M.B.C.R says: So its exam time and I'm going to go insane. Please bare with me for awhile while I go through this in another read through to catch some more mistakes. I had some problems with keeping it 2nd POV so I was able to catch most of the 'she's that I slipped. But I need to catch some other proceptive things too. I just caught one (this authors note wasn't here at the beginning).

So thank you for reading, have a great day and I'll see you guys when I'm not a near hysterical mess.

You first saw him on your way to class.

It was on the second bus that you had to take to go to school; one of the two Universities that littered your city (and the college that your best friend goes to but you always wanted to try your hand at the university experience and this school was great). It was the first week of classes for your first year of being a University student.

The weather was nice; the heat was still ruining your hair and causing the small of your back to collect sweat. But you didn't have to wear a sweater and the deep purple shorts you shimmied into that morning was helping in battling the heat.

You checked your phone, no new notifications, and then your appearance in the screen. Your bow was still artfully hiding your Faunus ears under the black material. Your purple eye shadow and shiny lip-gloss was still in artfully perfect condition despite the heat.

You glanced up from your phone then; the bus was filling up and some people were standing. And that's how he caught your attention. His left arm was wrapped up in crisp white bandages, from knuckles to what you could see creeping into his deep red tank top. You weren't sure if they were for a fashion statement or if he had hurt himself.

You just remember that he had nice muscle definition on those arms.

You remember the red of his shirt then the bandage, and the red and black phone case protecting his phone. It had a small crack in the top right corner. You remember following that bandaged arm up to his tanned neck to his chin then his sharp nose. It matched his angular face—it looked nice. You kinda had a thing for sharp features and a nice nose. His maroon eyes were focused on his phone and one of his eyes were encircled with what looks to be the remains of a black eye.

You winced at that—it still looked painful even if it was healing nicely. From there you took notice of the scar leading up into his hair line, a good part of the scar disturbed the corner of his eyebrow and that's when you noticed the make-up. He was wearing foundation to cover most of his scars, but the bruising around his left eye gave it away. And once you saw that you could pick out the rest. There were five scars littering his upper cheek to forehead.

They were long too.

You remembered gulping and tucking a hair behind your human ears as your gaze traveled back down to his neck where there was another scar running from his ear and down his neck to his collarbone. That one was harder to spot due to the make-up.

You remember wondering what could've happened to warrant someone going to that extreme to either kill someone or mark them. And that's the moment where you finally looked at up at his hair and saw the deep brown horns spiking up and curling along with his gelled auburn hair.

He was a Faunus just like you.

It was then that his maroon coloured eyes finally glanced up from his phone and your eyes locked momentarily. Right before you turned your attention away from him and towards the window where the scenery blurred by.

-.-.-.-.-.-

You saw him for the rest of the week; in a blue shirt, another red shirt (this time a t-shirt rather than the tank that he first wore), and a couple of black ones. Every time you saw him you would take him in, playing with the tips of your black hair before pushing it behind your human ear. You would watch him until he'd look at you, and you'd quickly look away with a growing blush on your cheeks.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was a month into school when you finally decided to go without the bow for once. You've established who you were and you met some cool people—and you were running late and it took enough time to apply your make-up and put on those heels before you ran to catch the bus.

You got off at the station where you catch your second bus and waited. You pulled out your phone checking your emails and messages quickly—nothing of importance—before stuffing it back in your purse with your wallet, bus pass, and class books. The notebook and class reading fit rather nicely and you were proud with your favourite Couch purse (the pink, gray, and white plaid one).

You glanced up and to your right—and there he was waiting at the same station as you.

He was sitting on the lip of the station where the glass met the concrete base, his phone out and bag resting against his leg. He was wearing a dark gray long sleeved shirt that was rolled up to his elbows. You remember wondering why he would wear something like that when it was still warm out. You noticed that the bandages were off and in its place was a sickening burn scar—your breath caught in your throat and you could feel the acid in your stomach bubble.

He glanced up from his phone with a raised brow—how he always knew where you were startled you (when you were thinking back to it later). His eyes sweeping over you from feet to the tips of your cat ears—they lingered there, eyes narrowing briefly—before locking gazes with you again.

You looked away, just like you always tend to do, the back of your neck warming. It crept up higher the longer his gaze stayed on you. It remained there until your bus came and everyone piled on.

