#I imagine of the main three Horror would feel the cold more

[somegrumpynerd]

When you moved into a big cold castle and the only sources of heat are your insane new coworkers

[redcherrykook]

────𐙚 maybe next time

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content: oneshot, strangers to ?, coffe shop, no dialouge, secret mutual pining

note from cherry: after being pissed off from that dm yesterday i had this beautiful idea. Random little story <3

────୨ৎ────

the greatest conspiracies lay beneath the surface of what seems to be most obvious. Dead giveaways- no brainers.

You don't spare a second thought to the boy that sits in the back of your favorite coffee shop, pondering about in his jean jacket that hangs loosely off his body.

The air reeks of brewed coffee and, undeniably, the boring allure of a regular life- one where you do your routine tasks inside a room drinking overpriced lattes, only to feel some sort of accomplishement. Convincing not only you, but every one of the unsuspecting people around you that- you have your shit together. You live a good, productive life.

Eyes darting to the bright screen set place in front of you, a long article about the importance of classic literature bores you to sleep,

Lids falling shut almost entirely- fleetingly escaping the horror or falling head first to the wooden table, another glance is spared to the boy in the jean jacket,

His delicate hands wrapped around the tall glass, filled half way with the same caramel iced latte he always had, sitting besides his propped up laptop, dew wettening the space beneath with the passing of unforgiving time.

You spare a brief thought to him, the question of this normal, average looking person written across your mind, begging to be seen, to no longer be talked up to being soley out of boredom, to escape the unescapable dread that lies within the reason you are even here, to work, to focus.

Only that he is far from average or normal. His beautiful chocolate locs fall effortlessly on the sides of his face, conturing the sharp lines of his face with gentleness. Brown, big eyes that remind you of a baby deer linger on the screen, sometimes looking outside the window next to him, but never to you

Truth be told, you didn't enjoy this shop. After having spend three consecutive days trying to like their cold brews, you noticed how loud the atmosphere is, cars rushing by on the main street, corporate employees on zoom calls that the barista noticeably rolls her eyes at,

Nonetheless, your feet take you down the street to meet your demise inside the cafe every time a call for long working hours is knocking at your door, wondering if maybe this time, he'd be sitting somewhere else, maybe this time he's spare you a split second of his pretty eyes

Jeon jungkook sighs, placing his forhead inside of his palm.

The young artist has once again met a dead end, researching galleries to supply with his sketches, pitching magazines to feature some of his work, the colors of his imagination brighter than any one he reachers to draw with, a dream so far- so unrealistic and unreasonable

He wishes to be seen, dreams to be looked at.

Although having been looked at by you for what adds up to three weeks now, Jungkook is, as any other person inside of this room, unsuspecting. Bored. Busy

Never noticing how you divert your attention to him when he sighs, thus never correctly timing when to look up, when to make your eyes collide in a brief manner, a second, one smile

Mentally, he has given up to do so. Beneath the surface of this mind, deep within the confines of his heart, he still wishes.

unrealistic, unreasonable, he would never be able to catch your glimpses.

As a person of solitude that seeks the beauty of human connection through art, his peers have never been more than that, his love has never felt like desire, eagerly growing a hunger- a primal need to look for that raw, irrational craving of someone elses company, analyzing the mind of a person who put their feelings to a canvas rather than conversing with them

Jungkook wanted to simply find what he was looking for in what he always knew to love, what has always loved him back, much more than the human experience ever granted him

The ice inside his venti glass had melted, evidence of unforgiving time coating the table in a little pool of water, he hadn't felt it passing- only being ripped out of the intimaticy inside his head when a small ring fills up his ears,

one he had trained to look out for, hoping to see your soft features and a way larger than necessary bag hanging from your shoulder,

it wasn't you who entered, he knew, you'd been sitting there for the past hour and a half, unsuspecting of his baseless imagination

It was you, who had gathered her things and left only the silhouette of your back to him, leaving through the door with a heavy heart that wonders if maybe next time, he'd look up,

You who entered to get everything done only to leave with an unfinished assignment and a surpressed craving for what looks to be an ordinary boy,

The boy in the jean jacket smiles a weak smile to himself, mumbling the words 'maybe next time' under his breath, almost involuntary it slips our from his lips, desperate to push it back down, down there where he covinced himself it had gone,

you only catch his soft smile, engraved inside your memory,

because this time, you don't turn the street up left to your apartment,

this time you walk right, passing the large window decorated with the boy in the jean jacket,

the time forgives you once- granting you a moment that seems to stop everything, seems to slow down your world and increase your heartbeat,

Because this time, he looks out the window as always, and as always, you look to him,

only that this time, he sees you looking, and you see his deer eyes land on yours,

a split second, a brief encouter, a tiny, polite smile, until time returns, the bustling of your ordinary life engulfing you with a hasty hug inside the big city, and you walk past the window,

maybe next time

[the-grand-gemini]

Big obsessed with all of the BG3 villains. The themes of the cycle of abuse/trauma in all of the main cast makes me feral over how the villains unfortunately do not/did not get the opportunity to be "saved" by Tav (if doing a good playthrough) and by experiencing the heros journey.

I could talk about Ketheric and Orin, but after reading @bearhugsandshrugs fic it got me deep diving into Gortash's character. It's amazing and everyone should read it especially if you're weak for Tav/Gortash like I am 👀💦

Trigger warning for abuse mentions below the cut.

Let me start with stating this is NOT an Enver Gortash apologist post, he's evil and he's done terrible things. This is just me yelling into the void about character foils.

Childhood abuse:

In game we really only get to know his history through background information that we can scrape together if you search through the city and the House of Hope.

We don't get any details on what exactly Enver went through as a child. We can assume neglect/possible violence from his parents given his mother's words and the fact they sold him. We get to know that he was beaten when living in the House of Hope, but not what other possible horrors he could have experienced there (not including just the trauma of witnessing the other debtors and Hope), what age he was, or for how long (if anyone knows more timeline wise I'd love to know) he lived there before he escaped. We don't know how he escaped either, if he had help or did so on his own.

I'm no child psychologist, but abuse has lasting effects as we can see through all of the main party. Victims of abuse tend to have difficulty moving past certain emotional stages in their life. Aka a person abused in their childhood may have issues maturing emotionally without therapy, etc (again I'm not a psychologist). There is a strong possibility that "Child" Enver is still probably holding the reins emotionally while adult Enver isn't even aware of how his past affects every action and reaction he has at all times.

I can't imagine how living with Raphael during ones formative years being healthy in anyway, but we can definitely see some of the learned behaviours he's picked up from the Cambion. A focus on possing/presentation, a suave persona, torturing/using people for his own gain, a general lack of empathy, deal making, similar attire with devil motifs...

Unhealthy coping mechanisms:

Speaking of attire, Enver's coat not allowing Fear to be cast on him speaks volumes to me. Imagine the absolute horror of moving from one situation of abuse to another much worse one in the hells as a child/teen and probably being in a state of fear/anxiety at all times. Enver wearing a coat that doesn't allow him to feel fear gives me three main thoughts:

1. He is doing everything in his power to avoid that specific emotion and therefore prevents himself from thinking about that period of his life. Meaning he is not confronting his trauma the same way the main party is forced to throughout the game.

2. Narratively does the coat prevent him from feeling any fear at all? Or do we just go with the game mechanic that ensures he cannot be made afraid by the fear spell? If it prevents him from feeling fear at all (which I think is narratively more interesting and you can take this headcanon out of my cold dead hands) how does this effect his every day decisions? Fear prevents risky decisions all the time, it's one of the emotions that actively keeps people alive. Psychopaths usually don't experience fear the same way an average person would. Given his many horrific actions (the Iron Throne being a key example) I wonder how much his forceful removal of fear has done to his perception of rational thought. If you aren't afraid of consequences what's to stop you from doing anything at all? Selling a loyal body guard to the hells, torturing an entire faction of people in order to manufacturer your own personal army, stealing from an immensely powerful devil aka mother fucking MEPHISTOPHELES??? He presents himself as calm and collected in conversation. He appears as if he's the most rational of all three villains when he's really just as awful when we look into what he's actually been up to vs seeing Orin and Ketheric kill people on screen.

3. Where did he get the coat? Did he make it himself or was it a boon from Bane? A promise to a devout worshiper that he would never be made to feel afraid or beneath anyone again?

Another abuser - Bane:

Speaking of Bane... Another user (please tag if anyone can find the original post!) mentioned a line Astarion says where he states that he prayed to all the gods, but none answered. OP wondered if Enver, trapped in the hells and desperate for salvation, called out the same way... only for Bane to be the only god to answer. I'd die to know specifically when he was introduced to Bane and made to be his chosen.

We know Bane is considered an evil god and we even find that if we kill Enver and then use speak with dead that Bane is torturing him in the afterlife for failing him.

Given this abusive relationship is Enver a foil for Gale, a man groomed from a young age by a goddess and left with the consequences when his actions did not meet her expectations?

Is he like Shadowheart, someone who was given no alternative and made to believe they willingly chose their god only to learn they were deceived and never had any other options?

Like Wyll he's cast out by his father (or in his case both parents).

Like Lae'zel he's worshipping a deity with false promises, how can he believe he'll rule the entire world like a god himself when Bane the god of TYRANNY would see no other at the top but himself (Was he secretly planning to use the crown like Gale to usurp Bane or just pandering to us)?

We know he and Karlach are absolutely foils for each other given that he is her abuser and like himself Karlach was forged by her times in the hells only to survive on her own merits.

Those are my thoughts! Would love to know anyone else's on the walking red flag that is Lord Enver Gortash.

If Enver lost his memories like the Dark Urge would he be given a chance to redeem himself through his actions? Could he with his knowledge of infernal engines fix Karlach's heart

Would Enver have ever become Lord Gortash if not for Bane...?

Anyways if anyone wants to yell at me about Enver, Orin, or Ketheric please feel free to do so! I love characters who fell through the cracks because they had no one there to help them only to crawl out themselves and burn the world.

[mintyimperiatrix]

just finished reading the Infinity Doctors and i'm now going to make it everybody else's problem, so welcome to what is probably going to be the opposite of a concise review by someone who knows utterly fuck all about any of the 90s books, yeehaw (spoilers)

~~

so in all honestly i literally only read this because it's the only other time that i'm aware of that Patience appears and after reading Cold Fusion i wanted to find out more about her. imagine my feelings when i find out that this entire book is set in a different universe :D

for real though it took me a good while to figure out wtf was going on. i didn't know if it was pre-Hartnell or a Doctor from the future or what but i think it's the latter because there's one line about how he doesn't wear a velvet coat anymore, implying he's after Eight and i know it was written wayy before Nine was cast but his description fits Eccleston's so well which to me points to him being yet another alternate Ninth Doctor so ig Nine just gets to vibe on Gallifrey in this timeline instead of facing The Horrors(tm)

speaking of timeline stuff it kinda just felt like a compressed version of the Doctor's life from the main universe. he remembers Patience here so clearly married her as Hartnell rather than before. Hedin's around so i figure he just didn't die, which makes sense if the Omega shennanigans in the Three Doctors and Arc of Infinity also didn't happen which i have to assume is the case judging by the entire plot of the book. there were also references to something that'll off the Time Lords later on which tracks with the Time War but again this was pre revival so i'm guessing it's some Faction Paradox stuff since that was also referenced. it follows the concept that the Doctor's half Human and his parents are Penelope and Ulysses which is not something i'm a fan of normally but knowing this is an alternate universe i think it has potential. he called the TARDIS a family heirloom at one point which is bizarre but in that context somewhat works

and the Magistrate is the Master right? surely that's gotta be a unanimous opinion, right?? i loved him though, probably my fav character in the book. exactly what you'd expect a Gallifrey-bound incarnation of the Master to be like. i was sad when he was killed/vanished/whatever, i wish there was some sort of follow up on that or even just a reaction from the other characters at all. there was one line though where Larna notes that it's obvious that he's in love with the Doctor and vice versa and that made my thoschei shipping brain squee with delight.

loved Larna too! we all had that one hot teacher she's just the only one lucky enough to actually snog them. i loved her dynamic with the Doctor and the Magistrate and i like to think she exists in the main universe, probably re-engineering Gallifrey's staircases and turning down constant offers to join the High Council

i would like to have strong words with Lance Parkin regarding his repeated de-shoeing of female characters though and of the random mentions of curves and figure that never occurs with male characters. i wouldn't mind the emphasis as much if the same had been done for the male characters, and it's not like there wasn't opportunity for it however in the scenes where the Doctor is naked briefly or the Magistrate is wearing tight fitting clothing not once is it given the same depth of description as the scenes with Patience or Larna. the introduction of systemic sexism on Gallifrey was also so incredibly unnecessary and i have no clue why anyone would feel the need to specify that "of the thousands of Time Lords on Gallifrey only around a dozen were female" like huh???

speaking of Gallifrey i did enjoy (for the most part) the depiciton of Time Lord day to day. i'm not fond of the distinction between Gallifreyans and Time Lords, in my mind all Gallifreyans are Time Lords some just don't live in the Citadel, but the stuff about Infinity Chambers, the way they decorate their rooms, the random tech like Z-Caps and Force Knives, the obsession with protocol and proceedure, it's all gorgeous. the use of TARDIS/Time Lord dynamics was stunning (there's a soft moment between the Doctor and the TARDIS at the end and i love it), also the use of different pronouns for different TARDISes was a welcome treat

onto Patience though, the reason i read the book. it referenced her fate from Cold Fusion but because of the everything about this book i assume it's a different version of Patience which honestly i'm glad about because i'm not sure how i feel about the idea of the Doctor marrying the woman who was at his birth and proceeded to raise him. also don't like her being Omega's wife, that's really weird??? i enjoy the idea that she's older than she initially appeared in Cold Fusion though, past regenerations for her would be cool but i doubt she stretches back as far as the Doctor does in the main universe. it was so fun to see her again though albeit a different her

on the whole i'd say a very good book but with enough iffy bits that i wouldn't rate it too high. bit of a slow burn but in a good way! i love Sontarans and i didn't know going in that they were there so that was incredibly welcome. i really like the Infinity Doctor and i wouldn't say no to more content with him, even just an unbound comic strip or something because i really like this take on the character

[tlgpandoramia]

Snippet From ''Little Sister''

Following their Mother's recent divorce, a family of four are forced to live in a distant island, discovering that the place is a haven for something much darker. Genre: Horror/Romance

''No, I didn’t killed my father, neither I became a slasher. However, I didn’t gained justice for the ten years plus of abuse, we just left the place behind, leaving him alone back in Michigan. We hoped that a new perspective could’ve come up when moving to a different place with unrelated people. Mother made the choice, we couldn’t afford California, or hell, even a one bedroom house anywhere in the country. We were lost, yet Mother knew one thing, that Detroit had to be left behind, hard to admit, she loved that city, it broke something inside of her, or it fixed it, I can tell that she’s happier on this path. As a little girl, I imagined how the sea and a beach would look like, sure photos in the internet helped, yet to picture that infinite body of salt water that also acted as the main reason why life began in Earth, just to experience how it could feel to be in contact, and touch the water as it slippers through the fingers, so full of life and history, a living poetry of billions of years. During the three nights that we stayed in cramp one bed hotels in the middle of nowhere, I lay down and fooled myself by conjuring the sound of the waves kilometers away, how it would feel in late evenings and to be the cold water. Some of those hotels smelled worst that the trash can on the parking lot, more that once I caught glimpses of people that could be great inspirations for road killers.''

[creativeenquiry23hons]

`Haunted Family Portrait No.1' is a large scale acrylic painting. For this piece I used a mix of black and burnt umber as a base, a soft buffing/blending brush, small paint brush and spray bottle to create this work. I then allowed the paint to dry ever so slightly before going in with a spray bottle and water to lift the paint. I done this in a relaxed, free flowing manner allowing the water and paint to have control over the end result. This technique allows me to be more relaxed, not focusing on a refined and perfect finish. This technique creates a dripping and smoky appearance depicting a variety of ghostly figures, in turn creating a chilling atmosphere. The areas where the water has lifted the paint creates the contrast of light and shadow bringing attention to the indication of a face. However due to the little to no facial features, this piece is ambiguous leaving room for the viewer's imagination and perception. The painting depicts one main figure with an indication of three smaller figures making the painting feel claustrophobic and intimidating, also caused by the size of the canvas. The marks made by water indicate where shadow and light would naturally hit a face, allowing the viewer to see a possible face. All of the faces are emotionless with dark and hollow eyes. This creates a cold and eerie atmosphere. The red used for one of the figures in the background eyes has bled down the face, this paired with the ghostly shapes and ambiguity creates a sinister, haunting, chilling and horror like appearance, evoking similar feelings to when watching a scary movie. I aim for the hairs on the back of my viewers necks to stand up, for them to feel as though they are being watched, in turn making them feel uncomfortable.

[inheritedcreatures]

cassandra de rolo

woah! was that CASSANDRA DE ROLO walking down main street? i heard they’re not actually from ivy cove but come from CRITROLE (VOX MACHINA). they’re TWENTY-THREE and live in GLEN OAK HEIGHTS but watch out because they can be VENGEFUL + IRRESOLUTE but are actually CURIOUS + HEARTFELT. despite them HAVING memories, you’ll always think of BEING CRUSHED UNDER THE WEIGHT OF THE HORRIBLE THINGS YOU'VE DONE; THE SHATTERED MEMORY OF CHILDHOOD; "YOU WERE NEVER MOTHER'S FAVORITE, SHE TOLD ME."; SPENDING A LIFETIME MAKING UP FOR YOUR SINS; & THE IDEA OF FALLING AND NO ONE CATCHING YOU when imagining them. / esmé creed-miles, she/they.

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

name. cassandra johanna von musel klossowski de rolo.alias. cassandra de rolo. cass. cassie. age. twenty-three (23). gender. nonbinary. pronouns. she/they. occupation. horror fiction writer. memories. yes.

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

history of man / maisie peters - he stole our youth / and promised heaven / the men start wars / yet troy hates helen / women's hearts are lethal weapons / did you hold mine and feel threatened?blood upon the snow / hozier - i walked the earth and there are so few here that know / how dark the night and just how cold the wind can blow / i've no more hunger now to see where the road will go / i've no more kept my warmth / than blood upon the snowused to be young / miley cyrus - the truth is bulletproof, there's no fooling you / i don't dress the same / me and who you say i was yesterday / have gone our separate ways

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

being crushed under the weight of the horrible things you've done. all you've ever wanted was someone who would stay. the shattered memory of childhood that you'd rather just forget. blood and more blood, there's so much blood. "you were never mother's favorite, she told me." a circlet made to rest on your brow that you never show have worn. spending a lifetime making up for your sins and then some. living with your demons. the idea of falling and no one being there to catch you.

[patronsaint-prometheus]

4 + 14 :]

THANK YOU FOR THE NUMBERS !! I love talking about my story smile.

4.) what would you say is the message, if there is one.

THFH's message has changed a lot over the years. And may very well change again before it’s in any concrete form. I think the main thing I’m trying to say with it right now is that people are gross! People come from gross places and they have gross undesirable traits. But that’s the whole point of being human. With stitching Maine culture into the plot as much as I have there’s a very big overtone of “don’t condescend other people” , but I always wanted the more intimate moments of the story to be more inward. You can be a train wreck of a person and not know what your doing other than your rough goal of doing right by the world. You’re allowed to and don’t need to hate yourself for it. That’s what being human is.

14.) whats your favorite part of this story/project?

OH GOD THIS IS HARD. i don’t think I can pic one part. So I’ll just say the one that’s been repeating in my mind most recently. Hannah Dumont is one of the three protagonists and the lead woman. I’m insanely proud of how I’ve fleshed out her concept overtime but she’s this super strong willed rural fem as well as a emo/scene kid of the early 2000s. I think she is a really good example of taking the good out of where you come from AND of what you make yourself and holding it in both hands. There’s this one scene where’s walking home from a frat party relatively drunk and very pissed off and holding her heals in one hand. She’s kinda stumbling along the road with the dim streetlights around her in the part of late autumn where it isn’t really pretty anymore it’s just gray and frosted over and cold. Something suddenly doesn’t feel right. She’s not that far from the party she just left but she can’t hear any normal college neighborhood sounds. Her being a drunk firecracker very quickly changes to “oh there is SOMETHING following me” and she starts to pick up speed until she is running full sprint and barefoot down the side of the road. Scene amps up with trash cans and lawn chairs she’s running past starting to shift and rumble and get knocked towards her. The streetlights start buzzing and flickering. There’s no sign of any human life anymore even though she’s maybe a block away from the crowded place she was just in. Everything comes to a head when she comes across a white, very shallow frozen puddle. Where normally she could step over it and crack the ice and keep moving. Her white socks with almost childish lace hemming makes contact with the puddle, and she falls through the ground entirely.

THFH is “horror” in a very light use of the term. The actual paranormal side of things doesn’t have too much blood or gore. But the line between characters experiencing hallucinations and experiencing genuine reality breaks is a line I LOVE to cross. there’s a very important flashback type scene that happens between her falling through the puddle and coming back. But when she does show up again she’s standing over the shattered puddle. Solid ground underneath it. Just when she thinks she might’ve just imagined it all she realizes the sun is already coming up and there’s no way she could’ve been standing there overnight in below 0 temps. Behind her every house in sight has lawn decorations and trash cans strewn through the front yards, sidewalk, and street. It wasn’t exactly real but it wasn’t fake either.

[sweetsingingrembrandt]

danaë

“the white veil that covers you...”

sanzu.

content warning(s): yandere, forced marriage, forced masculinization of reader (gender neutral reader), blood, guns, descriptions of a gunshot wound, biblical allegory

“Daaaaaaarling!”

The church doors flew open with a heavy crash. You nearly screamed into your restraints, the cloth stuffed haphazardly into your mouth muffling out any cry you had been desperately yelling out until your voice ran hoarse. It didn’t matter to you if your throat would run red with blood—you needed to get out. This had been the moment you had been dreading for so long, the exact scene that would plague every waking moment of your life like a serpent slithering amongst the shadows biding its time to strike when you least expected it.

You could have never imagined that anyone would desecrate a place so holy. Religion was all personal, but you would never defile a place that could hold any crumb of significance to someone else. Sanzu, on the other hand, was never one for much empathy. If he wanted something, if he decided something was important enough, then he didn’t care how much he needed to dirty his hands or the world to get what he wanted.

“Mmpph…!” You shrieked out, frantically yanking at the ropes tying you down to the altar. Dyed an alarming shade of red from how much you had rubbed your wrists raw trying to unsuccessfully break free, you trembled against the pristine altar he had restrained you to. Your skin stung with how much you had ripped it open, but you didn’t care for the pain. The pain of escaping would far outweigh the freedom you needed. The inscriptions of saints and God on the altar and on the church walls around you remained unblinking and unseeing, nothing more than silent witnesses to the torture you were being condemned to.

