#I wanna watch them bridge that gap as slowly as possible I find it funny

[esmealux]

I'll bite. 13 and 35 look like they might be fun together. 😈

Thank you so much for this fun prompt, Shelly ❤ The opportunities seemed endless, but in the end I went with this. I hope you like it.

Once again, I screwed up at brevity, so this is 1.9K (:

13. Someone does something stupid + 35. 'You wanna bet?' 'Care to wager?'

Never make a bet with the Devil.

A deal, if you must. But do not bet against him.

Not because he’ll take your soul or anything; he won’t even necessarily take your money.

But because he can’t handle it. He can’t. He’ll stop at nothing to win, and when he doesn’t—when he can’t shoot down a bottle of vodka with a slingshot from 400 feet away, or blow a soap bubble with his nose, or fly to Sweden and back in under thirty minutes (the latter he did do, but a drug test showed he’d taken EPO)—he’ll walk around in a pathetic cloud of self-pity, sulking and pouting to an unbearable degree for days on end.

So if you care about the Devil, don’t bet with him. It’s for his own good.

It really is.

And yet-

Chloe picks up the dirty plates from the coffee table as gunshots fire around her. It makes her a little uneasy, how real it sounds through their newly installed surround sound system. One so expensive she doesn’t even want to know.

Their just as overpriced (and unnecessarily big) TV is bathing Lucifer in white-blue light as he stares at the screen intently. He did want to watch the movie with her, but she’s not much of a Weaponizer fan, and she’d like to clean up before she snuggles up next to him on the couch and inevitably falls asleep. As she’s gathered all the dishes in her arms, however, she can’t help but pause and glance at the film for just a second.

‘Yeah, like that could actually happen,’ she snorts, watching the car jump across a considerable gap in a bridge, flip mid-air, and land on all four wheels on the other side. ‘I mean, no one’s ever done that.’

As soon as the words leave her mouth Chloe knows she’s made a mistake.

Lucifer pauses the movie—because God forbid he misses five seconds of a film he’s watched thirty times—before he looks up at her with a lifted eyebrow and a devilish grin.

‘Is that a challenge, Detective?’

Chloe glares at him, her jaw clenching. ‘It’s not possible,’ she states firmly, which is even worse, because now he can only reply with-

‘Care to wager?’

Chloe wants to kick herself.

‘There’s no way in Hell you’re doing that,’ she tells him, nodding towards the paused screen before she heads for the kitchen to start the dishwasher.

‘Why? Because my worried girlfriend won’t let me?’ he calls after her. ‘I’m invulnerable, remember?’

Chloe refills her wine glass, generously, and returns to the living room.

‘No,’ she objects, careful not to spill Pinot Noir on the couch as she settles against Lucifer’s warm, silk-clad side. ‘I just know you’ll never forgive yourself when your beloved Corvette rams into a cliff.’

Lucifer gasps and scoffs. ‘As if I’d ever risk such a sweet beauty like that!’ He plucks the glass out of her hand and takes a sip. ‘And even if I did, she would not, because I would succeed, first try.’

‘First try? Really?’

Chloe grabs the remote and replays the last fifteen seconds. Looking at it a second time, it’s even more ridiculous. The background is so obviously a green screen it’s not even funny, the flip is clearly made using some sort of outdated CGI, and they haven’t even bothered making it look like there’s a real person in the car. Also—Chloe doesn’t remember much from school, but she’s pretty sure the entire stunt defies physics as the car leaps, practically flies over the 150 feet gap, all the while rotating 360 degrees sideways.

‘Maybe third,’ Lucifer admits.

Chloe shakes her head and sighs.

‘I can do it, Detective.’ He looks at her like it’s a threat. ‘And I will.’

Oh, he will definitely try. The determination in his eyes leave no doubt about that. But he can’t possibly copy that stunt with an actual car and an actual gap. There’s just no way. And she shouldn’t spur him on. She really shouldn’t. But the idiot’s gotta learn at some point, and if she’s gonna have to deal with his childish disappointment (and she will), she might as well get something out of it.

‘Fine,’ she shrugs. ‘What are we betting?’

He grins at her, brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

‘If—nay, when I win,’ he answers promptly, and Chloe rolls her eyes, ‘I’ll finally get that thing I’ve always wanted.’

Chloe stares at him, comepletely clueless. If his tone and stupid smirk are anything to go by, it’s not a pet shark he’s talking about.

‘One... re-enactment for another,’ he clarifies slowly, his dark gaze gliding over her body before his eyes flicker to the glass doors leading to their terrace—and their outdoor hot tub.

Chloe fights the urge to roll her eyes again.

‘Okay,’ she agrees, internally reminding herself it doesn’t really matter. She gives him a cocky smile. ‘And when I win?’

Lucifer chuckles as if he finds her adorably naïve. Asshat. Still, he says, ‘You’ll get anything you desire.’

Chloe thinks. There’s not much she desires he wouldn’t give her anyway. She could have him do paperwork for a month, but he’d just mess it up, and she’d have to listen to his complaints about ‘torturous boredom’ and ‘purgatory’. She could also go for something funnier, like have him wear t-shirt and sweats to work for a week. But that would just be cruel, wouldn’t it?

‘I don’t know,’ she tells him, but the words are barely out of her mouth before Trixie’s enthusiastic voice sounds behind them.

‘I might have an idea!’

Lucifer sighs and gives Chloe an unimpressed look before he shifts slightly in his seat to look at her daughter.

‘Alright, but only because your mum lacks creativity like a sober Faulkner.’

Trixie walks around the couch and comes to stand in front of them, a mischievous smile on her face.

‘Please don’t tell me it’s a unicorn on the cheek,’ Lucifer huffs, taking another gulp of Chloe’s wine.

‘It’s not,’ she assures him and holds out her iPad for him to see. It’s a doodle of a small, fluffy goat with pink fur. ‘I was thinking something more… permanent.’ With the hand that’s not holding her tablet, Trixie pats a spot on the left side of her upper chest.

Lucifer slowly removes the wine glass from his lips, and the sheer horror on his face makes Chloe snort with laughter.

He stares at the small, inarguably adorable drawing like it’s a personal insult, glances down at his chest with dread, and looks back to Trixie.

‘You little Devil,’ Lucifer grumbles, but there’s no trace of hostility in his voice. If anything, he sounds a little impressed. He grabs Trixie’s iPad from her outstretched hand and studies the pink kawaii buck for a second, as if he’s seriously considering saying yes to the deal.

Eventually, he sighs. ‘I’m in.’

‘Lucifer-’ Chloe immediately begins to protest. He’s not gonna win this bet, and she knows how downright intolerable he’ll be when he’ll have to get a cute, chubby animal—one that, to him, represents mockery and misconception—tattooed onto his skin. She's tired already, just thinking about all the whining she'd have to deal with.

But it’s too late. Her boyfriend and daughter shake hands, and the deal is settled.

Chloe palms her face.

‘Wait, what do you get if you actually manage to… whatever it is this time?’ Trixie asks, her small hand still clasped in Lucifer’s.

Chloe looks up at him, heat creeping up her cheeks. Their eyes meet shortly before he looks back to her daughter, visibly conflicted.

‘Eh…’

It’s not so much a word as it is a breathy, high-pitched sound, partly stuck in his throat. But it’s answer enough for Trixie.

‘Forget I asked,’ she quickly says, her face scrunched up in disgust. ‘I’ll be in my room.’

She takes her iPad back and leaves them alone on the couch.

