#god picking only a few lines from this song was so hard

[an-droid-girl]

spotify 100 #31 [vacation manor - falling back]

you keep saying you want it back but what is it that we really had? everything i could, i gave to you yeah, everything i could, i gave to you she said "oh babe, it could be so easy" but the long fall down would break my heart

[ineylesian]

— FELL ON BLACK DAYS

AVENTURINE X FEM! READER

AO3 | NAVIGATION

WORD COUNT — 9.5k

WARNINGS — spoilers for penacony’s storyline, enemies (??) to lovers, slowburn fr (it gets good i promise) mentions of genocide, mentions of child exploitation (not explicit), weapons & violence, smut, fem anatomy reader, sub!aventurine, mentions of traumatic events, one bed troupe

SUMMARY — Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last. 

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — AHHH i love aventurine so much he made me write again <333 i will defend this man to the end of the earth i swear. also holy word vomit, this is officially my longest piece!!

“BREAKING NEWS: Reports incoming that the International Peace Corporation has been seen with an employee suspected of Avgin origin from the planet Sigonia-IV. All habitants from this world were thought to have been wiped out or lost to the galaxy, so the appearance of this mysterious individual has grasped the attention of–”

The broadcast slowly fades into the background, overtaken by the synth and snare of a song that lightly shakes the ground at your feet. 

Sometimes you’re better of dead–

“Oh, you think you’ll be an asset? You’ll have to learn to make tough decisions on the go here if you want to succeed, so tell me…”

There’s a gun in your hand, it’s pointing at your head–

“You want to help this clan? Help claim this world and rid it from the remaining filth that roams?”

There’s a piercing screech amidst the bar, the high pitched wail of the speaker blasting the music fighting against the volume. A few seconds pass before the song picks back up again, a few lyrics skimmed through.

Which do you choose, a hard or soft option? (How much do you need?)

In a West End town, a dead end world, The East End boys and the West End girls–

“...”

“Before your initiation, you must make a prayer to the winds and mountains. Do you swear to devote your thoughts and beliefs to them, and reclaim the glory of Sigonia-IV?”

We’ve got no future, we’ve got no past

Here today, built to last–

“I swear.”

The bass fades and you’re left standing amidst a crowd of chatting people, some high on buzz, others passed out beside the restroom. Your eyes slowly fix forward, coming to a halt as the masses shift in formation, curving in a circle around the biggest table in the casino. Lined with forest green felt and red chips, hands bang against the surface joined in a cry of frustration. 

“God damn it. This is rigged!” A player screams, hot-faced and teeth grit. “YOU!”

He stomps his way around the table, stopping at the dealer’s chair, failing to gain any attention despite the magnitude of his boots on the floor. In retaliation, the man takes a fistfull of the dealer’s hair, spinning him violently around and grabbing the collar around his neck.

Seldom have there been times where you didn’t see him in this sort of setting, a man with glasses that carried the same orange tint as the drink in his hand, die mounted between his fingers as he speaks with a wealthy patron. His words weave like velvet on a fine tailored suit as he invites you to play a game of chance, and before the game has even begun, you’ve lost.

His name is Aventurine, and, just as his reputation precedes him, the corners of his lips turn upward as you enter his field of view. He is never one to be down on luck.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to exit the casino. The drinks have riled you up a bit too much, and I’m afraid you’re no longer sober enough to keep playing.”

The smell of outlandish alcohol hits your nose in a foul wave as he turns, rudely shrugging your hand off of his shoulder. 

“And who do you think you are? Protecting this weasel like that.” You take a step back as he advances, completely abandoning his grip on Aventurine as his gaze focuses on the emblem tailored to your shoulder. “You’re in on this scam too, aren’t you? Fuckin’ IPC, always looking to take money from people.” A sizable crowd has gathered at this point, and with that, guards are quick to stand at your side. You tilt your head to the side, extending a hand to gesture at the coat draped over his empty chair.

“You may gather your things and leave now, sir. Refusal to comply will result in you being forcibly removed.” 

A few more seconds of seething stares pass before he grumbles an insult toward you and rushes to gather his things, attempting to push the guards following him away. You sigh, turning to the dealer, who is now comfortable in his chair, feathered hat placed neatly on his lap as he shuffles the pool of cards pushed his way.

“Alright folks, now that’s over with, how about another–”

“Mr. Aventurine unfortunately won’t be able to join you all this round.” You quickly cut him off, laying the newly layered deck of cards onto the table. “May I have a word, please?”

The blonde takes a glance between you and the rest of the patrons at the table before nodding, allowing a charismatic smile to decorate his face as he slides the cards forward. 

“Of course. Miss Antonia, would you please find another dealer to step in for the remaining games?”

He gathers a kind nod from a nearby waitress, before turning to follow you outside of the casino. As the door opens, strong drafts of icy wind blow against your face, and you hear a shiver from behind.

“Sheesh, couldn’t we at least have talked inside? I didn’t come prepared to stand in the cold…”

You send a look his way, and Aventurine’s hands rise, lips pursed in faux apology. He pushes his glasses farther into his nose bridge as you lean against the casino’s exterior wall, shielding yourself from the chill. It’s clear he’s not taking you seriously, stifling out a yawn and rubbing his eyes before he even spares you a glance.

“Here to lecture me about the, wait…” His eyes suddenly narrow, honing in on your uniform. “Who are you?”

You remain silent, watching as he taps a few fingers against his forehead, thinking. The talisman of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department sits firmly laid into your uniform. A smoothly carved onyx, inferior to the cornerstone you know he possesses and certainly lacking in power. His eyes linger on the stone for a few moments, biting the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head back up.

“Never seen that stone before..” He says after a few seconds, voice substantially lower. “What rank are you?”

His gaze is opaque, on guard. You resist the urge to bite your lip, figuring lying in this kind of situation wouldn’t be the best decision. Subconsciously, you bring a hand up to your stone, adjusting your coat flap before bringing it back down. 

“P39.”

His eyebrows form a sharp line, but his lips remain flat. The lens behind thick shades linger on the stone, burning into the lights that reflect off of the darkness. He’s never seen someone who isn’t a part of the Ten Cornerstones wear something like this, so who are you?

“If you’re here to try and convince me to do something, I’m not interested. I’ve had enough orders drilled into my head since I came to Jarilo-VI.”

His forefront is confident, but you can see the hand that lingers at his side, struggling to stay put. It reeks of mild uncertainty, and a lack of security. He doesn’t feel safe when he’s not in control.

“I’m here to tell you that your assignment’s changed.” Your response is straight and to the point. There’s no room to betray any underlying feelings of guilt you may have from years passed. “You’ll be with me and my team, we’re going to the Loufu in three days to sort some business out. I suggest you finish your deals here before we go.”

“Well then.” Aventurine clicks his tongue, mild annoyance riding the smile that forms on his lips. “Let’s acquaint ourselves then, shall we? You must know who I am, so please allow me the pleasure of returning the favor.”

A small passage of frosty air rises into the atmosphere as he breathes, hand extending in formality. You take it, slowly shaking, taking in the defensive rise of his shoulders. It seems he has zero tolerance for strangers.

“Nice to meet you, Aventurine. They call this stone the onyx.”

–

The Interastral Peace Corporation only takes workers to be strong-minded and just as toughly willed. In the Strategic Investment Department, greed is a virtue, and wanting nothing but it all is a prayer. Those who earn their spot as a cornerstone will stop at no means to chase their desires. 

Aventurine values risk, but he always loves to have control in his corner. Without control, the chips in his hands are of no use, and his bargains crumble beneath him. 

A gambler's true nightmare, sitting right between his eyes.

Your relation to him is a true mystery, despite all of the digging he’s been doing after arriving at the Loufu. Despite the numerous deals you’ve closed together, he still fails to know anything about you, other than the fact that you have quick wit and fascinating knowledge of the universe. He won’t dare approach you directly, his inhibitions are too high and he knows too little.

However, there’s something off about you and that stone of yours. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

“Does the IPC really need that many funds to perform a vitality check on the Sky-Faring Commission? From what I remember, this is nearly triple the amount of last year’s fee.”

“Well, Helm Master, from what our reports say, you had agreed to the accumulation of interest based on reports of safety in the Loufu. Based on recent events, there has been a substantial raise in alarm concerning the safety of the citizens here. We hope you can understand.”

Aventurine unfolds his hands, sliding a glossy black dossier over to the woman known as Yukong. After skimming over the first page of analysis, she sighs, and places her hand over the cover.

“Is it possible that we could touch bases on this later this week? I need time to look over these documents and discuss them with my team before making any decisions.”

Biting back a groan of exasperation, you nod, politely shaking her hand and bowing your head when she stands. What you thought was going to be a quick excursion of debt collecting had turned into two long weeks of debate, and you’re starting to lose sleep. After Yukong exits, you run a hand through your hair, allowing the flow from the outside to flood your ears..

You can admit, the place they chose is certainly impressive in its theatrics, blooming with tall fountains of pristine water and a live band of foxians playing classical music on a mahogany stage. 

After a few minutes of jotting down notes you find yourself leaning against the bar’s edge, elbows cool against smooth wood. Your thoughts swirl like the vibrato of the woman singing a cover of a local song in a language unknown to you, but it’s calming, and you begin to itch with the desire to order a drink.

The waiter polishing glasses near you seems to pick up on your wants, quietly gesturing with her hand that she’ll take your order.

“A Rose in Rain, please.”

She makes your drink at an astonishing speed, sliding the glass next to your hands with a smile. You stare at the royal blue liquid sitting at the rim, contemplating if the hangover will be worth it.

Aventurine eyes the finger that rests along the base of the glass, humming quietly to himself. He figures there’s no better way to get to know someone than through a few drinks.

“You gonna drink that or keep staring at it?”

You turn your head, watching as he slides onto the barstool next to you. He raises his three outer fingers, ordering a small glass of Wintry Garden before turning to face you.

It’s been a long month with the Cornerstone. His approach remains restricted, evident in his snippets of sarcasm that he still doesn’t trust you. Your situation is… unusual, so you tolerate it. However, there still lies a fear within that he’ll go deeper than what’s for his own good.

“Do you usually drink? Or are you afraid to spill your guts?”

His words drip with conviction, blindly accusing you with the corners of his mouth tilted upward. It’s been too long, and he still doesn’t know a damn thing about you other than the stone you wear. He needs to flip this in his favor, fast.

Aventurine’s fingers drum against the bar’s edge as he picks up his drink, taking a small sip. The slight tilt of his head inclines you to start yours too, drinking half of the tall glass in one swig. His eyebrows raise in surprise when the drink hits the table, taking all but a few seconds to completely down the entirety of its contents, a resounding clink following.

When you don’t rush to finish your own drink, Aventurine chuckles, crossing his arms as he turns to face you fully. He’s eyeing you, daring smile plastered on his face.

“What, scared?”

He’s challenging you. And it works, since your drink is empty and you’re ordering a second round in a matter of seconds. Fizz sluggishly bubbles down your throat, followed by rich spots of thick, clear syrup.

A few drinks is all it takes for you to begin feeling lightheaded, pressing a palm into your eye to try and alleviate the nausea. Aventurine is at least 6 drinks in, setting down his next with an exaggerated sigh. Raising his hand for another, he lightly dings his glass against yours, the scent of redsunset sauce high on his breath.

“Let’s talk, Onyx.” He remarks, placing his hands on the table as the bartender comes over. “What’s the real deal with you? How come I haven’t seen you anywhere in the IPC and you show up in my faction one random day?”