The nightmare himself, like the main actor to a grand theater performance, stood at the entrance to the church. With night settling down and soft flakes of snow coating the roof, he looked more like an angel than the demon who had ensnared you as he stood there, the red carpet leading him up the pews directing his crazed eyes to where you were. The winter wind billowed all around him as individual snowflakes clung to his eyelashes, bare skin, his clothes…

“Oh, darling, did you think you could run? Did you think I wouldn’t catch you and bring you here?” Sanzu cooed, the sickening grin on his face making your blood run cold. You shake your head quickly, your thrashing becoming more and more crazed. The laugh he let out sounded more monster than human, and he shook his head, as if he was amused. “It’s not nice to get cold feet right before our wedding! You’ll hurt my feelings, dear! But it’s alright! I’ll forgive you because that’s what a good lover would do! You’re so cute when you’re scared!”

He stepped forward, and your voice faded out into nothingness as horror replaced the emptiness instead. Beautiful white heels, a gorgeous lace dress that criss-crossed his pale limbs in patterns of vines and flowers, complete with a bouquet of red and white roses. You tried not to think about how you were dressed to be his counterpart: hair slicked and styled back, polished shoes, and a three-piece suit that was once crisp and clean before you had made a rumpled mess of it while escaping.

He wanted to marry you. As crazed as he was, Sanzu was dressed as your bride.

“You did such a good job getting this far… I didn’t know that you’d have enlisted so many friends to help you. Did they take pity on you? Is that why they helped? Not that it matters now; they’re all dead and gone,” he sighed, shaking his head. Rose-pink tresses curled down across his chest and back, and you struggled against your restraints harder. Your throat burned from all the screaming, your shoes were scuffed from how much you were kicking against the relentless ground of the church hall, and your eyes were all puffy and red and irritated from all of your crying.

Sanzu didn’t care. Your fear of him made his attraction to you simply all the more wilder. Bunching his dress up in his hands, he entered into the holy space. Step after step, the sound of his muffled heels drew closer to you. “It’s such a shame, darling… They could have all been guests to our wedding. So many people could have seen us make our vows and start a new life together… Unless you wanted a more private event? You’re so silly—you could have just told me that you wanted a smaller wedding if you were feeling shy!”

No, you weren’t feeling shy. You didn’t want to marry him at all. You didn’t know what drove him to fall so madly in love with you, but that didn’t change the fact that you had failed and that he had slaughtered everyone who tried to protect you. His goons had won, and you were forced into this groom’s outfit and literally restrained against your will inside a wedding cathedral so this deranged man could play his twisted fantasy out.

A heel came down to your side. Sanzu leaned down, and you could see how beautifully his eyes twinkled with delight behind the sheer material of his veil. Blood ran down his face, staining the ivory white lace and fabric of his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to care about that at all. A hand snatched your face up, gripping your cheeks forcefully to the point that you could barely breathe.

“I don’t think I can ever get enough of your expressions…!” His smile widened. “Whether you’re staring at me with such wide eyes or sneering at me… It’s all so lovely! You do this out of love for me, don’t you? No one other than me could make you feel so strongly… That’s love!”

He stuck his blood-drenched fingers in your mouth and yanked the gag out. The taste of bitter iron spreaded across your tongue, and you coughed ungracefully, blood and spit and snot spreading all across the floor as you doubled over. Taking in deep breath after another, coughing and choking and sobbing against the red carpet and the marbled floors, Sanzu giggled happily to himself as he watched you writhe on the floor.

“Well? Anything to say? Your bride is here for you,” he sang.

You swallowed, barely able to taste your own voice. You lifted your head, warily staring up at him with nothing but daggers in your eyes.

“Y-You’re insane.”

Sanzu threw his head back, the echoes of his hysterical laughter echoing all around the walls like a ghost choir.

“Insane…! Oh, yes, yes, darling, I am! I’m crazy for you, crazy in love with you! Aren’t we all? Any couple about to get married, standing right in front of the wedding altar, should be crazy with love! Oh, you kill me…,” he sighed, wiping his eyes. The crimson smears of blood on his face made him appear even more wicked, and you tugged at your restraints again.

He leaned down once more, this time gripping your throat. You kicked out at him in hopes of gaining some form of leverage; if there was any way that you could escape this bastard, you were going to fight for that chance.

“Darling, what kind of groom lashes out at their bride like that?”

You froze.

A gun. He pulled a gun on you.

One hand on your neck, another on a gun, aimed right at your forehead. Sanzu grinned, definitely seeing no wrong in the way he toyed with your freedom and now your life as if it were a toy, and you didn’t even dare to breathe for a split second. Your blood roared in your ears: a war drum crying out an imminent doom of marriage or death.

He wouldn’t kill you. He wouldn’t dare kill you. You’re too precious to him for him to kill you in one painless shot. No, it doesn’t matter how bratty you are or how “unfaithful” you seem to him. If he were to hurt you, he’d do it slowly and surely. To break your spirit and psyche, he would want nothing more than to turn you into a lovedoll for him to dominate and worship like some fucked up god.

You see it in your head for a split second. A gunshot. A noiseless scream. Your blood splattered all over the walls. Sanzu would grab at your shot leg, dragging his drug-laced tongue across your open wound and lapping at your blood as if it were some kind of holy elixir. He’d slither his tongue all along the bullet hole in your flesh while you’d scream and scream for him to just fucking kill you already, to put an end to this needless chase of cat-and-mouse and to put that bullet through your head.

You trembled against his palm at the thought of him moaning at how delicious you’d taste: reveling in your suffering for his own sickening need to feel desired.

“Not so jittery now, are we? It’s alright! We all get nervous before such a big event. Just you, me, and whatever God is out there as our witness to our holy matrimony,” he dreamily remarked. He pushed you back, still keeping the gun locked on you. You struggled to breathe, laying listlessly on the ground as another wave of hot, frustrated tears pricked at your swollen eyes.

Sanzu yanked the veil off of his head. Like the essence of dreams, you watched out of the corner of your eyes as the veil fluttered in the shimmering moonlight down to the ground. Your bride hovered over you, kneeling so that he sat right on top of your crotch, a knee to each side of your hips. His free hand circled your chest, pressing down right above your heart. Bile rose in your throat when you felt him rub his ass against your hips, arching his back to show himself off to you in a mock display.

“We don’t need a priest for this, right? I think our undying love for one another goes above whatever any snivelling priest could say,” Sanzu hummed. His nails dug into the fabric of your suit.

You didn’t respond.

He stayed right above your face, his eyes not wavering even once. In the sweetest and calmest voice you had ever heard from him, he spoke. “I, Haruchiyo Akashi, take thee to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part. This is my solemn vow.”

His hair fell over his shoulders again, and you couldn’t help but feel your stomach twist in inevitable dread. Such a beautiful man, so callous like a living doll, so hungry for your love that he doesn’t care if he’s killing you inside. You wondered how many times he must have repeated and memorized those words, waiting so eagerly for the day he could have you pinned down and held at gunpoint like this, to spit out these sickeningly honeyed vows so he could forcibly marry you.

“Do I take you to be my lawfully wedded husband?” He asked himself mockingly. His grin widened even further, lips painted red with lipstick and blood. “I do. Of course, I do.”

He wiggled the gun against your forehead, his finger ghosting over the trigger. “Do you take me to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

You already knew the answer you were supposed to give him. The feeling of defeat that washed over you felt like the cold snow outside against your skin, except you would give anything you had ever owned in your life to become a lone snowflake in the howling winter wind, set free and flying higher and higher, into a metaphorical metamorphosis that would be nothing short of a miracle and maybe Heaven’s mercy on you.

But Heaven doesn’t exist. God doesn’t exist.

“I do.”

x

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch. 8

Ch.1      Ch.2      Ch.3      Ch.4      Ch.5      Ch.6      Ch.7

It has come to a point where you can’t even pretend to yourself that you don’t care for her.

All the time you spend with Cassandra every evening has made certain feelings impossible to deny, though you are too scared to name them all.

You don’t name the smile you can’t contain when she excitedly pulls you to the armory to show you her collection of blades –and explains, in a very animated fashion, about the optimal use for each one. You don’t want to know what the stutter in your heartbeat means, every time she genuinely laughs, pale neck thrown back, nose slightly scrunched and all. 

And it’s not just Cassandra you grow a tad closer to.  

Bela comes to you whenever the two of them have argued and goes ‘Tell my sister’ this or that. Daniela is apparently not allowed within a twenty meter radius of you, but she approaches to poke and prod at you whenever she wants to annoy Cassandra. She never manages to do either, because the middle sister always swoops in, fuming, dragging her away by the hood of her robes like a kitten.

Lady Dimitrescu is the only one as distant as the day you first saw her –and it’s probably for the better. You don’t see her much, anyway, not with how Cassandra takes you to empty castle wings to have you all to herself.

Tonight is different.

After dinner, Bela leaves with her mother and you go to help the other maids present clean the table. But your lover steps in the way and grabs your elbow, instead, hurriedly pulling you along.

“Do not tell me you’re seriously thinking to make me wait longer.” she says.

Of course, you promised to watch a movie you found on your phone with her and she’s been buzzing with impatience since.

That is, until a certain redhead blocks your way. 

“Daniela, move.” Cassandra huffs. 

“What are you doing? Take me with you.” the younger sister replies, brimming with childlike curiosity. 

“No. Go bother Bela.” A shooing motion is made. 

“Bela’s no fun. I wanna come with you and Alexia.” she drops your name so casually it’s startling.

“Wait give me a moment to think about it –moment over. No.” Cassandra states, fast.

But Daniela shoots forward and grabs your arm like a koala. Your eyes go wide at the same time as Cassandra’s, for different reasons.

The brunette immediately grips her sister’s robes, none-too-gently. “Don’t touch her, she’s mine!”

“If you don’t take me along I’m telling mother where you found that music player and phone!” Daniela answers, her hold enough to cut off your blood flow.

You send Cassandra a pleading look before they break your arms with how they’re tugging at you.

“On one condition.” the elder sister holds a finger up to her sibling’s face. “You sit next to me and you don’t move around.”

“…she’s warm, though.” Daniela says, all but pouting. “Mother says sharing is caring~”

“Find your own human.” Cassandra growls out as the three of you make your way to the main hall and the couch adjacent to the fireplace there.

“You and Bela have gotten the prettier ones!”

“You snooze, you lose.”

Cassandra quite literally pins you to the arm of the couch with her body, to keep Daniela as far away from you as possible. Even as the movie starts, you can feel her sulking by your neck for not being able to touch you the way she wants.

You are not as focused on the movie as you are cute way she plays with your hand throughout its duration.

-

-

It’s getting harder and harder to remind yourself of what they are.

Especially when, ten minutes after the credits have rolled, Daniela is still crying over the death of the protagonist. Even Bela comes to the hall and asks Cassandra what she did to her.

By the time she’s done dealing with her sisters, your lover comes to you sporting a headache.

“We’re leaving this wing right now.” Cassandra says and that is about all the warning you get.

The next second you feel a rush of air and your stomach leaping to where your heart is supposed to be; Your eyes only make out a blur and an augur of black flies.

When she comes to a halt you crash into Cassandra’s side with a gasp. Your arm aches from the pull. The world spins for ten solid seconds.

She laughs by your ear. Low and satisfied as it is at your disorientation –it reminds you of drinking wine by a fire in the heart of winter— you can’t help but bask in the timbre of her voice so close.

“Ugh, why is it so cold in here?” she complains in that same quiet tone you love.

It is very cold compared to the more lived in parts of the castle, but your body is warm enough from your sustained proximity and the rush of adrenaline she always causes in you.

“Oh, well, I can bear it for a little while if it means we won’t be interrupted.” Cassandra trails off and lifts your chin with a chilled finger.

Your lips meet and slide together in a practiced tango. Her manicured nails run over your throat and shoulders, making you shiver for reasons that have nothing to do with the temperature.

Both of you are starting to get really into it when Cassandra walks you back into the nearest wall. It happens to be a window, covered by a flimsy curtain. You have half a mind to realize it’s probably been forgotten slightly ajar, judging from the frost that graces your shoulder, but you have more important matters to focus on, like the brush of her tongue over your bottom lip.

Until Cassandra braces her bare hand over the unseen opening, to box you in like she usually does.

And-

She shrieks.

She jerks away so powerfully her back crash-lands into the painting on the far wall, knocking it down with its frame broken. You’re left there still and mute, watching in frozen horror as her face distorts into pure, raw anguish.

“Shut it!” Cassandra screams at you. “Shut it now, now!”

Your nerves suddenly kick into overdrive and you pull the window closed like your life depends on it.

What just… happened...?

In slow, cautious steps, you approach her. She’s clutching her hand like a wounded animal, baring its teeth to hide its vulnerability. It is the first time you see her like this. Void of control, bent over in hurt. Gasping.

Something in your chest breaks.

You look at her hand, to find her pale skin nearly crystallized, grey and breaking apart —like cheap china, like weak porcelain— into flies that drop to the floor, faintly twitching.

You thought… you thought they could just control the insects. That dissipating into swarms was just a trick allowed by their mutation. But now you realize, the flies are her body.

All this time trapped under the looming terror of the daughters… and escape was as easy as opening a window on them.

“Cassandra…?” you ask in a wavering voice when the initial burst of rage leaves her form.

She looks up at you, torn, when you hear the heavy sound of heels rapidly approaching.

“Cassandra?!” a different voice calls, this time, deep and authoritative. When Lady Dimitrescu rounds the corner in her immense height, your instincts scream to run.

But one look at Cassandra makes you stay.

Alcina halts for a moment to take in the scene. Then her lips curl downwards and bladed claws extend from her gloves, easily half your body in length. 

Oh my… God…

“What did you do to my daughter?!” she demands and advances on you, but Cassandra gets in front of you before she can truly threaten your life.

“I brought her here, mother. It’s my fault.” she hurries to explain.

Alcina stares at you like she wants to crush you underfoot… but then softens, somewhat, at the look her daughter is giving her.

“Come with me. Now.” She says in a stern motherly tone that leaves no room for objections.

You clutch Cassandra’s uninjured hand, silently asking if she’ll be alright. She turns, looks at you for a moment, then nudges your head with hers.

“...I’ll see you later, Alexia.”

But, as it turns out... “later” is subjective.

 -

-

 In Alcina’s Private Chambers…

It is not often that Cassandra is reprimanded by herself. 

She has never before been the only one at fault. She’s used to having her sisters beside her while Alcina scolds the three of them… except this time they’re outside the closed door and she is there to face their mother’s ire alone.

She can’t stay still under that yellowish-grey, narrowed gaze. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her robes’ sleeve to keep occupied, while Alcina takes that deep, calming breath she knows heralds no good things. Ever.

“Cassandra. Do you understand the severity of the situation?”

“Yes, mother.” She keeps her gaze downcast.

“Even if the maid didn’t harm you on purpose, she now knows your weakness. Yours and your sisters’. You were careless to allow this.” Cassandra feels anxiety rise up from the pit of her stomach and threaten to swallow her whole at that tone.

“I know, mother. Forgive me.” she replies quietly.

She wants to say that Alexia won’t use this knowledge against any of them, but she cannot bring herself to lie to Alcina. Because the truth is, Cassandra doesn’t know for a fact that she will not.

Why was that window open? Why?!

“You didn’t let me fix your mistake. I assume that means you will do it yourself?” her mother asks and Cassandra’s gaze snaps up.

What…?

At first, the temptation to chain Alexia up and watch as her blood drained from her lithe body had been sweet and strong. But now, at the thought of killing her –losing her— in whichever way, Cassandra is sick to her stomach. It is strange, because she feels like she is hyperventilating when she isn’t breathing at all and the world has tilted and—

Please don’t.

“Since when did you ever hesitate to kill, Cassandra?”

“…If.. that is what you ask of me…” she replies but she doesn’t sound like herself at all, not even to her own ears.

“How can I ask that of you and break your heart?” Alcina throws her arms up in exasperation. “I should have stopped this months ago but I thought it a fleeting fancy. I never imagined you would end up so attached.”

“I’m- I’m not-” she tries to protest, but her mother is having none of it.

“You’re not? You’re with her every day and she barely sports scratches anymore. Your eyes follow her everywhere when she’s in the same room. You instinctively lean closer whenever she comes over to refill your wine. Do you think I do not notice?” Of course. Of course she noticed.

Cassandra swallows, silent.

The memory of laying, too weak to move a single finger, on her deathbed along with Bela and Daniela pierces through Cassandra’s brain like a bullet. Her hand gives a violent spasm and flies break off to buzz frantically around her as she drops her forehead into her palm.

She’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown and it’s just so difficult without her sisters there. They’ve always been together, since the very beginning.

They were born together, learned to control their powers together, they died together-

Alcina is on one knee in front of her the next millisecond, stroking her hair and gathering her into her arms.

“Shh, calm down, my love.” she coos. “I’m sorry to be so harsh on you. I only want the best for you three.”

Cassandra doesn’t talk because she can’t, because she cannot wrap her head around what that flash inside her brain was.

“Oh, my Cassandra. I will not harm the maid if it will harm you, too.”

She waits for the eventual ‘but’.

“But I cannot let this dalliance continue any longer.”

It’s probably for the best. Her mother knows best. It is true, after all, that she has not been acting like herself, lately. So, yes, this decision is for her own good.

But.

Cassandra’s heart has the same reaction upon hearing it as being exposed to sub-zero winter air.

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

26 for the prompts? perhaps w the cat n mouse lads :3 (also look danny i did it i sent a prompt are u proud)

I...actually don't remember what the prompt was for this one, but I'm 87% sure it was "I'm not that scary, am I?"

So fine since y'all keep asking for 'em, here's more of the cat and mouse bois. Shoutout to @gabbydafurry and an anon for finally giving them names.

--

“C’mon.”

“No.”

“Please?”

��I said no.”

“I’ll make pollo asado for dinner, we can eat it together while we watch!”

Aaron sighed and rubbed his hands against his forehead, trying to ease the dull throb that had yet to wane over the past two days. His headache certainly wasn’t being helped by the constant badgering of his...roommate, for a lack of better words (as well as being a title so eagerly self bestowed by the cat in question) but much like many of their other interactions, his resolve was starting to wear thin. Usually, he was able to hold his ground for at least a week until he was bribed into giving the other some type of social interaction with the promise of his favorite foods. Today, however, the poor mouse just wanted a moment’s peace free from knocking on the walls or calling through the cracks until he answered, and if that meant watching some stupid movie then fine.

Plus, Lucas did know how to make some incredible Mexican food.

“...fine,” Aaron conceded after a pause, the pressure behind his eyes giving him a sharp pang before fading to its usual ache, almost like his own body was projecting how horrible of an idea this was.

As soon as the mouse slipped out from behind the curio, he came face to face with the massive grin of the cat mere inches away from the opening. Seeing the grin only split wider when he was fully in view of the other normally would have instinctively sent a shiver up his spine, it was kind of difficult to be intimidated seeing how Lucas had strangely contorted his body to lay on the floor between the curio and the bookcase. Most cats seemed to be fairly flexible, so it probably wasn’t too uncomfortable for him to be so bent and curled up, but he definitely lost some of that hunter’s prowess with his back twisted sideways and one leg leaning against the shelving.

In a flash, Lucas had managed to untangle his strange positioning to instead be crouched on his knees, now looming over Aaron in a way he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. He flinched back when his hand started to reach out towards him, fully intending to scoop him up to dizzying heights without a second thought, but the appendage stopped just short of touching him at all. Instead, he dropped his hand palm side up and waited, smiling all the while. At least he was getting better at remembering Aaron’s explicit request to not be grabbed without permission, though he did always apologize with a sheepish look and some little treat whenever he forgot.

Once Aaron climbed onto the awaiting hand that radiated a delightfully intense warmth into his already aching muscles, Lucas was already jumping up a chattering a mile a minute about how much the mouse was going to love the movie he picked out, how dinner would be ready soon, how he wasn’t expecting him to actually agree to watch a scary movie with him since he never seemed like the type who would be into that sort of thing but--

“It’s a scary movie?” Aaron interrupted, the noise finally registering beyond the headache. Truthfully, he tuned a lot of what the other said out for almost every conversation, not that it ever seemed to make a difference. Yeah, sorry, I’m a bit of a chatterbox, he admitted once, but it’s less weird talking to someone who doesn’t respond than to talk to yourself, right?

Debatable.

Lucas tilted his head and snorted. “Uh, yeah? That was one of the first things I told you about. You know that one actress who’s in almost every one of those Christmas movies we watch, who’s always the jealous best friend?” Aaron has no idea who he was referring to given that he never absorbed anything from those stupid romance movies he was boarderline forced to watch, but nodded anyways, “Right, this is supposed to be her big break out role, or something. It’s the first thing she’s doing as a lead actress, and you know, good for her! I’m glad she’s getting out of that typecast she’s been in forever. Horror probably wouldn’t be my first choice for her, but I guess since she has those singing vocals it could carry over to being a scream queen. Kind of like when--”

And Aaron was out of the conversation again.

Lucas continued to drone on about the actress’s entire film career, or at least that’s what the mouse was assuming he was doing when he occasionally zoned back in to pick up a stray word here and there. The headache he had been staving off to the best of his ability was starting to come back with twice as much force as it often did in the later days. He probably could have just asked the other for some aspirin, maybe even some cold medicine as that was no doubt what this bout of illness was turning into, but asking the cat for anything was always out of the question. Of course, Lucas tried to sway him numerous times into thinking it most certainly was not and that he could always ask for whatever he needed, never to his avail. Aaron was indeed willing to prolong his suffering if it meant not having to stomach the dreadful embarrassment that would come to being indebted to the feline, no matter how insignificant.

Unfortunately, he was only setting himself up for failure in thinking this “agreement” would be providing him any sort of relief. His headache was treading dangerously close into becoming a full fledged migraine and the flashes of light and screams from the television would not be doing him any favors. His only saving grace was that, after he had been settled on the couch and Lucas scampered off to get the dinner he promised, the cat turned off every other light possible to, as he put it, really get them in the spooky mood!

The smell of the food was delicious and nauseating. His stomach both wanted and revolted at the idea of anything filling it, which would only serve to worsen his headache no doubt. Damn it all, he wanted to throttle both himself and this illness, the first for agreeing to watch this stupid movie when he was already feeling under the weather, the second for preventing him from getting his half of the deal. These movie-dinner dates deals were the only reason Aaron continued to stick around, even if he thought the torment of being forced to watch awful romcoms in exchange for a hot, homemade meal was a little unfair. No, that wasn’t entirely true, Lucas was a freaking culinary genius as far as the mouse was aware. It was a wonder why he wasn’t majoring in a cooking field.

“I’m not hungry right now,” Aaron lied when Lucas had asked why he wasn’t eating. “I’ll try some later.”