‘So, I guess it’s tit or tat, then,’ Lucifer remarks with a chuckle, glancing down at Chloe’s chest.

She snorts and smiles, despite herself.

‘But, I mean-’ He grabs the remote and plays the scene a third time.

He must not see the same utterly absurd and almost comically impossible stunt she (still) sees, because he leans down and whispers in her ear, ‘Better start rehearsing your lines, Detective.’

Chloe shakes her head at him and snuggles closer to his body.

*

‘You’re lucky I like your mother,’ Lucifer mumbles as the needle pinches ink into his chest.

He’d driven off in a ‘cheap’ Porsche this morning and returned eight hours later, looking like he’d literally been fed to the wolves and with no Porsche.

‘Hey honey,’ she’d greeted him, hiding her smirk behind her cup of tea. ‘How’d it go?’

He’d answered with a grunt, blamed the Germans for making their cars too ‘praktisch’ and the Italians for not making theirs fast enough (he’d controlled for variables) and finally concluded it was all his dad’s fault because He ‘created that pesky gravity’.

Then he’d handed her an ornate, black business card and looked at her as if he’d picked his own casket.

Chloe had bit her cheek and hugged him before driving all three of them to the high-end tattoo parlour he’d requested.

‘You okay there?’ she asks him, letting him grip her hand tighter. The fact that he isn’t feeling any actual pain—‘any physical pain, Detective!’—makes his wincing all the more pathetic. Still, she feels a little bad for him.

‘No.’ He bends his neck to peer down at his chest, and pouts. ‘I’m not.’

Trixie grins beside him. ‘I think it looks cool!’

‘Of course, you do. You’re a twelve-year-old girl.’

The smile on Trix’ face turns into a smirk. ‘A twelve-year-old who girl you lost a bet to.’

Sighing deeply, Lucifer turns his head to scowl at her like she’s his annoying little sister and not the stepdaughter he’d go to the ends of the universe for.

‘It’ll be gone in a few months,’ Chloe reminds him, earning her a funny look from the tattoo artist.

The muscle in Lucifer’s jaw ticks. ‘It’s not even finished yet and I already hate it more than I ever did my bloody wings! How am I supposed to endure this… horned cotton candy for months?’

Chloe takes a deep breath. She brought this on herself. She knew she shouldn’t have made that bet with him. She knew he’d be an insufferable drama queen.

She also knows, after hours of hearing him moan, that he’s not gonna shut up about ‘deceitful special effects’ and ‘useless laws of physics’, much less the ‘vile, little creature marring his muscled chest’. Not unless she does something.

So Chloe does something.

For the second time in her life, she gets naked in—and out of a hot tub.

‘No moaning, then,’ she tells him, giving him a stern look.

Lucifer looks her up and down in awe and hunger, dark eyes lingering on the tiny red bikini he knows she’ll take off in a matter of seconds. ‘Now, there’s a promise I can’t keep.’

‘About the wager,’ she clarifies, but he’s not listening.

With a sigh, Chloe sinks into the hot, bubbling water, loosens her bikini top, and gets into character.

She is never, ever betting with the Devil again.

[hailing-stars]

@febuwhump day 21: torture

a phone call away 

summary

“Tony,” he said. He opened both eyes just as Tony put the Gatorade and the pills on the bedside table. “What happened?”

“Don’t remember?” asked Tony, with a smirk that told Peter doom was imminent.

Peter stared at the Gatorade bottle, then looked down at the bright red cast on his arm. He wondered how he was expected to open bottles using only one hand. “This really sucks.”

“Yep,” said Tony. “Sounds about right. That’s what happens when you drink half your weight in alcohol.”

OR

Peter copes with his post-snap trauma by drinking. Tony worries, and helps. 

Peter opened his eyes, only to quickly shut them after being assaulted by the lights.

His headache blared to life, and his right arm was encased in a cast. He couldn’t remember what he’d done to earn this trouble. What he’d done to merit this rude awakening in Avengers Tower medbay, but he had a sinking suspicion it had all started with Flash and Abe bringing out the keg.

He groaned and pushed his head into the pillow and wished he was literally anywhere else.

“He’s alive.”

Peter popped one eye open and saw Tony by the doorway with Gatorade and a bottle of pain relievers in his hands.

“Tony,” he said. He opened both eyes just as Tony put the Gatorade and the pills on the bedside table. “What happened?”

“Don’t remember?” asked Tony, with a smirk that told Peter doom was imminent.

Peter stared at the Gatorade bottle, then looked down at the bright red cast on his arm. He wondered how he was expected to open bottles using only one hand. “This really sucks.”

“Yep,” said Tony. “Sounds about right. That’s what happens when you drink half your weight in alcohol.”

A memory hit him. One of the white hot pain in his arm, and one of having his head in the toilet, puking, while Tony hovered somewhere above him telling him to get it all out.

Peter groaned again. Maybe it was better not to remember.

“From the baby-monitor cam-”

“-really wish you’d stop calling it that-”

“-it looks like you were swinging under the influence,” said Tony, ignoring his complaint about the name, “and at some point you swung into a building, fell, hit the sidewalk and landed on your arm, all before trying to fight a trash can.”

“Did I at least win the fight?” asked Peter, miserably.

“You tell me.”

It was obvious, even to Peter, that he’d lost.

Peter vaguely remembered a swirl of streetlights, the impact of a brick wall, and flailing his legs and arms as he fell. It was clear from his harsh landing on the pavement that in his drunken state he hadn’t been quick enough to save himself from the fall with his web shooters.

“And if you’re a little foggy on the first part of your evening,” said Tony. “You might wanna turn your attention to Thomson’s Instagram.”

Peter closed his eyes, and muttered, “He didn’t.”

“Oh, he did,” said Tony.

“I’m gonna kill Flash.”

“If May doesn’t kill you first,” said Tony. “Or me, for that matter. What were you thinking?”

“I dunno. Maybe I wasn’t. It was just, a party, you know? It was fun. Was being the keyword I think,” said Peter. He lifted up his broken arm. “This definitely isn’t fun. How long do I have to have this on?”

“Forever.”

“Funny,” said Peter. He sighed. “So much for super healing.”

“Yeah, well, all that alcohol probably put a damper on your freaky spidey healing, so you’re just gonna have to heal like us normal folks, at least for a couple of days,” said Tony. “Which is just as well considering your aunt is probably gonna ground you.”

Peter groaned, threw his head back into his pillows, and stared at the unattainable, frosty Gatorade bottle. He tried to ignore his pounding headache, the way his eyes hurt and begged for the lights to be dimmed.

This hangover was torture. Though he probably deserved it.

“Do you mind, uh, opening that?” asked Peter, pointing at the Gatorade with his free hand.

Tony took the bottle from the nightstand, opened it, and handed it to Peter, who accepted it with his good hand and gulped down half the Gatorade in one drink. He left it open when he put it back down on the nightstand.

“Are you sure this was really just about a party?” started Tony. “That you really just having fun, because I -”

“-Tonnnyyyyy,” said Peter. The headache was torturous enough. He didn’t need a lecture to come with it.

“Kid, I’m just saying,” said Tony. “Take it from someone who was lucky Instagram didn’t exist during his party years.”

“I’m not you.”

“I know you aren’t,” said Tony. “But it can happen to the best of us, and Pete, this is the third time in a month you’ve been caught with alcohol. I’m supposed to believe there were times you weren’t caught?”

“You’re not supposed to believe anything,” said Peter. He closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Can you dim the lights, please?”