You cough, attempting to clear your throat before you answer. It’s tough to keep your resolve with the amount of alcohol in your system.

“Maybe you’re just not perceptive enough, I’ve always been around.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like your answer. Another drink down.

“How many years have you worked for the IPC?”

“Almost 4 now.”

“What’s the entrance project that got you into the Strategy Department?”

You hesitate, and he grins, satisfied. This interrogation is going as planned.

“Well then? I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad, unless you’re more dangerous than you seem.”

It’s your turn to down a drink, wiping a small trace off of your chin as you think.

“Izumo.” You answer, short, watching as his fingers clasp tighter around the glass in his hand. Surprise.

“You really expect me to believe that?” He scoffs, a tinge of fire evident in his voice. “No one goes to Izumo any more, not after the slash.”

“You’d be surprised at the sheer amount of people that go to Magatsu no Morokami to uncover history. The IPC has their eyes set on valuable relics left behind from the war.”

He leans forward, dangerously close to your face. Past the thick orange lens of his aviators, you can see the irate spark in his eyes, alight with a plethora of shades you’ve never seen before.

“It’s not wise to lie to your superiors.”

You back away, sliding your card across the counter to the bartender. The moment Aventurine gets up to follow, you stop in your tracks, holding a small drive in his direction. You have some tricks up your sleeve, too.

“You’ll change your mind.”

He pauses, slightly bent over in a stupor of alcohol. 

“Best keep your cards close to your chest, Aventurine. Snooping in places you don’t belong bodes bad fortune.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. Slowly, he takes the drive from your hand, leaning back onto the bar’s surface, eyebrows knit in thought. The world is suddenly too loud and amidst a flurry of harmonic bellows and blinding lights, you disappear. 

—

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGY INVESTMENT DEPARTMENT HQ | ONE MONTH LATER

“I guess I should apologize.”

Several weeks of absence. You look up from the papers on your desk, watching as Aventurine places your drive back on your desk. He straightens back up, waiting for you to respond.

“Understandable.” You answer, finalizing a document with a quick signature. “I would have had my apprehensions too.”

“Still do, but it’s better to work with someone you tolerate, right?”

You look up. He shrugs, eyeing the papers you have scattered around.

You had given him a flash drive with your report on Izumo, or, at least, a report on it. Sometimes things are left best buried. Still, Aventurine is certainly not stupid, and you know that. The final version of the report is vague and full of small incidents that contrast the planet’s true history There are inconsistencies, but he seems a little less hostile for the time being.

“Whatever you’re hiding from me, I intend to find out in due time. But I can’t do that if we’re at odds.” A hand is extended your way, held a little less straight and professional. “Let’s just try and hate each other a little less, huh?”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you take his hand and shake it for the second time. Aventurine smiles at you, a little less pointedly, but still on guard.

“Friends it is, then.”

His grip tightens slightly at the proclamation, leaving your veins seared and eyes wavering. As if you just made a deal with the devil. Your gaze drags along the fancies of his coat, figuring this is just another gamble he’s won. Something closer to certain death; the passion for it intrigues you.

Sooner or later you’ll suffer the consequences of a lie, you tell yourself. There’s no good outcome when striking up an agreement with a gambler, especially one like Aventurine.

Especially when the gambler is holding a knife to your throat.

The blade is cool, barely holding back from your trachea. Leather gloves hold a fistfull of your hair, shoving you down onto the filing cabinet you were sifting through moments before. Your eyes dart around, only able to see the edge of his shoe pressing against your ankle and the papers you dropped scattered across the floor.

“Just as I thought we were getting along.” His spits, words slithering around your chest and settling around your neck. “It was only a matter of time before you slipped up.”

Confusion spreads across your features, and Aventurine scoffs. His shoe digs deeper into your achilles, and you stagger against the metal. 

“What the Hell are you talking about?” Your words come out choked, gasping for air against Aventurine’s hold.

“That man, the one you had a long conversation with at the meeting tonight? You two seemed to get along.” Aventurine’s breath runs short out of anger, grip scalding against your skin. “You know him, don’t you?”

You close your eyes, tracing the night’s events back several hours. You only recall shaking two men’s hands, one being the esteemed Doctor Ratio’s, and the other the reason why you were down in the IPCs archives. He was dressed nothing short of what a gentleman would wear, offering you many commending words as he spoke of the recent inflation concerning the astral economy. However, you didn’t miss the brilliant stone embedded in the shell of his tie, reflecting vibrant colors you’ve only seen once in your lifetime. And neither did he.

“Pretty stone isn’t it?.” Aventurine continues, pressing your hands against the wall you’re shoved against. “I’ve seen it a lot throughout my lifetime, but I’m sure you know that already. Silly me, forgetting how easy it is to conceal them.”

He reaches for your shoulder, and you push back, using the slightly stagger of his feet to grab the blade’s edge, violently smashing your head into his and spinning him around. His blade traded for your stone. 

“I’d like to know…” His fingers flip the stone around, taking in the colorless mass, like a void amidst the stars. With a quick swipe of his hand, a lighter is held to it, engulfing the black in a dance of pale fire. Aventurine shakes the rising smoke off of him after a few moments, and your eyes narrow.

“...Why you have this?”

Turquoise meteorite, a brilliant blue stone infused with veins of a green just as bright. A kind of beauty that could only be found on Sigonia, tailored in a way only an Avgin could. The crafter spoke of a tactic that could hide the stone’s true color, while keeping its spirit alive with you still. 

Blood drips from your hand, staining your clothes a deep crimson. Gritting your teeth together, you slice a sleeve of your dress shirt off, slowly wrapping it around the wound. 

Aventurine stands, still, fury riding his waterline. His glasses sit beside his feet, hues of purple and blue wavering in the dim light. His hand slowly clenches, in and out, smoothing the cooled piece over his palm.

“What now, Katican?” His voice is quiet, gently ricocheting off of concrete walls. “Came to settle one last score, fulfilling your dream of tracking down the last Avgin? Oh, I bet you’re itching to use that knife right now.”

You step to the side, shaking bloodstained papers off of your feet. The knife drops to the ground, scraping cruelty against the ground as you kick it to a corner far out of your reach. A sharp intake of breath follows, and he steps back.

“I’m no Katican.” Your tone is low, locking eyes with Aventurine, his gaze darts from the knife to you. “The stone was a gift from an Avgin I saved during the second extinction.”

The air is stale, prickling with fear as you pass. Aventurine stands tall, but you know all too well that his greatest fear has come alight in this very room. The thought of coming face to face with a Katican chases him in his nightmares each dusk, a terror looming over his head akin to a raging storm. For once, he’s speechless, completely dumbstruck, mind racing to comprehend all that you’ve bestowed upon him. So little said, yet so great a burden unveiled. 

You would be right in telling him that such information is better left buried. Yet Aventurine knows only how to shatter the destiny that calls for him, and monumental change has left in its wake.

He opens his mouth to speak, yet words fail him. The hand holding the stone sits slotted behind his back, holding on to it as he would a birthright. A piece of his past that would never bless him again, sitting in the shade of Sigonia’s darkest nights, mimicking a color that does not belong to it. He wants to scream, take his knife and shove it so hard into your chest that it comes out on the other side. 

“I am on your side, Aventurine. I always have been.”

After forcing himself to swallow, he straightens up, but you’re already gone.

Distantly, a heavy thud hits the floor.

–

TUMBLEWEED, SALSOTTO.

“I’m Daisy, here this morning with Tumbleweed’s daily weather report. As usual, there’s sun about. However, a rude awakening is coming at around 6pm, as a pretty hefty thunderstorm is coming our way. Make sure you carry your umbrellas! And remember, as our beloved Fleetworld Marc says, thunder only happens when it’s destined.”

Destiny. The word lingers in your head as a pang of hunger hits your insides. Placing your last suitcase beside your bed, you set off for your hotel room’s kitchen. Reaching over and opening a cabinet, you groan when it reveals itself to be empty. 

Shrugging your coat over your shoulders, you pocket your room card. However, when you open your door, you’re quick to step back, feeling your heart rate spike instantly in shock. 

“Uh…” You take a few short breaths, regaining your composure. “Can I help you?”

The man standing before you is no other than Aventurine, chin receding as he looks at you with evident confusion.

“Can I help you?” He retorts, flipping his hotel card up to the light. “This is my room.”

You pull the exact same card out of your pocket, and the two of you share looks of bewilderment. After reading over the numbers on your card for what felt like the 50th time, Aventurine sighs, long and drawn out. 

“Well, this isn’t what I imagined when the front desk told me they could fit a room in for me.”

“I’ll go ask–”

You’re cut off with a swift wave of his hand.

“Don’t bother, I already did. They’re fully booked for the next week.”

Before you know it, both Aventurine and his bags are heading into your… your room. Exhaling, you mutter a quiet “okay..” and follow him inside. However, he’s quick to stop you once you make it past the bathroom, exaggeratedly pointing toward the wall to your right.

“This has to be some kind of joke, right?” Aventurine laughs, pulling his glasses off as if attempting to see better. 

His gaze is fixed on the bed sitting across from you. The single bed, accompanied with a single nightstand and a TV. In that moment, you both share a second groan, and Aventurine palms his face.

“I’ll figure this out.”

In a matter of moments, he’s gone, suitcases set haphazardly on the ground beside you. After a few minutes of thought, you head to the bathroom, soaking your hands in cold water. A brief inhale follows the icy chill that drags over your face, and you silently curse destiny. 

A few hours pass before Aventurine returns, shirt slightly ruffled, annoyance clearly displayed upon his features. The click of boots melds into the soft step of socks as he enters the kitchen, and you silently pass a bowl of fried rice you had been able to scavenge from a local grocery store over. Running a hand through his hair, he nods your way, sliding into the stool across from you and stopping the bowl with his fingers.

“As you could have guessed, there are zero people in this whole building willing to switch rooms with us.”

“Ah, yeah. Tourists are usually snobby.”

A hum signifies his response. Silence encompasses the room as a blanket would, save the soft clangs of silverware on bowls. You fix your gaze on the granite countertops, following intricately woven lines of mixed stone and drawing patterns in each section you come across. Becoming so immersed in the cracks, you don’t even notice when Aventurine passes you twice, once with his bowl, and once without. Seconds turn into minutes as you stare at the sheet of stone, only taken away from thought when he returns to the table, dressed in a black set of silk pyjamas. 

“What’s your story?”

Your eyelashes flutter, taken aback by the sudden inquiry. Raising your head, you push the now cold rice to the side and glance at the man across from you, fingers interlocked in wait. 

You’re shocked at the simplicity of it. The lack of accusations are a breath of fresh air when it comes to his words, typically cold fronted and dripping with malice. You would expect him to be angry still, perhaps even worse, giving that you lied, but you can feel the genuine curiosity lingering within. He seems to want to understand.

“I joined the IPC when I was young, almost ten years ago.” You start, fighting the urge to snap away from his gaze. “In my second year, word was out that there was trouble on Sigonia. It was thought that the IPC had it under control, but everyone knew there was something else coming.”

You pause. Aventurine remains quiet, attentive.

“I took it upon myself to convince my superiors to send me to Sigonia, despite their warnings. But… the work we did there, it wasn’t enough. I could help no one under the bounds of the IPC, so I sought out the Katicans. No more bounds. I was on the inside, where I could do things my own way.”