The cat looked at him strangely before shrugging. “Alright, just let me know. If you don’t like it, I can always make you something else.” There he goes again, offering things he knows the other can’t accept. At least he could let it slide this time as he had no appetite to think of any other dish.

Lucas finished his own meal in silence, completely fixed on the television as the opening scene carried on, introducing the canine main character that Aaron did, in fact, vaguely recognize. This was fine, he figured, the dark apartment coupled with a painfully slow movie, a warm body moving to curl up behind him as it so often did during these deals, he could probably get a few moments of real rest in before the credits rolled. As much as he loathed to admit it, the cat was actually rather...comfortable to be forcefully cuddled by. He wasn’t like other movie goers that needed to make a comment on every character’s decision, steady breathing and the occasional purr helping the mouse slowly relax.

That relaxation was cut short as soon as the romcom actress tore her tiny avian neighbor to shreds by the end of the first act.

Aaron had hardly been paying attention to the storyline up until this point, something to do with the girl being bitten and experiencing insatiable hunger lately. The sudden carnage of the otherwise trusting little prey creature made both of them flinch in surprise, though Lucas was quick to laugh it off. From then on the mouse’s unwavering attention was glued to the screen, but not by his choice. A chill ran through him each time she claimed another unsuspecting victim, always a prey animal, and ripped them apart with her teeth and nails like a starving animal. The way the tiny’s incredibly realistic viscera was slurped into her bloody mouth made him queasy, all too easily imagining himself in their shoes.

Eventually, her hunger became too strong and she began attacking fellow predator species as well. Ripping into throats and soft bellies was far messier than snacking on a tiny creature in three bites, making her feast all the more gory. While the violence still unsettled him, it was a touch more bearable now that he couldn’t picture his own body being mangled between the teeth of a predator he thought he could trust. Speaking of…

The mouse gulped and risked a glance behind him at the other who had hardly moved, save for a few jolts and snickers whenever a particularly good jump scare managed to startle him. It didn’t go unnoticed that every time Aaron had physically reacted to a sudden screech or attack, the cat would curl just a little bit tighter around him, hiding a laugh behind a rumbling purr. He wanted to believe this was meant to be an act of comfort and not something equally as nefarious as the canine plotting her next kill. Regardless, Lucas was equally transfixed on the movie, except he seemed to be enjoying every minute of the horror aspect. His tail would flick in interest during the high tension scenes, even more so when a chase sequence was underway. It made sense, considering that was his favorite game to make Aaron play.

Whatever the case may be, the mouse couldn’t help but be unnerved tenfold that the other had the audacity to enjoy a fictional movie he was interested in seeing. The last thing the mouse wanted was for Lucas to get any more ideas when it came to chasing him around the apartment, much less awaken any sort of primitive instinct to maim his prize after it had been captured. To this day, it remains a deep seated fear in the back of his mind that every time the cat cupped his hands over him, his teeth would be quick to follow. Natural instincts were hard to shake for a reason when it came to prey animals such as himself, he could only hope the same wasn’t true for predators.

His imagination was running rampant, enough so that he completely missed how the movie ended. Something about a cure, something about being put down, whatever. The only thing on his mind was the morbidly hilarious thought that if Lucas were to go feral like the canine, would he eat him raw or would he cook him up in another fantastic dish?

Aaron jumped when Lucas moved to sit up behind him, only now registering the credits scrolling across the screen. He stretched a bit, the quickly fading warmth that had been surrounding the mouse making him realize just how tight the other must have been snuggled around him. How did he not notice?

“Wow,” Lucas said, pursing his lips. “That...was one of the worst movies I have ever seen in my life.”

That wasn’t the reaction Aaron had been expecting him to have, but it was certainly better than to hear him go on about how it was a brilliant masterpiece. He got up to flick the lights back on, still laughing as he recounted each poorly written scene and cheesy effects. “I mean, oh my god, right? The mail man saved everyone? Seriously? I actually feel bad for making you watch that, you totally have dibs on the next movie night.”

He turned around to look at the mouse who was still huddled tight on the couch, wide eyes glued to the screen even if it was just names moving along with ominous background music. Lucas gave him another quizzical look, smirking.

“C’mon, even you have to admit those tinies had zero survival instincts. Like, who goes up to a rabid dog and asks for directions? I get suspending my disbelief and all, but they could have made it just a pinch realistic. This is so going to tank her acting career…” The cat shook his head and moved closer to the couch so that he stood right in front of the television, finally drawing the other’s attention to himself. “Hey, you hungry now?”

Oh, absolutely fucking not. An hour and a half of being tensed up gave no relief to his aching muscles and now that the lights were back on, so was his pounding headache. His stomach rolled, the nausea a mix of dizziness and disgust from the special effects. He didn’t even want to think about food, he didn’t want to be out in the open anymore, and he most certainly did not want to spend another minute in the cat’s company right now.

“S-sure…” Aaron finally squeaked out. He just needed Lucas out of the room, distracted somewhere so he could make a break for it. In some instances, he would have just darted off whether the cat saw him or not, but that always resulted in a game of chase that had a 50/50 success rate, the other loving it anyways. All he wanted was some peace and quiet to rest up and heal and not think about how easy it would be for the other to bite off his head whenever he felt like it.

Lucas stood there for a minute, studying him, and just when Aaron genuinely feared he was going to pounce, he flashed an innocent smile. “Cool, just give me a couple minutes to get it heated up.” And with that, he disappeared into the kitchen.

Aaron decided to be bold and waste a few precious seconds of his head start to collect himself. Deep down, he knew he was being ridiculous. Lucas had been nothing but kind to him. Aloof, but still kind all the same. But as a prey animal that spent the better part of his life living in walls and stealing to survive, trust was a risk he simply couldn’t take. There was hardly any benefit to keeping up this con if the end goal was simply to eat him. For all he knew, though, Lucas was nothing more than a merciless sociopath that was willing to milk every ounce of fear he could before chowing down. A sociopath obsessed with romantic comedies and wore an apron when he cooked and had begged Aaron for two months straight to tell him when his birthday was so that he could make him a miniature cake.

...okay, so maybe Lucas wasn’t a sociopath, but that didn’t mean he was trustworthy. Evolution gave him sharpened fangs and agile reflexes for a reason and the mouse was not about to find out what it was like to be on the receiving end of those one day.

With his head as clear as it was going to be for the time being, sans the dull throb behind his eyes, the mouse finally pushed himself up to make his way over to the couch arm. Slowly, as to not overwork his stiff joints, he climbed his way down to the floor and skittered under the couch for a little extra protection. Strangely, he noticed that he didn’t hear any noises coming from the kitchen just up ahead and when he stopped by the doorway, he couldn’t see anyone either. Losing track of the massive cat should not be possible, especially considering this was a one bedroom apartment and there was literally nowhere else for the feline to go without coming back through the entryway. Aaron should have taken it as a blessing, but of course he couldn’t leave well enough alone.

He proceeded to be daring and come out from under the couch completely to peek into the kitchen, confirming it was empty. Again, that shouldn’t even be possible for Lucas to slip out without having to directly pass the living room to go somewhere else. Unless he had, which would mean Aaron missed him somehow. He had been in quite a deep thought process on the couch...but he could have sworn he was only collecting himself for a minute!

The answer became glaringly obvious when the mouse took a few hesitant steps back and turned to retreat under the safety of the couch, only to come face to face with Lucas. He damn near jumped out of his skin, slamming his back against the wall in an effort to gain another inch of distance between himself and the face taking up his entire view. Really, this was nothing too out of the ordinary for the cat, he loved to sneak up and pounce whenever the opportunity presented itself and Aaron wasn’t too obviously close to heart failure. What made his heart stutter, however, was the fact that Lucas didn’t look like...well, Lucas. There was no smile, no warm eyes, no words being talked a mile a minute about nothing.

No, there was just a frowning cat with his ears pinned back and pupils slit, stalking closer with a terrifying rumble in his throat.

Instinct overtook him as soon as he saw the other’s lip twitch, trying to dart under the couch for safety and having his path immediately blocked by a hand being slammed down, claw out. Aaron couldn’t even yelp, the bile in his throat threatening to turn into vomit if he idled around too long. So, he didn’t. Instead, he turned on his heel and scampered in the opposite direction with the cat hot on his trail. He very nearly dodged a swipe, Lucas hissing that his blow didn’t land while Aaron only tried to speed up his sprinting. They circled maybe half of the living room, the mouse weaving under furniture while the cat knocked into them in an effort to jarr his prey into taking a misstep.

It worked, unfortunately, when Aaron took a sharp turn at the bookshelf and caused Lucas to clip it with his shoulder. The small bump did nothing to deter the cat on his hunt, but the two books that came tumbling down were enough to make the smaller skid and trip to avoid being squashed under the novels. He ended up twisting his ankle awkwardly, stumbling flat on his face while the momentum of his running made him roll twice until he landed on his back. Despite being winded and the additional pain in his leg, he knew there was no time to waste, trying to pull himself. It was too late, though. The cat was already on top of him, hand coming down to pin him under his palm while only his head poked free from between his fingers.

That cold, terrifying face came nearer, eyes tunnel visioned on its prize. Oh God, Aaron would give anything to have the other Lucas back right now. He’d watch a thousand sappy movies, do a date night for every meal, actually move into his bedroom like the cat had suggested he do a dozen times. He wanted...fuck, he wanted his friend back. What he thought was his friend, anyways. Not this killer, not this predator who was baring his teeth and was now mere inches away from biting off his face and--

The growling above him broke off into a snort shortly before turning into a full blown laugh. Aaron wasn’t sure when he had closed his eyes in preparation for his certain death, but when he dared to open them and blinked away the budding tears, he saw that smile he had been wishing for again. Kind and warm, just like eyes, and it was like Lucas had never even taken the form of a starving hunter in his life. Like he hadn’t been moments away from devouring his beloved roommate.

“Oh, come on,” he howled with laughter, “You can’t be serious! That movie actually scared you? I mean, I thought you looked a little freaked out by it, but wow!”

The movie...so this...this wasn’t real. Lucas was just pretending, just playing a prank on him. He thought that the movie had simply wound him up and made him jumpier than usual, no different than watching a zombie flick and popping out from behind a bush at your friend later on.

Except it was different. It was different in the fact that zombies aren't real, but predators are. Predators didn’t need an excuse to go feral and maim and consume their tiny cohabitants, they simply could by the laws of nature. And yes, it may be illegal and have several laws in place to protect prey species, but if no body was ever left behind, who could say if foul play was involved? That was the whole plot point in the otherwise dull movie they sat through together, the reason why the woman was able to avoid suspicion of her sickness by feeding on tinies that could only be reported missing at most.

Lucas’s laughter had tapered off, still clearly enjoying himself. “Alright, note to self, no more horror movies.” Finally, he released Aaron from under his hand to sit back on his haunches. “Man, I really didn’t think you would scare that easily, especially from a B-movie like that. Anyways, are you actually ready to eat now? I put your stuff in the oven so it would reheat better, but it should be done by now….Ronnie?”

Aaron hadn’t moved an inch since he was originally pinned, not even after the hand had been lifted off of him. He just stared up blankly at the cat, trembling and wide eyed, unable to do anything as the rapid succession of events sunk in. The cat’s humor died down a little, smile hesitating.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist, you know?” He shrugged a little sheepishly. “You didn’t even notice when I came back so I thought...I don’t know, it was funnier in my head. I almost broke character and started laughing before you ran!” With still no verbal response, Lucas reached out a hand. “Aaron? You good? Come on, I’m not that scary, am I?”

The reaction he got probably wasn’t what he was hoping for with Aaron suddenly scrambling to push himself away from the outstretched hand that might trap and tear apart his limbs. He gave a sharp squeak, managing to find his footing only to come crashing down as soon as he took the first step, his ankle noticeably swollen by this point. His cry of pain was muffled into a desperate grunt, trying so hard to drag himself away as a last ditch effort to avoid the same fate as the bird and the squirrel and the mole in the movie.

Lucas gasped. “Oh, Ronnie, your leg!” Both hands were reaching for the mouse now, aiming to cup around him and scoop him up before they surely put him out of his misery. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t...oh my God, I hurt you.”

Yes and no. In truth, Aaron had been the one to hurt himself by making his body move in ways it physically shouldn’t. But that didn’t change the fact that Lucas had shown his true colors. Perhaps in hindsight, that wasn’t a fair assessment, as he really did think he was playing a harmless little joke on a skittish friend. The pain came from knowing that the cat could turn feral, though, no matter how genuine he was being. There was still clearly an instinct within him, one that knew how to hunt and bare his teeth and hiss, one that knew deep down where they both ranked on the food chain. It hurt in knowing everything he thought about his friend, everything that kept him from really letting down his walls like the other so desperately wanted, was right. Cats and mice were not friends.

“Get away from me!” Aaron shrieked when the hands came too close. Though they withdrew quickly, he didn’t bother to watch if they would move again as he forced himself up to stumble back to his nook behind the bookshelf.

“Aaron, wait!” It was a fruitless request and Lucas knew it as he didn’t even try to stop the mouse from disappearing behind the furniture back into the walls. It would only make matters so much worse. “Aaron, please, you’re hurt, just...at least let me help you. Please. I...I’m so sorry! It was an accident, I promise!”

The cat shuffled closer, leaning down in hopes that the other could at least hear his pleas better, could hear how sincere he was trying to be. “I would never hurt you, Aaron. You’re one of my best friends. Look, it was a stupid prank and I’m an asshole and I’ll never do it again, just please come out. Just let me know if you’re alright?”

It didn’t matter how hard or for how long he tried, Aaron was long gone within the walls.

[jungwonenthusiast]

Field Trip

A/N: I’ve been working on this pic for a while, I hope you guys like it :)

Pairing: Jake Sim x fem! reader

Word count: 5.2k

Genre: fluff, high school au

Warning: mentions of virginity loss and porn, occasional swearing, nothing else I think

“How many shirts should I take?” Jake asks you through your phone. 

“Uhm, we’re there for three days so take four just incase.” you reply and you pack your suitcase as well. 

You two were preparing for your five day field trip to New York which was happening tomorrow. 

You packed your favorite jeans and hoodies and even a dress just in case. You can't help but romanticize the hell out of New York after being stuck in this small town all your life. 

“How many pairs of underwear should I take?” he asks again and you giggle. He’s like a kid sometimes.  “How many times do you think you’ll change your underwear?” you say while sitting on your suitcase to get it to zip closed.

“Probably three but I’ll take four just in case.”

“What a quick learner.” you say and you hear him scoff. 

Jake has been your best friend since elementary school when you scraped your knee during tag and he took you to the nurse’s office. He’s been a sweetie since day one. 

“I doubt I’m gonna get any sleep tonight,” you sigh. “I’m too riled up.”

“Same,” he sighs. “I wonder how many flashers we’ll run into.”

You laugh. “Why is that the first thing you think of you creep.”

“Hey now,’ he chuckles. “I thought that was the stereotype.”

You hop onto your bed and pick your phone up, it looks like Jake’s doing the same. All you can see are his eyes and a bit of his nose bridge. His dark hair has started to grow out and it was poking at his eyelids. 

Your phone pings with a text from Jake. It’s a horrendous screenshot of you climbing over your phone to get into bed. You gasp.

“I’ll kill you.” you tell him as he’s holding in his laugh. “I will do it.”

His laugh bursts out of his throat, jolly and warm. “Why I love it.”

“I hate you so much. Delete it.”

“No way,” he bunches his brows. “You have an entire photo album dedicated to bad pictures of me.”

“And I also have an entire album dedicated to good pictures of you.” you roll your eyes.

“You do?” he asks. “That’s a bit fangirly of you.”

“Me? A fangirl? Maybe Madeline but not me.” you scoff.

“Madeline?” his voice perks up. “She likes me?”

“Yeah, I thought you knew this.” you swear that you’ve brought this up before. Maybe he just forgot. 

“Nuh-uh.” he says.

“Well...” you say. “do you like her back.”

“I mean she’s nice but,” he hesitates. “not really.”

“Why not? She’s smart and super pretty. I'm so jealous of her hair.” you say. Madeline was a tan ginger girl with curly fiery hair down to the small of her back. 

“You have nice hair.” he says nonchalantly. 

You touch it and rub it between your fingers. “It’s whatever.”

He scoffs. “You’re too hard on yourself all the time.”

“I’m a teenage girl, I can’t help it.” You defend yourself, but he isn’t lying. 

“I’m bored, can I come over?” he says suddenly. 

“Tonight? We have school tomorrow.” you reply. 

“Maybe I’ll just sleep over.” he says while turning over in his bed. “I don’t think our parents would care.”

Sleepover? You two hadn’t done that since you turned eleven. 

“Where would you sleep?” you ask him, already imagining how this would go.

“I don’t know on the floor.” he shrugs.

“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor I’ll feel bad.” you argue.

“I don’t care, I’m the one who suggested it, plus I miss you dude, I wanna hang out.” he says and you smile.

“I saw you on Friday.”

“Yeah, a whole two days ago.” he gets up off his bed. “Okay I’ll be there in ten.”

“What-” you start but he cuts you off.

He brings the camera up close to his face and he flashes you a smile. “Bye!” he hangs up. 

Your palms feel a bit sweaty and you brush them off on your pants. Why am I nervous? You guys have had plenty of sleepovers before but the rest of the boys were always there, probably passed out from beer or a sugar crash. 

You tidy your room up a bit and prepare a little blanket bed on the floor right next to your actual bed. 

You hear knocking at the door right when you expected, Jake was hardly ever late. 

“Hola~” he says as he walks in with his backpack on. He takes his shoes off before skipping over to your room. You giggle to yourself. 

He falls back onto your bed with a big sigh. “I missed being here.” 

“Why? There’s nothing cool here. Your house is way cooler.” you say and he smiles.

“Well I can’t deny that,” he shrugs and you punch him in the arm. “you’re the one who said it.”

“We get it rich boy.” you roll your eyes and sit down next to him.

“I’m just playing,” he sits up. “you know that.”

“I hope you showered after practice,” you say. “I don’t want you stinking up my bed.”

He whips his head to you, looking a little bit offended. “I am very clean alright? Here smell my hair.” he shoves his head into your face. 

You let out a strangled noise and try to push him away. “Okay, okay!”

“No smell it,” he keeps his hair up in your face, it’s tickling your nose. “smells like mangos right.”

Admitedly, he's right. It smells like mangos.

“Yes it does,” you squeak out. “now please respect my personal bubble.” you spread your arms out and create an imaginary bubble between you two. He tries to tug at your arm but you bellow in a robot voice. “PERSONAL BUBBLE PERSONAL BUBBLE.”

“Fine, fine.” he falls back onto your bed again, laughing. “Lets watch something.”

You follow suit and tug your laptop into your lap. 

“Hold on,” you get up and close your window, it was starting to get too cold.

You shimmy under your covers and pull up Netflix.

“Scary movie?” you click on the horror section.

“Sure but you probably won’t be able to sleep.” he teases and you roll your eyes. 

“That was years ago.” you start to scroll through the movies. 

“Mhm, and I’m never letting you live it down.” he says with pride. 

During freshman year the gang decided to go to Jay’s house to watch It together and it freaked you out so much that you went to sleep in the boys room rather than the guest room. 

You click on Hush, a movie you’ve been avoiding because it’s about one of your biggest fears, a home invasion. 

“I thought you hated this movie.” Jake says, crossing his arms.  “I do, but I need to face my fears eventually right?” you click on it and get up to turn the lights off. 

Jake soon gets under the covers as well. You both cringe and slap each other every time your feet touch. 

“Yo yo yo yo watch out!” Jake whispers and pulls his hood over his head, something you both do when you’re nervous. You weren’t wearing a hoodie so you settled with a spare blanket and draped it over yourself like a cloak. 

“Oh shit,” you whisper. “look behind you!” you yell at the main character. 

By the end of the movie both of your bodies are stiff and sore from being so tense for two hours straight. 

“I thought she was gonna die.” you sigh and you shut your laptop. 

“Nah, they couldn’t kill the main girl.” Jake says, comfy and cuddled up in your duvet. “She was so smart.”

“Yeah she was.” you yawn and then kick Jake in the side. “Go to your bed.”

He groans. “It’s warm here though.”

“Go and I’ll make pancakes tomorrow.” you say.

He perks up and follows your orders. 

You relax into your mattress, but you miss his warmth next to you. You ignore that. 

Your alarm goes off at 6:30 and Jake sleeps right through it. 

“How the hell does he get up in the morning?” you whisper. “Probably Leila.”

He’s sleeping on his side, cuddling a stuffed animal he must’ve stolen from your bed while you were asleep.

You stretch your back before washing up. 

Jake’s POV

My serene sleep is interrupted by pokes at my shoulder. 

“Get up poop.” she says. I almost forgot that I was at her house. I crack my eyes open to find her crouching next to me. 

“Good morning.” I croak out.

“You stole ginger.” she points at the stuffed bunny in my arms. 

“I was lonely.” I say before sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “What time is it?”

“7:30,” she says holding in a giggle. “go wash up so we can eat.”

“What’s so funny?” I ask her as she walks away. “You’ll see when you look in the mirror.” she says.

My eyes widen. Did she draw a dick on my forehead or something? I thought we swore to never do that.

I scramble to her bathroom to meet some gnarly bedhead. I have no clue how guys have good messy hair, my hair is either boring and flat or just messy. 

“Jesus.” I say to myself and try to run my head under the sink. 

I brush my teeth and secretly use her facial cleanser. 

“So fancy.” I whisper while lathering it up on my face. 

I can already hear her voice in my head when I’m drying off saying “don't forget to put lotion on, and face lotion, not body.”

A stack of pancakes is waiting for me in the kitchen, just as she promised. 

“Thank you mom.” I say to her before digging in.

She sits across from me with her own plate of flap jacks. She looks so pretty this early in the morning. Her face is fresh and sparkly and her eye bags somehow just make her prettier. It’s cloudy out and I can tell she’s cold she way her body is bundled up in her chair. 

I still remember the moment I realized that I liked her. It was seventh grade and we were at our town’s annual fair. She got a bit sick after a ride with a lot of loopdey loops so I stayed behind with her while the rest of the boys continued to go on every ride they pleased. She told me to go with them and that she didn’t want me to miss out but I said that it was fine and that I liked hanging out with her anyway. She smiled her bright smile at me and rested her head on my shoulder for a moment. Then she threw up on my shoes. Like projectile cotton candy, funnel cake, and other miscellaneous fair food vomit. And I didn’t even get that mad, I was more concerned for her. After that I figured I liked her, because if it were Jay I would’ve beat him up. 

“Did you have any nightmares?” I ask her and she shakes her head.

“Nah, I dreamt that Sunghoon married a dolphin. It was weird.” she sighs.

I choke on my pancakes. “A dolphin?”