Tony did what Peter asked, and dimed the lights. He sat back down in the bedside chair with a sigh. “I’m just worried about you. This isn’t like you at all -”

“-Can I please just rest?”

“Fine,” said Tony. “Fine. But we’re gonna have to talk about this sooner or later, and you know, I’m always a phone call away.”

Peter didn’t open his eyes again until he heard the doors just, until Tony was gone, and he was no longer at risk of having to talk about things.

*

Peter was supposed to be grounded.

May had reacted exactly the way Tony had told him she would, and sentenced him to two weeks in his apartment with only schoolwork and chores to keep him company. Chores that he couldn’t even properly do with one arm.

That hadn’t been such a big deal after a couple of days, which was the amount of time it had taken Peter’s arm to heal and for his cast to get taken off.

And when his arm became free, breaking grounding became easier, so he did, to escape his quiet apartment and his loud and menacing and threatening thoughts.

He crashed a party.

Someone at Midtown hosted it. He didn’t know who, really, and didn’t care to ask. He noticed none of his circle were around. Not even Flash, who usually got invited to every party and rarely turned down an invitation. He didn’t like it. The way parties and large rooms felt lonely and desert when they were absent of his friends.

Peter stayed only long enough to get a buzz going. It wasn’t the good kind, either. His thoughts stayed loud, only they were also swimming, and he’s sloppy as he stumbles around on the dark, New York street.

It occurred to him that was lost, and he was hit with that familiar dread that had occupied him while he was in space. That he may never get home. That he might disappear into the wind before he’s got the chance.

He shook and his breath came fast. He sweated, and wanted to cry, and wanted to be back in his bed or just stay in his apartment, watching TV with May.

“You know, I’m always a phone call away.”

The memory of Tony’s words broke him out of his panic, and slipped his hand into his pocket and fumbled around with his phone until he managed to press on Tony’s contact.

“Peter? What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, Tony,” said Peter. He didn’t like the sound of his own voice. How desperate it sounded.

“It’s okay,” said Tony. “Where are you?”

“Lost.”

“Sit tight, alright? I’m gonna find you.”

They hung up, and Peter sat on a bench under a streetlight. He waited.

*

Peter didn’t throw up, but he wished he could.

He woke up the next day at Tony’s penthouse. He was nauseous, and shivered, even from under a pile of blankets, and he wished desperately that he could forget the night before. That wasn’t possible. His memories might have gaps in them, but he’ll never forget the paralyzing fear of being moments away from vanishing.

Tony must have been alerted that he’d woken up, because he pushed open the door to the guest room almost immediately.

“How’re you feeling?”

Peter sat up, slowly, and hugged the blankets closer to his body. “Like shit.”

“Sounds about right,” said Tony. “We still gotta talk about it, though. I let it slide last time, and it was a mistake.”

“My mistake,” said Peter. He shivered. “And don’t worry. I’m never going to drink again. Not after last night.”

Tony let the uncomfortable silence settle over them, and Peter didn’t like it. He had to fill the air with his explanation.

“Maybe I was using alcohol to escape,” he admitted. “You know it’s like sometimes my head is just so loud, and it feels like I’m going to be obliterated at any second, and alcohol numbed that. Made me forget.”

“Until it didn’t?” Tony had phrased it as a question, but Peter had no doubt the man knew where it was going. That maybe he’d been there and experienced it himself.

“Yeah,” said Peter. “Last night it just made anything worse.”

“That happens,” said Tony. “Alcohol magnifies your emotions. Not a great way to deal with your trauma.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

Tony squeezed his shoulder in a sign of support, and there was relief written on his face. As if he’d been worried that entire time, but instead of helicoptering over him, had let him work it out on their own. Maybe they were both growing.

“Now the question is,” said Tony. “How do we prevent it from happening again?”

“I’m never going to-”

“-but you might. Shit happens, and if you don’t figure out a way to deal with these feelings, they’ll eat you alive, or make you turn to some pretty desperate solutions.”

“Talking to you and May helps.”

“Yeah,” said Tony. “But I think you may need to talk to someone else, like a professional.”

“You want me to go to therapy?”

“I think it would help you,” said Tony. “I speak from experience, I go, and it helps me, and if it can help me, it’ll help anyone.” He paused, chewed on his lip. “And hey, you’ll have someone to complain about me to.”

Peter laughed. “I don’t know if any therapist has that much time or patience.”

“Brat.”

“Just being honest,” said Peter.

“I’m gonna make you an appointment,” said Tony, quickly, before Peter could even properly make a decision either way.

“Yeah, okay,” said Peter.

He didn’t know if he would’ve agreed if Tony hadn’t made his choice so easy and clear, and although he was sure therapy would be difficult, he was content, thankful even, that he had people like Tony pointing him in the right direction.

[berrodarmstrong]

Catching up.

The interior of Gyr Kehim.

●Autgar Bloode made his way over towards his teacher without a word and plopped down before smiling over at the stone. "It's always a wonderful feeling sitting down here, anywhere really, any spot within Gyr Abania and being struck with the realization that it's ours again. That we were the generation where we got our home back."

Berrod Armstrong had been sitting and quietly contemplating something or other. Autgar's arrival pulled a small and fleeting smile from him. "It is, " He murmured, "There were moments I didn't think it'd happen in my lifetime, but here we are."

●Autgar Bloode: "I had my concerns... but I always had my faith that we'd be back here in our lifetime either making the fight or making our beds. I'm glad it's the latter. Though I could use a good fight. It's been awhile since I had one of those fights.. the one's where you're not quite sure if you're gonna make it and you can taste the blood in your mouth but it's also still the most energized you've ever been. You can feel it in your veins." He sighed.  "I've been thinking about spending some time on the border to help maintain security and also get my fights in when I need them." He glanced over at Berrod. "OH, N'hara's doing it. He's finally separating his Astro-magicks from Rhalgr's gifts. I think he's finally taking on the understanding that being a monk is more about aetheric techniques."

Berrod Armstrong: "It's about time," Berrod sighed, "I'm glad for 'im though. Anybody can be a fist fighter an' use special techniques --" For some reason he paused when he said that, and grimaced some, "-- but bein' a monk is so much more. As for fightin'..." Discomfort settled onto his features, "Ever since the first push I've come to appreciate peaceful moments more'n anything...I...don't got that hunger for fightin' I used to have, though I won't ever let that stop me from gettin' in there if I gotta. Funny you should mention border defenses though. I was thinkin' of tossin' my lot into the effort as well. I wanna make sure Gyr Abania -stays- free."

●Autgar Bloode: "Us lot being me and my students or us lot being the Ala Mhigo offices? Cause either way you know I'll be there. When it comes to the world, I'm content staying right here and making sure it stays ours."

Berrod Armstrong: "Oh, I meant me, really. I wouldn't ask it of anybody else after all the bloodshed everyone's been through recently."

●Autgar Bloode: "OH, your lot bein' you. I'd be happy to go out there with you. Watch your back. The Empire wouldn't know what hit them with the two of us on the field ensuring things remain secure."

Berrod Armstrong tried to hold back another grimace, but he only managed partway. A grunt and a nod were offered Autgar's way, and he looked ahead. "I was thinkin' maybe sabotage missions, light skirmishes. It'll all depend on what they actually -need- though."

●Autgar Bloode cocked a nonbrow. "You sure goin' up there to fight is what you're okay with? If you'd really rather not fight well I don't think your presence would really dissuade them. Sadly not enough of those troops knows what a man dressed like you is capable of. It'd likely come to blood, no matter what kind of mission you run. Sabotage though... been awhile since I did anything like that."