“Such lovely people, weren’t they?” He questions, apathy leaking from deep within. “Didn’t have a single care in the world other than themselves. They wanted to see everything burn, the women, children.”

“I have never seen a deeper hatred than what lies within them.”

You stop, again, toying with your fingers. Aventurine’s silence beckons you to proceed.

“I could only help so many, and they all ended up dying anyway. There was no escaping them, they were ruthless.” Your voice trails off, shaking your head slightly at the recollection of dark days in the wasteland they call Sigonia. No horrors match the ones that took place there. “I couldn’t imagine what you went through, any of you. And still, you’re alive.”

A word softly chants in your head. Destiny.

“Ever since I was born, I knew what was made out for me was never good.” Aventurine says, a hint of irony in his voice. “I fell on black days without knowing what it was like to live on the other side, and it’s been like that since.”

Flashes of your past mix in with current thought. You remember them, the Avign children, clinging to scraps of life even when it was evident their lives would soon end. Their eyes, just as brilliant as his, drowned by crashing waves, yet afloat on the prayer of hope. You imagine Aventurine was just like them, and you understand. Anger breeds and it seethes.

“How do you control it?” Such a simple question, yet so many answers. 

“I put it all into risk. Every single last bit of it. I gambled, and I won.” His pointer finger gently hits the table, and he raises his hand to wave it through the air. “I survive, and I bet again.”

“A bold motto, I must say.”

A small smile graces his features, shrugging lightheartedly.

“Luck seems to be on my side.”

You look to the side at the sound of a crack, noticing that rain has started to fall. The sky is obscured by deep grays, and the rumble beckons you to the sliding door separating you from the balcony. The crash of drops on concrete is soothing to your ears, bestowing a peace upon your heart you’ve failed to find for a while now. The serenity thickens as Aventurine steps to your side, the hues in a ring of his eyes reflecting the storm outside.

“I didn’t rain much back then.” He muses, gaze following the slow drizzle of fallen streaks on the balcony’s edge. “A privilege I can keep alive, now that I see it so often.”

You look to the side, meeting Aventurine’s eyes halfway. The corners of his lips turn up as he looks past you, covering his mouth as he stifles a yawn.

“Almost forgot about the bed.” He laughs, running a hand over his lower face. “You can have it, I’ll be okay on the floor.”

“Absolutely not!” You counter, head tilting in defiance. “I’ll be fine on the floor.”

“That would be extremely impolite of me.”

“As it would be for me…”

“Will you please just sleep on the bed?”

“I brought extra pillows! I’ll be more comfortable than you on the floor.”

Aventurine stops, sending you a half lidded look. You walk over to your suitcase, swiftly pulling the two large pillows you packed out, holding them at your sides. He walks over to you, snatching a pillow out from one of your arms before walking toward the bed.

“Or, how about this?” He shoves your pillow on top of the hotel provided one. “We put the extra pillows on the bed, and we both take a half.”

You purse your lips, and shrug in reason. After patting your pillow into place, you climb onto the bed, turning on your side to ensure you’re only taking up half of the bed. 

As you land on your other shoulder, you nearly touch noses with Aventurine. He chuckles, eyebrows raising in a teasing manner.

“It’s not often someone gets the chance to be this close to me.”

You groan, tugging the coarse blanket to your chest as you flip to your front. Stifling a few chuckles, Aventurine turns so his back is facing you.

Within a few minutes, quiet snores begin to drift through your ears. You sigh, and roll your eyes. And yet, only peace visits you in your dreams.

–

There have been few nights of your stay in Salsotto without rain. You’ve grown accustomed to the melodic pad of morning to the erratic roar of the night. This night is different, however, as dew is high in the air but the clouds of the afternoon are white, tainted with swirls of pink that bode better weather. 

You fumble with the pearls on your neck, carefully positioning them so they rest on your collarbone. All IPC events require a clearance of wear that is above the standard grade of formal, nothing short of extravagant, explaining the fine tailored suit you wear over your dress. Ivory on cream, a palette that bodes well when making business deals. 

Heels click on pavement, Tumbleweed’s National Museum in sight. Golden lights cast the establishment in an elegant glow, and the stream of classical cello welcomes your ears as you approach. Welcoming smiles are given your way as you enter the building, and you start a long night of shaking hands and business chatter with the esteemed mechanical aristocrat Screwllum. 

Leisure chats of the Genius Society’s next project flow in and out of wine chutes, with gentle opera joining new deals of funding. Another hand shake bodes your farewell to a philanthropist from the Herta Space Station, and you take a seat at one of the tables nearby, attempting to gather your thoughts. Sipping on a glass of sparkling rose, you start jotting down tonight’s business proposals onto your phone.

“Having fun?”

You look up, offering a smile toward your temporary hotelmate as you pull the chair next to you back.

“Was wondering when I’d run into you, Aventurine.” You say, clinking glasses with the blonde. “How many deals have you clinched tonight?”

“More than you, I bet.” You scrunch your nose, folding your arms after sliding your phone his way. Aventurine takes a look through your notes, smile expanding on his face as he progresses.

“...And it seems I would be right.” He exclaims, holding up two full hands. “Don’t feel bad. It’s the natural charm.”

“Mhm. Super natural, and not annoying at all.” You quip, earning a light jab in the shoulder.

Your past two weeks with Aventurine had proved to be an easier feat than you had thought. Beside the snoring (that you had learned to tune out), he had served as a good source of company, squandering your worries of lingering grudges as you spent more time around one another. You were grateful he had the will in his heart to see the reason behind what you had done, although you were a little surprised to see that he had forgiven you with such ease. 

Now, to you, he seemed to be an easy soul forced to carry burdens that were undeserving of him. 

“Hey.”

You’re roused from your thoughts by the gentle tap of Aventurine’s foot against your heel. He cocks his head, and you’re suddenly aware of the soft serenade filling the room, sung by an artist famous for this piece.

“Let’s get our minds off of business for a while. Care to dance?”

He straightens his jacket before standing up, beckoning you to do the same. You accept the hand outstretched, threatening to roll your eyes as Aventurine lays his other on your back, guiding you to the floor.

“Trying to show off?” 

Aventurine slowly spins you into a shroud of spotlight, laughing when your eyes go wide from the precision of his arms slowing you back down. 

“Of course.”

A look is shared between the two of you, and the dance begins. You recognize the piece, Seid Umschlungen, Millionen! (Be Embraced, You Millions!), and fall into a sort of waltz, slow, quick, slow. Your feet move in a symphony of chirping violin and cello vibrato, swirling carefully around other dancers as you step from box to box. 

The music quiets in a moment of repose, and you slow, winding your hands around his neck as you sway, in wait. 

“What’s with the long face?”

The question catches you off guard, as you weren’t aware that your thoughts had reflected off of your face. Lips pursing, you wonder whether taking the chance and ruining the moment is worth it, but the question nags deep within, festering like a cancer that will not cease until it is freed. 

“Do you forgive me?”

Strings echo and rise; Aventurine fits a hand behind your back before spinning you into dance. His eyebrows are furrowed lightly, as if your question had caught him off guard in some sort of way, but you both knew it was coming. Trust is an uncertain entity, not easily won or wagered, never certain in whether it’s attained or lost. Forgiveness is a trial for trust, and within inquiry lie a question of deeper truth that never made it to the surface

Do you hate me, Aventurine?

There have been many times in the passing days where you’ve been questioned about your time in Sigonia-IV. A test to determine whether your actions deserved merit. Recounting stories of countless lives you worked tirelessly to save at the risk of your own. Gallons of blood stained on your hands from the guilty, those whose karma ran the empty river beds of the desert red. 

So much, and yet nothing at all. It’s as if life is out to play some game of twisted fate, as you see all of the lives you could not save in the man right before you. The brand slightly hidden by his collar and wispy blonde, jewelry glittering at his wrists, irises that shine in the darkest of nights. Bewitching, yet so alive. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He says, after some time. “You did a brave thing, I would be a fool to condemn you for it.”

Elation. It’s the feather touch of his hands, graceful in the way they dip you, nearly stopping time as you lay suspended. Your eyes lock, and you nearly drown in the glow of lavender and maya that stare back. Slowly, you feel one of his hands leave your back, dipping in his suit pocket and coming to rest in your vision. 

“Their memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.”

You’re lifted to stand, and, amidst a rather slow spin, Aventurine pins the turquoise meteorite you’d thought was long gone onto the span of dress fabric above your chest. The resounding smile shared is trust.

You twirl and sink until the song comes to an end, stopping in a hold of hands and interlocked legs as orchestra is overtaken by voice. In the midst of fading spotlight, your breath evens out, and you find yourself following the gambler’s hand to escape the noise, elbows brushing on a balcony railing as you stare out into the fading daylight.

The sky is tinged with the baby blue of afternoon, arising into a deep interweave of violet and blush. A small, red casino chip flips between Aventurine’s fingers, rolling to sit between his pointer and thumb in short pauses.

“Got any tricks up your sleeve, gambler?”

Aventurine tilts his head to the side, invigorated by the rise of your lips, challenging, daring. The game you propose has risk, but what is life without taking leaps blind? Aventurine is sure he can see you now, after all.

With a flip of the chip and a wave of his hand, the red disappears, and a cool sensation lands firmly on your lips. His face is inches away from yours, fingers gently pressing against the chip that severs the distance between you.

“There are tricks to any risk, as long as you know what you’re doing.”

You raise your hand, sliding the chip from your mouth and palming it. When he doesn’t move, you tug on his collar, chin tilting upward to press your lips to his. The sensation is warm, gentle, as if you tread on ice that threatens to shatter. Honey sears your tongue, and you revel in the touch of his lips, soft as the velvet of his tie.

The moment is all too short, yet your mouth feels numb as you break away. In a moment of silence, you take the hand that sits lightly clamped around your wrist, sliding the chip in his palm and closing his fingers.

“I think I’ll be gambling a lot with you, Aventurine.”

His face moves closer, and you look down for a moment, noticing the hand that sits behind his back.

“I look forward to it.”

–

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGIC INVESTMENT HQ | TWO MONTHS LATER

Knock, knock.

“Coming.”

The door opens in fluid motion, revealing a room cast in gloom, tan shade, blinds drawn. 

“Hey, Aven.” You sigh, placing a chaste kiss on the blonde’s cheek. “Long day?”

“Long day.” He mirrors, offering to take the stack of papers off of your hands. You accept, slipping into the chair across from his desk. “Are you done for today?”

“Mhm.” 

Aventurine sits in his desk chair, shrugging the navy coat he sports onto the back. You stretch your arms behind your back, watching as deft hands undo the cross hatched tie representing the cornerstones from his collar. As he sets the piece down, his office phone starts to buzz, and he groans.

“Hello, this is Aventurine… Uh huh, what time?” He draws circles into ebony, holding the phone to his shoulder as he reaches for a notepad. However, as he clicks the pen in his hand, he nearly drops the phone, clearly startled. “Can you repeat that? Si- okay. I’m coming.”

In a flurry of movement, he stands, tie and coat snatched. 

“We have to go, right now.”

His tone is impatient, brimming with anxiety and unwilling to contest. You blink a few times before following him out of his office, grabbing his coat to hold onto as he fits his tie back to his shirt. The walk is silent, save a quiet “thank you” when you hand the coat over and the click of shoes on tile. Your nerves rise as you move, watching the way he frets with his gloves, tugging on the ends repeatedly. 