“Yeah,” she laughs. “his name was Jerry.”

“And it was a guy too?” I hold my chest, trying not to choke.

“Don’t judge their interspecies homosexual marriage. It was beautiful.” she laughs and takes a big gulp of water.

I’m almost crying at this point. “Best dream ever. I can’t wait to tell Sunghoon this.”

“No!” her eyes widen. “He’s gonna think I fantasized about it or something.”

“What?” I cock an eyebrow. “Everyone knows that dreams are uncontrollable sometimes.” “Still it’s weird. Imagine if someone told you that I dreamt of you marrying a dolphin. It’s be weird.” she says through a mouth of pancake. 

“Did they have kids?” I cackle,

“I don’t know. How would that even work?” 

“Maybe they had a surrogate or something.” I suggest.

“Oh god,” she shakes her head, smiling. “we need to stop. I feel like I'm violating him.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Should I wear this shirt or this sweater.” she asks me as we’re getting ready in her room. 

“Sweater. It’s probably gonna be cold.” I say while tugging socks on. 

“Shit you’re right. Then I won’t be able to wear this dress.” she holds up a little dress that flows out a bit from the waist. 

“Bring it anyway and maybe you can wear it for a second so I can take pictures for you.” I suggest and she smiles. 

“Good idea.” 

We both settle of hoodies and jeans and say goodbye to her parents before hopping in my car. 

We get to school right when people start getting on the bus to the airport. We throw our luggage into the bottom carrier and get in line. 

“Yo!” I hear a familiar voice call as we get on. “We saved seats for you guys.”

Jay, Sunghoon, Heeseung, Jungwon, Sunoo, and Niki have already gotten comfortable in the back of the bus. Niki was already asleep. Y/N couldn’t help but pat his head before settling down next to Jungwon. The bus wasn’t a school one but one of those fancy ones they bring out once a year. 

I sit down next to Sunghoon and dap him up. 

“What’s up.” I say while putting my backpack down by my feet. 

“Tired.” he says. “Valentina kept me up all night.”

I raise an eyebrow and he smirks. 

“For real?” I ask and he nods. “No way.”

“Yeah way.” he says and holds up a fist.

I fist bump him and pat him hard on the shoulder. 

“You’re a man now Sunghoon.” I congratulate him and he snickers. 

“What does that make you then?” 

“I’m taking my time alright? I’ll get there eventually.” I say, a little embarrassed. 

I look back to check out what she’s doing when we start to drive off. She’s fast asleep with her cheek pressed against Jungwon’s shoulder. He looks like he’s about to dose off too. Cute. 

Sunghoon and I watch a couple episodes of Death Note before we arrive at the airport. Sunoo shakes Y/N and Jungwon up. 

She’s still groggy as we walk into the airport and grabs onto my arm for leverage. My heart jumps a little. It’s not often that we touch despite how much I think about touching her. I could stare at her back all day. She could ignore me for the rest of my life and I’d still be happy to be in her presence. Mental note to all of you: do NOT let your feelings get to this point.

Soon we’re on the plane and she chooses to sit next me. I silently celebrate. Sunoo and Sungoon behind us, Heeseung and Niki next to us, and Jay and Jungwon in front of us. Sunoo pokes his head over her seat.

“Do you have chapstick I can borrow.” he asks with his blonde hair flopping over his forehead. 

She digs into her bag and hands him a small tin of lip balm.

“Thank you!” he says and she nods. 

“Are you that tired?” I ask her.

“Mhm,” she sighs and shuts her eyes. “I forgot to drink coffee this morning.”

I put in my AirPods and start to watch Lady Bird. She looks over and takes an AirPods out of my ear. 

“I wanna watch too.” she say and puts it in her own. 

We take off for the six hour trip and soon Y/N is sound asleep. Her head kept dropping forward so I pushed it up and pulled it to rest on my shoulder. This was not on purpose. I can’t help but snap a picture of her and add it to the good pictures of her album. She looks so peaceful and comfortable and gorgeous. I lay my head on hers for a moment before continuing the movie. 

Y/N’s POV

After two hours of unsatisfying sleep, and hour of gossip with Sunoo, and three hours of chit chat with Jake you finally arrive. You sit up and stretch as best as you can in the plane. You pull you backpack onto my back and get you luggage down from the overhead bin. It’s already five p.m. when we get off and your stomach is growling. 

We take another bus to the hotel and you can’t help but admire the city life as we drive there. 

You’re roomed with two other girls at the hotel but you don’t even bother unpacking. You know you’re gonna be in the boys’ room anyway.

Mrs. Gilroy gave us tonight to do whatever we wanted as long as we were back at the hotel by ten p.m. 

You sneak into Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon’s room as soon as you can. And when you get there, it’s already a mess.

“Good lord.” you say as you’re met with clothes all over the floor and mini bottles of liquor on the beds.

“You guys are drunk already?” you scrunch your nose and drop your stuff in a corner of the room.

“No.” Sunghoon says to you lazily with a little smirk on his face. You can’t help but giggle. Sunghoon is pretty adorable when he’s drunk. 

“Are you drunk too?” you turn to Jake and he shakes his head. His pink cheeks give him away though. “You’re all bad liars.”

“Lets go swim.” he says excitedly. 

“There’s a pool? I didn’t bring a swim suit.” you say, bummed.

“Can we go later, I’m hungry.” Jay says and you agree.

“Me too.” 

Jake tugs at your arm. “Come on~ we can order room service or ask Jay to get us something.”

“We can get you guys something.” Sunghoon says, pulling a hoodie over his head. 

“Please?” Jake looks at you with shiny eyes. He’s and adorable drunk too.

You purse your lips and sigh. “Fine. But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Just wear shorts and a shirt.” Jake says as he tugs his swim trunks out of his suit case.

“I didn’t bring shorts because you said it was gonna be cold.” you complain, crossing your arms. 

“Uhm,” he stops for a moment. “you can wear my boxers then.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Huh?”

“What?” he looks at you. “They’re basically shorts. And they’re clean.”

You hesitate but then comply as always. He tosses you a pair of black Calvins.

You steal one of Jay’s shirts and make your way into the bathroom to change. You’re wearing a simple cotton bralette which should be fine for the pool. You bundle up the rest of your old clothes and stick them behind your backpack before heading out with Jake. 

The pool is empty and huge and is only light by the lights inside. 

“It’s so cold.” you rub at your arms as Jake sets your towels down at a seat.

“I’m sure the pool is heated.” he says and dips a toe in. “Yeah, it’s warm.” Before you can even reply, he tugs his shirt off and canon balls in. You turn your face to avoid getting splashed.

“How is it?” you call out as he emerges from the water. He shakes his hair around like a dog. 

“It’s warm so come in, you look funny standing there.” he teases and you roll your eyes. You kick your sneakers off and try to make a peaceful jump in but you didn’t realize you were in the deep end. It takes you a moment to get your senses together and swim to the surface.

“Why is it deep?” you say, a bit out of breath. 

Jake giggles at you. “Remember when we used to play and you were the mermaid and I was the-”

“Turtle companion.” you finish his sentence. “Yes, as clear as day.”

“Why couldn't I be a mermaid too? Why was a I a lame turtle.” he fusses.

“I’m sorry okay?” you laugh. “I was a mean child.”

“Yeah you were. I’ll never forgive you for shoving that clump of dirt in my mouth.” 

You burst out laughing, flailing your arms in the water to try to stay afloat. “You deserved it!”

“I did not!” he protests. 

“You cheated in handball! It was one hundred percent deserved.” you say, swimming over to him.

“I barely cheated!” he calls out, starting to swim away from you.

“Barely? I would’ve won and been champion of our grade if you hand’t pulled that shit!” you say, still laughing and swimming after him.

“Why are you chasing me?” he says while hopping around the pool where he can touch the ground.

“So I can shove another clump of dirt in your mouth.” you try your best to get him but your heavy cotton shirt is holding you back. You don’t let it stop you though. 

You finally get to him and tug his arm. He yells as you push him underwater. He finds the ground though, and shoots up soon after. 

“Are you trying to drown me?” he looks at you, astonished but giggly. 

“Maybe.” you shrug before tackling him again. It had been a while since you two wrestled like this. 

You’ve got him under water for a bit until he finds your rib cage and plunges you in. It’s hard to hold your breath while you’re laughing. You feel around for him and pinch his thigh only semi hard. He lets you go after that. 

“I won!” you celebrate with your fists in the air.

“You used pain, that isn't fair.” he rubs at the area that you pinched. 

“Don’t be a sore loser. I won fair and square.” you cross your arms.  “Fine.” he admits his defeat. “that pinch hurt though, come kiss it better.”

Your face twists. “Nuh uh.” you say plainly. 

“Please?” he asks. “I will drown myself right now.” You laugh at him. 

“I will do it!” he insists.

“Okay, okay! I’m not to going to kiss your leg you weirdo but I’ll give you a hug.” you float over to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “I even pinched you lighter than I normally would.”

“I’m sensitive.” he says into your neck and you giggle. 

His arms feel so right around your waist and you struggle to decide when to let go, so you just don’t, and neither does he. He holds you decently tight and you feel him pat your back. 

You’ve hugged plenty of times before but it felt a little different this time. Probably because you’re pressed up against his bare skin. It makes you feel a bit sheepish. 

You pull away from him. “Feel better now?” 

He nods with a smile. His cheeks are pink, but this time it’s not from the liquor. 

Jake’s POV

I can’t help but feel disappointed when she lets go of me. 

I shouldn’t have patted her back that's a dad thing to do. 

Her makeup has started to run down her face which makes me giggle.

“What?” she asks.

“Your mascara is making you look crazy.” I say and her hands fly to her face.

“Shit I forgot I had it on.” she attempts to wipe it away but all it does is smear it across her face. 

“Here,” I say and float over to her. “I’ll help you.” this was not on purpose.

I hold her face as gently as I can in my hands and rub the runny mascara off with my thumbs. I dip my fingers into the water to get all of the bits off. 

I want to kiss her so badly, but I know that I’ll never do it. Sometimes I get irritated at myself for not being able to confess. I think Jay and Sunghoon get irritated about it too. 

“You talk about her all the time man just ask her out.”

I don't know why I can’t do it. If she rejects me she’ll do it nicely and things would go back to normal pretty soon. But I don’t think I could live knowing that my feelings would never be reciprocated. Sometimes I get a feeling that she likes me too but I can never be too sure. 

“All gone.” I say and she thanks me. 

She lets her self float on her back. She has a small smile on her face and she’s so pretty I could cry. There have been multiple times where I nearly cried over how much I like her.

“What are your thinking about?” I ask.

“You know I never know how to answer that.” she bleats. “My mind always goes blank when you ask.”

“Well try to remember what you were thinking about then.” 

“Us.” she says plainly.  “Us?” I questioned. “What about us?” “I don’t know, just how I met you guys and how happy I am to be friends with you all.” she says. 

Oh. She meant all of us. 

“Yeah me too.” I agree, trying not to sound down. “Who’s your favorite?”

She snorts. “I don’t have a favorite.”

“Of course you do,” I say. “and it better be me.”

“Why would it be you?” she jeers. 

I frown. “Because we met first.”

“I’m kidding, of course you’re my favorite.” she admits.

“And why is that?” I egg her on and she rolls her eyes. 

“Because we met first.”

I sigh. “Is that all?”

“Mhm.” she says. 

Y/N’s POV

You’re met with InNOut that Sunghoon and Jay got and also a room full of teenage boys. The younger ones were laying on their stomachs on a bed together, watching something on a laptop. Sunghoon and Jay were trying to watch t.v. You say trying because of the furious clicking on the remote. 

“What the hell are you guys trying to do?” you and Jake plop onto the one empty bed.

“Trying to find the porn.” Jay grumbles.

“Infront of the children?” you look over at the younger ones.

“They don’t care they’re watching YouTube.” he says, still clicking. 

You take a bite of your burger. “You have an endless arena of porn on your phone why do you want the t.v. one?”

“The t.v. makes it special.” Sunghoon says. 

“Weird.” you mutter to yourself.  “They’re probably gonna make you pay for it too.” Jake chimes in. 

“Do you think it’ll go to the school’s credit card or whatever?” Jay asks with wide eyes.

“I don't know but if it does they’ll know it’s from our room.” he says through a full mouth. 

You grab pajamas out of your bag and head to the bathroom to shower. 

You come out feeling fresh and the younger ones have gone back to their room now. 

“My turn,” Jake says, walking into the bathroom. 

You sit next to Sunghoon on his bed and start scrolling through your phone. 

“Should I get this sweater or this one.” he holds his phone up to you and shows you light blue sweater and a black one.

“Second one.” you say.

“Really?” he questions. “I feel like it’ll make me look emo.”

“You should become emo honestly. It would look good.” you reply and he chuckles. 

“You’d have to help me with my eyeliner every morning.”

“Yeah,” you giggle “wait can I do it right now? I wanna see how you’d look.”

“Right now?” he cocks a brow and you nod. “Okay but don’t give me raccoon eyes.”

“I won’t I won’t.” you rush over to your bag and bring your make clutch to the bed. 

“Hold still.” you tell him as you give him smokey winged liner.

“It tickles.” he says, trying not to blink too much.

“Beauty is pain.” you clean up the wing with your nail. 

In a couple minutes you’re done. “Finished." you say.

“Lemme see.” he grabs a hand mirror from your clutch and holds it up to his face. “Hold on. This looks kinda good.”

“Right?” you had to admit it; he looked gorgeous.

“Why are you so pretty?” Jay says from his bed. 

Soon Jake came out of the shower and it was hard to deny how good looking he is especially with his damp hair. How could someone make a t-shirt and sweats look so good? He dumps his laundry by his bag. 

“Does Sunghoon have makeup on?” he asks, settling onto his bed.

“Yeah doesn’t it looks nice?” you ask and he agrees. 

“Y/N are you gonna sleep here or in your room.” Jay asks.

“I thought I would just sleep on the floor here.” you suggest and he furrows his brows. 

“No that’s mean. Share a bed with someone.”

“You should sleep with Jake.” Sunghoon elbows you in the side and you shoot him a dirty look. “We all know he wants you to anyway.”

“Fuck off Sunghoon.” Jake looks over at him with a piercing stare, a contrast to his pink cheeks. 

“Is it okay if I do?” you ask him and he nods.

“Yeah for sure.”

Sunghoon snickers. 

“I hate you.” Jake scowls. 

After a couple hours of watching movies and horsing around it’s nearly midnight and your eyes are getting heavy. 

You crawl under the covers and scroll on your phone a bit before trying to sleep. Despite how tired you are it’s hard to sleep with the boys chatting and snickering to each other. 

“Can you guys quiet down?” you ask them.

“Sorry.” Jay says. 

After maybe an hour of sleep, you feel someone get on the bed. Probably Jake, you think to yourself. His little sighs as he gets comfortable are cute. 

“You awake?” he whispers. 

“Mm?” you turn on your side to face him. “Yeah.”

“Cool.” he says. The room is dark but the moonlight helps you make out the outline of his face. 

‘What’s up?” you ask.

“Nothin.” he says and you giggle.

“Okay weirdo. Go to bed.” you close your eyes, stilling facing him though. 

“I’m not tired.” he says.

“Count sheep.”

“That never works for me.” he sighs. “Sing me to sleep.”

You try to slap him in the arm but you end up hitting his face. “Oh shit sorry!”

“Ow!” he whines. “Why do you keep hurting me?”

“It was an accident!” you whisper and rub at his cheek a bit. 

“Now I actually deserve a hug.” he pouts and you roll your eyes.

“You are not five years old.”

“I still want the hug.” he says plainly and you sigh.

“Fine.” you scooch over to him and pull him into your chest. You pat his back. “There there. Better now?”

He shakes his head. “It still hurts.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.” you scoff. 

“I have no shame when it comes to your affection, you should know that by now.” he smiles.

You feel his arm fall over your waist and his hand slide up your back. It gives you goosebumps.

You’re cuddling with him. You guys are cuddling right now. You think to yourself. No you’re not, you’re just...hugging. Right?

Jake pulls away to look at you. “I need to tell you something.”

“Are you gonna say your mom again?” you ask and he shakes his head. 

“No,” he says giggling. “it’s something for real.” 

“Okay what is it?”

He takes a sharp inhale. “I like you.” he winces. 

Your heart jumps a bit. “I know.”

“What?” he laughs.  “You’re very obvious about it.” you chuckle.  “Are you rejecting me?” he asks and you shake your head. 

“I would never.” you pull him in by the back of neck and push your lips against his.

[too-lit-for-fanfic]

A Traitor In Our Midst

PART III OF III

PART I

PART II

PART III

And it’s done! What a wait! And for that we are very sorry. For a long time we just couldn’t finish this closing chapter in a way that felt right or akin to the characters and their little story so it has undergone several re-writes. This final part isn’t as long as those previous, or as technical, but we hope you enjoy! There’s fluff, so hopefully that makes up for it! Thank you everyone who has supported this little series! As always, constructive criticism is appreciated!

Summary: Cal Kestis x ex-Galactic Empire!OC, but can be treated like an x reader, ugly secrets from her past are resurfaced. In light of the truth Cal and crew no longer feel as if they can trust the newest member to the trio. Tempers flare, sacrifices are made, and the truth finally comes out.

Warnings: Torture is featured/referenced in this chapter so be warned. Angst, Blood, Violence, Swearing, Torture, Interrogation tactics, Emotional Manipulation, PTSD, Trauma

“...just to protect those who would never do the same for you?”

It had been two weeks since Aylin and BD had been trapped on the Star Destroyer, Cal and crew in the middle of negotiating with Saw Gerrera to organise a rescue mission, the stubborn man finally agreeing once it had been revealed BD had failed to return, the ship the duo had commandeered having been seized by the Empire. Cal, Cere and Greez huddled around the small monitor in the centre of the hull, deathly quiet as they listened to the conversation taking place between Second Sister and their former crewmate. On their rounds of the ship, BD had managed to return just in time to spot Trilla entering the prison cell, and now they waited anxiously, hidden under a series of shelves in the outward corridor. All three members of the crew looked positively sick, Cal in particular turning a ghastly pale as he held his breath, dreading the events to unfold.

“Oh isn't that just sweet.” Trilla’s shrill voice mocked lowly, eerily echoing down the corridor. “You really did care about them didn't you? Isn’t it a pity how they’ve left you here to die?”

“Fuck you.” Cal had to strain to hear Aylin’s response. She sounded weak, worryingly so, the venom in her words sounding as if it pained her to push it past her lips.

“You’re not denying it.” 

The silence that followed was deafening.

“That pretty red-head might have come to save you once, even I can tell you were very important to him-”

Cal involuntarily lurched at his mention, his muscles twitching so as to distance himself from the screen, an icy grip encasing his heart.

“Not anymore.” 

Cal physically felt his heart whither in his chest, his knuckles turning white.

“Not anymore.” The sick woman almost sounded joyful. “All because you were born on the wrong side of the war. How ironic, an unforgiving Jedi.”

‘oh force...’ Cal withdrew, his heart plummeting to his stomach as the words echoed around his skull. Greez’s clawed hand landed on his elbow in comfort but the redhead payed him no mind. ‘please say something’ he silently begged, desperate to know that Aylin didn’t really think the same of him.

She never responded.

“I can’t watch this.” The red-head made an effort to move away from the screen, fully intent on hiding in the shadows of the cockpit. The entire conversation felt like a knife to his heart, and it only became worse when he realised anything could have been happening behind those closed doors, and he was powerless.

“And Cere, she wouldn’t even come to save me.” - A muffled ugly gasp - “Why are you protecting those who would sell you to the order for far less?”

Silence followed, and the trio held their breaths. A strangled cry abruptly cut-off, Cal very nearly almost throwing up as a strangled chocking gasp broke the silence, the sounds of boots scraping and struggling against a metallic surface drowning out the conversation.

A sickening thud.

Murmurs.

Screams.

Another bang.

“No- PLEASE!” Shrill blood-curdling screams assaulted their senses, Cal flinching away from the screen. The trio waited a moment, Cal’s hands covering his mouth, agape with horror - the begging screams didn’t stop.

“We have to do something!” Cal burst, a red hue overtaking his sickly complexion, flinching again at a particularly desperate yell.

“What do you suppose?” Cere bit back harshly, the stress and helplessness of the situation fraying all of their nerves.

“Something! - Anything!” Cal racked his brain for a solution, the echoing screams resonating from the monitor throwing his thoughts into a frenzy. “We need to get Trilla out of the room. We need to get her away from her!”

“And how are we-”

“BD!” Cal lurches towards the screen, shaking hands frantically typing a message to the small BD-unit. “If we can just get her into the main hull of the ship, it would be perfectly reasonable for the trooper who requested her presence to have moved to a different location in the ship.”

“Cal, think about this-”

His hand hovers over the ‘enter’ button on the holopad. His wide bloodshot eyes searing a hole directly into Cere’s skull.

“What is there to think about?” As if on queue, another scream wafted through the monitor. That solidified his resolve, hitting the key before Cere or Greez could even blink, BD immediately setting into motion. 

The cell doors opened with a resounding hiss as BD finished inputting the code, the little droid rolling to the side to enter the cell. The sight that greeted the crew was worse than they could have possibly imagined. The young woman strapped to the table in the centre of the room resembled a corpse more so than the confident and head-strong blonde that had departed from their ship only two weeks prior. Her imperial jacket barely hung to her beaten and bloodied frame, the torn and tattered fabric had been roughly tugged from her torso, wound into a crumpled heap around her waist and elbows, bony shoulders jutting up through the ruins of a once white tank top, now stained crimson. With every breath her ribcage shuddered, ribs pressing against her beaten and sullied skin, protruding almost painfully with every twist and struggle, skin taught. Any part of her not covered in crimson was mottled in varying shades of black and purple, the angry discolouration winding around her ribs and disappearing behind the remnants of her undershirt.

Cal felt positively sick. Anger bloomed in his chest as despair gnawed at his stomach, bloodshot eyes transfixed on the image before him, the sound of blood rushing through his ears, and Aylin’s screams echoing through his mind drowning out the conversation taking place. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the table ledge with all the might his exhausted muscles would allow, his breath clogging his throat and chest as he forgets himself, his one and only concern the one person in the entire galaxy who he couldn't reach.

Trilla hovers over her diminished frame, elbow harshly dug into the blonde’s exposed ribs, gloved hand wrapped languidly around a blade buried to its hilt, fresh crimson pooling along Aylin’s collarbone, spilling onto the table and then onto the cement floor, glistening sickeningly in the overhead lighting. Noteful of BD’s presence, his frantic panicked beeps finally reaching her ears amongst the screams, Trilla leans back, still leant heavily on Aylin as her cold amber gaze lands on the small BB unit, anger and frustration etched across her face. A sickening thud echoes around the metallic room as the blonde’s head falls back pathetically, unaware of the cause of the interruption. She looked barely conscious, beginning to dance across the line of life to death, who’s arms were already open and willing to hold her in their cold embrace.

