isn’t to be posted... and i know that seeing this list of untitleds, you may be surprised and i’m sorry lol.

gonna tag @dwead-piwate-meggers @mistyeyedbi @masonscig @echohauville and @agentsunshine (no pressure ofc!) and to anyone else who wants to get in on this, tag me!

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 12 paragraph viii

Only here’s what I really, really want someone to explain to me. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can’t be trusted—? What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight towards a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster? Is Kitsey right? If your deepest self is singing and coaxing you straight toward the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is screaming at you? Set yourself on the course that will lead you dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement, the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of being somehow a better person? Or—like Boris—is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name? It’s not about outward appearances but inward significance. A grandeur in the world, but not of the world, a grandeur that the world doesn’t understand. That first glimpse of pure otherness, in whose presence you bloom out and out and out. A self one does not want. A heart one cannot help. Though my engagement isn’t off, not officially anyway, I’ve been given to understand—gracefully, in the lighter-than-air manner of the Barbours—that no one is holding me to anything. Which is perfect. Nothing’s been said and nothing is said. When I’m invited for dinner (as I am, often, when I’m in town) it’s all very pleasant and light, voluble even, intimate and subtle while not at all personal; I’m treated like a family member (almost), welcome to turn up when I want; I’ve been able to coax Mrs. Barbour out of the apartment a bit, we’ve had some pleasant afternoons out, lunch at the Pierre and an auction or two; and Toddy, without being impolitic in the least, has even managed to let casually and almost accidentally drop the name of a very good doctor, with no suggestion whatever that I might possibly need such a thing.

[As for Pippa: though she took the Oz book, she left the necklace, along with a letter I opened so eagerly I literally ripped through the envelope and tore it in half. The gist—once I got on my knees and fit the pieces together— was this: she’d loved seeing me, our time in the city had meant a lot to her, who in the world could have picked such a beautiful necklace for her? it was perfect, more than perfect, only she couldn’t accept it, it was much too much, she was sorry, and—maybe she was speaking out of turn, and if so she hoped I forgave her, but I shouldn’t think she didn’t love me back, because she did, she did. (You do? I thought, bewildered.) Only it was complicated, she wasn’t thinking only of herself but me too, since we’d both been through so many of the same things, she and I, and we were an awful lot alike—too much. And because we’d both been hurt so badly, so early on, in violent and irremediable ways that most people didn’t, and couldn’t, understand, wasn’t it a bit… precarious? A matter of self-preservation? Two rickety and death-driven persons who would need to lean on each other quite so much? not to say she wasn’t doing well at the moment, because she was, but all that could change in a flash with either of us, couldn’t it? the reversal, the sharp downward slide, and wasn’t that the danger? since our flaws and weaknesses were so much the same, and one of us could bring the other down way too quick? and though this was left to float in the air a bit, I realized instantly, and with some considerable astonishment, what she was getting at. (Dumb of me not to have seen it earlier, after all the injuries, the crushed leg, the multiple surgeries; adorable drag in the voice, adorable drag in the step, the arm-hugging and the pallor, the scarves and sweaters and multiple layers of clothes, slow drowsy smile: she herself, the dreamy childhood her, was sublimity and disaster, the morphine lollipop I’d chased for all those years.)