Berrod Armstrong: "I ain't capable of much more than the average soldier I'm afraid. But that ain't any reason to shy away from doin' what I can. If it's not on the front, then it's back here makin' sure the people stay safe amongst themselves."

●Autgar Bloode: "Not capable.. Bullshit. I've fought you more than enough to know that just ain't the truth. It's either you bein' too humble or something’s going on." He stared over at Berrod. "How you doin' since Roark attacked Levinfist?"

Berrod Armstrong huffed a breath through his nose, "Healthy," He began, "But...hm. Jus' gotta be a little careful from now on, I suppose."

●Autgar Bloode: "Is that why you're sayin' you're not capable of much more? Cause you can certainly take me down and I know I'm more than an average soldier thanks to all your training."

Berrod Armstrong: "Maybe I still can, who knows? I doubt it. I think the gap's a bit too far for me to bridge now. Well, -for- now."

●Autgar Bloode: "Gap? Please. The only reason I got you alst time is cause I've been busting my ass to learn all I can and surprise you with it. Now that I don't have the element of surprise, I'm sure you could take me. Though we'd wear ourselves ragged but that's pretty normal for us."

Berrod Armstrong: "No, I can't. I don't think I can come anywhere close."

●Autgar Bloode: "I respectfully disagree, but I won't push it. And even if you we're right, I'm only as far as I am because of you. You were a good teacher. You got me through thick and thin and made me all the better for it."

Berrod Armstrong 's smile was strained, "I hope I can keep doin' -that- bit, at least. I don't really need much more than heart an' soul to do that. I'm glad you think I was a good teacher. There were a lotta times when I didn't know for myself."

●Autgar Bloode: "You are a good teacher. You were then and you are now. Better than me too, I had a shaky start but I think I'm finding my stride... though my students scare me when I hear what they have going on. Lotta weight making sure they stay reasonably safe."

Berrod Armstrong nodded. "Mhm. It is. It's tough figurin' out what you can help 'em carry an' what you should leave 'em to handle on their own. I know you can do it though."

●Autgar Bloode: "Believe it or not Flora's my troublesome one lately... Martin's calmed down since his first opening. He's learning what he's capable and rather responsibly.. but Flora is.. a hot idealistic mess. She was uh keeping Roark."

Berrod Armstrong tilted his head and peered at Autgar. "That's...gross. Did you get 'im back an' bury 'im? More than he deserved, but every man deserves a grave, I suppose."

●Autgar Bloode: "We handed him over to the Resistance for trial. Flora gave him up easily. I wanted nothing more than to send her to Rhalgr myself but.. I'd dishonor my vows if I did that. In the love of honesty, I had wished he would've tried to attack someone there so I could've struck him down but he didn't. I think he's clipped. They won't let him live long."

Berrod Armstrong 's face went from slightly disgusted incredulity to something much more dire. "...wait. Alive? She was keepin' him -alive-?"

●Autgar Bloode nodded. "She was tryin' to get him repent and the like. It's where my concern came from. She shared a lot of his ideas and.. it scares me. First her taking the path of shadow and now this. I've known so many that became enemies that were shadow monks and had these dangerous ideas." He made a face. "I don't think I've met a shadow monk that didn't end up my enemy yet."

Berrod Armstrong rubbed along his jaw with the coarse report of scruff against leather.  "I think all of us share some of his ideas to an extent, if I'm honest. Jus' not to the -extremes- he did, you know? What Flora did...I don't think it really has much to do with her bein' on the path of Shadow. Those paths are things of the past, an' we need to keep rememberin' that. Her sin's grave there though. She forsook her fellowship an' took matters into her own hands. That's not the way of a monk at all."

●Autgar Bloode nodded. "No, and I understood her wanting to try and have him repent and turn around. I think the one thing she hates above all else is seeing followers of Rhalgr get killed but he's an extremist. I agree with some of his points but he attacked monks, civillians, spectators, and then she took him and hid him." He sighed. "I don't know what the Resistance will do about that but.. I think we should talk to her about that no matter what."

Berrod Armstrong: "Whatever the consensus, it's something we ought to have come to -together-. For her to have refused us that ain't somethin' to be taken lightly." He sighed and tilted his head up somewhat, "There's a lesson to be learned for her here, probably for all of us. We'll get through it an' learn together, like always."

●Autgar Bloode nodded. "I'm hoping they let her off easy but that means we need to come down on her and make sure she knows why what she did is wrong. That way we can all learn the lesson together, like you said."

Berrod Armstrong nodded slowly. "Ayeah. That's uh. That's a bit of a shock, honestly. Disappointin', too, but everybody slips up sometimes. This jus' happened to be a pretty big one."

●Autgar Bloode: "Right? I figured if any of us were gonna mess up it'd be me or Martin or maybe N'hara.. I hadn't expected it form Flora but maybe that's the issue too. I hadn't had my eyes on her like I should've."

Berrod Armstrong: "Flora is devout, but she isn't perfect. She's young too -- ideals get in the way of reality often. It's somethin' that we're gonna have to have patience for."

●Autgar Bloode: "Did I ever scare you like that? Frighten you that I was gonna falter along the path or somethin'?"

Berrod Armstrong offered a bright, uncharacteristic smile. "You don't get to know that," He declined simply.

●Autgar Bloode chuckled softly. "Fair enough." He glanced forward. "Well why don't we change to a safe topic. I'd like to continue my training, like I mentioned back when we fought."

Berrod Armstrong bobbed his head in assent. "Ayeah -- I think you're ready to move on to what's next. Though, what do -you- think is next?"

●Autgar Bloode: "We talked about the rest of the riddles but also the possibility of beginning pursuit on the next chakra. Which is passion and heart if memory serves me right." He tapped at his chest. "Also linked to fire but.. I recall you saying it could be a bit risky."

Berrod Armstrong: "That's right. Funny we should get on that topic after what we jus' talked about, that was a prime example of how the heart and its passions can make things go awry. Add physical trainin' an' development for that, an' it becomes an explosive mix. Sometimes literally."

●Autgar Bloode: "Yeah for awhile when I was starting my monk training and I read all your writtings.. I had only thought that it meant positive passions but.. if I've learned anything these past few years it’s that passion isn't always good and left uncontrolled it's certainly a volatile and dangerous source of strength.. though explosive does ring some bells. Or some previous concussions. You've laid some explosions into me before."

Berrod Armstrong: "Controlled ones, ayeah. When I was trainin' it up the first time I'd get burned every damn day. It'd rip through my arms. Hurt like all hells. But...that's a problem for when it opens. Before that, you're trainin' is gonna involve what it does, an' how it works...an' how to prepare for the demands it's gonna place on your body."

●Autgar Bloode: "Emotional as well as physical training?"

Berrod Armstrong nodded once. "Ayep. It's a must."

●Autgar Bloode: "Well.. I've got a good handle on my emotions but more training to keep those in check is always welcome. Physical training is fun. I'm as eager as ever."

Berrod Armstrong: "I'll help as best as I can with that then. While we're at that, we can begin workin' on solvin' the Riddle of Fire too."

●Autgar Bloode: "Do they go hand in hand?"

Berrod Armstrong shook his head, "No, but it won't hurt to learn a powerful technique that utilizes the power you're tryin' to unlock."

●Autgar Bloode: "I'm eager to tackle both but you've advised not to undertake too much at once before in training. So hearing this is a bit of a surprise but also exciting."

●Autgar Bloode: "The riddles have always fascinated me.."