With all the languidity of a senator, Trilla leisurely pulls the blade from Aylin’s exposed shoulder, leisurely wiping the blood covered blade on her tattered jacket, a cruel smile adorning her features all the while. Aylin barely moves, eyes half lidded and body slack, the only indication of life the erratic yet shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Her head tilts to expose more of her hollowed features, Cal’s horrified gaze locking onto her own, the breath he had been holding escaping his lungs and his shoulders falling with the guilt that clawed its way up from his stomach, a tangible trepidation reverberating throughout the force. What little fat she had possessed had surely withered away, her cheekbones appearing almost sharp underneath her taught and sunken complexion, ivory skin now pale and shining a ghastly yellow under the blaring overhead lights, a stark contrast to the maroon-dried blood coating her temple and jaw. Her bloodshot and sunken eyes blearily gaze towards the ceiling, no sign of the life that had once illuminated their honeyed depths, the life that had spilled from her being in abundance no longer to be found.

Cal’s focus finally turns back to the conversation at hand, breaths shallow, BD beckoned from the room with an indignant “Droid.”, the tall figure of the second sister glowering at them from the entrance of the cell, evidently annoyed at the intrusion. With one final glance BD reluctantly turns to leave the room, following the second sister dutifully in their search for the non-existent trooper in the main hanger.

Cal collapses onto a sofa across the room from the monitor, the horrific image of Aylin strapped to a metal table, looking closer to death than life, and drenched in her own blood, permanently burnt into his retinas. A sight to haunt him for a lifetime.

“Fuck Saw, we’re getting them both, tomorrow.”

----------

With little convincing Greez had quickly succumbed to Cal’s persuasion, the two men - after much deliberation and heated debate - had also successfully convinced Cere of their plan. Truthfully, Cal had been conjuring ways to coordination a rescue ever since Aylin and BD had been captured on the Star Dreadnaught, and as he prepared for the events of the day, no doubt entered his mind that their two companions would be with the crew by the end of the day. Companion - Cal almost scoffed to himself - the two were far more than that: BD, in many ways, had become a best friend to Cal in the past few years, the companionable little droid with a taste for adventure never failing to offer a sense of comfort and joy, even in some of Cal’s darkest times, in many ways resembling a younger sibling Cal had never before had the pleasure of having. Aylin, on the other hand, in the time the pair had known one another, had somehow wormed her way into the isolated Jedi’s heart, always offering her support in his times of need, encouraging him with his training through her self-proclaimed ‘tough-love’, becoming a source of confident resolve and rationality - a sense of stability in the ever changing galaxy. 

Cal remembered their many nights spent on some unknown planet, the pair sat beneath the many stars and moons of the galaxy, sharing tales long into the night. Cal had never had a relationship with anyone like the relationship he had formed with the stubborn blonde: heatedly sparring before patching one another’s wounds from the scuffle; longing glances spared with every tranquil moment, hidden behind excuses of exhaustion or a poorly constructed insult; grins and soft smiles shared over meal time or upon their own hidden adventures exploring new planets; a hand reaching out for the others in a busied market or times of comfort; an eye searching for the other in a crowded room; simply basking in one another's presence in the quiet hours of the morning, relishing every moment where they could just be. Cal knew he was a fool, a disgrace to the Jedi code he had spent his entire youth obeying like a holy script, he knew he was a fool the first time the enigmatic blonde had saved his life in her third month of joining the crew, standing over his tired and weary frame with a cocky smirk and a calloused hand outstretched, making some smart-arsed comment as she hauled him to his feet.

Attachments were forbidden, Jedi were trained from birth to let go of everything they were afraid to lose. And Cal? He was terrified to lose her - he had already broken his sacred vows, he had become attached, and he would be damned before he sacrificed one of the only things he was afraid to lose. He would never be a Jedi, yet perhaps that was okay, perhaps there was something more to this world that he had only realised upon stumbling across the Mantis and her crew. 

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway. 

The point seemed ever more poignant as his cerulean eyes stared conflictingly at the reflection in his mirror. No longer did he adorn the trusty combat trousers, baggy shirt, chest brace, not even his trusting poncho that seemed to make up his daily attire. Instead, a version of himself he had spent endless nights battling against stared back at him, the ironed and pressed midnight coloured uniform clinging to his lean frame. After a pit stop or two he had successfully acquired a knock-off Imperial General’s uniform, a notable fake with the lack of an aura emitting from the otherwise haunting apparel. Tugging harshly at the collar that bit into the skin of his neck, a habit he had seen Aylin recount numerous times in her preparation for the mission, his tired eyes trail over his figure, hoping to all of the stars and force wielders in the galaxy that his Master couldn’t see him now. 

He clears his throat to relieve some of the tightness that had gathered in his chest before he leaves his sleeping quarters, rolling his stiff shoulders as he makes his way into the main hull, lightsaber already hidden beneath his newly acquired jacket.

“So,” The red-head steps before Greez and Cere - already equipped in her own better-fitting storm trooper armour - who had been typing away to BD on the small holopad in the main hull. “How do I look?”

The pair glance up at the young man, Greez’s beady little eyes widening considerably, a good natured grin enveloping his face. 

“Kid-” Humour laced his tone, his dark eyes taking in the sight before him. “Let’s just hope you won’t be on that ship for too long.” In comparison to how Aylin’s uniform had fit her frame, Cal’s uniform may have well as swamped him, the thick fabric creasing at his waist, his belt fastened at the smallest capacity and yet somehow still too big, sitting notably lower on his waist than it should have, polished and barely scuffed boots a size too large, the one thing that actually fit being the pair of leather gloves over his shaking hands.

Everything just seemed slightly wrong, just a little bit askew, just a little bit... fake.

By all respects, Cal had certainly gone to the effort of impersonating an Imperial soldier, skin scrubbed clean of the dirt and grime of the galaxy, hair slicked back under a hat slightly too large for his head, he had even cracked into Aylin’s limited makeup supply and attempted to conceal the many scars he had gained through his years, as well as the stress-induced darkening bags under his eyes. The Empire wasn't him, and it was painfully obvious to all who spared him a second glance. 

“Say all you want, old man.” Cal jibes light heatedly, beginning to head towards the cockpit. “Have you forgotten your own disguise?” The redhead sends a pointed look in the direction of the shell of a modified astromech droid, the humour in Greez’s eyes quickly dying as his gaze lands on his ingenious costume.

“If I have to come and rescue you all in that thing.” Greez stares uneasily at his heavy, small costume. “You owe me a spa day.”

----------

After commandeering a small transport shuttle from a neighbouring planet with a rather small Imperial presence, Cal and Cere bid farewell to Greez, who was to remain with the Mantis and communicate with them through BD and the data pad.

“Be careful.” Cere warns, arms wrapped around herself as she watches Greez fiddle with some mechanisms on the inside of the ship with dull eyes. “We won’t be able to come and rescue you if you get caught.”

He waves her concern off with dismissal.

Cal appears next to her, materialising from the bowls of the Mantis, smoothing his jacket out once again. The older woman turns to the young man, barely out of adolescence, and feels the corners of her mouth tug down. This could go wrong, this could go horribly, horrendously, atrociously wrong, and with Cal’s loosening grip on his emotions, his anxiety rolling from him in waves through the force, chances of failure were ever high. Cal was only young, having grown up during some of the darkest known times of the galaxy, his future destroyed by a war begun before his birth, and now he was to be thrust into the heart of the conflict, into the home of those responsible for all of his suffering. Cal was a victim, just like all those who had lived during the raising of the Empire, his body and mind more marred and scarred than most, but he was a survivor, scorning and mocking the Empire with every day lived. Cere hoped he continued to be a survivor, one of the few specks of light in an ever darkening galaxy, yet this rescue mission threatened to snuff his light out for good.

Her mind wondered at the cause of the young man’s anxiety as she watched his hands tremble as he straightened his leather belt, surveying the pasty sheen of his skin and the poorly-concealed bags under his flitting eyes. As harsh as she had been on Aylin when her past had been revealed, it was undeniable that the two women had held a close bond, and secretly, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself, Cere had missed the girl terribly, her own guilty conscious gnawing away at the edges of her conscious whenever she tried to rest. Last night had been particularly bad after the events that she had witnessed unfold on the small data pad yesterday afternoon, the image of her companion, beaten and bloody, a mere fragment of how she remembered the blonde girl on her departure. The image haunted her whenever her eyes had finally agreed to close - as obviously was the case with the redhead stood next to her, exhaustion palpable on his features underneath the mounting anxiety and adrenaline - the added guilt, knowing similar treatment would have faced Trilla due to her own selfishness, depriving her mind of rest, gnawing at her innards and haunting every fibre of her being. 

She hoped desperately for her crew to return, all of them safe, once again, in their home, the Mantis.

“Cal,” She turns to the tall red-head, hands gripping her arms more firmly, “I know what your goal is, I know how badly you want to bring her home.” The red-head watches her with steady eyes, shoulders raising in defence. “I want them home too, but- but please remember yourself. I can’t loose all of you.”

The sounds of the local wildlife and fauna fill the steady silence as Cal mulled over her words, hand running over the saber tucked into his side.

“Don’t worry Cere,” Cal begins heading down the ramp, taking long purposeful strides towards the Imperial ship, Cere’s more tentative steps following in his wake. “I’m going to make it back, and I’m bringing everyone with me.”

Cal didn’t know where the certainty had come from, his voice didn’t waver and his steps didn’t falter. He would do this. He would bring his two best friends back home, and one day he would make the Empire pay.

----------

“We’re here.” Cere slips out of the pilot seat, allowing for Cal to take her place, grasping her blaster in a vice-like grip as she sits stiffly towards the back of the shuttle. She watches as Cal heads to the front of the ship, manning the controls for their landing, frown deepening behind her helmet as the star destroyer encroaches, fear clawing at her throat with every memory resurfaced from the devastation following Order 66.

“We head out the Western exit of the docking bay when we land.” Cal rattles off, flipping some switches as their small vessel is pulled towards the star destroyer. “BD should meet us somewhere in one of the closest corridors and we follow them to the cell, remember to stay behind me, if you don’t they’ll know something’s wrong straight away.”

Cere watches as Cal’s grip tightens around the steering controls, leather gloves straining taught over his knuckles, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his eyes stare unblinking towards the star destroyer.

“Are you ready?” Her voice is stern -  shocking her with how it echoes back to her within the suffocating helmet - echoing around the small hull, yet Cal nearly doesn’t hear her, distracted with the storm brewing in his mind, consumed by a rising tidal wave of anxiety, determination and fear.

His eyes finally dart away from the destroyer, turning to glance at his companion over his shoulder, his blue irises red-rimmed and owlish in the overhead lights. The uncanny figure of a storm-trooper greats him, black visor reflecting his own distorted expression back to him from an impenetrable mask of white.

He nods lightly, determination sparking in his weary eyes, the collar of his jacket rubbing uncomfortably against his nape. There was no going back now, he couldn't go back.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

----------

Cal squints as he exist the transport shuttle, the overbearing overhead lights bearing down on his frigid frame, the jelled hair peaking form underneath his hat shining with every tilt of his head. The first foot fall on the metal floor seems to resonate throughout the entire hanger, vibrations wracking the bones in his leg, tremors coursing throughout his body and echoing in his ears as several troopers’ heads turn towards the new arrival. His breath catches in his throat and the courage in his stomach withers as he takes another feigned purposeful stride away from the comfort and security of the shuttle, and in towards those waging a war on the galaxy. With every feigned purposeful step shockwaves scatter throughout his tense body, the tension in the air threatening to suffocate him, his heart hammering restlessly against his ribcage and lungs struggling for breath as if he had just ran through the last twelve parsecs. His cerulean eyes lock on his exit from the hanger, offering him a brief solace from the white masks that consumed every corner of his vision, Cere’s steady footsteps behind him offering a further sense of comfort.

By the time the pair finally exit the hanger Cal can practically feel the sweat that had broken out across his body, swiping his forehead to rid of any precipitation that had gathered. His shoulders and spine ached with the effort he had put into maintaining his posture - much in the way he had watched Aylin enter the hanger only several weeks prior - and he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. Although on the outside he may have appeared like ay other Imperial General, cold, unpleasant, perhaps even bored or apathetic to all events that seemed to have been happening around him, inside he had never felt so rattled, his mind a muddled mess, his blood coursing with fear and anxiety which only seemed to mount with every passing second. The panic within thinly veiled with calculated disgust.

Almost as soon as Cal and Cere enter an adjacent corridor to the main hanger, BD comes scuttling around the corner, the pair not recognising the droid in its new round body - Cere’s gloved fingers wrapping dangerously around the hilt of her blaster - until its excited little beeps reach their ears.

“Buddy!” Cal’s facade cracks, grinning down at the little droid as he fights the urge to reach down and give them a hug, worried incase someone should see. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

The little droid, on the other hand, is positively ecstatic, practically vibrating on the spot in both glee at being rescued and frustration that they couldn’t jump straight into Cal’s arms. Truth be told BD had deeply missed their old body during their time stranded on the Dreadnaught. Not waisting any time the little droid rolls behind Cal’s trouser clad legs, ramming into his calves in an attempt to nudge him in the direction of Aylin’s cell and whirring heatedly.

“I know, I know.” Cal steps forward, resolute stature returning to his pale features as he prepares to round another corner. “We’re all going home.”

----------

Within minutes that felt like an eternity the three rebels found themselves amongst the holding cells, BD finally taking the lead to guide them to Aylin’s cell, his happy chirps long silenced as the three grew nearer, all three dreading the sight to await them. Much like when they first arrived, Cal felt suffocated by the pristine atmosphere that seemed to cling to his clothes and hair, dirtying his skin and clogging his throat. It felt fake... the whites and slanted greys, the cleanliness and order, the peace and harmony. The presented image of purity and order, worked into the very steel framework itself, felt so wrong and dirty with the suffering taking place throughout the galaxy at the hands of those that inhabited the ship. Cal could feel the misery and terror that emanated from the dreadnaught itself, seeping into him through the walls and floors, mixed into a terrible concoction with the pride and honour from the officials that walked those very corridors.

It was beloathed, and yet prideful.

Uncomfortably, it reminded him of Aylin.

The red-head tugged at the collar of his jacket as BD came to an abrupt halt at a large durasteel cell door, his mind thrust back to the present. His breath catches in his throat as BD scuttles forward to open the cell door, gloved hand wrapping around the hidden saber at his hip, listening for any approaching footsteps down the corridor. Truthfully, he felt a nervous wreck, the beads of sweat forming along his brow and his greying pallor more so linked to his worry for Aylin than anything else. He could fight if they were caught, and chances are, with both himself and Cere combined, they could easily commandeer an escape shuttle, but he wasn’t certain if he could recover Aylin from the state he had seen her in on the small holopad. At the very moment he couldn’t be sure, and a part of him, a cowardly disdainful part of his conscience, feared opening the cell door to confirm his worry, feared being faced with the broken shell of a woman he couldn’t save. Another person he had failed, a person who had saved him more times than he could count.

Perhaps it was love - his worry at knowing the truth, his fear of seeing the situation first-hand. Cal was ashamed to think such a way.

The cell door hisses open, cool air caressing his feverish skin as he steps through the threshold, the overpowering scent of antiseptic hitting him full force, yet the familiar metallic stench of blood followed. His breath remains in his chest as he takes in the sight before him. Bright eyes widening as they flit about the empty room, landing uneasily on Aylin’s still figure. Cal holds his breath, silently begging her to move, for her head to tilt in his direction, for her closed eyes to open, begging her to do anything at all.

“Aylin?” The word echoes around the room, Cal’s voice shaky and cracking around the word, his mouth parched like the deserts of Tatooine. Somehow his palms become even more clammy, and he tosses his gloves to the side without a second thought, small crescents visible in the palms of his hands from how he had clenched them on their short journey. He takes a small step closer.

She doesn’t move.

Cere watches him carefully from behind her helmet as he calls Aylin’s name again and steps further into the room, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. BD, clearly unsure of what to do, hovers around Cere’s ankles, little camera flickering between Cal and Aylin, a barely audible humming even sting from the little droid. She turns to the closed cell door, blaster gripped tightly to her chest, wary of an intrusion.

Things had barely changed from the last time Cal had seen the room through BD’s holopad projection and he was thankful to note that it didn’t look as if Aylin had sustained any more injuries from the day prior, however, that was hard to determine with the crimson that coated her body, undoubtedly hiding wounds from view. Cal stops next to the metal table, peering down at her sullen features, her sunken maroon-bagged eyes closed to the world, chapped lips barely parted. The holopad had failed to pick up many of the finer details, and Cal was horrified to see the blossoms of purple and magenta that littered her face and neck, a particularly worrisome lashing of purple winding around her throat - Cal noting with disgust it’s resemblance to a handprint. Her blonde hair appeared dull and lifeless, slicked back from her face and coated in sweat and blood, a small lesion at her temple and brow trickling into her hairline, pooling in the rivets of her angular features. Blood - darker, older - had been smeared across her cheeks and jaw, cracking along the lines of her face and flaking from her skin, leaving it stained red underneath.

“What did they do to you?” Cal questions softly, not expecting an answer. Gingerly he places his hand on her shoulder, careful to avoid any hidden wounds.

His heart almost lurches from his chest when she flinches from his touch.

“Aylin!” He almost cheers, glee coating his voice as he leans closer, a smile cracking his features. Slowly, weakly, her eyes flutter open, familiar hazel eyes squinting up at him through all the blood and gore. She looked exhausted, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, her left eye only partially open. “Aylin, oh my force, it’s me. It’s Cal.” Lost in his own elation Cal fails to spot the weariness to her features, nor the way her gaze turns to the ceiling, vacant and unseeing. He reaches for the cuff around her wrist, but her hand jerks away from his touch. He pauses, forehead creasing. “Aylin, come on, its me, and Cere, we’re getting you home.”

Her eyes flicker to his for the briefest of moments, brightened under the harsh lighting. “Trilla,” Her voice is hoarse and weak, a husky whisper of what it once was, lined with guilt and exhaustion. She tilts her head away from the red-heads confused gaze, something awful gnawing at her stomach. “leave me alone.”

Silence consumes the room, Cal’s gaze landing on Cere who simply shrugs her shoulders in response. He reaches for her again, swiping a strand of hair from her face, hand retreating just as quickly when her eyes snap open in alarm.

“Aylin, its me, come on-”

“You’re not here.” She was trying to convince herself, not daring to allow her hopes to rise. She was in pain, she was beyond exhausted, and she was dangerously close to giving up, hoping for death as some sort of escape. “You’re not real.” She glances down to his hand that rests against her exposed forearm, mind barely registering the warm pads of his fingers pressing against her pulse. “Trilla, we’ve done this before. You’re a cruel woman.”

She glances away as pity overtakes his features, staring blankly at the ceiling, body slack against the tabletop. ‘We’ve done this before.’ Had Trilla done this before? How many times had versions of himself and the crew attempted to rescue her? How guarded had she had to be, not even trusting her own dreams for fear of revealing what she had tried to keep from those who sought to harm them. He was furious - the anger that had lapped up his throat all week rising like a tidal wave - and he would make them pay, but first he had to get everyone back.

“No, no, it’s us, it’s me. I promise it’s me.” He tries, attempting to scrub the makeup from his face, scars glossy under the harsh white light. He catches BD out of the corner of his eye. “Look!- We’ve got BD, we’re all going home.”

Finally she picks her head up, wincing at the effort. Her wide eyes land on the little droid across the room, mouth agape as the air leaves her lungs and her shoulder slump. Terror and disappointment gnaw away at her conscience, the familiar feeling of helplessness returning full force. “They found BD.” She mutters to herself, defeats palpable in her voice as she allows her head to fall back against the table, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Cal, in a stressed panic, and unsure of what to do, reaches out through the force, attempting to project his memories, something no one else could possess. But, as he pressed forward a force stops him in his tracks, Aylin’s body tensing at a presence surrounding her mind. “I can show you, just let me- let me in.”

“No! No, no, no-” Cal had never seen so much fear in her eyes, and he withdraws, hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, I won’t, I won’t.” He quickly retreats as her panic rises, cuffs clanking against the table as she feebly squirms, force signature returning to his own aura, yet outstretched and welcoming, more than willing for Aylin to make the first move. He wracks his tired and frantic brain for a solution, her panic feeding into his own, not expecting her to have such doubts. They needed to be quick, he knew, but there was no way they could coax her out of the room in the state she was in. “I know you. I know things about you the Empire- that Trilla would never know. Do you remember that time on Hoth when I ripped a glove and almost caught frostbite, I’ve only still got ten fingers because you managed to skin that little creature. What about that time I accidentally singed some of your hair off with my saber when I tried to use it as a torch, I had to pay for you’re haircut afterwards and you got the most expensive treatment just to prove a point. I know you have two sugars in your tea but only every other day; I know you always insist on playing with your knives no matter how many times I ask you to stop; I know that you’re favourite game to play is blackjack because you can count cards and know how to cheat, like that time you scammed me for half a brownie.” He was getting emotional now, the stress and turmoil of the past few days causing unshed tears to gather, his knuckles turning white as he wrings his hands together. “I promise you it’s me.”

They’re in you head. Her conscience echoes, the blonde fighting back tears at her own failure. They know, they know everything. Trilla’s playing, she’s already got what she wants.

“You can’t be here.” He voice cracks and wavers, throat scratchy from misuse, her mounting emotions not helping. She wished he was here, with every fibre of her being she wished Cal actually stood before her, frown on his face and eyebrows knitted together in concern. It couldn’t be true. If he was truly here she might’ve cried, and if this was all another elaborate hallucination created by Trilla then she’d probably cry even harder. She so desperately wanted to go home.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to believe me, you don’t have to do anything.” Cal reaches again for the cuffs binding her hands to the table, one hand reaching for the saber at his hip. “But please let me help you.”

She doesn’t say anything as his hand wraps around her thin wrist, saber igniting   and casting blue light across the room. Within seconds both cuffs are cut from her wrist, falling against the table with a thud. She rubs her wrists gingerly, wincing at the cuts she has sustained during her stay. Grasping her forearm in a delicate grip, other hand sliding behind her shoulder blade, Cal eases her up, wincing at every gasp that leaves her lips. A jaw in his muscle ticks with every sound from her mouth, pity and fury blooming in his chest. 

“Agh-” She grimaces at the pain enveloping her side, ribs protesting against the movement, healing wounds reopening with every twist of her muscle.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Cal urges her on, arm sliding underneath her legs and behind her back, drawing her to his chest as he rises to his full height. Aylin’s head lolls against his shoulder, scared to hope any of this was real but revelling in the familiar warm comfort seeping from the redheads chest.