In a matter of minutes, you arrive at the boardroom of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department, stopping at the edge of the table as Jade turns around, followed by a concerned looking Topaz.

“Ah, Aventurine. What a surprise, I was sure not to include your name in the list of attendees tonight.“She sends a look to the white haired cornerstone, before directing her gaze to you. “Unfortunately, ranks below P40 are prohibited from attending this meeting. Guards, please see her out.”

You push against the guard that seizes your wrist, but are unable to resist as more come to his aid. After having the door shoved in your face, you’re dragged to the hallway outside of the meeting hall, forced to sit in wait. 

30 minutes. Another 30. An hour before the doors open, with Aventurine first, Topaz following close behind. He rushes past you, eyes on the ground, gone within seconds. Concern etches your features as Topaz runs up to you, lips pursed in distress,

“Aventurine-” She pauses, hand on her chest as she catches her breath. “Please go after him. You’re the only one that he’ll see now, after what just happened.”

“What happened?”

At your inquiry, she shakes her head, nodding her head toward the direction Aventurine took off in.

“It’s best you hear it from him. But, please, go see him tonight, he needs someone who’s close to his heart.”

Worry is quick to seep into your features, but you nod. A quick visit to his office and you’re off, taking the next jet off of Pier Point, to Klimt Republic. Weaving through streets and bullet trails full of life, you arrive in the heart of Klimt just two hours later, standing on the penthouse floor of an apartment complex worth more than the entire block you’re on.

Knock, knock.

Silence. You hesitate, and knock again. 

The shuffling of feet hit the floor, and you wait in anticipation, hands firmly at your sides as the noise stops. After a few moments, the door slowly opens, and you sigh in relief.

Aventurine stands, slightly hunched against the doorframe, hair disheveled, eyes red and irritated.

“Aven, what happ-”

A pair of hands seize your wrist, tugging you inside and slamming the door behind you. 

“Not now.” Your eyes widen at the plea in his voice, whole with a basal need that makes your chest tighten. “Please, just, make me forget about it right now.”

He looms over you, yet the shadow he casts is the antonym of threatening. Fear reeks off of him like vodka, as tears brim on his waterline. The feeling spreads to your skin like wildfire, and you feel him shake as you take his face in your hands, breathing shallow and scared.

The first taste of his lips is sweet, but the salt of his tears is quick to sink in. Clumsy and trembling, your bodies rock and hit walls as you make your way to his bedroom. You throw his coat to the side as he does yours, pushing him down onto his bed as you break for air. 

Aventurine’s hair flows out around him as he falls onto the mattress, shrouding him as a halo would. You chase after him, littering his neck with soft bites that elicit soft groans from the skin beneath. You unbutton half of his shirt before diving for his collarbone, reveling in the whines that respond as you nip and bruise. 

His hands reach for your pants, and you stop him before he can reach for your panties. 

“Ah-ah, hands behind your head.” Your voice pools out smooth, running a hand down his shirt. “Just relax and let me take care of you.” 

Gently pinning his hands above him, you let go, and he complies. You reward him with a kiss, messy and careless, pulling a string of saliva between your lips when you leave them. Your free hand pushes hair out of his eyes while the other works on the zipper of his slacks, watching as his fingers lock together as you apply pressure.

A shudder leaves Aventurine’s lips as you pull his boxers down, hand gently running along the length of his dick. Teeth tug at lips as you spit on your hand, working at his cock while running your free fingers along your folds. His neck lifts up as your hands move faster, and you grin, choking the noises that threaten to spill from your mouth at the display before you.

A sight like heaven, an angel laid out for worship. Aventurine’s skin is coated in a soft sheen of sweat that shines in the dim light, hand laid over one eye whilst the other remains barely open. Under the mix of hues that resemble wild fields of flowers, blush coats his cheekbones, a light to the darkness that blooms on his neck. The vulnerability of it makes your heart soar, and you feel a fire ignite in the depths of your being that fails to stoke.

The hand that toys with your clit lifts, prodding at Aventurine’s mouth as you lower yourself on his cock. Muffled whines vibrate around your fingers, and you moan at the fullness that envelops you. You swirl your fingers in his mouth, biting on your cheek as his tongue wraps around them, sucking on the sweet taste of you. 

His hands abruptly reach up, fingers winding and tangling in hair as they pull you down, replacing fingers with lips. The sensation is hot, as if an unquenchable balm has set your skin alight. 

“Feel good?”

“What kind of- ughh- question is that?” 

You clench around him as if it's instinct, and Aventurine calls your name as he would a prayer. His moans are akin to song, divine in melody, alluring in a way that shuts your mind off from anything else but him. One of his hands leaves your hair, fingers clumsily clamping around your own, holding you like fine china. 

The stretch of his dick does little to quench the hunger within, you crave more, a devout worshiper crying a hymn of need. Your motion becomes erratic, a twist of limbs and friction that siphons tears that streak down your cheeks, falling to mix in with the sweat on your lover’s face.

“Gonna-” Aventurine chokes on his own words, eyes shut harshly as he blinks back ecstasy. “Cum.”

Your words are lost to you, only managing to groan in response as Aventurine pulls you back to him. His lips seal over yours in a searing kiss, arms winding around your back to hold you still as your orgasm shakes you. White light flashes through closed eyes as you spasm around his dick, mixing with the cum that leaks inside of you. 

The room is quiet, save the howling wind of night and the dance of unstable breath. Blankets shuffle as you drop to Aventurine’s side, allowing him to drape your discarded shirt over your bare chest. Time seems to cease as you meet his gaze, touch serene as the plains of distant worlds as he encourages you to come closer. You accept, eyes closing for a moment, feeling the warm fan of his breath over your nose.

“The IPC is funding a project to excavate Sigonia.” The silence breaks, peace shatters and your eyes snap open. “Turquoise meteorites are rare, so they’ll scrape the whole planet dry until every last piece is gone.”

Your face falls, corners of your lips pulling downward. Aventurine’s eyes are half lidded, seemingly already accepting the fate of the planet he calls home. He refuses to look your way, eyes focused somewhere past you, the sorrow spreads and leaks into your soul as it opens further. A place so full of hatred and loss, yet a place that he will never be able to let go of. It burrows within the deepest neurons, refusing to snap and forget.

“You have to say something, Aven.” You pull at his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Whatever you have to do, I’ll help you.”

“The IPC doesn’t have time to listen to Avgin.” He sighs, hope stale on his breath. “Not even if it's the last one alive.”

You still, fingers falling to rest against his cheek. Aventurine’s eyes close, brows furrowing lightly against pale skin.

“Sigonia will fall, and only Kakavasha will remain.”

Defeat. It seems that what events occurred in that meeting room left no room for conversation. Guilt flows through your veins like it’s replaced the red, and your chest aches, latching onto the horror that no doubt holds sovereignty in his head.

Kakavasha. Blessed by the heavens yet cursed by the living world. Such a beautiful name that deserves no hell it endures. 

Amidst the quietude, Aventurine’s hand slithers under the blankets, latching onto your wrist. He traces skin, knuckles brushing against your own, coming to rest intertwined.

“Can we try something?”

You nod, and your hand is slowly lifted to the air, palm against palm between your chests. You’ve seen this motion back on Sigonia, yet it’s always remained distant to you, and the words echo in obscurity. 

“I’ll go through it once, and we can do it together.”

You nod, once more. Aventurine closes his eyes for a moment, reciting a prayer lost to you in time.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

A brief pause passes. You sigh in unison, and lock eyes. A voice whispers within the depths of your mind, and you smile.

The memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

As the last words drift off of your lips, you bend your fingers, slotting them between his. Aventurine shares your sentiment; hope flashed in the gentle smile that graces his lips. Your eyes wander, and notice that a single tear trails down his face, disappearing into his skin as it rolls.

Outside, you hear the crack of thunder. You pull Aventurine in, and in your clutch, the downpour begins.

–

Some months later…

The chatter of voices on the phone rouses you from sleep, rubbing a hand over your eyes in annoyance as you come to. Light spills through drawn curtains and open glass doors, filtering the room in hues of honey and hazel. 

“Mhm. Alright, I understand. Let’s schedule the interview for today.”

Songs of canaries and mourning doves flow through the air, and you sit up, raising a hand to block out the sun’s gaze. Aventurine sets his phone down on the bedside table, stifling a yawn with his hand. You roll onto your side, hand propped up onto your chin as you soak in the sight of your lover.

His hair is slightly ruffled from sleep, bangs astray and cast into his eyes. Only the top button of his sleep shirt is buttoned, leaving lean, sun kissed skin on display. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you in for a kiss. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You hum, knowing full well tonight has been one of the worst nights you’ve slept yet. Aventurine sees right through you, but chooses to say nothing, opting to pull you forward so half of your body drapes over him.

Today Aventurine leaves for Penacony. And, seeing as he was called in for a meeting, he’s probably leaving even sooner now. 

He seems to read your thoughts, offering a comforting peck to the corner of your lips in apology. Your hands card through his hair, head resting against his collarbone. 

You have your apprehensions about Penacony, having heard whispers on the streets of mysterious disappearances of people in the world’s famous dreamscape. The IPC has had a limited number of run-ins with the family, leading you to assume a recent grounds of suspicion has arised, and Aventurine was chosen as the solution. In his eyes, it’s just another gamble of life or death.

You’re roused from your thoughts by a tap on your cheek, making you look up at him.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” His words do little to soothe you, but you listen regardless. “The risks I take are always foolproof.”

Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last. 

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

His phone rings, and the two of you groan before he gets up and tells the person on the other line that he’s on his way. You watch from his side of the bed as he throws his clothes on, grabbing two packed suitcases from the side of the bed before bending over to give you a kiss. The touch of his lips is bittersweet, nearly taunting as it is over before it even begins. You peck him again, running a hand over his hairline to straighten his bangs.

“Be safe out there, Aven.”

He smiles, so radiant it rivals the sun and all that it shines on. You think yourself blessed to see it survive.

“I will. Luck is always on my side.”

And he leaves. You turn to the window, awaiting the rain.

[venusacrossthestars]

I <3 Australians

pairing- Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

summary: You had an obsession with Australians, your boyfriend and love for the Australian band 5 Seconds of Summer proved as much. So what better way to show your girlfriend you love her than take her to see her other fave Australians?

wc- 2.4k

a/n- HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML OSCAR PIASTRI this is the self-indulgent fic I have been talking about. I am a 5SOS stan and idc if this flops or not because I truly only wrote this for me. also this isn't edited bc I could not be bothered to do so

f1 masterlist

You had a thing for Australians, your boyfriend was proof of that. But even before you met Oscar, you had been a fan of the Australian band- 5 Seconds of Summer. While other girls were in their One Direction phase, you were busy fawning over the 4 Australians. You were one of lucky few that were able to see both when 5SOS opened for One Direction. You were a stan, all of your family and friends knew it. But most importantly Oscar knew it as well. 

He was familiar with the band, they were after all from the same country. He became even more familiar with them after the two of you got to together. Anytime he picked you up and graced you with the aux cord, chances were that 5 Seconds of Summer was blasting through the speakers. Oscar didn’t mind, the music was half bad either, not that he would ever say anything negative about it to you. 

So when he saw that tickets were on sale for there newest tour and that one of the UK dates just happened to line up with a non-race weekend, he was quick to purchase tickets. The hardest part of this whole ordeal was keeping it quiet from you. Which is exactly why Oscar only lasted 24 hours before spilling the beans. 