You lost sight of him after that.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It's now two months into the semester and you've still been watching him. You're starting to feel like a total creep. You thought this when you took your seat and scooted over until you were pressed against the window, pulling out the book you needed to read for class you licked your index finger and flipped to the page that you left off at.

Someone took the seat next to you, their black ripped jeans pressed against the chair in front of them. The person was too long for the seat, or at least to sit comfortably in the seat. You didn't pay your seat partner any mind, you had to read this book for class and it was actually pretty decent.

It was a first.

"What are you reading?" your seat neighbour was male and you didn't pay it anymore mind than that even as you paused your reading to show him the cover. He hummed something that you didn't pick up even with that extra set of ears that you had—you were back to reading.

When it was time to get off at your stop you doggie-eared the page and pulled on the yellow string to signal the bus driver to stop. Your seat neighbour was already standing as you turned your attention that way. You gave the man a small smile in thanks only to have your throat tighten when you saw his unmake-uped face smirking down at you. You blushed darting away and out of the bus when it finally came to a stop.

It wasn't until later on that evening that you heard him speak but didn't even take the time to take in his voice.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The bus was packed and you had to stand—you hated coming home at this time of day. It was always so busy. You adjusted your hold on your purse and shifted in your jacket. You were back to wearing your bow again, the looks you were getting every so often was making you uncomfortable—you kept thinking of bus guy and all the scars he had.

You didn't want to have that—or worse.

There was some unrest between the human and Faunus population with the sudden shooting and murders. Faunus were enraged—protesting, shaking up the system, making noise. They were even waving the White Fang flag, the old one... the blue one. The one that you yourself used to hold up as a child—before the extremists took hold of it and turn the colour from blue to red.

You haven't seen those red flags at this—it hasn't lead to that yet it seems. And even you, with your anti-violence and do good way, was itching to hold up that red flag that the new-wave coloured with the blood of fallen Faunus. Something needed to be done and something needed to be done months ago, and unfortunately the only thing people ever care about is violence.

But violence only leads to more violence and you knew that more than anything. It's what kept you from actually reaching for the red flag and instead settled with mass rebloging the events on your blog and thinking about joining the front lines.

But you were scared—people were dying while protesting and you couldn't put your parents through that. You couldn't.

You had to stand on the bus ride today, squished by bodies all around you. You frowned keeping your eyes down; even with the bow on you didn't feel all that safe. The bus jerked, slamming on the breaks and you yelped grapping at the only thing you could—the body in front of you. The person in return pressed a hand against the small of your back and pressed you against him.

You flushed, "sorry," you smiled slightly lopsided up at the male. A scarred face with a pinched smile smiled back down at you. You flustered, you ran into bus guy again and wow was he ever cute up close like this. You cleared your throat as you felt your blush creep up your neck and cheeks, "hi."

The pinched smile (if you could even call it that) leveled off into something a little more relaxed, "hey." And here you were, finally able to actually appreciate that sound.

You should introduce yourself, you are kinda clinging to him like a life raft (like a lover on those hipster couple posts that you secretly enjoy). "I'm Blake," you tighten your hold when the bus driver slammed on the breaks again. His other hand was anchored around the yellow bar above your heads, arm straining under the sudden shift of momentum.

"Adam," he replied quickly sparing a glance at the destination bar check their progress towards their stop. "Getting off at Triven Station?" he inquired, you nodded. That was the same station you saw him at before—the same station that you have to wait for your next bus at. You glanced up towards where you know his horns were, wondering if he was hiding them too.

He wasn't.

You noticed a couple of people glancing at the two of you; the man in a business suit was frowning and his mouth was opening and closing as if he wanted to say something. Adam leaned closer so he could whisper in your covered ear, "he's not the only one staring."

"Why are they staring?" you ask despite thinking that you know the answer. It's because you look like a human and he's a big scarred Faunus.

"Because you're a pretty young thing and I'm a big 'ol brute with too many scars," you pressed back against the hand pressed against the small of your back so you could purse your lips at him. He scoffed—a cut of laugh, "it's true. Don't look at me like that."

You shook your head, a small smile gracing your features despite your best efforts. You move your hands from the hold you have on his jacket so you can wrap your arms around his waist, holding your own hand behind his back. "I don't believe you," you laugh resting your cheek against his pectoral. You could feel his heart thundering against his ribcage.