With a nod shared between `Cal and Cere they depart, deadly silent as they leave the cell, not a trace of their presence left behind. Cal glances down at the woman in his arms, beyond grateful to have her back within arms reach, satisfied with the knowledge no one would be able to harm her now. He had her and he wasn’t letting go.

Cere freezes in front of him, BD rolling into the back of her legs, and Cal’s heart stops in his chest. She urges him back, but as they’re retreating two troops round the corner, halting in surprise. Both troops helmets slowly turn towards the blonde nestled in Cal’s arms, and their blasters raise, shouting commands. Cal ducks as Cere fires, shielding Aylin as well as he could, BD taking refuge behind Cere’s legs.

Within moments the corridor plunges into silence again, two dead troops lain before the four rebels. Cere glances back to Cal, charging her blaster.

“Tell me if you need me to slow down.” And she runs, sprinting in the direction of the escape shuttles - just to the left of the hanger - with BD trailing behind, Cal sprinting to keep up. Rounding another corner he almost crashes into Cere who doubles back, the pair just managing to dodge out of the way of oncoming blaster fire as they disappear around another corner, the slap of their boots against the metal floor drowned out by the shouts of troops on their tail.

“We’re not far.’ Cere calls, throwing her helmet to the side as she gaps for breath, Cal only a few paces behind her. The pair, plus BD, emerge in a small hanger, smaller, more compact escape shuttles lined on either wall, a squad of five stormtroopers ready and waiting.

Cal’s eyes widen as he watches all five troops raise their weapons, heart plummeting to his stomach. There was nothing he could do, he just hoped they granted them death instead of subjecting them to the fate Aylin had been forced to endure. Cere reaches back deftly and grasps his saber from his belt, igniting the blade mere moments before the first blaster fires. She works in a blur, deflecting shot after shot, blue light cast across her features as she steps closer to the enemy, Cal and BD close behind. It wasn’t often the redhead was able to see Cere in combat, usually taking missions with the girl in his arms, and the skill she displayed, surely a product of the wisdom she had amassed over her years, was awe-inspiring. Every movement is precise, each twist and flick of her wrist purposeful, the weight of the saber in her hand appearing little more than a feather with the ease she displays. She deflects and a troop falls, killed by their own shot. 

Slowly but surely the trio make their way towards the closest shuttle, Cal and BD baking away into the ship whilst Cere remains on the defensive, deflecting shot after shot, a bead of sweat running from her brow. Cal places Aylin down on a small cot in the corner of the cramped shuttle, instructing BD to stay behind whilst he collects Cere, running to the boarding ramp, the sounds of blaster shots once again reaching his ears.

“Cere!” He shouts, hanging out of the shuttles door, unable to do much without a weapon. “Cere!”

The older woman retreats slowly, continuing to deflect as she backs up the ramp, the red-head scuttling to the front of the shuttle and switching the engines on, awaiting the sound of the door hissing shut before doing anything drastic.

“Go!” Cere calls and he immediately sets into action, flicking a switch to his right and grasping the steering in both hands, sighing in relief as the shuttle lifts from the floor, paying no mind to the blaster shots that ricocheted off the steelwork around him. Cere appears, clambering into the co-pilots seat, saber grasped tightly in her hand as the ship lurches forward, charging full speed out of the small hanger, Cal frantically inputting the necessary codes for hyperspace, hands flitting about the dashboard in a blur.

With one final lurch the shuttle departs, the red head sighing and collapsing back into the pilots seat, chest rising and falling as he revels in the safety of hyperspace, stars dancing across his vision and illuminating his weary features, the stresses of the day lifting from his shoulders as he watches galaxies stream past. But the day was far from over, and in moments he’s clambering out of his seat, mind once again consumed by the blonde that hadn’t left his thoughts for an eternity.

Leaving Cere in control of their heading Cal retreats into the cramped hull, making a beeline for the blonde huddled atop a thin casket, BD dutifully waiting by her side, camera trained on her intensely, and rolling anxiously from side to side. Cere stares after him, wanting to offer her services, but ultimately deciding to remain in the cockpit, radioing Greez back on the Mantis, knowing that the redhead needed some time with Aylin, alone. 

“I’m back.” Cal announces, sitting on the edge of the small cot, dropping a small medkit onto his lap the he had found in a compartment. His eyes land on the blonde’s pale face, eyes softening at the worry etched across her features, eyebrows knitted together in both pain and concern. He opens his mouth to speak, protruding a set of stims from the cluttered medkit. “I’m going to patch you up and then we’re going home. You’re safe, Trilla can’t get to you anymore.”

Aylin hums, head tilting to the side as she finally makes eye contact with the red head, looking as if she was only truly seeing him for the first time. Her eyes widen and her chapped lips part, a shaking hand reaching out to rest against his own, testing her own reality. Cal smiles softly as she watches him with curious eyes, shallow breaths parting her lips.

“Cal?”

“Yes,” his voice breaks as she finally looks at him, truly looks at him, hazel eyes brightening with every second, fighting back against heavy lids. “yes it’s Cal. We’re going home.”

A small smile fights its way onto her lips, although the joyous moment is broken abruptly, the smile quickly twisting into a grimace as her body finally begins to acknowledge the trauma it had endured, old and new wounds reopened in the frenzy to escape. Her eyes flicker, hand beginning to feel slack against his own. Cal pales, hurriedly uncapping the stim in his grasp.

“You stay awake, you hear?” He jabs the stim into her bicep, preparing the other one in his grasp. He had her, he couldn’t lose her now.

“It hurts.” Her voice is strained, a pathetic replica of her true nature.

“I know, I know it does. I’m going to make it stop, I just need you to stay here, stay with me.” Her eyes flutter again, and Cal is grasping at straws, digging through the medkit for something, anything that could work. The stims hadn't worked as he hoped and now he wasn’t sure what to do. 

“Hey- hey! You keep those eyes open. Don’t you dare-” Fear grips him like a vice. His blood running cold as he leans closer, both hands grasping her shoulders, uncaring for the blood that caked them. He felt helpless, utterly, hopelessly helpless. It had been bad when he had been forced to endure being trapped behind a screen, but oh, this was so much worse. She was right here, he could touch her, talk to her, feel her weak heart beating underneath his very own fingertips, and yet he couldn't do anything. “Look at me. Look. At. Me. I want to see your eyes. Come on.”

Try as she might, her body was beginning to fail and with every passing moment the darkness that had clouded her peripheral for the past few days encroached, the lights in the hull dimming and dimming, until all she could see was Cal’s hazy face staring down at her, his hands clasping either side of her face. “Please.” She couldn’t, her walls finally falling and mind succumbing to the rest it so desperately needed.

“Cere-!”

He sounded desperate. He sounded scared. And for the briefest of moments, Aylin felt guilty.

And then the darkness consumed her.

----------

Cal drifts in and out of sleep, dozing comfortably with his head propped atop a familiar cot in a familiar ship, hand delicately grasping another's with his legs curled under the old chair he had stolen, the hazy figure of Aylin comforting him in his peripheral. It had been a few hours since himself, Cere and BD had returned to the Mantis, patching up Aylin to the best of their ability before tucking her away in her room, on course to the rebel base in order to take up Saw’s offer of medical assistance once word had reached him of their rescue mission. Although Cal had arrived back to the Mantis full of energy, spurred on by his panic and worry for the girl who had practically collapsed in his arms, the hours and hours of stress had worn him down, the young red-head finally agreeing to catch some rest, but refusing to allow Aylin to leave his sight. 

In his half-conscious state, he fails to notice the way the blonde’s lips twitch and eyelids flutter, barely registering the way her fingers flex against his own as the darkness finally releases her, mind and body returning. Aylin stirs quietly, every muscle and joint aching, the soft fabric against her skin a welcome change from the metal table she had called home for force-knows how long. With every passing second her mind returns, cogs turning as the days events come back to her full force, the sight of Cal’s worried gaze seared into the back of her eyelids, her lips parting in a gasp and her body lurching up out of slumber. Her eyes snap open, crazed and panicked as they dart around the dimly lit room, a groan parting her lips as her ribs protest, the gaping wound at her side, now haphazardly wound in fresh bandages, protesting heavily agains the sudden movement.

Cal is startled awake, almost falling from his chair at Aylin’s abrupt movement hazy eyes fighting for clarity amongst his foggy thoughts. “Hey,” He mutters groggily, mind desperately fighting against the sleep that had consumed him only moment before, hands reaching out to grab Aylin’s shoulders. “hey, hey, hey. It’s me, Aylin it’s me.” Finally, the frantic woman’s eyes meet his own, her body relaxing into his touch as he gently guides her back down, the pads of his fingers digging into the exposed flesh of her shoulders. “It’s alright, you’re safe. I’ve got you.” She takes in a shuddering breath as Cal gently sweeps her messy bangs from her eyes, palm resting against her forehead a moment too long, simply savouring that she was here, she was back, she was safe.

Cal sits back in his chair once he makes sure she was okay and settled, fretting like a mother and readjusting her pillows and pulling the thin sheets back up to her chest, fingers smoothing out the white tank top she had been changed into. His cerulean eyes, still slightly blurry with sleep, never leave her figure.

“What happened?” Her voice was quiet, a mere murmer whisked away on the wind. She runs a hand along the bandages freshly wrapped around her shoulder, noting the wraps of gauze around each of her wrists.

“We got you. Cere and I, we went and got you. You were pretty beat up.” His voice cracks and he quickly clears his throat. Aylin pays it no mind, wide owlish eyes staring at him from underneath a pair of heavy lids. “We’ve fixed you up the best we could, Saw’s offered some rebel facilities if we need them.” The small room plunges into silence, neither of them glancing away, Cal’s thumb unknowingly rubbing circles into the back of Aylin’s hand. As an after thought he adds. “We’re at the other end of the galaxy, there’s no way they can find us here. You’re safe, you can get some rest.”

As if she had suddenly remembered, Aylin reveals her force signature, the walls that she had held around her mind - and that she had habitually rebuilt when she awakened - coming crumbling down. Cal watches her shoulders visibly relax as the final remnants of tension leave her body, allowing his own force signature to branch out, enticed yet apprehensive of the new presence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” She mutters, eyes falling from his gaze.

“I get it.” He smiles softly, thumb continuing to run soothing circles on the back of her hand. As much as he may have been hurt that she hadn’t told him, he couldn’t deny that he understood why, the events of the last two weeks evidence enough of the consequences. “We can talk about it later, you need some rest.”

Silence envelopes the room, the pair simply content with one another's presence. Cal rests his head on the palm of his hand, eyes beginning to close once again, happy that they had a second chance. Undoubtedly the pair had much to talk about, the crew had to figure out how to move forward, but at least they had that chance. For a long time Cal had feared he would never get that chance and now that he had it, he was not going to let it go to waste. 

Things weren’t perfect, not by any stretch of the word, but the universe had given them the opportunity to try and make things right.

Suddenly, Aylin stirs again, wincing as she attempts to sit up, eyes wide and unblinking as they flit about the room. Cal’s hands shoot out again to stop her. “Where’s BD?” The urgency to her voice was hard to miss, resembling its older self. “Is he alright? Did you find him? I saw-”

“It’s okay, we’re all back. BD’ll be over the moon to know you’re awake, they’ve been peaking into your room every chance they get.” Cal coaxes her back down, more concerned with her reopening any of the wounds the crew had spent a painstaking amount of time trying to patch up than anything else. “And we managed to extract the information you both collected. It’s really going to make a difference.” He pauses, unsure of his next words, wondering how inappropriate they might be, unsure of how the blonde felt about him after her departure. “Thank you.”

Aylin smiles fondly at his worry, allowing him to secure her back in place, delighted that her earlier assumptions hadn’t been true, that Trilla wasn’t just playing some sick mind game, that BD was safe and sound, on the Mantis where they belonged. Then, the words fully register, and her forehead creases in confusion. “For what?”

Cal leans back in his chair, hands running through his disheveled hair, the bags under his eyes more visible with the guilt festering in his chest. “You didn’t have to do that. You could’ve let anyone go and collect the data, and anyone else probably wouldn’t have been in the same danger as you.” His bright eyes drift to the bandages wrapped around her shoulder, flitting across the many bruises visible just from her neck up. “But you did and I- thank you. Thank you for doing this and I know-” He was rambling now, his hands running through his hair as Aylin watches him, a small smile tugging at her chapped lips. “I know I acted like a bit of an ass before you left- and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He hesitates again, reaching forward to intertwine their hands, seeking comfort in knowing she was here, that he hadn’t failed her as he had done his master all those years ago. “I heard some of the things Trilla said to you, and I’m sorry you ever thought I wouldn’t come to get you. It was all I could think about since they caught you. Truthfully I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t gotten you back.”

The room plunges into silence once again, uncomfortable and stifling, Cal feeling overwhelmed at the emotions that echoed around him through the force, not daring to reach out to the blonde before him, fearful of what he might discover, fearful of heartbreak. Aylin gazes at the red head from under heavy lashes, weary eyes begging to close. The poor boy looked as exhausted as she felt, deep dark bags under his eyes, skin as pale as snow causing his scars to look red and glossy, highlighting the greyness to his pallor, his hair a dishevelled mess atop his head, tufts sticking out in every direction from the endless amount of times he had ran his fingers through his hair, tugging harshly at the roots in frustration. He had changed since she last saw him, donning a pair of cargo trousers and a comfortable sweater she had suggested he buy form a marker stall once, the navy material bunched up to his elbows, creased and crinkled from the stresses of the day. As tired as he looked and as rough as she felt, she doubted she had ever before been so ecstatic to see him, to see that he cared, even despite the truth of her history. Warmth spread from everywhere he touched, his soft touches and gentle caresses a stark contrast to anything she had felt before; it was everything she had hoped it could be. 

“I remember seeing you in that uniform.” Aylin whispers, daring to break the silence, exhausted yet hopeful eyes boring into Cal’s own. “I’m surprised they didn’t realise you weren't one of them sooner.”

He was taken aback at the abrupt shift in conversation, cerulean eyes boring into Aylin’s own hazel pair with curiosity, his mind reeling at the exhaustingly dazzling smile she sent his way.

“And why’s that?” He questions softly, thumb unknowingly continuing to rub gentle circles on the back of her hand.

“Your eyes.” Cal’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, beginning to wonder if she had been able to understand his words in her drugged state. “They’re too kind.”

A moments pause. Cal could feel the familiar bloom of heat along his cheeks spreading to his ears, he dreaded to think how flushed he must look.

“They didn’t match the uniform at all.”

“You’re obviously delirious,” he deflects jokingly, voice just as soft, warmth spreading through his cheeks and neck. “the uniform didn’t even fit-”

“The eyes are the window to the soul.” She mutters defiantly, determined even despite her dazed and exhausted state. “I’ve seen the eyes of some of the cruelest men and women in the galaxy. You’re too good for them Cal, you’re too good for us, you’re too good for me. I don’t know why you came to save me, but I can’t thank you enough. I never thought I would get to see your eyes again.”

Because I love you. He wanted to say, yet his mind wouldn’t let him, forcing partial truth from his lips.

“I was worried I’d never get to see you again.” Cal admits, leaning forward in his chair. “You have no idea how worried I was. You’ll be the death of me one day.”

His eyes study her face; the softness of her cheeks, the angularity of her jaw, the curve of her lips. His eyes flicker from her eyes to her lips and then back again, watching a small smile carve its way across her small lips. He felt like a boy again, unsure and uncertain, inexperienced and insecure. He had felt like this many times around the blonde, but this time, he wouldn’t shy away. She was a shining star in an ever darkening galaxy, and he’d be dead before he let her fall from his grasp again. Mustering all the courage in the galaxy, his lips part. “I was worried I’d never get to do this.”

Some part of him, the part that remembered his time with the Jedi before the end to it all, the end of an era, stirred fear in his heart; fear of attachments, fear of loss, fear of love. A life of solitude and harmony he had practiced like a mantra, and that in every step of the way, when it came to the blonde in front of him, he had failed, time and time again. He remembers how he had felt when she had been captured, the way his heart had seized and his world had stopped, how his life since than had been nothing but worry and hurt, nothing but pain for what could have been and what might never be, the pain of loving someone and not being able to do anything about it, not being able to protect those he cares for more than anything else in the galaxy. 

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway.

He leans closer, impossibly so, watching the grin grow on Aylin’s face as her eyes flutter shut. His lips connect with her own, melding together in an innocent affair, a hand coming up to cradle the side of her jaw, the other tightening its grip on her hand. He presses forward, heart hammering out of his chest and blood rushing through his ears as she kisses back, her free hand coming up to tentatively grasp the back of his neck, drawing him down to her; the girl he had been so close to losing, the boy she had been so close to forgetting. It was brief and uncertain, testing new waters both had been too scared to explore, but every emotion they had kept bottled for so long came bubbling to the surface; the hurt, the pain, the helplessness, the love. In moments that felt like an eternity Cal pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wide uncertain eyes locked with her own with haggard breaths falling from his lips.

“Took you long enough.” She grins from underneath the sheets, her own heart ready to explode from her chest.

“Get some rest.” He mutters behind a laugh, pulling back to sit back in his chair, arms crossing to prop his head on the corner of the bed, one hand outstretched to hold her own in his strong grip. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[cloverthirteen]

Was Ace Attorney made as a satire on Japan’s legal system? -- An analysis

I wouldn’t really call myself an Ace Attorney fan--I’ve never played any of the games, the closest I’ve come being watching other people’s let’s plays. I do like reading about the series on wikis and interacting with fan content for it, though, so I do know a fair amount about it.

One thing I see being said pretty often by fans is that the series was intended as a satire/parody of the Japanese legal system, which is why the courts are ridiculously biased towards the prosecution, prosecutors often care more about perfect win records more than putting actual guilty people behind bars, etc. If you’re familiar with this, you’ve probably heard of Japan’s 99% conviction rate. This interpretation of the games and the way they work definitely makes sense.

But after hearing this many times I eventually noticed something. There isn’t a single actual source (creator statement, interview, etc.) that backs up this claim. Every time I see someone online say “the series creator made Ace Attorney to parody Japan’s actual legal system” there is never a link to an interview or anything that proves their statement correct. If someone has an actual, verified source from Shu Takumi or someone else who had significant involvement with the series, please prove me wrong and show it to me. But according to all of the creator’s statement’s I’ve read, there’s no evidence of the series being an intentional parody.

So, what do we know about the creation of the Ace Attorney series? Well, it was created by Shu Takumi, who wrote and directed the first three games. After working on the dinosaur survival horror game Dino Crisis for Capcom, he was given the opportunity to make any kind of game he wanted. He really wanted to make mystery and adventure games, and from that came Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney.

MC: Before developing Ace Attorney you worked on Dino Crisis. How does one go from dinosaur survival horror to virtual courtrooms?

ST: Dino Crisis was the brainchild of my then boss, Resident Evil creator, Shinji Mikami. Working on his projects taught me not only how to make games, but also how to think about them. After Dino Crisis 2 wrapped, Mr Mikami gave me six months in which to create any kind of game I wanted.

I was still pretty wet behind the ears, but as I'd originally joined Capcom with a desire to create mystery and adventure games, this was a huge chance for me to make my mark as a creator. In the end it took a team of seven 10 months to produce the first GBA Ace Attorney title. Having the freedom to create exactly the kind of game I wanted was amazing and it was a real pleasure to work on that project.

MC: Can you remember when the idea of Ace Attorney first came to you? How did your bosses respond to the idea of a lawyer-based adventure game when you first described it to them?

ST: It was in 2000 when Mr Mikami said I could make my own game and my original idea was a fairly typical adventure with a detective as the main character. Most mystery adventures have the player choose from a number of different dialogue options for their character in order to progress the story, but I wanted a new gameplay style that enabled players to deduce for themselves what was happening, rather than just selecting canned responses. I developed this into the concept of facing off against the suspect in a crime and exposing the contradictions in their statements.

I was sure my new idea would be a fun and original take on the genre, so I started to revise the main character, since a detective would be too traditional for such an original concept. I asked myself, "What kind of professional would face off against a suspect and expose their contradictory statements?" The answer, of course, was a lawyer and so the Ace Attorney concept was born.

(source, from an interview on the making of the series)

Takumi’s original concept for the game involved Phoenix as not a defense lawyer, but as a detective. The gameplay was to consist of “facing off against the suspect of a crime and finding the contradictions in their statements.” However, Takumi eventually realized that taking apart contradictions wasn’t really a detective’s job, and decided to change the protagonist to a lawyer and the setting to a courtroom instead. And thus, the game’s concept was finalized.

Janet: As you know, “Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Trilogy” is coming out world-wide this winter, and as I was brainstorming what to write about for this week’s blog, I remembered your tweets from 2010.

Takumi: Tweets from 2010?

Janet: …Well, it was a long time ago…

Takumi: ???

Janet: I-It’s OK if you don’t remember…

Takumi: …Oh, THOSE! Yes!

Janet: I remember reading them and being shocked by how different the original draft of the game’s story was – how Phoenix wasn’t even a lawyer, but a private eye!

Takumi: Yes, AA was originally supposed to be a detective game, so naturally, Phoenix was to be a private eye. But then, one day, I made a startling realization: the gameplay concept I was going for was for players to enjoy finding and taking contradictions apart, but that was hardly related to investigating or detective work at all. In that moment, I had it – I realized that the main setting for the game should be the courtroom.

Janet: That’s quite the jump, but you know, I can’t imagine this series being anything else at this point. 

(source, from an interview by Janet Hsu about the game’s early development)

During the development for the game, Takumi actually knew very little about the intricacies of the legal system--and in fact, he’s been very transparent about that fact in interviews. There’s even a story he talks about in a blog post where he was asked “shouldn’t we do some research on law before we make this game?” and agonized over it for a bit before deciding that being accurate about courtroom processes wasn’t important--what was important was that the game made the trials exciting and fun.

November, 2000. The characters were coming together, and I was working desperately on my first scenario (the current Turnabout Sisters). One day, I was asked about the one thing I didn’t want to be asked about.

“Mr. Takumi. Don’t we need to do some research on law?”

The knowledge I have about the law, pretty amounts to the one fact that in Japan we have the Roppō Zensho ('Complete Book of The Six Major Legal Codes').

“Don’t bother with that. This is a detective game. “

It should have been over with this one line, but…

“But this isn’t a detective game, it’s a lawyer game!”

“If it’s not going to be realistic, I don’t see why this should be about trials.”

“People who play this might get wrong knowledge from the game!”

“We might get sued by the Bar Association!”

“They’ll start complaining!”

…Gyakuten Saiban (Ace Attorney GBA) is simply a “mystery game.”　“Being realistic” is not what is important. What’s important is emphasizing, and recreating the unique “atmosphere” and “tension” of the courtroom. That is why the judge uses a gavel, even though no judge uses that, and why Naruhodō shouts "Objection!" even though nobody does that either.　This game does not need a “realistic courtroom”!