Berrod Armstrong chuckled quietly. "Don't get your hopes up. The reason we're startin' the riddle at the same time is because it's gonna take some time to work out."

●Autgar Bloode: "Good. I'm excited to have something to take some time. I feel like I've kept up with my training but the past few months has been refinement not anything new for me. It's all been about teaching Martin and Flora. Though, I have touched on my technique some, it isn't ready yet.. and I agree to help N'hara with his thing. That bit he blasted Martin with the other day. He wants some help refining it but that's his technique that he's setting aside his astro stuff to work on this one."

Berrod Armstrong 's smile was a bit sad for some reason, but he didn't address it. Instead he nodded in silent encouragement.

●Autgar Bloode: "Though I can set his aside and work on that separately than when I'm working on riddle and heart stuff."

Berrod Armstrong: "Why?"

●Autgar Bloode: "I don't think working on all of them at the same time would be the wisest idea. His technique is quite extensive and costly. Combining that with the training for the riddle and the chakra could prove even more volatile and dangerous than working on the chakra alone."

●Autgar Bloode: "His technique is.. kind of like the forbidden chakra mixed with the elixir field. In a quick explanation. It's a lot of energy and power, the kind of strength I don't think I'd want to be using while I begin training with those two new things. Someone could get hurt."

Berrod Armstrong smiled again, but this time it was -- smug? Proud? Perhaps a mix of the two. "I see."

●Autgar Bloode: "I've learned my lesson trying to work on too much at once.. especially when it comes to those hefty techniques. If someone didn't get hurt I'd run myself ragged and probably pass out in the middle of nowhere."

●Autgar Bloode: "OR, worst case scenario, that level of power invites someone who wants a taste. Enemy monk or corpse brigade or.. nefarious folk."

Berrod Armstrong: "Fair enough. I'm lookin' forward to your development, as always. S'always a pleasure seein' you grasp new techniques an' make 'em your own."

●Autgar Bloode: "I look forward to showing you just what a good teacher you are. You've taught me the most important lesson of all as a monk and a man. To work smarter.. you don't always need a strong show of force in anything when you can outsmart or outlast them."

Berrod Armstrong: "Heh! Exactly."

●Autgar Bloode: "I've been learnin'! Absorbin' as much wisdom as I can. So I know how and why I should use be able to use as much of myself and all that I've learned to keep all this and all of you safe."

Berrod Armstrong: "You're a good man, Autgar. And a good monk."

●Autgar Bloode: "I wouldn't be any of this, man or monk, without you Berrod. I love you brother. I truly do."

Berrod Armstrong 's mouth flattened into a thin line and he stared for a moment, simply trying to compute the statement and process a response. "Yeah," He began, already completely mucking it up. Fortunately, he sought a quick correction. "I love you too. It's a privilege."

●Autgar Bloode stared over at his friend who never was the best with displaying his emotions let alone affections. He'd certainly put his friend through the ringer tonight so he opted to lighten the mood. "Any more mushy and I'm gonna have to hug you Berry." He smirked. "As for the training, I know I've still got Ronsen's crystal but your guidance will be invaluable. Knowledge is grand but guidance accelerates the learning I think. Or at least the understanding."

●Autgar Bloode: "Though I'm not the best with the riddles.. I remember the last one was quite the journey."

Berrod Armstrong 's dumbfounded, struggling expression crumpled into his usual scowl. "Don't be gross. Don't touch me, I'll break your arms. Anyroad -- the riddles are always tough, that's what makes them worthwhile an' powerful in the end. We'll take the journey together."

●Autgar Bloode let out a honk of laughter before clasping a hand over his mouth and nodding slowly. "Yes- yes it'll be a journey I'll be happy to take brother." He continued to smirk at the usual responses to affection.

Berrod Armstrong: "Well, most of it. There'll be a point where you'll have to walk ahead. I can only do so much now."

●Autgar Bloode: "Long as I've got you behind me, I'll make it."

Berrod Armstrong: "You will. I have faith in you."

●Autgar Bloode bowed his head. "Tell me where or how to start. I'll hit the books on it tonight and start it all in the morning, bright and early."

Berrod Armstrong: "Meditate on the things that rouse your heart -- your passions and your enthusiasm. Think on them, list them in your mind. Meditate on love, and how fiercely it can through -everything- out of balance for a single-minded pursuit. That's where the emotional training begins. Physically...er. Begin with practicin' to maintain your earth aspected protections through stress an' assault. You'll need 'em."

●Autgar Bloode: "Love... now that's been awhile.. the heart rousing kind not the brotherly kind." He rubbed at his chin. "Lotta memories in tonight's meditations. As for earth? Always welcome. We're practically family at this point. I use to think Flora was crazy for sleeping on stone slabs and broken tile but now I've gotten so comfortable with it, I can see the appeal. In meditation anyway. I don't plan on giving up my bed unless Oda stops by or I get another caller and I gotta take the couch."

Berrod Armstrong drummed his fingers on the dusty stone, "I actually prefer the floor. Years of sleepin' on the street gave me a feel for it. But -- it's not jus'...romantic love. Brotherly love an' familial love count too. It's such a powerful, shockin' thing that can make the power you're tryin' to harness spin outta control so -easily-."

●Autgar Bloode: "Could think of my family.. that's always been a go to for my emotional training.. cause of the torrent of feelings all those memories cause. I think that'd work. As well as those who I'm close to now."

Berrod Armstrong nodded once. "Ayeah, that'll work."

●Autgar Bloode: "As for earth.. will it help against any uh... explosions from within?"

Berrod Armstrong nodded again, though this time it was with an almost apologetic grin. "For the most part. Chances are you're gonna spend a lotta time bandaged up an' covered in ointment."

●Autgar Bloode: "Sounds like I should give Oda a call then.. or at the very least get a healer or somethin' on retainer to keep me stock with alchemical remedies."

Berrod Armstrong: "That you should -- though that's all only gonna apply once you -open- it anyroad, so you've got time."

●Autgar Bloode: "Could call Reks but.. he's not the kinda healer I'd be wanting.."

●Autgar Bloode: "Damn we need a healer at the Ala Mhigo office now that I think about it."

Berrod Armstrong lifted an eyebrow, "Like a dedicated one? Maybe..."

●Autgar Bloode: "Yeah a dedicated one. Folks get hurt all the time."

●Autgar Bloode: "And it's me and Martin..."

Berrod Armstrong laughed, then grew solemn in the blink of an eye, "You're not makin' me pay for this are you?"

●Autgar Bloode: "The Ala Mhigo office or the healer?"

Berrod Armstrong: "The healer."

●Autgar Bloode: "Eh, nah I'll cover the healer for now. Cause I'm probably gonna be the only one to need them for awhile. But when the office gets some more meat on it's bones we may need to talk about allotting some company resources for it."

Berrod Armstrong hummed softly, but nodded. "Fair enough. Y'all better get the work to earn it!"

●Autgar Bloode: "Gotten a few jobs for us now.. but I'll find more. Might be able to find some that are jobs and good training oppurtunities for all of us."

Berrod Armstrong: "Ayeah -- though, don't get too picky lookin' for jobs like that. We need all we can get."

●Autgar Bloode: "Really? I thought we were pretty set after that whole clan thing. We did pretty well but then again I don't know our finances at all.." Nor did he understand finnances to begin with.

Berrod Armstrong: "Oh, not jus' for the coin, we're comfy there. For the recognition so people know who to come to..."