Today was Oscar and yours designated ‘lazy day’, no responsibilities, no worries, a day filled with absolutely nothing. Oscar had gone into your shared office about 20 minutes ago, what he was doing, you had no clue and frankly you were too busy watching Bones to really care. 

You watch as Oscar appears from his office, hands behind his back hiding something from your view, “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.” 

You quirk an eyebrow at Oscar’s sudden exclamation. “Should I be scared?” You ask, as you sit up on the couch.

“No. Just close your eyes.” 

You do as he ask, trusting him fully. You feel him place something in your lap, however, it was too light to for you to fully make out what it was. 

“Ok, you can open them.” 

As you open your eyes you look down at your lap. You weren’t sure what to expect but it surely wasn’t a folded piece of paper. “A piece of paper?” 

Oscar rolls his eyes at your comment, “Look what’s written on it.” 

You unfold the paper and it takes a few seconds for to comprehend what is on it. You look at Oscar then back down at the paper, back to Oscar, back to the piece of paper and finally back to Oscar. “You didn’t,” is all you can say. 

“I did.” 

“Oscar this isn’t funny. I swear to God if you are joking  you are sleeping on this couch.” On that little folded piece of paper is written confirmation for 2 VIP pit tickets for the 5 Seconds of Summer Show. 

“Surprise!” Oscar shouts, face scrunched up from smiling so hard. 

You launch yourself from the couch and into his awaiting arms. You pepper his face with kisses. “Thank you- Thank you-Thank you. You are literally the best boyfriend ever.” 

“You don’t need to thank me baby. I know how much you love them.” 

Your smile widens into a grin. You reach up to pinch his cheeks, “Don’t worry you’ll always be my favorite Australian.” 

“I better be.” 

The weeks leading up to the concert were difficult for you. You were torn in between wanting to know the setlist and not. You had done your best to stay in the dark with majority of the songs you did however know one thing they were going to be doing. 

“Osc, they throw a giant inflatable dice into the crowd and whatever song it lands on when it’s back up on stage is the surprise song they play!” 

Oscar shoots you a confused look. The two of you were on your way to the venue and you couldn’t stop talking off Oscar’s poor ear about the concert. You tired to reel in your excitement and everytime you apologized for being so excited, Oscar, like the good boyfriend he is, would tell you not to worry and that he loved seeing you so excited. 

“And,” you begin again, “one of my favorite songs is on the dice!” 

“Which one?” 

“English Love Affair!” 

Oscar nods, “Isn’t that the one about Harry Styles’ sister?” 

“Yes! I can’t believe you remembered.” 

“See I know a thing or two.” 

“So proud of you baby,” you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. 

You managed to convince Oscar to dress the part of 2014 grunge 5SOS, not that it was a challenge considering majority of pants this man owned were skinny jeans. You had your own get-up, black skinny jeans (that you had to dig out for your side of the closet), black converse, a white baby tee with a graphic that read ‘I <3 Australians’ and a red flannel tied around your waist. Adorning your wrist were the multiple friendship bracelets you had made. 

You could only be described as Wattpad Y/N. When Oscar had seen your shirt he had raised a questioning brow and had asked “I hope that shirt only means me.” 

After going through security you and Oscar were officially in the venue. Oscar was in search of something to eat and you were on the hunt for the merch stand. 

“What do you want to eat?” Oscar asks you as you stand in concession line. 

“Hmmm,” you take a peek at the menu, “I’ll have a pretzel.” 

Oscar, ever the gentleman, pay for both of your snacks and drinks. You barely have your food in hand before you are dragging Oscar to the merch stand. 

The line was long enough that the two of you could eat and silently debate with yourself what you wanted to get. 

Oscar leans his head on your shoulder, “You have to get the papaya hoodie.” 

You roll your eyes, “You’re so pretentious, it’s literally orange.” 

“Still you look good in orange.” 

“I better considering I wear it nearly every weekend.” 

While in line you chat with a few other fans, exchanging bracelets, predictions and hopes of what the dice song will be. You are interrupted by the feeling of eyes on you and Oscar, you glance over your shoulder to see a group of girls huddled in a circle. One of them is pointing to Oscar and yourself. 

You eventually get your merch, Oscar insisting on getting the ‘papaya’ hoodie for you. As the two of you were walking to the wristband station, you one of the girls from the group from earlier approaching. 

“Excuse me,” one of them asks timidly, “you’re Oscar Piastri, right?” 

Oscar nods his head, “That’s me.” 

“Okay, that’s what my friend thought,” she points over to where her other friends are standing, all now much more interested in their shoes, “I’m really sorry to interrupt your date but I wanted to ask if it’s okay if we could take a picture with you.” 

Oscar looks at you and you nod your head. He knows he doesn’t need permission, but today was supposed to be a day for the two you. “Sure, we can take some pictures.” 

After your run in with Oscar’s fans the rest of night moves in a blur and before you know it the lights dim and the crowd starts to grow crazier, yourself included. 

You grab Oscars arm, “It’s starting oh my god, oh my god.” 

Oscar rubs your hair, “Are you excited?” 

“Is the sky blue?” 

The overtune starts and you can see Ashton, Micheal, Luke, and Calum take their places on stage. The familiar instrumental beginning of ‘Bad Omens’ fills your ears and you can hardly contain your scream. 

Oscar watches in adoration as you sing along, knowing every word. He can’t help but join in. You might’ve not known the setlist, but Oscar did. He added it to his Spotify the night he bough tickets and listened to it when he could. He wanted to make sure that he could sing along with you. 

The first 3 songs pass in a blur- Bad Omens, 2011, Caramel- and not knowing the setlist proved to be the right choice on your part because when Blender starts you nearly make Oscar deaf with your scream. 

“I’d die for you, I’d die for you, I’d die for you,” you sing looking Oscar directly in the eye. He only shakes his head at you antics. You bop and dance around to the chorus, grabbing Oscar to join in on your chaos and by the second verse he is fully dancing along with you. 

Everyone is bumping into each other having a blast, personal space be damned. You were to high on life to care about the repercussion that you would be facing tomorrow-bruised feet and a sore throat. 

More songs play and the boys interact with fans, your screaming and hollering along with them. Oscar’s face lights up at the beginning of ‘She’s Kinda Hot’ and he turns to you with a grin on his face, “I know this one!” 

“My girlfriends bitchin’ cause I always sleep in. She’s always screaming when she’s callin’ her friend. She’s kinda hot though!” Oscar sings along, wiggling his eyebrows at you when he sings the last line. 

Rolling your eyes you give him a light shove away from you. You take a moment to admire Oscar, thankfully that you have a loving boyfriend that would take you to see your other favorite Australians. 

The mood takes a 180 when the chords of ‘Amnesia’ fill the venue. You can’t help the tears that line your eyes and the shakiness of your voice when you sing along. Oscar looks at you, concern etched on his face, you wave him off. It was just a sad song, that’s all. 

The lights dim and on the big screen you see Ashton, Luke, Micheal and Calum in there suit get up. You know what time it was- Dice time. They explain the rules, if the dice isn’t back on stage within a minute then they’ll be picking the song instead. 

Luke hurls the dice into the crowd and the timer begins. Hands are flying up as the dice moves across the pit, you and Oscar watch and before you know it the dice is coming towards the two of you. You stand on your tippy toes to help Oscar, and the other around you, push it back towards the stage. 

“That was strangely horrifying,” Oscar tells you. 

“Not something I would want to see coming towards me again.” 

The dice lands on stage and you have both your fingers crossed, praying that it’s English Love Affair. You look at the screen to see the graphic stop on English Love Affair, and the noise that escapes you is hardly human. All Oscar can do it laugh at your reaction. 

Just like with the rest of the songs, you sing along, there is however a little more passion when you sing along to this one. “The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain. No, I can't forget my English love affair.” 

Oscar wraps his arms around your middle and rest his head on your shoulder, he still couldn’t believe that this song was about Harry Styles’ sister. Oscar may not admit it but every time you told him about any celebrity tea, he always listened. And granted this was old news, but it was new to him the first time he heard this song. 

You were panting at the end of the song. “Having fun babe?” You ask Oscar, hoping that your little performance didn’t scare him off. 

“I am. I thought you had some performances in the car, but those are nothing compared to what I just watched.” 

Before you know it, ‘She Looks So Perfect’ is playing, signaling that the end of the concert is near. You know that the post concert depression would be hitting extra hard the next morning. As the final chord plays and the boys bow off stage you turn to Oscar, asking him if he is ready to go. 

“There are two more songs left, for the encore.” He tells you, still planted in his spot. 

You shoot him a look, “How do you know that?” 

You watch as Oscar’s cheeks grow red, “I might’ve learned the setlist so I could sing along with you. And trust me, you don’t want to miss these ones.” 

You knew that they would probably come back out to play ‘Youngblood’ it was their most popular song, however you weren’t sure why Oscar was so insistent that you wanted to hear the other one. 

So when they came back on stage and the familiar ‘Oh-whoa’s’ graced your ears you nearly burst into tear. You weren’t expecting to hear ‘Outer Space’ live, ever. You had made peace with this fact so you really couldn’t help it when tears started streaming down your face. 

Oscar knew of your history with the Sounds Good Feels Good album, that was an album that you related to so closely, he also knew how much Outer Space/Carry on meant to you. 

Oscars hand, now wrapped around your shoulders, brought you closer into his chest as you sang along, softer than you had been singing the entire night, “ I will wait for you, to love me again… I guess I was running, from something. I was running back to you.” 

Oscar leans his head in closer and presses a soft kiss into your cheek. Oscar reaches into his back pocket and hands you his phone, flashlight already on, so you could join in with everyone else. 

“The darkest night never felt so bright with you by my side,” Oscar sings along. And while you couldn’t see him, you knew that he was looking at you with nothing but love his eyes. 

The two of you sway in each others embrace, singing along to the ending- 

Nothing like the rain, nothing like the rain

When you're in outer space, when you're in outer space

Nothing like the rain,  nothing like the rain 

When you're in outer space , when you're in outer space 

Love me like you did, love me like you did

I'll give you anything, I'll give you anything 

Love me like you did, love me like you did

I'll give you anything, I'll give you anything

You turn in Oscars arms, you bring your hands up to cup his face and pull him in for a sweet kiss. It wasn’t the most romantic kiss the two of you have shares, you were both sweaty, tired, you definitely had tears running down your face, and there was probably some snot in the mix. It might’ve not been the most romantic, but it was something so personal and that’s all that you needed.

a/n: also as I said this was extremely self-indulgent and ik you can def tell. but in all seriousness 5SOS is my favorite band and their album- Sounds Good Feels Good is the album to listen to if you need to get some feels out. I cry every time I listen to Outer Space/Carry on.