No one said anything to the two of you after that but you could still feel the looks; they followed you as the two of you got off the bus. He turned towards you as you stopped just outside the bus depot, hand raised to push open the door so you could wait out of the wind. "You need a ride?" he pointed to the parking lot to his left, his keys already fished out and dangling around his middle finger as he pointed with his index.

You licked you lips, whipping the lipstick off that you had just applied before jumping on that bus. You nodded, feeling the iron fist that was wrapped around your gut and pressing in finally loosen. It wasn't exactly safe for a woman—a Faunus woman—in this time in society. The unrest between humans and Faunus were seeing to that.

You followed him to his car, a 2011 black Chevy Impala, you look up at him and he shrugs with his right shoulder. "The car before this crapped out so this one is a decent enough replacement," the locks popped open and you slid into the passenger seat. He tossed his bag into the back before taking his seat behind the wheel and buckling in. "Where am I driving you do?" he stretched, cracking his knuckles before turning the key in the ignition.

You tell him your address and he begins to drive.

When you direct him to your house that you share with three other people you aren't sure what you should do or say. Should you get out? You'll thank him, that's the only guarantee here. Do you hug him? "Do you need a drive to school tomorrow?" his thumb is tap-tapping against the wheel and you nod. You won't turn up a ride to class. "Is a 9AM pick up good?"

You nod again; your class isn't until 11 tomorrow so that gives you plenty of time. Maybe you could convince him to let you buy him a coffee or something. You hesitate to push the door open; your body is telling you to do something else.

You listen to it—cupping his cheek and pressing your lips against the opposite in a quick peck. "Thank you," you say as you push the door open. His cheeks are a light pink and you smile waving at him with your fingers. He stays there until you get into your house—he sends you a small wave as he's pulling away.

Your heart is beating wildly in your throat and you lie to yourself and say that you aren't in love with a near stranger. You close the door and sink down to the floor with your back pressed against it and your hand clutching the fabric over your heart.

You blame these thoughts and feelings on your romance novels and the fanfiction you read all the time. You blame yourself a little for being a hopeless romantic. But above all else you blame it on romanticising your parents' relationship and the story of how they met—in a coffee shop, your Mom was reading a book and your Dad asked her what book she was reading and it was the mixture of the lighting and just that moment that lead to both of them claiming it was love at first sight. You blame that story and the girlish dream of finding a relationship just like theirs.

It was now that you finally remembered the very first thing Adam ever said to you those months ago—it was about your book that you were reading in class. You colour and jump up from the floor, kicking your shoes off and racing up the stairs to the bedroom that you call your own. You call your mother after you've screamed into your pillow and pulled the bow from your head.

"He said Dad's line!" you whined flopping back into your bed and hugging your teddy bear that you've had since you were four to chest. "I didn't even realise until today!"

Your mother laughed and warned you about talking to strangers. That it isn't as safe as it was in her time—you wanted to argue that it was because more people are coming forward now in this day in age. And that the most threatening person to you would be someone that you know and was close to. But that was an argument that replayed enough times throughout your life and you didn't want to repeat it again right now.

So you just agree with her and promise you'll be careful—you're always careful.

-.-.-.-

You bought him a coffee and forced him to eat a bagel—even after he said he didn't want it. He hadn't eaten that morning and you wouldn't accept no for an answer. He didn't fight you when you paid though, you made sure to glare at him so he wouldn't.

When he dropped you off on campus you kissed his cheek again and you could've sworn that he leaned into it. The two of you shared phone numbers that day as well—you learned that his last name was Taurus; he learned that yours was Belladonna.

You don't know why he chuckled at that, but he did and it sounded nice so you didn't ask why.

-.-.-.-.-.-

He flopped down on the couch next to you in the library of your school. It took awhile but you were able to convince him into coming out to your school so you could hang out before both of you head home. You had to finish writing a paper and your roommates were fighting right now so you didn't really want to be in the middle of that.

You had your book cracked open and were skimming over the text that you need to find the quote for. He was shrugging off his jacket and folding it beside him. The t-shirt that he was wearing did nothing to hide the scars on the arm closest to you. You wanted to ask him about it, you wanted to ask him about all of his scars, but you never could form the words to do so.