●Autgar Bloode: "I hadn't thought about that with the name change.. I'll be sure to get us some jobs. Hopefully some of us being monks and working out here helps to. Notoriety though, that I do understand. I'll see what I can drum up when I'm uh bandaged and oiled up."

Berrod Armstrong grinned again. "Sounds about right. Though on that topic I should probably be headin' off soon.  Had some stuff to figure out. I think I got a good handle out that though."

●Autgar Bloode: "If you ever need a confidant, lemme know. I'd be happy to repay you with advice after you've given me so much over the years."

Berrod Armstrong hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "There's somethin' I gotta make absolutely sure of first -- then I'll come talk to you about it."

●Autgar Bloode nodded. "I'm always happy to help. We're family. But uh, go on home. Give Sarij my best. Miss that man. I'll go home and get some stuff together for my trainin' tomorrow."

Berrod Armstrong got to his feet. "Sounds like a plan then."

●Autgar Bloode pushed himself up and offered the other monk a smile before extending his forearm. "May His comet continue to guide us, as it always has."

Berrod Armstrong took the forearm in a strong grip and brought the other hand to his own heart. "And may He smite our foes."

●Autgar Bloode mimicked the motion and nodded firmly. "He always does." He released the grip and smiled. "Travel well and rest well."

Berrod Armstrong pulled away and clapped Autgar on the shoulder as he walked by to exit the structure.

[featherbraincd-aa-blog]

               ❛    ---------------   why   did   you   do   that?!  ❜                ❛    ---------------   though’   it’d   be   funny,   ain’t   it?  ❜

 his   mind   dutifully   switches   off   as   claire   begins   to   yell.     despite   her   head   trauma,   she’s   retained   her   altruistic   personality.     no   accident   could   force   that   from   her,   just   as   no   amount   of   distraction   could   force   apathy   from   him.     he   doesn’t   care;     he   doesn’t   care   about   his   work;     he   doesn’t   care   about   his   hobbies;     he   doesn’t   care   about   the   people   that   constantly   insist   on   hovering   around   him   like   flies   surrounding   a   corpse;     and   he   doesn’t   care   about   the   gaping   wound   on   his   hand   either.     really,   he’d   known   all   along   that   grabbing   a   knife   so   sharp   by   the   blade   would   cause   his   skin   to   give   way,   that   serrated   teeth   would   sink   into   soft   flesh--     it   just   hadn’t   been   enough   of   a   deterrent   to   not   do   it.

 she’s   forced   his   fingers   out,   worried   eyes   surveying   the   gash   before   going   back   to   his   face.     there’s   nothing   that   she’s   looking   for   there,   just   an   empty   mask   that   provides   no   answers,   no   reason.

               ❛    ---------------   this’s   a   bad   cut,   crow.     you   fucking   idiot!!    i   told   you   not   to!!   ❜

 guiding   him   to   sit   down   prompts   nothing.     he’s   doing   as   directed,   surprisingly   docile,   and   she   knows   immediately   that   such   behaviour   is   cause   for   concern.     she’s   trying   to   talk   to   him   now,   nudging   his   shoulder   with   a   warm   palm,   but   he   doesn’t   feel   it.     he’s   left   his   vessel   altogether.

             「   i’m   floating   away,   free   from   care.     i   feel   better.     i   feel   so   much   better.   」

 a   mention   of   phoning   somebody   catches   his   attention.     the   doctor,   or   his   therapist   perhaps,   though   his   brain   doesn’t   acquire   the   name   to   feel   threatened   in   the   first   place.     it   does   trigger   something   violent,   though--     a   violent   lie.     muddy   hands   force   light   back   into   his   eyes,   clouded   thoughts   parting   for   a   brief   strike   of   lightning--     alertness--   as   he   grins.

                        ❛    ---------------   phah.     did   i   get   y’good?     wha’   a   wuss.  ❜

 after   staring   for   a   moment   in   disbelief,   the   woman’s   worry   is   replaced   with   indignant   mirth.     the   harsh   shove   to   his   chest,   the   muted     ❛   you   motherfucker   ❜     ...     it   all   feels   normal.     he’s   normal   again.     it’s   this,   rather   than   her   candid   frustration   with   him,   that   prompts   him   to   laugh.

               ❛    ---------------   why   did   ya   jump   from   such   a   high   place?!     ya’re   gonna                   break   your   legs   at   some   point!!   ❜

             「   if   i   break   my   legs,   will   305   expect   me   to   go   anywhere   any   more?   」

 even   he   can   admit   that   the   landing   had   hurt.     no   amount   of   training   is   going   to   have   steel   replacing   bone   any   time   soon,   and   as   he   stands   straight   again   he   reluctantly   accepts   the   possibility   of   a   sprain,     or   a   torn   muscle.     something   in   his   ankle   feels   wrong.     still,   he   forces   himself   to   bridge   the   gap   between   him   and   danny.

               ❛    ---------------   it   was   not   high,   manny.     could’a   jumped   from   there   with                   my   legs   split   like   a   whore’s.  ❜

 that   doesn’t   mean   you   should!!     you   could   have   really   gotten   hurt!!     what   am   i   supposed   to   do   if   you   wind   up   more   injured   than   you   intended?     he’s   used   to   all   of   these   questions   at   this   point--   he   just   doesn’t   care   about   them.     why   should   he   be   concerned   about   other   people’s   concern?     no   amount   of   telling   them   it’s   misplaced   is   going   to   make  them   stop,   so   the   next   logical   step   is   to   avoid   thinking   about   it   too   much.     how   is   it   his   fault   if   they   care   too   much   in   the   stead   of   someone   who   doesn’t   care   at   all?

 the   feeling   of   floating   is   returning.     his   body   feels   pleasantly   vacant,   like   an   empty   sack,   and   it’s   with   no   regret   that   he   revels   in   the   peculiar   sensation--     even   though   his   ankle   is   killing   him.     jumping   from   there,   he’d   known   it   would.

 when   he   returns   to   earth,   crow   makes   sure   to   do   so   with   a   facetious   grin.

               ❛    ---------------   wanna   watch   me   do   it   again?   ❜                ❛    ---------------   crow!!   ❜

               ❛    ---------------   why   won’t   y’ever   say   anythin’?   ❜

 the   static   in   his   ear   is   making   his   head   spin.     in   one,   the   crackling   silence   of   a   parent   who   feels   no   obligation   to   speak   to   her   undesirable   offspring,   and   in   the   other   the   thrumming   silence   of   nomi’s   house.     he’s   out,   in   paris,   chasing   something   or   other   about   his   career   as   an   author,   and   crow   is   glued   to   his   seat   in   the   kitchen,   alone,   meaning   nothing   to   society.

 his   fingers   tighten   around   the   mobile.     despite   his   better   judgement,   he   can   feel   his   eyes   growing   hot,   teeth   gritting,   caging   an   onslaught   of   insanity   as   he   listens   more   intently.     this   time,   he   thinks,   as   he   always   does,   this   time   it’ll   be   different.

               ❛    ---------------   if   y’never   wanted   ta   speak   ta   me,   why   wouldn’t   y’block                my   number?     why   wouldn’t   y’move   away   where   i   can’t   find   y’after   all                these   years,   with   the   family   y’do   love?     why   would   y’even   pick   up                   the   phone?   ❜

 even   without   his   knowledge,   his   breathing   is   picking   up,   becoming   more   erratic   as   he   speaks.