I was lucky enough to see them last year at the '5 Seconds of Summer Show' and hearing Outer Space live was an out of body experience. If you ever need some song recommendations for a certain mood, they have a song for nearly everything.

taglist- crossed out names mean I couldn't tag you

@arieslost @customsbyjcg-blog @gr1mes-cc @styl1shl1v @landoscardotcom @poppyflower-22 @blancastans @katiezdiarysblog @mrsstylez @jamieeboulos @tpwkstiles @peanutaj @hiireadstuff @hwalllllllelujah @purple9950 @chaoticpenguindetective @crazymofo-96 @harriesnuggets @inlovewithsierrasix @luckyladycreator2 @luanasrta @inejghafawifesblog @ineedmoremilkk @swiftpiastri@virgo-wonder @faith-f1 @lily1sposts @animetiddies-21 @melissaw1202 @hauntedphotographybookstaco @livelovesports @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @slaygirlbossworld @pastryboyyy @pookiesnukoms @minkyungseokie @f1enthusiastsstuff @mirrorballpulisic @notturlover @notso-sweetcaroline @verspia @mk-wrote @whentheautumnleavesfall @trywhisperingtotheocean @sadbut-true0 @akiraquote @hockeylover4ever @imaginedworldsstuff @sassyangel16 @motkanykodas @foulsongfest @bingewatche @lonely92world @flonaschicken @cvnts3rver @cayls33 @grungy-blue-hipster @kikinuke2 @slupin333

[ghost-proofbaby]

NOW WE'RE STANDING IN THE RING, BREAKING EVERYTHING THAT WE'VE BEEN BUILDING UP SO LONG. I DON'T WANNA DO THIS - BREAK IT UP.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, everybody's a hypocrite, minors dni

☆ WC: 3.2K+

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

You can’t tell if the ride on the elevator is all too short, or if it drags out entirely. 

The entire ascension, you find the fire again. All the pain and anger that had fueled you to be acting out so cruelly in the lobby. And yet the bell that signals you’ve arrived to your intended floor still dings all too soon. 

It’s hard to get lost. The moment you step off the elevator, you can clearly see only three doors – two of which sit within an indented section of the wall and face one another, clearly the bathrooms. 

Behind the other one, Eddie Munson, no doubt. 

You still cling to that notebook as you take all your steady steps towards the door, turning over all your fury in your head. Turning all the lyrics over in your head. 

All those songs, all those lines – and he’d never picked up the phone and just called. 

You can only assume that it was all written more recently. Before he’d seen you again, even. And if he had still been writing about you, he could have tried calling you. He could have said all that he’d written to you directly, rather than hiding it all within songs that there was no guarantee you’d ever hear. Instead of singing them to crowds of adoring fans rather than to your face. 

You don’t knock on the door – you just open it. 

Music immediately surrounds you as you step in, loud enough that they clearly hadn’t heard you enter. Grainy guitars, deafening drums, billowing bass. And finally, amongst the madness, you can hear Eddie’s voice singing. 

“Do you wanna see how far it goes? Do you wanna test me now, my love?” 

Yes. Yes, you certainly fucking do. 

It’s not Eddie’s live voice coming through the speakers. It’s clearly a recording as he sits beside the producer, hunched over and nodding along, face twisted as he seems to dissect the music in real time.

One flourish of his ringed hand, and the producer is clearly hitting pause. 

“Do you think we can add in that synth I recorded earlier here-”

“Eddie.” 

His hand drops the moment he hears your voice. The chair he’s sitting in nearly tips from the speed in which he spins it around to face you, resembling a statue as he takes in your silhouette in the doorframe. 

You can only imagine the image he’s faced with. 

You, all your vexation and all your torment painted so clearly across your features. Your knuckles, looking physically strained from how tightly the metal spring of the notebook digs into your palm. Your chest, heaving with every breath, as if even being within his vicinity right now was torturous. 

And it was. God, it was. 

Salt in your wounds. Dagger in your stomach. Poorly bandaged contusions you’d never taken the time to balm and soothe. 

“Sugar,” he breathes out, earning him a strange look from the producer, “What are you-”

“Can we talk?” 

Your voice is quivering, strained from trying to keep a level head until the two of you are alone. 

“Right now?”

“Right now,” you almost add on the given alone, but Eddie is one step ahead of you. As he stands, he also waves his hands a bit, clearly dismissing the producer. 

“You want me to leave?” the man asks, standing slowly, looking curiously between the two of you, “Where do I even go? Matt said we’d be working for another few hours, at least-”

“Go to the fuckin’ lobby or something,” Eddie spits out, having a hard time pulling his eyes away from you, “I don’t-” He pauses, his eyes finally finding sight of that notebook in your hand. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed it before. “-care.”

All the blood drains from his face. He’s so pale, you’re worried that he might pass out any second now. 

He doesn’t look prepared for a fight – if anything, he looks terrified of whatever you may swing at him. 

The producer leaves, not without a few mutterings under his breath about not this again, but you don’t even bother to dig deeper into it. If Eddie frequently gets into fights in this studio, that’s his problem. 

Maybe he shouldn’t write songs about girls he’d hurt, and never pick up the phone.

He seems to be waiting on you, but you’re waiting on the click of the door. All that hurt, all that seething is burning in your chest, waiting for release. There’s no need to have any witnesses to the downfall of both of you. 

“How was your mor-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. One click from the door, and you’re storming across the room to slam that notebook into his chest, uncaring of how much it might hurt. 

You hope it hurts. You hope it aches like your palm that had held it, like your chest that feels as though it’s been pried wide open. 

“What the fuck is this?” you spit out, already choking up with tears. 

“What do you-”

“Where the fuck do you get off on writing all those- all those- all those fucking songs about us?” You don’t care that you’ve cut him off – it’ll be the least harmful thing you do during this argument. You’re desperate, rabid and crumbling as you push the notebook harder for emphasis, unable to let go just yet, “All those goddamn songs, lines about wanting me to come home, lines about us. Fucking pages of them! And not one single call. Not one single text.”

The first tear falls, and you’re quick to let go of the notebook so you can swipe it away. You’re not crying in front of him right now. You’ve done enough of that this morning, over old photographs and times you can never get back. 

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” he laughs nervously, looking between you and the notebook he now has ownership of. He flips open the cover, and his face falls when he sees the first page, “You were reading my notebooks?”

“Who even cares at this point?” you hiss out, taking a step back, needing physical distance now. “It was the only way I would ever find out how you really feel, right? It was between that, or having to hear it on the radio, right?” 

His face goes through several revelries before he settles on an emotion, mouth agape as he shakes his head slowly at you, brows furrowed and all his creases exposed, “Are you seriously pissed off right now that the rockstar wrote songs about you? That I wrote about you, which is what I do for a living?” 

“Your job isn’t to write about me!” Thank God for soundproof studios. Your voice is rising, tone cracking with emotion, “I’m not fucking mad that you did that, I’m mad that you never called-”

“I did call!” he yells back at you suddenly. Not out of intimidation, not even out of fury. He has to do it – he has to match your volume just to be heard. “I called hundreds of times. Before the tour ended, when I got back, when I saw you were gone. I did fucking call-”

“I’m mad that you fucking left!”

Silence fills the studio. Eddie has no retorts left as your words weigh down the moment, ricocheting off the walls and puncturing every delicate foundation of whatever closure bullshit you two had begun to falsely build. 

You finally throw your head back in bitter laughter, blinking away the unwelcome tears, “I’m so goddamn angry because you left me.”

“What?” his face falls, almost crumpling in the same manner as it felt your chest was, “You told me to go on those tours. You wanted me to get out there with the band. Not to mention, you left too. You left, seemingly without a goddamn reason. You said it yourself, just now-”

“It’s not about the physical leaving,” you interrupt, bones growing weary, tired from it all. Weighed down with memories and weighed down with emotions that should have been dealt with years ago. “I lost you long before you stepped foot on that tour bus that last time. You…” you pause, breathing erratic, coming out in harsh puffs, trying to build the courage for what needed to be said. 

“I what?” he’s all but begging now, the need to scream over each other evaporating into thin air.

“You stopped saying you loved me.” 

The words are out there now, and you can’t take them back. Two long years of him writing songs, of you washing away a stain that won’t ever fade, of something broken that can’t seem to be fixed. 

You reach out, but not to try and steal back the reason from him. No, that’s not possible. Instead, you take the notebook back from him and begin to gingerly flip through the pages as the tears fall and the words pour out.

“All those phone calls, all these songs, and you still never say the words I needed to hear,” you’re not just talking in past tense any more. It all seemingly blurs together, the past and the present nothing more than watercolors as they spill across the page and merge together. You can’t tell where the hurt from the beginning lays and where the hurt from now feathers at the edges. It’s all the same, and it all remains a stain, “I never needed elaborate metaphors or pretty words, Eddie. I just needed to know you still fucking loved m-”

You cut off as the door to the studio suddenly swings open. You’re frozen, rooted in spot, hand glued mid-flip as Eddie’s messy handwriting stares up at you from the page you paused on. 

Eddie looks ready to fight. To scream at whoever may have interrupted this crucial moment – a moment for you to finally say what you needed to, a moment for him to finally get his answers. 

He doesn’t, though. Not when a fairly livid, almost frazzled Matt is standing in the doorway, glaring at both of you.

“Ah, good,” he says, stepping fully into the small space that had just been a war-zone for you and Eddie. The door slams shut behind him due to its own gravity, “You’re both here. Makes my job easier.” 

“Matt?” Eddie crinkles his nose, “What the Hell are you doing-”

“What am I doing?” Matt walks until he’s standing in front of the coffee table, and motions to the couch with a flick of his wrist. Eddie is quick to follow the silent instruction, taking a seat, but you’re slower to move. You are not Matt’s dog, refusing to be at anybody else’s beck and call at this moment. And so you continue to hover, “What are you doing?” 

You become the pet he needs you to be when he suddenly tosses a magazine down on the coffee table, and you realize that maybe, just maybe, Matt has good reason to be commanding you. 

The vinyl front cover stares up at you, shining beneath the lowlights of the studio, but the image is clear. 

You and Eddie, walking into his apartment building. And in bold lettering, simple textually strokes in blinding white, is a headline that weighs you down enough to make you take the last few necessary steps around the table to fall into place beside Eddie on the couch. 

EXCLUSIVE GOSSIP ALERT: Rockstar Eddie Munson Spotted Canoodling with Mystery Flame! (pg. 89)

Matt’s eyes dart between you two before he finally sighs, “We need to talk.” 

—

The sweat of your hands is making the corners of the magazine pages curl. 

It’s the detail you choose to focus on rather than all the honking and commotion surrounding the car you’re currently sitting in, or the chilling AC that has blasted your right cheek to the point of numbness. The radio is off, the tinted windows are rolled up to dull the music of the city around you, and Matt hasn’t said a word since you’d buckled yourself into his passenger seat. 

Following Matt’s abrupt interruption of you and Eddie, contained chaos had ensued. A symphony of Eddie immediately coming to your defense, claiming the two of you weren’t even canoodling in the photos on the front cover. Of you, only being able to utter a shocked question of how? 

How did they get those photos? How did they print them so fast? How, how, how?

In the last twelve hours, as your life had been piecing together old rotting bricks only to once more fall apart entirely, some cheap gossip journalists had been formulating a front cover that truly felt like it was ruining your entire life. You didn’t know who all had seen the magazine, you didn’t know if the news had spread far and wide across the internet, and you certainly didn’t know what happened next. 

But then Matt insisted you all return to his office. A guarded ivory tower to discuss exactly what you were questioning – to figure out where you go from here. 

Eddie had been quick to suggest you ride back with him in the car that had brought him to the office; you had been quick to shoot down the offer and ask Matt for a ride instead. 

That’s how you ended up here. A magazine you wanted to burn at the stake in your lap, stuck in traffic on a busy street that more so resembled a parking lot at this point. 

“We need to talk about it.”

The first words Matt has spoken to you since the drive began. Not a question, not a request – you were going to talk about this shit show. No running from it, it seems. 