Chasing the true murderer down to the end, and then getting applauded for that in the courtroom. That feeling of thrill and excitement. It was only by February of the following year when we finally manage to recreate that in the game. The couple of months after this had happened, we looked around, got lost and troubled our minds in search for the answer of the big question of “How do we make a trial into a game?”.  Fall was passing by, and the cold winter was close upon us.

(source, from an archived blog post by Takumi)

So, realism and knowledge of law wasn’t important to Takumi during the development of the series. But there’s also the fact that Takumi has actually personally denied that the Ace Attorney series was an intentional satire or criticism of the court system at any point. In fact, according to a blog post (done as if Phoenix and Maya were reading the column and commenting on it), he actually dislikes people seeing his work this way, as he never intended the games to have any big political statements.

A major prerequisite for Gyakuten Saiban is it’s so simple “even my mother could play it”.  So there is only one point at the core of the game: “Seeing through lies”.

Naruhodō: It wasn’t even supposed to be a game about the trials at first. Mayoi: Eh! Really?! Naruhodō: “Simple” is basically all this game is about, according to TakuShū. Mayoi: What do you mean? Naruhodō: He didn’t want to add all kinds of elements for the player to think about, like alibis, tricks or about the culprit. It’d just confuse them. Mayoi: Really. Naruhodō: Basically, you can proceed in the game if you just think about where the contradiction is. He figured that with that, the controls of the game could also stay simple. Mayoi: But, but, why the trials then? Naruhodō: “A story about a detective seeing through lies” wouldn’t be any different from the other games out there. So that’s why he decided to have someone whose job is seeing through lies as the protagonist. Mayoi: So a defense attorney. Naruhodō: Occasionally  TakuShū sees magazines introducing the game as “a work that dared to take on the theme of trials”, and that actually hurts him. Mayoi: He never meant to be something as big as that…. 

(source, from the mentioned blog post)

Ultimately I see how easy it is, if you know a good amount about both Ace Attorney and Japan’s legal system, to come to the conclusion that the games were made as a dig against the latter. However, somewhere along the line, people apparently stopped seeing this as merely a theory and instead as a definite fact. Now, that doesn’t mean that the theory is entirely unfounded--given that Takumi focused only on making trials interesting and fun in the games, you could say that the games work as an light, comedic parody, not meant to make any political statements. And hey, maybe there’s something I missed--maybe there were other people working on the series who did have significant knowledge of law and wrote some parts of the games as intentional satire of the system. Again, if anyone has evidence of this, don’t hesitate to provide it. But with what I know, I don’t think going “well actually” to people who point out the ridiculousness and unfairness of Ace Attorney’s court system is necessary. It’s simply that way to make the games more fun.

[burnedbyshoto]

spiral

— Honestly, what could go wrong when you’re lusting over your close friend and you’re locked in a box with only one way to get out? Well, not a lot, honestly.

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pairing: kaibara sen x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, gloryhole, dirty talk, praise, fingering, sexual tension, reader is a pervert, quirk use during sex (spinning cock lol)

word count: 2,695

a/n: this is the second gloryhole fic ive written, but its completely different from the last time because its like not a cult fic LMAO!!! anyways, I think yall basic shouto and bakugou stans could do well to stan this class 1-b man because when I tell you he is another deviation of the two of them personality wise.... I mean it! 

day 5 main kink: gloryhole

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If you had known precisely what you had just gotten yourself into right now three hours ago, you would have laughed at yourself. Without a doubt, there was no questioning that the predicament you had concealed yourself in was one that would bring you great shame once this wall was gone, but for now, you would deal with it.

At the bitter age of twenty, having graduated from the hero department over in Shiketsu High, you had been almost shocked when you were reached out upon by the graduating class over at Yuuei, to come and join their agency. You had accepted it with caution, unsure if you could live a life paycheck to paycheck that was as new as they come. But, it was a decision you would come to never regret.

Or at least, not until right now. 

You had been on patrol with your coworker turned friend, Kaibara Sen, hero name: Spiral.

His quirk was an interesting one. A quirk that allowed him to gyrate -- spin -- every limb and ligament on his body. It caused some pretty asshole moves in close combat that not only stung with the piercing metal on his gloves but also sent you flying away. Countless amounts of times, you had pinned him only to spun around like a spinning top and slammed back into the practice mats.

You hated it.

Or well, you hated his quirk in a sensical way (note: do not attempt to beat him through a crowd, he always wins). In the nonsensical, coming of age brain of yours that had been for the most part silenced due to Shiketsu’s no-dating-policy, but as you grew fond of your coworker, frequent workout buddy and sparring partner, you couldn’t help but wonder just if… well… if he could spin his cock.

You would be lying if you said you had never imagined what it could feel like. You wondered if his cock was curved, or if it was straight. Would the veins be prominent? Too many times, when watching quirk-plot porn videos, you found your mind lingering onto his ability, which leads you to scream into a pillow, your hormones both skyrocketing and plummeting in your horror. 

You weren’t a perv, you like to remind yourself as you changed into your hero costume. It was merely a rational, human thought! Humans were curious beings, after all! Sure, Kaibara was attractive, and his voice was… so low, deep, and raspy that sometimes you would try to – NOPE NOT A PERV!

Blazing hot cheeks drummed in time with your hammering heart as you finished dressing, hoping to get out and clear your mind with helping out the community as a hero! You were a hero!

Not a perv!

Nodding to yourself in the mirror located in your designated locker, you slammed it close and left.

Unfortunately for you, or fortunately, Kaibara was already dressed in his costume and waved at you in greeting as you approached him.

“Afternoon.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up!” you flustered, your back stiffening as you continued to stomp ahead, readying to leave the stupid agency and get your afternoon rounds done. 

You weren’t a pervert!

With three years since graduating from high school, three years of this agency having been founded, and three years of becoming friends with the esteemed and infamous class 1-A and 1-B from Yuuei, you had learned one thing for sure. This group of Yuuei students seemed to attract the worse kind of trouble like a moth to a lamp.

Without a doubt, you knew that was the reason why you had Kaibara somehow ended up in this horrible, ridiculous quirk from a child that just so happened to manifest their quirk out in the open. And of course, it would be the most humiliating shit to ever happen in the entire world of quirk apparitions.

“Uh, the mother said it’s probably the father’s quirk!” came the apologetic, nearing frantic voice of Deku from outside the steel box both you and Kaibara were trapped in. 

You couldn’t even see Kaibara’s face, and the perv in you screamed over the lack of even having his body pressed against yours! No! Nothing! As a matter of fact, there was a divider between you and Kaibara, a giant wall with a hole near your crotch area.

“I can’t believe you idiots got yourselves trapped in this!” came the amused, annoyed, and somehow antagonizing voice of Ground Zero. 

“Shut up!” you screamed back. “They looked at us, and it happened! It’s not like we touched the kid!”

“Y/h/n,” Kaibara’s voice sighed, and you felt your face ignite at the sighful tone on his raspy, deep voice. You pouted at the slight scold in his manner and felt yourself looking down in shame as he continued. “Don’t argue with Ground Zero. Hey, Deku, how we get out of this?”

The both of you were silent for some time, the outside world quiet as you waited for an answer.

“Oh, um, I don’t think you’re going to like it…” Deku’s voice laughed awkwardly from outside the box, and you frowned.

“Just tell us.”

“I-It’s uh… it’s a quirk called Gloryhole!” Deku squeaked, and just as you knew the successful and well-recognized pro hero outside of this box was undoubtedly red in the face, you felt your already warm face turn into an inferno. “I-I-It’s exactly… ohmygod!”

“The shitnerd is apparently a fucking perv and can’t finish his stupid sentence. Anyways, this quirk only works on shits like you with unresolved sexual tension and only removes after you use it,” Ground Zero’s voice barked from outside the walls.

“KACCHAN!”

“Shut up, Deku!” Ground Zero fired right back, and you could feel your body trembling at the news. Oh no, your perverted mind finally caught up to you in the worst of ways?! Although he did say unresolved sexual tension, that could totally be onesided, right? “We’ll be back in an hour, get it done, or fucking else.”

They left you, and you realized that despite your panicking pitched breathes, there was no noise coming from Kaibara’s side.

Oh no, this was all your fault! 

Oh no, oh no, oh no!

“You, uh,” Kaibara spoke softly, and you felt your hands clutch onto the fabric above your breasts. “You have unresolved sexual tension with me?”

“No,” you denied immediately, your forehead crashing against the barrier between you and Kaibara at the blatant, stupid lie. “Yes. Ugh, I do, but that wasn’t something I was planning on telling you!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s embarrassing? What was I supposed to say when you pin me against mats during sparring sessions? ‘Hey, Kaibara, does your cock also spin? If so, can you fuck me with it?’”

You slap your hand across your mouth, eyes going wide in your panicked embarrassment. That mouth of yours was genuinely going to get your tongue cut off or lips sewn together one day.

It’s silent for a bit, but there’s a sound of clothes ruffling. The rate of your heartbeat seemed to increase exponentially as you saw something shift from the view you had of the Gloryhole. “Well, if you want to find out, I’ll be more than willing to give you a demonstration.”

The pervert you may or not be did not hesitate to respond back.

“Please?”

And you watched as his shadowed figure approached the hole, and a pink-headed cock pushed through the hole into your side. You watched with a gaping jaw at the still-growing cock before you. Without a doubt, it was more than seven inches and was glorious, gravity defyingly curved upwards. It was proud as it was thick, and you watched as the underneath of his cock scraped across the bottom.

A soft grunt strangled in his throat at the cold, rough sensation, and you watched a small, glistening bead of pre-cum appear from the slit on his head. You’re not sure how quickly you dropped to your knees, but you did know that your mouth took him on completely. Within the first drop of your mouth on his cock, you enveloped at least half of his cock in your mouth. A loud bang hit the wall, and you felt a warmth in your chest, knowing that you had already affected him.

Your lips and mouth glided against his length, your tongue pressing and lapping at the underneath of the head of his cock, trying to cock to become as hard as it could be, because it was still growing. A particular needy, near sloppy suck of yours, sent a loud, dizzying guttural noise from Kaibara’s side. A noise that sent liquid heat spilling into your cunt as your hand gripped the base of his cock, bobbing your head slowly, as leisurely as you would allow yourself.

His taste was indescribable, faint yet had you licking his length for more, trying to cover your tongue in his pre-cum. 

But the issue with a proud curving upwards cock, was that you found it awkward to choke yourself down his impossibly stubborn curve as he began to thrust his hips to meet your mouth and travel into your throat. Grunt, gasps, and growls seemed to be growing in volume and repetition on his side of the wall as you relaxed your throat, chokes, and gags sounding wet and sloppy on your side. 

“Fuck, just like that, wait up,” Kaibara moaned, a thud coming straight above your own head, letting you know that he had pressed his head against the wall. The thumping of his hips on the wall was slowly becoming musical, white noise as you bobbed your head further along his length, throat vibrating with your need to make him feel good. And the weirdest, most surprised splutter came from your throat as his cock spun in direction.

Once curved upwards, making it nearly impossible in the space to take his cock all the way down your throat, was now downcurved. It stretched your jaw out entirely as he didn’t bother to pull away to do it, and your throat stretched out in a way you had never experienced before as you coughed and staggered against his length. But, it was a pain that made your clit throb and allowed his cock to go even further down your throat.

You did what you could only do once your throat stopped hurting, and the sheer pleasure of having your throat stretched out in a more desirably wait set in: you moaned.

It was a long, pitchy noise that you swore you could feel against the steel wall that your free hand supported you against. Your toes curled at the way his intensely thrusting hips faltered for a moment, undoubtedly turned on by your noise if the twitch in his cock said anything about it. You moaned again, and again, and again. You continued to do so against his snapping hips until Kaibara was practically snarling your name with the intention and muttered promises of what he would do to you once the barrier was gone. 

Your mind was gone at the point, the promises of fucking you against the window of his apartment that overlooked the Tokyo skyline had you shoving the pants off your hero costume down. Your hand on his cock tightening in its grip, but the one manipulating your pants off, sunk into your cunt, thumb on your clit. 

A mewl left your lips as you began to play with your wet heat, and you drove your mouth and head closer to the hole, enthusiastically taking him in further and further. 

“Imma fuck you so good when we get fucking out of here,” Kaibara promised, teeth undoubtedly pulled into a snarl, his thrusting in bizarre speeds as you tried to keep some piece of sanity as you continued to finger fuck yourself, all too pleased with him absolutely using your mouth. But, you registered his words just well enough to respond back, choking an agreeing noise as you bobbed your head enthusiastically. “Had I known you just wanted that slutty pussy of yours to be fucked, I would’ve done this with you ages ago. Would’ve pinned you down on that mat, and claimed your cunt as my prize.” Your eyes rolling back in your hormone-induced euphoria, your own dirty fantasies having played that scene in your mind countless times. “I want to hear you choke on my cock more, I want to hear the saliva and drool leaving your mouth. I know you’re fucking your cunt, so do it well enough you’re moaning like a paid prostitute. I promise you, I’ll make sure you never want to see another cock again that isn’t mine!”

A choking, hiccuped, and wet breath expelled from your mouth, and you hadn’t even realized you were crying at the moment. But, you agreed, head bobbing in your agreement.

And so, it continued. 

You pushed forward, his length reaching new depths of your throat until you had your nose smashed against the metal, cold wall. Your throat manipulatively squeezing and milking his throbbing cock, tongue, and teeth rubbing against his protruding veins until Kaibara was stuttering out your broken first name. 

The wet noises of his saliva drenched cock meeting your drooling throat and mouth grew louder with every slap, and you wanted more. You needed more.

“Fuck, y/n, you take me s-so fucking good. I think you have me entirely in your mouth like the fucking little pervert you are,” Kaibara hotly laughed, a soft thudding from near your chin sending your mind in a feral daze of how it was probably his balls. “Doing so well with my directions, you really do deserve to be fucked properly after this.”

A low, lewd whine strangled from your throat, your hot, swollen lips sucking harshly against the base of his cock as he continues drilling, and the melodic moans from his mouth made it all worth the fact your lips and nose are starting to tingle from the sufficient lack of oxygen. But it’s also your curling, pumping fingers in your cunt that add onto the headrush you get, the slick and essence coating and dripping from your pounding fingers send you into a series of keen and mewls against his cock. And you can perfectly find each sweet little pleasure spot. 

You were close, and by the consistent twitching and throbbing of his cock and the thick coating of precum on your tongue, Kaibara was too.

With your impending orgasm, you felt your body begin to tense up, shaking, and moaning with the tipping sensation you loved. And Kaibara, entirely lost in his own passionate, horny endeavors, shook as he slammed into you again, again, and again.

With a fiery determination, your cheeks hollowed out on his length as he pulled out, a resonating “fuck!” screamed from his lips as your tongue swiped at the salty silt on his cock, and it was all over.

You came on your fingers with a loud, pitchy scream, and thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from his cock onto your awaiting mouth, dirtying your face slightly in his heavy ejaculation. Swallowing the cum, a shiver ran down your spine as you quickly cleaned the remaining cum on his cock. Slowly, you removed the fingers in your cunt, and you shuddered at the pulsating heat form your core as you dropped to the floor as his soft cock disappeared from the hole. 

Laughing softly, you looked up at the ceiling of the box that was slowly disappearing, allowing fresh air to enter the sex smelling box.

“So, how about dinner?” Kaibara asked, and you chuckled, running a hand through your abused face.

“I don’t think I’m hungry.”

“No?”

“You might’ve proved you can spiral your cock,” you began, turning your head to look at Kaibara, who was collapsed on the floor, barely put together as the two of you locked eyes. “But I still would like to try it out for real while you properly fuck me. After that, if I’m hungry for food, I’d love to go for dinner.”

He laughed, his hand running through his sweaty locks.

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

[vanderlindemorgans]

STAY HIGH (Part 2 to Mr. Perfectly Fine)

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word count: 6.9k

Summary: Javier knows he fucked up. He’s been running from his emotional baggage for years now and this situation is no different, leading to him to find an escape in the three things that clouded his life before meeting you: sex, alcohol and cigarettes. After watching you leave the embassy in tears, he resolves to make things right with you at all costs. The main problem? He has no idea how. 

Warnings: Passing mentions of sexual activities but it’s all very low level and not in detail so it doesn’t warrant an Explicit rating, Javier continuing to be an asshole, use of alcohol and cigarettes, a little bit of period-typical sexism (again, it’s only one or two lines). Not beta read. 

Authors Note: Here’s the long awaited part 2! It’s loosely based on the Tove Lo song of the same name because it always gave me vaguely Javi vibes, and I threw in a couple of references to lines from Jisoo’s version for good measure. And yes, I realise the irony in titling a Narcos fanfic “Stay High” but shhhhhhh. 

Also I still can’t speak Spanish. Enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 3 (coming soon) | Masterlist

He knew something like this could only last for so long. Every day it was getting harder and harder to ignore you and pretend that nothing had happened, especially when you stared at him with those cold and bitter eyes. The first day coming into work after the unceremonious breakup he’d expected such a reaction from you: he could see clear as day that he’d been the jackass in all of this. He was the one who made the call, who started the fight, who did everything that led him to where he was now. Did he regret it? That answer, like everything else in his life it seemed, was complicated. Mostly yes, sometimes no. Not enough to have him crawling back to you with a tail between his legs. 

Sex and alcohol. Those were the two things that he filled his life with in the weeks without you. They were the only things, besides his work and relentless hunt for Escobar, that he would give any attention to, though whereas once they took the position of allowing him some distraction from the horrors and trials of the job he endured, now they took up even more of his time, allowing him an escape from your ever lingering presence in his mind. From the moment he woke up daily he’d be reaching for the whiskey, ending up at work every day permanently buzzed. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t drunk on the job before but this was different. This...this was far more personal than anything else he’d ran from before. This was one of the few things that refused to be quieted by any amount of liquor or whores he could find, and deep down, that fact alone did nothing short of terrify him.

He lost track of how many prostitutes he’d seen since the breakup about three days in, and in all honesty he didn’t want to know the true number since it would only further contribute to his own regularly scheduled self-loathing. Some of them were informants in the case but others were girls he picked up at one of Bogotá’s many brothels. Every single one of them he imagined was you, which made him feel all the more disgusted with himself afterwards as he threw stacks of bills at them and scurried off. He almost couldn’t believe his own actual nerve in all of this - he’d always known he was somewhat of a bastard, as others have said, yet even he managed to surprise himself with this. As what anyone else would say, you’d think if he missed you that much he’d try to reach out to you, smooth things over and rebuild what was lost. It wasn’t that simple though.

Which is why after spending a couple more hours across from your desk, feeling your frosty glare rest over him he decided to skip out completely - he couldn’t take it anymore, feeling all the raw unbridled hurt coming from your direction had been driving him mad all week, along with not being able to talk to you due to his own stubborn pride and emotional turmoil. He’d grabbed his coat and mumbled some shit about having to follow up on a few leads, which wasn’t technically a lie: he did have to go meet up with a particular informant that he’d acquired contact with in the past week. He felt your eyes staring daggers into him as he left, the effect of which still somehow managing to pull at the few weary cords left in his heart, the ones that weren’t broken and frayed from years of the chase and an airports worth of baggage that he’d taken with him directly from Laredo. 

It would be easier if things went back to how they used to be. Before he met you, before there was someone that could make him want to bend a knee. When he lived up to that wild reputation of being the manwhore of the DEA, bedding every woman who crossed his path and thinking nothing of them the very next day. With every thrust he gave, he tried to lose himself in it all, hearing the woman’s moans and screams, her body writhing under his and her amber eyes looking up towards him. Her name was Graciella, or at least he thought it was. He couldn’t really give a damn what her name was, the only noteworthy thing about the woman beneath him being the fact she wasn’t you. He was desperate for a moment of reprieve, a moment that he was never going to get from fucking prostitutes and drinking his weight in whiskey.

But what else was he supposed to do?

So many times he’d looked out the door to his apartment over to yours, playing out every different scenario possible of what would happen if he dared knock on your door, and every single one of them ended with things worse than they already were. Though the temptation was high, he stayed away. What made sense to him was to try to move on, forget all about you and focus on what truly mattered at that present time. More than ever he should be dedicated to stopping Escobar and his reign of terror, and without having to worry about your safety throughout every hour of the day he thought he’d get even more work done.

As it turned out, with the chilly atmosphere at the embassy between you two, Javier had only become worse at his job. He couldn’t focus on anything, no matter how hard he tried. Whenever Steve tried to present some new leads to follow up with he would go blank, lost in the depths of his thoughts over you. He’d done his best to hide it, and it seemed to have worked for the most part - maybe a little too well, if he were to be honest. He must have come across as a grade A asshole for brushing you off like that, and he knew that eventually he’d have to face you in some way, no matter how much he fought to avoid it. No amount of divine intervention could prevent such a confrontation from turning venomous, and it could only end in more fighting and screaming, whether it be from you or him.

With all that said, he couldn’t bear to see you cry. When he’d seen tears well in your eyes after delivering his own cutting remarks regarding you, he’d known he fucked up. There wasn’t anything he could say in that moment to make things better, no way to take out the sting of something he’d only said to make you hurt. Contrary to your belief, he did care, and he never stopped once. It wasn’t entirely fair of him to be frustrated with you for doing your job, but he saw how you acted out in the field, how many unnecessary risks you insisted on taking. It hurt him to see you disregard your own safety so much, and to have you brush off his concerns every single time with an eye roll and a simple “I’m fine” only did more to eat away at his patience. He was angry with you, and underneath that anger was fear. Pure fucking fear - for you, of you, of himself in a way too, the things that wormed their way into his brain in the dead of night when the streets were quiet and you were sound asleep in bed, where he’d be leaning half out the window finishing off his third cigarette and running his hair through his fingers as he looked at the city surrounding him, with every drop of blood spilt on those streets and every secret woven into the walls of cinder block. 

He hadn’t expected for you to let him apologise or accept his remorse in any way. Watching you push past him and rush out of the evidence room in tears, ignoring every plea of your name he shouted out...that was it. That was the moment that sealed it all for him, the moment where he’d gone from regretting dumping you and blanking you for weeks to being downright ashamed of himself. Shame was a rarity with him, not an emotion he’d felt often in his long and tiresome life but he felt it now, overpowering every other sense in him and taking the front wheel. Was he wrong to treat you in such a way? 

In those next few moments somehow he made it from the evidence lockup back to his own desk, flopping down hard on the chair without a single care for anything else around him - the different sounds of the office blended together for him, forming a rush against his ears that he was easily able to disregard. All of his thoughts were solely centred around you, and an endless slew of self-loathing he beat himself with. There was no purpose in constantly reminding himself of how royally he screwed it all up, other than the masochistic need for self-inflicted torture, an action he hadn’t done since leaving Lorraine at the altar. 