               ❛    ---------------   mama,   why   don’t   y’love   me?   ❜

 voice   cracks   without   him   even   meaning   for   it   to.     he   hides   so   much   every   day...     how   depressed   he   feels;     how   empty   he   is   inside;     how   desperate   he   is   for   things   to   change   in   a   way   where   he   can   feel   their   benefit.     instead   he’s   caged   inside   some   never-ending   loop   of   him   saying   meaningless   things   to   meaningless   people,   searching   for   some   version   of   love   that   he   can   never   quite   accept.     he’s   alone   in   this   world...     everybody   he   wanted   to   love   him   has   long-since   abandoned   him.

 when   his   palm   meets   his   cheek   in   the   form   of   a   meek,   defeated   slap,   it   already   feels   damp.     a   feeble   sniffle   is   barely   an   indication   of   the   outraged   sob   that   follows.     he’s   crying,   but   not   in   a   cathartic   manner;     instead   in   a   fashion   so   primal   and   red   that   he   resembles   something   non-human.     without   a   second   thought,   the   man   stands   up   and   shoves   the   table   so   hard   it   topples   over,   the   chair   he’d   been   sitting   on   flung   back.    immediately,   he   begins   to   break   things.     kitchen   utensils.     any   crockery   he   can   get   his   hands   on   in   his   blind   fury.     the   refuse   bin   goes   down   with   an   angry   kick,   and   in   the   pile   of   garbage   does   he   see   a   loose   feather.     thoughts   now   a   whirlwind,   it’s   no   surprise   that   such   a   sight   prompts   the   next   of   many   insensible   ideas.     hands   tear   open   his   shirt,   fingers   locking   around   soft   plumage   and   pulling.     his   brain   immediately   begins   to   scream   in   protest--   stop   that,   god   STOP   IT,   IT   HURTS--   but   the   further   he   pushes,   the   more   numb   he   becomes.     eventually,   he   leaves   his   body,   fingers   clamped   around   fistfuls   of   feathers   slowly   letting   go   of   them.     despite   it   not   being   visible,   crow   knows   the   skin   beneath   is   raw   and   pink,   like   tender   meat   under   a   butcher’s   knife.     ugly.     made   to   be   killed.

 when   he   comes   back,   eyes   scan   the   mess   he’s   made.     even   now,   his   phone   lays   on,   screen   shattered   but   still   displaying   the   call,   seconds   still   ticking   away.     even   in   witnessing   the   destruction   she’s   caused   her   son,   the   mother   doesn’t   feel   inclined   to   give   him   a   response.    

 stumbling   over   the   chair   he’d   knocked   over,   crow   clumsily   collects   the   device   and   brings   it   close   to   his   ear.     nothing...     and   now   that   he’s   had   his   breakdown,   he   feels   content   to   leave   the   conversation   there,   a   vacant     ❛   i   still   love   you,   mama.   ❜     uttered   before   he   hangs   up,   taking   in   the   mess   he’s   made.     even   knowing   he’d   done   it,   he   doesn’t   feel   as   if   he   had.     nomi   isn’t   back   for   another   two   days...     there’s   plenty   of   time   to   clean   up   and   get   his   act   together   again.     for   now   though,   he   sinks   to   the   ground,   languidly   cross-legged   and   staring   blankly   into   space,   surrounded   by   loose   feathers.     his   skin   hurts.     it   hurts   more   than   cutting   it   did.     that   satisfies   him.

 an   hour   passes   before   he   feels   in   control   enough   to   stand   up   again.     retrieving   his   phone   once   more,   he   realises   he’d   missed   three   calls   from   nomi.    he   hadn’t   even   heard   it   ringing.     with   still   shaky   fingers,   he   fumbles   with   the   device   until   he’s   tapped   out   a   message   that   he’s   okay   with.     in   his   usual   blarse,   self-important   fashion:

                                        call   at   a   better   time.     i  was   in   the   shower   x

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Nobody’s Perfect: Part 2

Pairings: David Harbour x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, & fluff

Word Count: 2,554

A/N: This story was an idea that came to me from an interview David did. The quote was “...I'm better at the fantasy of relationships than I am at the daily real life, but I'm trying to steer myself into a realist...” And this is the story I came up with. I obviously don’t know David therefore I’m using my first amendment right, here.... & since David reads fan fics... if you ever see this, love... well, I’m sorry....

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t think I have had that much fun in years.” David said as he drove you back to your hotel. He chuckled and glanced over at you as he reached across the middle console of his truck and put his hand on your thigh. “Don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in years, either.” You pouted out your bottom lip behind a smile and looked at the giant Coke spot on your thigh by his hand.

“Yea, that’s ‘cause you didn’t get covered in snotty Coke.” He ‘awed’ softly as he picked his hand up off your thigh and laced his fingers with yours.

“I’m sorry but it was really, really funny.” You both fought to hide your laughs as he glanced over at you. “Shit shot straight out of Gaten’s nose.” You snorted a laugh and your hand flew to your mouth to hide your giggles.

“I thought he was going to die of embarrassment! You know, I think he has a little boy crush on Shannon.” He glanced over at you with his eyebrows raised.

“You think?” You nodded in response as you absentmindedly brushed your thumb on the back of his hand.

“For sure. He spent half the day showing off and the other half making sure she was watching to make sure she saw him showing off.”

“See, now I saw him making sure you were watching.” You giggled and looked over at him with a smile.

“I think you were the only one paying more attention to me.” He smirked and shrugged his shoulder as he pulled into the hotel parking lot.

“I plead the fifth on that one.” You let go of his hand as he pulled into a spot and parked his truck. With a small smile, you shrugged your shoulder and sighed.

“Well, thank you for everything.” He nodded and shifted in his seat to look at you.

“So when do you leave? Maybe we can sneak one more dinner in or lunch with your mom…��

“You don’t have to do that.” You said with a shake of your head. “I mean really, this has been fun and all but come on. How is this really supposed to work out?” His eyebrows flew to his hair line before furrowing at the bridge of his nose.

“How is it not? I mean, unless you’re married or something and didn’t tell me.” You giggled and shook your head.

“No, not married, but come on. You’re an actor. You don’t wanna date a nobody like me.”

“You’re not a nobody, (Y/N).”

“I beg to differ on that one.” You said gently as you started to collect your things from where you had tossed them on the dash.

“Wait, hold on.” He leaned over and grabbed your hand so you would stop trying to rush out the door. “What are you doing? I like you, sweetheart. You’re sweet and funny and kind. You’re absolutely gorgeous and can hold a conversation without saying ‘like’ or ‘um’ every other word.   You actually want to get to know me as a person and not just as an actor.” He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “I’m not letting you just walk away from something that could be good for both of us.”

“David…” You breathed as you ran your fingers through your hair. “What if you leave here and realize you were just bored on your days off when you met me. Or… or what if I do something that embarrasses your image. What if I can’t handle the distance and I find someone else; what if I hurt you? What if my insecurities drive you crazy. What…”

“What if the sky falls?” He interrupted as he pulled your hand over into his lap. “What if I’m not some kid playing fucking mind games with you? You forget, I have a few more miles on these tires, honey. I’m not playing games anymore. You think you can damage my image? Sweetheart, I’ve been acting for years and most people don’t know who I am so I doubt you can do much damage as a self proclaimed nobody… which you aren’t to me, by the way, so you can stop saying that.” He reached up with his free hand and cupped your jaw with his rough hand. His eyes searched yours in the light from the neon hotel sign above his car and his head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

“What if right here, with me, is where you are supposed to spend the rest of your life? What if I’m supposed to be the man that makes you forget all your ‘what ifs’ for the rest of your life. What if you walk away from me right now and turn your back on all of those possibilities without even giving me a chance.”