“I don’t know how they got the photo,” you blandly reply in monotone, staring down at the two photos clearly taken back to back, merged together with some pretty impeccable photoshopping. Doesn’t erase the fact that they’d definitely caught you’re bad angle, “I didn’t even see any paparazzi-”

“I don’t care about that,” Matt waves off as the light you’d been stopped at for several minutes now turns green, and there’s just enough of a gap in bustling pedestrians crossing the street for him to make the right turn he’d been signaling the entire time, “One thing you need to learn right here, right now, is there will always be paparazzi around when you’re in public with Eddie. You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.” 

The ceasing of that irritating clicking is heaven sent. One less commotion to cloud your reeling mind. 

“What do you care about then?” you mumble, finally side-eyeing the older man beside you. 

“I care about what you are to Eddie.” 

“I can promise you, I am noth-”

“Don’t feed me the same bullshit excuses he has, please,” Matt sighs as the rolling car slows, and he signals once more to turn into the parking lot of one of the many impressive skyscrapers towering over the street, “I’m not an idiot. Eds may seem to think I am half the time, but I’m not,” a confining parking space is where the SUV finally settles, but Matt makes no move to turn the vehicle off as he turns to look at you fully, “Look, just level with me. Because as of right now, the only thing I know is that you went to high school together. I need to know where exactly you stand with Eddie, not just because he’s my client, but because of the conversation we’re about to have.” 

Your heart fully drops, “What kind of conversation are we about to have?” 

“A hard one,” Matt instantly replies, not missing a beat, “A very, very hard one. With so many moving factors, it’s gonna give you a headache. And I want to warn you of it, give you a fair chance, because you seem like a nice girl. You’re not used to this circus like me and Eddie are – you deserve a fighting chance at what’s about to be asked of you.” 

What’s about to be asked of you. 

You had a few guesses, simply based on the grave look on Matt’s face. Simply based off of all the research you used to do back in your room in Hawkins’, when the joke of you managing Corroded Coffin felt more and more like a real possibility. 

“An NDA?” you guess, trying to seem indifferent. You should have seen that coming. 

“More than an NDA, dear.” 

Your head snaps in his direction, brows furrowing, “What could you possibly want from me that’s more than signing a piece of paper that promises I won’t tell anyone what’s happened last night?” you hold up that magazine from your lap, giving it a fluttering shake for emphasis, “Wasn’t that the point of showing us this?” 

He only smiles. Your heart only sinks further. 

“I’m going to ask you one last time; what are you to Eddie, really?”

A muse. A stain. A ghost. Something to haunt every avenue he’ll ever take for the rest of his life. A mistake better left unspoken between the two of you. A blip in his past, impossible to avoid. Something better left dead and buried, but the Universe just won’t seem to let the two of you rest. 

“I’m his ex-girlfriend.” 

How do you define an ex, though? Did you ever really end it? How can something be over if neither party has ever been willing to say the words? 

Matt nods slowly, smiling almost sadly, “I figured as much. Thank you, at least, for being honest.” 

“Can I ask you something, and you answer me honestly?”

The car carrying Eddie is probably nearly here. They had probably gotten swept into traffic while following behind Matt’s car. A few extra minutes added to their journey as they’d tried to navigate the nightmarish streets of New York. 

Come to think of it, you don’t even know if he’ll be using the same front entrance as you and Matt. 

“You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.”

He could use the back entrance, if there was one, to avoid the paparazzi. 

Technicalities you had never had to consider before. You’d only experienced a fraction of Eddie’s fame firsthand, in the beginning, when it was still reasonable to show him off. To brag about him in public, to pronounce your love from every rooftop. Hiding had never been an option – it hadn’t needed to be an option. 

“I know what your question is,” Matt says carefully, “And we both know I won’t say anything until we’re inside that building with Eddie.” 

“Is he even going to go through the fr-” you start to question, but cut off just as you see a familiar black SUV pull up to the front doors of the building. 

You have your answer, it seems. 

Matt unbuckles his seatbelt, and you take it as your sign to do the same. But just as you begin to reach for your door, Matt’s hand on your forearm stops you. 

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you. Especially now that I know the truth.” 

Your heart finally arrives to the point of no return, unable to answer as the organ is buried six feet under within the grave that should be meant for yourself when it comes to the history books of Eddie Munson. 

Just what was Matt about to ask of the two of you?

You open the door without responding. 

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria@loveryanax@stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo@findmeincorneliastreet

[ursuburbanmother]

I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Four

Pairings: Angus Tully x fem!reader

a/n: did you guys know fifty dollars back in ‘66 was like five hundred dollars??? I didn’t and now I wish I never did. Anyway I kinda just wanted to explore more of Angus and Y/n relationship before the event of the holdovers. So a little backstory on this one. I maybe got carried away. Also this is a long ish chapter cause I have MAJOR exams to take so yeah :0 it might be while till I update again.

Word Count: ~7.5k

Enjoy!

Four Years Before - June 12th, 1966

Your parents had fled to Barbados for a destination wedding which they would follow with a cruise they claimed to deserve. Although it was one of those rare occasions where they had extended an invitation, you had declined. The prospect of being able to stretch your legs on the couch without worrying if you would be crushing some unknown guest, or to be able to walk into rooms without crashing into a waiter passing out shrimp puffs, was much more appealing. You had been left behind with fifty dollars for your fun fund, as your mother called it, and a kiss on the forehead. The nanny your parents kept on retainer would check up on you occasionally only to find you were much better at cleaning up after your messes and doing ordinary tasks than your parents. She’d leave after a few hours and then over the course of the first week she stopped coming.

You had prepared yourself for a month of solitude after Angus had announced he’d be spending his vacation at a tennis camp in Montauk. You must have been reorganizing your bookshelf for the third time that day (once by alphabet, then by color, and finally by size) when you heard a knock at the door. The sun had just begun to set, the sky colored a purple-blue, and you cautiously decided to take your fathers golf club. You dropped the club shortly after opening the front door to find not the face of Norman Bates but of your best friend. You scanned his tear-stained face. His eyes were glossy and his cheeks rosy, like when one stands in the snow and is attacked by the harsh winds that nip at your skin.

He collapsed into your arms, and you are quick to hold him steady. He was crouched over, having had a growth spurt a few months earlier, making it hard for you to look at him eye to eye.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

It was the summer of ‘66, where paranoid parents were starting to believe rock music would possess you. Ironically, it was the year Pet Sounds came out and you couldn’t stop rewinding the songs on your turntable. And most significantly it was the summer you spent with Angus.

He broke the news through jumbled words and choked down tears. How his father had been placed in a Mental Health hospital and how taking him to camp was just an excuse to make sure he wouldn’t be there when the people from the hospital came to pick his father up. They had apparently come early, mixing the dates up.

“Does your mom know you’re here?” You asked, hugging his torso.

“No. I'm sure she’ll be coming to check soon though,” he sniffled, “She’ll probably try to drag me to Montauk anyway and say that ‘it’ll be good for me’.”

You kiss his curls, “What if you stay here?”

He lifts his head up, “I’m not sure she’ll let me.”

“I think she will,” you reassured, “I am a very good guilt-tripper.”

“You can try if you want. How much did your parent’s leave you anyway?”

“Enough for both of us, don't worry. Even if we run out, we could whip something up to eat.”

His eyes widened, “Let's stick to take-out.”

Your house was the first place Angus’s mother looked in, just like he had predicted. He hid at the top of the stairs, staying away from his mom's line of sight as she pressed you for his whereabouts. You had been truthful about how he wanted to spend the next few nights here.

“Are you serious? I’m not going to leave two fourteen-year-olds alone, unattended, unsupervised! God knows what you’ll get up to.”

“We’re not going to do anything!” you argued, “We’re smart enough to not light the house on fire and to dial 911, in case we happen to. Angus just wants to be away for a little while. You should understand why,” you glared.

She looked down, shuffling her heeled feet.

“Besides, you take him away now he’s just to keep coming back here,” you sighed, stating the obvious.

She cleared her throat, coughing as she nodded, “Fine. Alright. Uhm- just make sure he calls me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you do your best to stop yourself from slamming the door in her face. "Bye.”

“The coast is clear,” you shout to Angus who came barreling down the stairs, skipping the last few steps.

“Did she look mad?”

You shrug, “A little. But she'll move on.”

He hums, agreeing as his eyes flicker around the room. He’s looking at the house he must have been at least a thousand times, whether because you invited him or because your parents did. And for the first time in either of your lives… it was completely silent. …

That first night Angus slept on your bedroom floor on a mattress you had dragged from the guest room. You had only your lamp on, and your window was open just wide enough to bring in the refreshing summer air. You were reading a few pages of your book to Angus, and when you glanced down you saw his eyes beginning to close.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. You have a nice voice is all.”

“Thank you. You do want to go to sleep though,” you observe.

“Should I turn off the lamp?” He says almost immediately. He lifts himself up slightly so he can reach your bedside table and waits for your permission to turn it off.

“Yes please.” You settle deep into your duvet. You turn to the side that faces Angus and wish him goodnight.

A few minutes later he speaks up again in a whisper. “Thank you again. For letting me stay here. I'll be out of here by next week, swear.”

“If you could, I would want you to stay here your whole life.” He scoffs at your words as you lean up with the support of your elbows to stare him down. “I’m serious. I only wish I could live in a house with you. Except somewhere far away from here.”

“By the beach,” he adds.

“Yeah. On a beach so obscure they can’t even send us mail because no one will know our address.”

“Oh no. How would your parents ever send you the invitation for your debutante ball?”

“I guess they’ll just have to throw it without me.”

“Shame,” Angus sighs. “I would love to see you in a white dress.”

You pause and then crash down back into your bed. You admire the garland that hangs above you. It’s made of postcards your parents sent you during their many endeavors. In that moment you're reminded of them and turn to Angus. “Oh. About that. My mom told me to tell you to prepare to be my escort in a few years.”

“Already?!” …

You and Angus had fallen into a routine. He’d sleep way later than you, sometimes until noon, and you’d wake him when you got too impatient and hungry for breakfast. He’d stir and groan to the point that it was obvious he was faking before finally getting up.

You would carry what you could from your kitchen pantry onto the backyard patio and eat under the summer sun. It was like an all-you-can-eat buffet of fig jam, English muffins and sometimes pears from the tree that stretched over your neighbor's fence. Afterward you and Angus continued your day in the green grass. He would sprawl himself out on a picnic blanket and read a comic book, wearing shades that were on the verge of tipping off his nose. Meanwhile you would tend to your mother's garden. You’d put on her straw hat too, just to make it feel like you were with her.

When you were little, you’d pull the weeds out of flower beds as your mom pruned her lavender. It was her dearest plant, and she treated them so, regularly nursing it to keep it alive. She’d motion for you to come with her and pick up the shears from the gardening shed. Eagerly obedient, you did as she said, and you would work together until called for lunch. Your mother was always a vivaciously elegant woman, always knowing the right things to say and charming anyone she met. You often wondered why you hadn’t inherited her brilliance, the one that made her seem as if she was glowing in any room she inhabited. It was odd that she’d often claim her ability to converse was her greatest ability when the two got along best when moving in silence.

You did your best to care for the plant too. Before you mom left, she asked to handle their upkeep. You took your duty seriously, checking in on them every day until you saw one sign of disarray.

That summer was like playing house. And although you never admit, for the fear that he’d read too much into and freak, it was exactly as you had often dreamed it to be. June and July passed quickly, and you hadn’t even noticed it. You imagined a life where it could just be you two forever, away from your parents and outside of stifling Massachusetts.