Minutes passed and he stayed the same, alone in the world that was supposed to have been made with you and him. Nobody attempted to talk to him thankfully, so he was able to sit in his head for a bit, just the way he wanted. At some point the flask of whiskey thrown into the drawer of his desk had made its way out into his hands, and before he knew it half the amber liquid had made its way into his mouth, the burn nothing compared to the sting of despondency on his soul. Eventually, one voice managed to break through the barrier, snapping him back in focus long enough to see Steve standing before him, staring down with a look that was teetering between frustration and disappointment. “I just saw her leaving the building. You mind telling me what happened in there was so bad for her to be in tears over?” he asked in an accusing tone. He, like everyone else in the building it seemed, were more than aware of the less than amicable terms you and Javier had ended things on. He was privy to a few more of the finer details that Javi had told him in passing, but not enough to know the full context.

Returning a glare towards his partner, Javier sighed and reached for a random stack of papers, pretending the contents of it were the most fascinating and engaging thing in the world - anything to ignore the twist in his chest that Steve’s judgement was causing him. It wasn’t enough for him to punish himself for what he did to you: apparently everyone else needed to add their two cents to this too. And for once, he couldn’t blame a single one of them. “We had a disagreement, end of story. It’s not a big deal” he mumbled, fumbling off to the side for the discarded pack of cigarettes he kept around. 

“Not a big deal? Now I know that’s a lie, dickhead. She wouldn’t be running out of work in the middle of one of our most important assignments over nothing. So tell me: what did ya do?”. 

“Fuck off asshole, and mind your business” Javier snapped, lighting the end of the cigarette he pulled from the packet and taking a drag from it, turning away as much as he could from Steve’s scathing gaze. 

He heard the other man snicker at him, and without even looking he could tell the exact expression he was wearing at that moment. Unable to help himself, he let his lips settle into a low scowl, despite feeling that he deserved any and all snark thrown at him for his actions. “Listen, Peña, I don’t know what’s going on between you two but I’m gonna need you to sort it out real fast. We’re supposed to be working to put Escobar behind bars, not having petty little squabbles with our girlfriends”. 

He raised his brows at that remark, taking another long drag of the cigarette dangling between his fingers with an air of defensiveness - if there was anyone who was able to smoke a cigarette passive-aggressively, it was him. “Yeah? I didn’t tell you to get with the program when you were having troubles with Connie” Javier responded. 

“Watch it, asshole. You said that you two were having issues and that it wouldn’t get in the middle of the case, which after seeing how you two have been acting for the past two weeks and having to be your middle man that that was a straight up lie” Steve admonished. 

“How about I just promise you that from now on I won’t bring my personal issues into work with me?”. 

“Not good enough. Tell me what happened”. 

Realising he wasn’t going to be able to weasel himself out of this conversation, Javier drew one last breath of smoke from his cigarette and threw it down into the ashtray on his desk, leaning casually back in his chair as if he wasn’t about the divulge the down and dirty details of everything that he’d ruined with you. “You’ve probably already figured out that she and I are no longer seeing each other” he started, not knowing what to say next since there was so much to say. So much that he would one day have to say to someone but never wanted to say. Did this really all start with that fight two Friday nights ago? Or did it start long before that, way before he ever set foot in Colombia. Was it all to do with you or was it with him? Was he the problem here? While he would become frustrated with what he perceived as your inability to care for your own safety he did wonder if that was the real reason for what happened. Maybe the reason you two fought had more to do with his own troubles than anything you ever did. That prospect on its own was a tough enough pill to swallow. 

“Yeah, didn’t take a detective to solve that one. I also guessed that it ended pretty badly given how many angry glares she’s been shootin’ at you” Steve prodded, determined not to let up on his interrogation of his partner. On some level it left Javier feeling like one of the sicario’s they’d brought in, being grilled for hours on end for various crimes. Not that he was any better, taking into account what he watched Carillo do to those kids, and all the things he’d done himself in the name of getting more information. 

“Yeah, well, I broke up with her over the phone. Took about 27 seconds max. It came off the back of another fight we had a night or two before, so that’s why she’s pissed at me”. 

Incredulous couldn’t even begin to describe Steve’s reaction to his confession - the look on his face was priceless to say the least. “Shit, you didn’t, did you?” he asked, to which Javier had no choice but to confirm with a simple nod. “That’s low even for a bastard like you, Peña. And what happened in the evidence lockup?”. 

“I’m aware. As for that...I said some things that were perhaps a bit harsh and made everything worse. That good enough for you?” Javier replied through gritted teeth. 

“Well, what did you say? I’m not gonna let this go until you tell me the exact words that came out of your mouth to her. Spare no detail on it too, she looked pretty broken up about it when I saw her outside, and I wanna know why”. That fucker was determined alright, a trait that he’d often found useful of Steve was now coming to be a royal pain in his side as he sat there being grilled over his biggest and most spectacular fuckup to date. Sighing heavily, he reached for that flask of whiskey once more and let the hot liquid rush down his throat before he turned back towards his partner and gave him the most bare-bones explanation he could of the things he could take back from ever telling you. “I told her I was tired of worrying about her safety, and that if she wants to die then to be my guest”. 

An air of silence hung over the both of them, for only a minute anyhow as immediately after the brief disbelief left Steve’s psyche he began shaking his head in well-earned disapproval. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you sometimes. What possessed you to tell that to your own girlfriend?” he asked accusingly. 

“Ex-girlfriend, and I don’t know. I was angry, and wasn’t exactly thinking straight”. 

“Doesn’t seem like you ever think straight when it comes to her, man” he replied sarcastically, his arms crossed and his gaze turned away from Javier’s own. He could tell in that moment that Steve’s mind wasn’t totally on what was going on in that room - despite how he’d been berating Javier for becoming too embroiled in personal drama, he wasn’t entirely innocent of doing that himself, as he’d snarkily pointed out earlier. He couldn’t help envying Steve in that regard: he didn’t have to come to work seeing Connie everyday after a night of terse words. That reason alone had been a big part originally in why Javier hadn’t tried to pursue you. Workplace romances were too messy, and they always had the potential to turn rotten at just the wrong moment. There was a spark between you two, nobody could deny that from the very start, and you’d had the same thoughts as he had about keeping your distance. By all accounts, nothing more should have happened. 

Except it did. It had started with a drink, then one, or two, or ten more, followed by another twenty other events, all leading up to this tragic finale of fuckery. Had it been a mistake to date you in the first place? Possibly, but he still didn’t regret a single moment he had spent with you. The only regret present was for how it all ended - if it wasn’t going to be forever, then it should have finished on a better note. 

“You need to fix this with her”. 

Javier scoffed at the other man, giving him a withering look to top off his dubiety. “You think I don’t want to? Forget it. She’s not gonna want to talk to me ever again after today. Apologising would be a waste of time” he justified. 

“So then what? You ignore her and pretend she’s invisible like you’ve been doing for weeks up til now?” Steve arched his brow back at him. 

“Alright, you’ve made your point. Tell me, genius, what am I supposed to do? If she refuses to accept an apology and ditches work for the day then what can I do?”. 

“Well, we all work on the same case and live in the same apartment block, you figure it out. Point is that you have to try. She might not listen, and she has every right not to after the crap you’ve been pulling but it’s the best you can do for now” his colleague advised him, walking back over to his desk that was positioned across from his own and sitting down in the chair, craning his head to look into the massive pile of files Messina had left for them to look through. “I don’t think she’ll be back today anyhow. Here’s hoping she’s not too messed up from what’s been going on to come in tomorrow - the more people we have chasing after that fucker Escobar the better” he added, absentmindedly flicking through the different sheets of paper and making note of something or other while Javier stared vacantly over at the remains of his smoldering cigarette in the ashtray, his mind completely lost to you and unable to brought back. 

He wanted to do what Steve had said. He wanted to go after you badly, explain that he hadn’t meant his cruelty and that he was acting like an idiot in all of this. He wanted to try and get you to understand why he was so worried about you, and to talk through it without the need for the metaphorical flames and snipers to come out. In his opinion, you did have too much of a habit of becoming defensive over criticism, especially when that criticism had anything to do with your capabilities as an agent. Which made sense, given how you were the lone female DEA agent working in a team full of guys, and with how some of the other staff at the embassy or even the Search Bloc men would treat you because of that. For you to be in Colombia at all with them on the Escobar case was proof enough of your capabilities, and while he had reservations and doubts at first (expressed only to Steve in private) he was soon proven wrong in all respects. 

Steve did have a point though. He had to try. If his attempts were met with a slap and a middle finger, then so be it. Like a habit, he checked your empty seat again, eyes lingering as if you would reappear at any moment. Not doing anything had so far only made the entire mess worse, so there wasn’t much more damage than him attempting to patch things up would do. And given that you probably weren’t coming back for the rest of the day, he supposed he would just have to go out and find you to talk. 

Lifting himself abruptly, he grabbed at the packet of cigarettes on the desk and muttered something about needing to leave and to tell Messina that he was unwell if she questioned where he was. He could hear Steve saying something back to him, something that sounded suspiciously similar to “I didn’t mean leave now, dumbass, I meant later”, though he didn’t take a whole heap of notice. Two minutes later he was out of the building and in the driver's seat of his Jeep, keys twisting in the ignition and the engine roaring to life with him peeling straight out of the parking lot and onto the busy road. The passing traffic was nothing more than white noise to him, and the twists and turns that he made were habitual in nature, navigating back to the apartment complex. He knew he’d cop it heavily from everyone coming back later on for leaving so suddenly, and he knew whatever he had to say could realistically have waited until later in the day. A fraction of him felt that the confrontation should wait a little longer, the same part of him that was urging him to blank you for weeks upon weeks. He was done listening to that part of him. This was going to happen, and it was going to happen now, whether either of you were ready for it or not.

Slamming on the brakes and skidding to a complete stop on the side of the road, Javier threw the door open of his haphazardly parked vehicle and practically leapt right out, the coursing adrenaline in his veins equal to the high he felt during a particularly difficult bust. Those moments where he’d be standing on a concealed vantage point, gun drawn and green tact vest on ready to give the signal to move forward. His movements would become second nature to him, sewn into the fabric of his being for the longest time now. If he ever felt nervous, it would only be out of concern for potential failure, the possibility that at the end of it all something could go wrong and the bastard they were apprehending managed to slip away from their grasp. Aside from that, he’d be confident. Self-assured. Determined. Focused. 

Now though? He was nervous, frighteningly so. He shouldn’t feel such anxiety about talking to you of all people, yet the feeling of his racing heart thrumming away in his chest suggested otherwise. He couldn’t approach this like he did with a good old fashioned cocaine bust, where he’d disconnect from his emotions temporarily and take on the task of bringing down whatever narco-trafficker and associate their squad had found. Everything about this was entirely hinged on emotion, and Javier knew he couldn’t run away from that fact any longer. The alcohol, the cigarettes, the women...it all had to stop. They were all distractions, things that he turned to when it was all too much and he wanted to avoid the originator of his turmoil, which more often than not turned out to be himself, creating a paradoxical feedback loop of self-destructive behaviour. When he’d been with you the running had ceased for a while, and without you it only returned with a full force, coupled with the damning knowledge that the loss of the one good thing he ever had was all his fault. And where the desire to seek after your forgiveness was overclouded with a bad case of stubbornness and a surprising amount of fear. Fear that you wouldn’t listen, fear that he’d only make things worse…

All of that was coming to an end now.

Pressing his palm up against your door, he pounded a single fist against the hardwood, shouting out your name. “Princesa? Are you there?” he called out, swearing he could hear the very thuds of his own heart in his chest. He expected for the door to creak open slightly, showing your tear stained face before slamming on him again, but no such thing happened. His knocks and calls were met with nothing but silence. He furrowed his brows with concern, wondering why you hadn’t answered him. Were you home but just ignoring him? Or perhaps you were in your bedroom at the far end of the apartment. Maybe you hadn’t heard him. “Princesa, it’s me. Look, I...we need to talk. About today, about what’s been going on with us, all of it. I don’t want to fight, alright?” he announced. No reply came.

“Hermosa? I...I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you and I never meant to. Just…” his voice faltered, not able to bring himself to finish his sentence. Javier Peña didn’t beg. Not for you, not for anyone. 

The continued silence from the other side of the door led him to two possible conclusions. The first, and likely the most obvious, was that you weren’t answering because you weren’t home. The second is that you were home but pissed enough with him to give him the cold shoulder. He was more inclined to believe his first theory, seeing as you hadn’t taken his own cold shoulder well enough to dish out your own. Plus from what he could see under the door there was no light on and he hadn’t heard any sounds coming from your place. If you weren’t home, then where were you? Javier felt his stomach knot with worry, the anxiety from earlier bubbling back up and fueling his paranoia. Where else could you have gone? He knew you didn’t really have friends around there, mostly opting to spend your time with him or Murphy when he wasn’t too busy being moody over Connie. He shook his head at the thought, pulling his hand away from the door and into the pocket of his jeans where the packet of smokes from before was resting. Wherever you were, you had to come back eventually. You’d probably be back later that night in fact. There wasn’t any cause for alarm. Not yet anyway.

Tasting the tobacco on his tongue, he lit up his second smoke of the day, watching as the wisps climbed higher into the air around him and down the stairwell as he progressed down the flight of stairs. The inklings of creeping concern in his head he attempted to ignore and rationalise his way out of his paranoia. There was only so long you could avoid someone for, and Javier was ready to wait. 

For a little while, at least.

_________

Four days. Four days had passed and Javier had heard exactly zilch from you. Every day before he’d go to work he’d trudge himself over to your apartment door, seeing if you’d returned during the night, with no reply coming to every one of his calls. He didn’t know why he bothered after the third time of doing it. With how little he was sleeping lately he knew he would’ve been able to hear if you’d returned out of nowhere sometime after midnight. Those late nights spent with him leaning against the apartment window, chain smoking cigarettes and nursing a glass of bourbon or whiskey, depending on whichever he had on him at the time, looking out for every car that passed and hoping it would be yours. It never was, of course, and it only ever proved to be an exercise in futility and disappointment. 

He’d gotten worse since the last time you two had spoken. The lack of proper closure was getting to him, showing themselves with dark smouldering bags under his eyes and a dazed bloodshot glaze in the whites. He’d had breakups before, most of which he’d initiated himself, and he’d never gotten this worked up over a woman before. It was dangerous how much of his waking hours you occupied, thoughts of you clouding his mind during the times he should have been focusing on something else, and he couldn’t stop it either. It was like he didn’t really know who he was anymore - none of this was the slightest bit like him. How could a rotten and rough breakup with one woman cause him to spiral this badly? The only time he’d ever come close to being anywhere like this was when Carillo had shot that kid in the head in front of his very eyes. That alone had messed him up for weeks, and he still wasn’t completely over it. Come to think of it, that incident had occurred not long before that first fight with you. 

Diligently as ever, he came to work at the embassy day after day, though his mind drifted elsewhere within the first five minutes of his arrival. Other people would say things to him and the words would scarcely reach his ears, and the memories of each day mixed together like paint on a palette. His eyes would wander to the empty seat at your desk every day, his concern from before growing further into a frenzy the longer your absence had gone. He’d asked Steve if he knew where you had gone and he didn’t know. Nobody seemed to know anything, and every person he asked gave him the exact same answer as before. His mind could not help jumping to the worst possible conclusions: what if you had been apprehended by one of Escobar’s men? What if you were trapped and rotting away in some concrete cell miles away from him, frightened and scared for your life? What if you were already dead, your body disposed off in a remote location where nobody would ever find you? Or what if you’d left of your own accord, abandoning the country all together and purchasing a one-way ticket to who knows where?

Javier hadn’t stopped looking for you. Actually, it’s what he was doing with a good chunk of his time instead of any actual work. In between tracing reports and locations of the different associates to the Medellín cartel he’d try to track down where you might possibly be. He’d already taken a trip down to the international airport, decidedly misusing his status as a DEA agent to inquire about passengers on outbound flights. Your name hadn’t appeared on any of their lists, so you were still in the country. The main pressing question still remained though.

Carillo had come in earlier with another one of the Search Bloc guys: there was no mistaking the man's stiflingly cold presence, his reputation causing such an air of unsettlement that permeated every room he walked through. As out of it as he was he couldn’t miss the Colonel’s arrival, especially given how the whole reason he had for being there was to go over the leads they’d accumulated from their last raid. He let Steve do most of the talking that day, only really chiming in here and there when needed. Thankfully ever since the incident with the kids Carillo had left him alone, preferring to opt for having Steve tag along with him whenever intel had to be followed up. He paid as little mind as he could to the happenings around him and kept solely focused on the ways he could try to track you down. He felt more like he was tracking a criminal rather than investigating the whereabouts of his ex-girlfriend - not that you’d given him much of a choice in the matter with your disappearing act. It was one thing not to show up to work for a few days straight, but it was the fact that you hadn’t returned home that really worried him. 

As the Colonel was leaving, he took note of the man striding alongside next to him and an idea came to his mind. Perhaps he’d been asking the wrong people in regards to your whereabouts. 

“Trujillo!”. 

At the sound of the sudden call to his name, the man turned to face him with a hint of confusion spread across his face, no doubt taken by surprise to be taken aside for a further discussion by him of all people. He proceeded back to where Javier was standing, giving a slight nod as he came forward. “Peña. Is there a problem?”. 

“You guys have vehicles patrolling the streets of Bogotá, right?”. 

His query earned a lone raised eyebrow from Trujillo. “I thought you already knew the answer to that. Why, what do you want to know?” he asked. 

“My...uhh, colleague, hasn’t come in for a few days. I’ve been asking around here to see if anyone knows where she might be but nobody seems to have anything. None of your guys would have happened to see her in your patrols?” he questioned, attempting and failing to keep the desperation of his desire for an answer out of his tone. He’d spent far too long pretending to be fine with all of this, and he was reaching the end of his thread. “You’ve probably seen her around her quite a bit, she’s a-”.

“Your ex you mean?” Trujillo interjected, effectively silencing him. He noticed the look of surprise on Javier’s face and shrugged. “Don’t act surprised that everyone knows. Neither of you seem to be great at not mixing business with certain personal matters. Sure, someone on Search Bloc might have seen her around. I haven’t come across her myself but I’ll ask around, call you if I find anything out” he added. 

He mumbled a low “Thank you” and returned back to his own desk, where he was still seated now, half an hour later, periodically glancing over at the phone to see if it would ring. Once or twice it had, regrettably with people on the other end who had nothing to do with Trujillo. He would have been less tense if the calls had delivered any type of good news regarding Escobar or one of his cronies but he was given nothing of the sort. To say that the wait was getting to him would be entirely correct and also a massive downplay to what he truly was feeling - stressed was more of a proper word for it, though it fell short as well of honestly describing the emotional lows that he was experiencing. Just as he was beginning to think that Trujillo had forgotten to inquire of your whereabouts, the phone on his desk rang for the third time that day. Snatching the receiver in his hand, he was put at a certain amount of ease at the sound of Trujillo’s voice on the other end of the line, though only somewhat. “You’ve found her?” he demanded, anticipation filling him up that he might finally have a clue to where the hell you had disappeared off to. 

“Yes. One of the others saw her out the front of this hotel a day or two ago. He didn’t think to report it since he wasn’t aware of who she was at the time”. 

He couldn’t believe it. He actually had something that could be called a lead. “Can you give me the name of the hotel?” he asked, grabbing a pen and a loose envelope that was thrown off to the side of his desk. 

“La Farmiga Regia Bogotá. You’ll know it when you see it, you can’t miss it”. 

“Great, great...thanks a lot” he spoke in a hurried voice as he hung up, scratching the name of the hotel down and throwing the scrap of paper into his pocket upon completion, reaching forward to grab the keys to his car. He spotted Steve giving him a certain look out of the corner of his eye as he left, almost as if to say he saw right through his half-baked lies he gave about going to meet with an informant, though he said nothing and simply watched Javier leave with that knowing glint in his eye. 

He’d never sped as fast as he did in his life as he did right then, chasing off the high of finally getting to see you again after what felt like forever. That is, if you were still even at the hotel at all - for all he knew this was yet another bullet point on a wild goose chase after you. He hoped it wouldn’t be - he’d had his time for self-loathing and regret, now was the time for action. He might have run a few red lights here and there but he couldn’t give a red hot shit about that. Too much time had been wasted already, there was no sense in adding to that. 

Diving out of his car and throwing the door shut with a thud, he reached for his yellow aviators that were perched on his perfectly aquiline nose, tilting them down just slightly so he could take in the sight of the hotel in front of him - Trujillo was right, you couldn’t miss the place. He was partially surprised that you’d take up residence in such a gaudy establishment: on a few of the raids you two had conducted you always let a small comment slip about the lack of taste many of the cartel members had in their choices for decor. That was when it hit him that this was the perfect place for you to hide out - it was the last place anyone expected you to be. 

Well, if his information was correct.

Bursting through the hotel doors, he made a beeline for the front desk and pulled out his badge from his pocket, flashing it quickly to the brunette concierge. “Can you tell me if this woman checked out a room in the last couple of days? It’s urgent” he inquired, before giving your name to the woman. He knew he shouldn’t be misappropriating DEA resources for personal matters but he had no choice - he knew you were most likely there but without a room number to seek out that information was next to useless. 

“Of course, I’ll have a look for you” the woman nodded frantically, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear while she typed away at the keyboard in front of her. “Yes, she’s up in room 217, checked in there about four days ago”. 

Javier gave her a brief nod of gratitude and raced off again, this time towards the elevators. There wasn’t any need for him to hurry anymore since he knew you were there, he just couldn’t help it. His heart was going crazy in his chest, ringing in his ears as he punched in the number for the second floor with his breath coming out in low drawn out pants. He thought of everything he wanted to say to you, all the ways things could go wrong from what he was doing now. What was he going to say to you when you opened up your door to him? Would you say anything back? Would you listen to him at all?

An eternity later the elevator doors slid open and admitted him to the second floor, to where he wasted no time barrelling down the corridor and searching for your room. The rows of doors flashed past him, the numbers descending the further down the hall he got. He’d become so preoccupied with himself and his own mission that he’d almost crashed into one of the housekeepers, earning him a well deserved scowl and a low muttering of “cabrón” under the woman’s breath when he’d pushed past her. Soon enough he was right in front of the door to room 217, raising a single fist and throwing it against the smoothed oak wood. 

And not a moment later was when he was met with you once again, hair knotted up and wearing a crumpled t-shirt and panties. The dazed and forlorn look in your eyes vanished immediately as you saw him, being replaced with alarm and vague hostility, though to his surprise you didn’t slam the door in his face afterwards like he had anticipated. You didn’t say anything at all in fact, standing in the doorway of your room and watching him with intensity, waiting for him to break the spell of silence surrounding the both of you. 

“Hermosa…”.

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