“Wha…” You said weakly as he leaned toward you. Your eyes fell closed as he rested his forehead against yours. You felt his sigh float across your lips as his fingers curled in your hair at the base of your head.

“What if I kiss you?” Your subtle nod was enough of an answer to him and he quickly closed the short distance between you. Your breath left your lungs instantly as you reached up and lightly put your fingertips on the scruff on his cheek. His lips were softer than you imagined and you couldn’t stop the breathy whine that escaped from your throat. He took advantage of the tiny gap in your lips and slid his tongue across yours as he pulled you impossibly closer to him. Everything in that moment seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time and faster than you would have liked, he pulled away to catch his breath.

“What if that was your last first kiss?” He whispered as his gorgeous blue eyes stared into your soul. A smile pulled at the corner of your lips as you slid your fingertips up his cheek and laid your palm flat on his jaw.

“Then it was the best last first kiss I could ever wish for.” He smiled, leaned forward and gave you a chaste kiss. His mouth parted for him to say something but you cut him off. “Do you wanna come up? Not for sex, it’s just… well it’s probably gunna be a while until I see you again and I wouldn’t mind falling asleep with you at least once.”

“I think I can agree to that. Your mom won’t mind?” You shrugged as you forced your eyes off his and glanced at the clock on the dash. A mischievous smile spread across your cheeks as you looked back at him as innocently as possible.

“She’s still out so she won’t have much say to it if we accidentally fall asleep watching a movie. If anything, she wakes us up when she comes back and tells you it’s time to go.” He chuckled and kissed your nose.

“I like the way you think, darling.” You giggled as you sat back and started collecting your things again.

“I have to admit, I am an evil genius sometimes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your heart pounded in your chest a little harder than normal as you meandered through the hundreds of people at La Guardia airport. You couldn’t help but nervously bite your bottom lip and you pushed your glasses up your nose as you gripped the strap of your purse so tight, your knuckles were white. At that precise moment, you couldn’t put your finger on why you thought flying to New York three days after Christmas for New Years was a good idea. Sure, you were seeing your boyfriend for the first time in almost two months but that didn’t stop you from being anxious with so many people around.

“(Y/N)!” You looked over toward the familiar voice and a wave of relief washed over you. You couldn’t help but giggle as you ran over and jumped into David’s arms. He laughed as he wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tight. “You’re here.” You nodded as you buried your face in his neck with a smile.

“Finally.” With a nod of understanding and agreement, he set you down on the ground and gave you a passionate yet chaste kiss.

“Fuck… even though I talk you every day on the phone, I didn’t realize how much I was going to miss being away from you.” He kissed you once more before lacing his fingers with yours and leading you toward the baggage claim carrousel. “Good flight?” You nodded and leaned into his side as you walked.

“Long. First class is interesting though.” You glanced up at him with a smile as you bumped his ribs with your shoulder. “You didn’t need to spoil me like that.”

“I can, and I will when I want to.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you came to a stop in front of the carrousel. You put your arm around his waist and rested your head on his side as you sighed a content sigh. “Sooo I have to confess something.”

“Is this going to be a regular occurrence with you?” You teased as you glanced up at him through your lashes. He ignored you as he rubbed his hand up and down your arm.

“My mom really wants to meet you. She’s a little jealous that I’ve already met your mom and she says that’s just not fair… so she made my dad stay in town an extra day so she could and I wasn’t allowed to tell you.” You picked your head up slowly and turned toward him. He smirked and looked up at the ceiling to avoid your scrutiny.

“Really? David, I’m in a button down, flannel shirt that’s two sizes too big that I think has a small hole in the back, yoga pants and Ugg boots that don’t match my outfit. I don’t even have make up on, my contacts are in the bottom of my luggage and my hair…”

“So they gets to see the real ‘you’ and not you trying to impress them.” He interrupted. “Trust me, they’re gunna love you.” You growled as you grabbed your battered, teal suitcase off the carrousel as it passed.

“Please tell me they’re at least waiting at your house so I can have a cigarette and put some…”

“You can have a cigarette but no to the make up because you’re even more beautiful without it.” You sighed and shook your head as he took the suitcase handle out of your hand. “You worry to much, (Y/N).”

“You at least looked good when you met my mother.” You reminded him as you laced your fingers with his free hand. You glanced up at him quickly and smiled. “Then again, a little make up…” He gently hit your side with his wrist and the two of you chuckled.

“Smart ass.” You waited until you got in his car to smoke and ended up chain smoking three during the drive. Your boyfriend simply laughed at you as you bombarded him with questions about his parents and checked your appearance in the mirror at least ten times.

“Baby, calm down.” He laughed as he reached over and closed the visor as he pulled up in front of his building. “You’re starting to make me nervous.”

“Yea, you only get one first impression with your boyfriend’s parents, sweetheart. Sorry for being nervous.” He sighed as he pulled up to the curb and put his car in park.

“I have faith that my mother will love you as much as your mother loves me.” He reached across the middle and gently grabbed your chin so he could turn you to look at him. “If I didn’t think you could charm the pants off of them, I would have told her she had to wait. But I know she’s going to love you as much as I… i-yee-yiii…” Your breath caught in your throat and your eyes widened. You could see the slight hint of panic in his eyes as and awkward blanket began to settle over the car. “Shit.”

“I love you, too.” You said gently with a reassuring nod of your head.

“Oh, thank God.” He pulled your chin toward him a little roughy and crashed his lips to yours. You smiled against his lips as you cupped his jaw in your hand. He pulled back and sighed with a smile on his face. “I love you. Not the way I wanted to tell you but I said it first, ya hear?” You rolled your eyes as he kissed you once more and turned off his car.

“Yea, yea.” When he got out of the car, you took the opportunity to check your reflection in the mirror once more. With a sigh, you pulled the two sides of the messy bun on the top of your head and flipped the visor up. You grabbed your purse and stepped out into the freezing New York air with a shiver. “Damn, could it be any colder?”

“Oh, this is nothing.” David laughed as he gestured to his building. “It’s supposed to drop at least ten degrees between now and the New Year.”

“Well then I ain’t going outside for that. I like my ass right where it is not froze off. Oh!” You glanced back over your shoulder with a smirk as your boyfriend’s eyes trailed up from where he just swatted at your ass to your eyes.

“Yea, I like it there, too.” You told him to behave as you stepped aside and let him and your suitcase into the building in front of you. He chuckled to himself as he headed upstairs and paused as he got to his front door. “Just be yourself, OK. They aren’t staying long.” You nodded and took a deep, steadying breath as you ran your hands nervously down the front of your shirt. He bent over and kissed your forehead lightly before opening the door. “We’re back!”

“Oh yay! Finally!” You smiled at the woman who came around the corner from what you had to assume was the living room as you set your purse down on the ground by the door. Karen paused and put her hand on her heart as she glanced up at her son. “Oh, David. Those pictures you showed me do this woman no justice.” Your face flushed bright red as she walked the rest of the way over and gave you a tight hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, (Y/N). I’ve heard so many good things about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well. All I’ve heard is all the terrible, rotten things a son says about his mother.” She laughed as she put her arm around your shoulder with a nod.

“With this giant brat, that doesn’t surprise me one bit. Come, let’s get you out of the foyer and get you warmed up.” You glanced over your shoulder at your boyfriend and he simply smiled and nodded. With a smile, you let Karen lead you into the living room so she and Jon could grill you and get to know you before they had to leave that night.

Part 3