But, as the reader of this will have ascertained (if there ever is a reader) the idea of being Dragged Down holds no terror for me. Not that I care to drag anyone else down with me, but—can’t I change? Can’t I be the strong one? Why not?] [You can have either of those girls you want, said Boris, sitting on the sofa with me in his loft in Antwerp, cracking pistachios between his rear molars as we were watching Kill Bill. No, I can’t. And why can’t you? I’d pick Snowflake myself. But if you want the other, why not? Because she has a boyfriend? So? said Boris. Who lives with her? So? And here’s what I’m thinking too: So? What if I go to London? So? And this is either a completely disastrous question or the most sensible one I’ve ever asked in all my life.] [That little guy, said Boris in the car on the way to Antwerp. You know the painter saw him—he wasn’t painting that bird from his mind, you know? That’s a real little guy, chained up on the wall, there. If I saw him mixed up with dozen other birds all the same kind, I could pick him out, no problem.] And he’s right. So could I. And if I could go back in time I’d clip the chain in a heartbeat and never care a minute that the picture was never painted. To try to make some meaning out of all this seems unbelievably quaint. Maybe I only see a pattern because I’ve been staring too long. But then again, to paraphrase Boris, maybe I see a pattern because it’s there. [Do you ever think about quitting? I asked, during the boring part of It’s a Wonderful Life, the moonlight walk with Donna Reed, when I was in Antwerp watching Boris with spoon and water from an eyedropper, mixing himself what he called a “pop.” Give me a break! My arm hurts! He’d already shown me the bloody skid mark—black at the edges—cutting deep into his bicep. You get shot at Christmas and see if you want to sit around swallowing aspirin! Yeah, but you’re crazy to do it like that. Well—believe it or not—for me not so much a problem. I only do it special occasions. I’ve heard that before. Well, is true! Still a chipper, for now. I’ve known of people chipped three-four years and been ok, long as they kept it down to two-three times a month? That said, Boris added somberly—blue movie light glinting off the teaspoon —I am alcoholic. Damage is done, there. I’m a drunk till I die. If anything kills me—nodding at the Russian Standard bottle on the coffee table—that’ll be it. Say you never shot before? Believe me, I had problems enough the other way. Well, big stigma and fear, I understand. Me—honest, I prefer to sniff most times—clubs, restaurants, out and about, quicker and easier just to duck in men’s room and do a quick bump. This way—always you crave it. On my death bed I will crave it. Better never to pick it up. Although—really very irritating to see some bone head sitting there smoking out of a crack pipe and make some pronouncement about how dirty and unsafe, they would never use a needle, you know? Like they are so much more sensible than you? Why did you start? Why does anyone? My girl left me! Girl at the time. Wanted to be all bad and self-destructive, hah. Got my wish. Jimmy Stewart in his varsity sweater. Silvery moon, quavery voices. Buffalo Gals won’t you come out tonight, come out tonight. So, why not stop then? I said. Why should I? Do I really have to say why? Yeah, but what if I don’t feel like it? If you can stop, why wouldn’t you? Live by the sword, die by the sword, said Boris briskly, hitting the button on his very professional-looking medical tourniquet with his chin as he was pushing up his sleeve.]

And as terrible as this is, I get it. We can’t choose what we want and don’t want and that’s the hard lonely truth. Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it’s going to kill us. We can’t escape who we are. (One thing I’ll have to say for my dad: at least he tried to want the sensible thing—my mother, the briefcase, me—before he completely went berserk and ran away from it.) And as much as I’d like to believe there’s a truth beyond illusion, I’ve come to believe that there’s no truth beyond illusion. Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic. And—I would argue as well—all love. Or, perhaps more accurately, this middle zone illustrates the fundamental discrepancy of love. Viewed close: a freckled hand against a black coat, an origami frog tipped over on its side. Step away, and the illusion snaps in again: life-more-than-life, never-dying. Pippa herself is the play between those things, both love and not-love, there and not-there. Photographs on the wall, a balled-up sock under the sofa. The moment where I reached to brush a piece of fluff from her hair and she laughed and ducked at my touch. And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the sky—so the space where I exist, and want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.

And that’s why I’ve chosen to write these pages as I’ve written them. For only by stepping into the middle zone, the polychrome edge between truth and untruth, is it tolerable to be here and writing this at all. Whatever teaches us to talk to ourselves is important: whatever teaches us to sing ourselves out of despair. But the painting has also taught me that we can speak to each other across time. And I feel I have something very serious and urgent to say to you, my non-existent reader, and I feel I should say it as urgently as if I were standing in the room with you. That life—whatever else it is—is short. That fate is cruel but maybe not random. That Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn’t mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we’re not always so glad to be here, it’s our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch. For if disaster and oblivion have followed this painting down through time—so too has love. Insofar as it is immortal (and it is) I have a small, bright, immutable part in that immortality. It exists; and it keeps on existing. And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers, and the next.