You took his hand in yours, "can you feel things still?" you asked knowing that that would be the closest you could get in asking the question that you really wanted to. He weaved your fingers with his and you tightened your hold on his hand. The scars only tipped past his wrist to the top of his hands—like the whole thing was just a really detailed tattoo sleeve instead of a memory of something painful.

"I can still feel through my hand and fingers, it's the arm that's a little numb to sensations like different fabric. It still registers pressure, so it could be worse," you look up to see the corner of his mouth tug up in the smallest of smirks. Your heart breaks at that and you want to kiss him, you want to cover that mouth with yours and kiss a true smile on his face.

He licks at his lips and your eyes follow it—you glance back at his eyes and he's watching you in return. You flush and started to fold into yourself, he chuckled nuzzling his face against your temple. "You're adorable," he whispered and you could swear that you felt his lips press against your hair.

You blush and go back to working on your essay. He detangled his hand from yours and you were momentarily disappointed by the action until he settled back with him own textbook that he fished from his bag and set a hand just above your knee.

Heat pooled in your gut and your face darkened; you would suck in a breath every time his thumb would rub over the fabric of your pant leg. You could hear the faint huff huff that escaped him every single time.

-.-.-.-.-

You invited him in one night after he drove you home. You showed him where the visitor parking was and held the door open for him as he entered your house that you shared with three other girls. Two of them were still fighting and you hoped that they wouldn't get into a screaming match this evening like they did the night before.

Both you and he toed of your shoes and set on the mat by the door, you told him to keep the jacket on and you showed him up to your room. The smallest one in the house, but you preferred this room rather than the others. All you needed was your bed, a mirror (that hung over your desk) and a desk. Your clothes were folded and hung up in the closet along with your collection of shoes (heels, flats, boots, runners... you had a large and always expanding collection).

Adam hung his jacket on the back of your desk chair before taking a seat at the foot of your bed, his heel propped up on the lip of the base of your bed and he tilted his head as he watched you putter around your neat room. You hung your jacket up in the closet, making sure to block the view of the clear container holding your variety of coloured panties (from booty shorts to g-strings).

You pulled the bow off next, tying the ribbon around the little metal rack that held all the others. You finally turned to face him, your heart beating in your throat as you watched him watch you with amusement painfully obvious in his expression. You took the two steps needed to stand in front of him; you were still not tall enough to warrant him to look up at you like you do him.

You blame your high bed, but mostly him.

He gives you that little lopsided smirk and you just go for it, cupping his face with both hands and pressing your lips against his. He pulled at your belt until you were sitting in his lap and his palms were dragging up your sides, you could feel your shirt hike up slightly. You parted your lips when you felt his tongue against your lips and you hummed at the feeling of his tongue running over your teeth and against the tip of your tongue.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

His name is Adam Taurus and he's a member of the White Fang. You knew this before you kissed him—he told you that he was a member since the blue era, and even now that it had fallen into the red one he was still a part of it. What you learned came after the kiss—he told you that the scars had nothing to do with the group but outside situations. He didn't explain anything else about them. But he did share his information on why the red flag hasn't made an appearance at any of the protests—even the radicals didn't want to cause trouble.

Even the radicals knew how horrible the situation was and didn't want to invoke anything that could make it worse.

His name is Adam Taurus and he's almost three years older than you. You would've assumed that he was a Taurus, like his name—like some form of irony. But he was a Capricorn, born January 10th despite his parents' cruel wishes for him to be an actual Taurus—he told her that they wished they planned it better. And while you didn't follow zodiac horoscopes as much as some other people, you wouldn't deny looking up Virgo and Capricorn compatibilities.

His name is Adam Taurus and he had a two bedroom apartment that he shares with a guy you've nicknamed Bane. You learned that he has two middle names that he goes by just as frequently as he does with his first and last name. All the names whirl around in your head and you have to settle with the nickname after Adam suggests it to you.

You've slept over at his place before, shared a bed with Adam and made out for most of the night. Neither one of you shedding any clothing apart from the clothes that you took off and changed into before going to bed. Your hands sneaking up the back of his shirt when he sucked marks onto your collar bone.

His name is Adam Taurus and you found out that he has gunshot wounds to go along with the burns and stab wounds decorating his chest, arm and face. You saw them after your exams when you spending another night at his place. Both you and he had settled back into his bed without your shirts and you took the opportunity to explore the expansion of flesh.

You had kissed over the scar littering his chest—fingered over the bullet wounds. Some of them didn't look like bullet wounds but he said they were so you had to trust his word. You had never seen bullet wounds before so it's not like you could argue anything even if you wanted to. You dug your fingers into his neck and massaged the knots out of it to the best of his ability (he later explained that while the wounds healed they still hurt every so often).

You told him to roll over so you could do his back—you really just wanted to feel him up and this was the best excuse. You saw the three little tattoos he had on his right shoulder blade—two of them were of the White Fang's emblem (the old and the new one) and a wilting rose. He explained that was his family crest. You kissed that one as you worked out the knots in his lower back—his groans muffled by the pillow.

His name is Adam Taurus and he has two brothers—one younger and one older. The younger one died five years ago—Adam had pressed a hand against the scar on his neck when he told you. You were going to meet his family for the first time during the winter break and you had asked what you needed to expect from them.

He didn't want to tell you, you could see it in his eyes, but he did so anyways. He explained that his parents moved them out into the country because of the quiet and they (his parents) thought it would do them some good to get away from the city. Adam and his older brother were getting into a lot of fights because of their Faunus characteristics. And of course after moving schools and into a small town with small town ideals and with a dominating human population that's when a kid brought a knife to school.

He didn't say much else other than that—even that last part was broken phrases. You held him through it, kissing each fresh tear track that fell from his eyes and dripped from his chin. And when you went to his parents you didn't wear the bow—you felt safe with Adam, you felt safe with the Taurus' too, you even felt safe around Adam's weird roommate.

His name is Adam Taurus and you had sex with him for the first time on New Years. The two of you were fucking against the bathroom door at Yang's party when the house was counting down until the New Year. When the house yelled and choruses of "HAPPY NEW YEARS!" sounded you came. You came so hard you yelled, even cried a little bit after as you caught your breath. You haven't had sex like that in a long time. Afterwards as you and he caught your breath, you were sitting in the sink with your pink thong dangling around your ankle and he was shimmying his pants and boxers back into place on his hips, you told him that.

He had smiled and kissed your lips—he wished you a happy New Year then, and you whispered it back to him as you pulled him into another kiss. Yang had waggled her eyebrows at you when she found you again, pointing at the hickey peaking out beneath the collar of your shirt and you winked back at her.

His name is Adam Taurus and despite what everyone thought, and still thinks, he was the one that told you he loved you first. You were too scared to ever say it, thinking that if you said something he'd think it was too soon and he'd run off. But that wasn't the case it seems, for he beat you to it and your stomach flipped and flopped for the whole night.

You had torn his clothes off as soon as the two of you returned to his place (it was like you had moved in but without actually moving in). You couldn't wait until you made it to his bedroom so the both of you made love on the couch.

You whispered those words back to him after both of you were spent and he was carrying you to the bathroom for the bath you had mentioned wanting to have earlier—before he had told you those three little words. Both of you had shared a bath that night; your back was pressed firmly against his chest and his fingers massaging circles into your scalp.

His name is Adam Taurus and after a year of dating you finally moved into his apartment. You were spending money on a place that you hardly even went to and it was about time that it happened. Bane was an excellent cook and you were tempted to marry his cooking—he made an excellent roast. And between the two of you, you kept Adam well fed.

That guy really hated cooking—he could make a great sandwich, and a mean homemade pasta sauce (family recipe or something)—but he was better suited in dealing with power tools. Anything dealing with a car was right up his alleyway of expertise. Bane and you would also have him repair whatever was on the fritz in the apartment.

Replacing a light fixture? Adam.

Something to do with plumbing? Adam.

Need to put together something from Ikea? Get Adam to do it—but film it just encase he got mad, that was some great entertainment.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Your name is Blake Belladonna and you're a Faunus. You have black hair and golden yellow eyes. You have a Mother and a Father and an asshole of an older sister. You're living in a two bedroom apartment that you share with your boyfriend (soon to be fiancée, you went snooping and found the ring) of two and a half years. You're studying English at Beacon University and you're taking time off of school this year.

Your name is Blake Belladonna and you just had a baby boy.