You imagined a life in an apartment described as ‘quaint,’ by the realtor to disguise the incredible small square footage. You wondered if he would like to be in a city like New York or Chicago. Somewhere that was always busy, and the chirping of morning birds was replaced by honking cars.

By the time August had rolled around, you could practically hear the unmistakable sound of the school bell ringing in your ear, warning you of its proximity. Thoughts about the future had you asking Angus one bleary Sunday afternoon, “Are you nervous about starting high school?”

Angus was pushing you on the tire swing, trying to give you motion sickness by twisting the ropes of the swing and letting them untangle a second later.

“Not really. It’ll be like eighth grade just with more tests.”

“I guess. But aren’t you nervous about making new friends and stuff? What if we tangled ourselves into a web so deep that we can’t talk to other people normally.”

“Then I have done my job of keeping you to myself.”

“Haha,” you deadpan, “Seriously though. Won’t you miss having me to talk to?”

“Of course I will. But you’ll write to me and crap… right?”

“Of course,” you echo his words back to him, “You’ll visit me when you get the chance too, correct?”

“Eh. If I’m not busy.”

“Angus!”

“Yes! Obviously, I will.” He pushes you a little harder.

“I do want you to be more out there though. Don’t go sulking in corners like you always do. People would really like you if you let them talk to you for more than one minute.”

“You’re starting to sound like my mother Y/n.”

“Seriously though. Did you notice we’re always addressed as ‘Y/n and Angus’ by teachers. Never just Y/n and never just Angus.”

“Yeah. But I like it. It’s like Bonnie and Clyde. You can’t separate them because then it sounds plain wrong.”

“Okay Clyde,” you roll your eyes. You stop swinging, scraping your shoes through the dirt until you are still.

“I’m giving us two weeks before we break down to each other over the phone.” You lose the hold you have on the tire swings and let them drop onto your lap. You simmer under the sun and enjoy the breeze that flows through your hair.

“Don’t go replacing me when you get to your school.”

“Don’t worry, you got a head start seven years ago. No one else will be able to catch up,” you smile teasingly. “Maybe I’ll find myself a boyfriend though. About time for the both of us, don’t you think?”

He frowns, “You don’t need a boyfriend.”

“Yes, I do. Everyone else does.”

“Since when do you do what other people do? I think you should stop talking to people who peer pressure you,” he flicks your forehead.

“Why?” You rub your forehead, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” You smirk.

“Gross! No! I was just kidding. Get a boyfriend, I don’t care.”

“You wouldn’t care if I got a boyfriend?” You look at him skeptically.

“As long as he treats you nice and shit,” he rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s just that we do everything together Angus. There are some things I would like to get over with that I can’t do with you.”

“Like what?” Angus wrinkled his nose in confusion.

“Like hold hands and go to bowling alleys or whatever.”

“We’ve done that.”

“I like…kiss,” you whisper, fidgeting with your hands.

“Oh,” he chuckles awkwardly. “So would you want to do that … now?”

“What!” You shout, leaping off the swing and walking a few steps away from him. “I’m not asking you to,” you clarify, shaking your head.

“No, but I would like to be over and done with it too… so maybe we should just…” He motions his finger between you two.

“Uhm,” you laugh, tilting your head, “Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean anything. It’ll be just to check it off the list,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Um, yeah, okay,” you move closer to him in small timid strides. “You lean in though. I read that the guy is supposed to do that in my mother's Cosmopolitan.”

“Right, right,” he nods eagerly, interlocking your fingers together. With hesitancy he leans his head down and pulls you even closer to the point where you are bumping your noses. You close your eyes, and it's like your brain begins to spin like those show wheels with choices on them. Your brain tries to land on a feeling but loops on endlessly. His lips are softened by the humidity, and you don’t even notice it is over until a couple seconds after he pulls away.

When you think back on it, it really was the most 'first kiss moment�� to ever exist. It was more of a peck, both of you were bright red and shortly after you were as stiff as statues. Not knowing what else to do, Angus clears his throat and removes his hands from yours to wipe them on his shirt. “So, uh, what does your mothers Cosmo say to do afterward?”

You let out a breathy laugh, “I don’t know. I didn’t read that far.”

…

Christmas Eve - December 24th, 1970

After that summer, when you shared a weepy goodbye and headed off to your own high schools, it was undeniable that something had shifted between you both. Even if it often went unspoken. Neither you nor Angus had brought it up, but on occasion you would acknowledge it. Like last night after leaving the auditorium to return to the common room and pick up the dishes, your eyes drifted to the TV where a cheesy kiss scene was happening on screen. The two of you shared a knowing look that said, “That’s not how ours went down,” before shutting the television off and helping Mary into a more comfortable sleeping position.

You tried not to dwell on the past, but it was hard not to when the only thing in your childhood that had always been good, always been constant, was Angus. Every time you looked into his eyes it was like the decade you had spent together flashed by in a sequence of blurs. All he had to do was breathe a specific way in his sleep to remind you of some obscure memory that had died but he had brought back to life.

This morning you felt like you were ten again and Angus was trying to steal your bread rolls at Thanksgiving dinner. Except today he tried swiping your bacon as you shoved him off playfully.

“Get your own Angus,” you say playfully.

“I’ll trade you for my toast,” he offers.

Rolling your eyes you accept, grabbing the bacon and shoving it in his mouth, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he says, muffled.

You munch on your toast and catch Mr. Hunhams stare.

“I see you two finally made up,” he comments with a sly smile on his face.

“Mm-hmm,” you cover your mouth with your hand as you chew and turn away embarrassed.

Mary joins you all a second later, emerging as usual with her coffee and a cigarette. She switches between eyeing the two men infront of her, “Why’d you two miss supper last night?”

Mr. Hunham and Angus freeze. “We went into town on, uh, some school-related business.”

“And you couldn’t call? You left me and Y/n out in the cold.”

“Yeah Angus,” you pout at him as he nudges your ankle under the table.

“Sorry,” Hunham turned to you, “And to Ms. L/n.”

“No worries. Really. I had fun,” you smile up at Mary who pats your shoulders gently.

Danny, a man you had been introduced to a few days ago, enters with a mop and bucket. You wave to him which he acknowledges with a slight bow of his head.

“Good morning, everybody.”

“Hi, Danny,” Mr. Hunham greets.

“Good morning. You can go on in and make yourself a plate,” Mary points to the kitchen.

“I just saw something funny,” Danny focuses onto your friend. “I walked into the gym, and somebody had vomited in there.”

Mary and you raise your eyebrows in sync.

“You don’t say. I don’t know anything about that,” Mr. Hunham feigns surprise.

“Yeah, me neither,” Angus wipes his mouth as he speaks.

“I’ll look into that right away. Thank you,” he dismisses the conversation.

“Mm-hmm. I see how it is. Trying to leave us out of your boy's club,” Mary tsks. Danny places the custodian supplies beside Angus' chair and walks away.

“Gross Angus,” you say, like it's his full name. You shake your head in disappointment. He nudges your ankle harder, shaking the silverware above. You fight back, beginning to use your hands as a defense. You two are soon in a game of tug of war.

“Knock it off you two! You are acting like fractious children!” Mr. Hunham scolds and stands up from his seat. Across the table, he tries to part your hands. “This is not how young scholarly men and women behave!”

You and Angus are too drunk on laughter to care. …

You and Angus are in a search for Mr. Hunham who stomped away upon realizing stopping you two was a fruitless cause. You intend to apologize; Angus intends to nod along as you speak. You follow the chatter you hear coming from the kitchen to find Mary replacing you as you as her sous chef.

“Hey that's my job,” you point at the potatoes Mr. Hunham is peeling.

“That’s the culinary industry for you. It’s cut-throat. You still want to be a part of it?” Mary peers over her glasses.

You run a hand through your hair, shrugging. “Um. Mr. Hunham?”

He stops his task, “Yes Miss L/n?”

“I want to apologize for my-,” Angus clears his throat, “Our behavior. You were right. It was very inappropriate. Emily Post would turn in her grave.”

“She certainly would. I accept your apology, however unnecessary. I understand it was that childlike spirit in you that is still intact that came out.”

You shoot him a quizzical look. “Uh yeah…”

Angus gasps behind you as he notices the tray of brownies on a table beside him.

“Brownies? God, yes. I want all of these.”

“Each of you just take one. The rest are for the Christmas party tonight.”

Angus snags you a brownie before practically chomping his down.

“What Christmas party? There’s a Christmas party?” He perks up like a dog being told he’s going out for a walk.

“Yeah, at Miss Crane’s house. I’m only gonna go for a little bit, show my face and say I was there. You know Miss Crane said she invited you too.”

“Who’s Miss Crane?” You ask, inspecting the brownie and wondering what Mary does so differently to get it to taste so good.

“School secretary,” said Angus with a full mouth. “Just one of the loveliest faculty members at Barton,” said Mr. Hunham at the same time.

A beat passed as you all noted the flustered expression that passed through Mr. Hunham face.

“Ah- anyways, she didn’t mean it. We were just making small talk.”

“If you don’t want to go, don’t go. I’ll take them.”

“Mary can take us,” problem solved, Angus thinks.

“Oh! Okay… so we are going! I packed a dress that’s been collecting dust in my luggage.”

“No, that’s not how it works. You’re under my supervision,” Mr. Hunham reminds.

“Okay, maybe it’s fine for you to sit around reading books all day, but I am losing my goddamn mind! Jesus!” Angus' suddenness makes you flinch. You avoid the flying brownie as he storms past you.

“Hey! Watch your mouth, young man. Not on Christmas Eve!” Mary yells after him.

“You, see?” Mr. Hunham points at his retreating figure. “I can’t trust him in a social situation.”

“Mr. Hunham, if you’re too chickenshit to go to that party, then just say so. But don’t fuck it up for the little asshole or his sweet little angel of a friend! What’s wrong with you? It’s just a party. What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Hunham said so quietly you could hardly hear him.

“Shit. Now you’ve got me nervous,” Mary wipes her hands on her apron.

You’re still standing there until they hear you go retreat the brownie and throw it in a nearby waste bin. “I could replace those?” You laugh uncomfortably.

“That’s alright sweetie. I want to come out of this party with my reputation intact,” Mary winks.

“Ouch,” you clutch your heart jokingly. “So can I go get dolled up?” …

Someway, somehow, Mary had gotten Hunham to take you to the party. You got ready in the room Ye-Joon and Alex had occupied before. You hadn’t anticipated wearing anything fancy, so the dress you had was a relatively simple one. It was red which fit the Christmas theme well enough and ended just above your knees. You hoped Mr. Hunham wouldn’t make a big deal out of it like Ms. Orchard probably would. You wore flats and did your hair the best you could without products. Although you had managed to give it some more volume by using some leftover soda cans that had yet to be thrown out. It was a common hack all Janie Patrick School girls learned in their freshman year. It was practically a seminar, as the senior girls taught you how to roll them into your hair just right.

You waltz out of your room, feeling as fresh as a daisy and catch Angus shaving. You sneak up behind him, putting your hands on his shoulder and looking at him through the mirror. “What is there to shave Augie? You’re as clean shaven as a newborn baby,” you tease.

You try to check your makeup and feel Angus stiffen under your touch. You remove your hands and see him staring at you open-mouthed.

“What?” You panic. Had you screwed up your hair? Was your mascara too clumpy on your lashes?

“Nothing,” he gives you a once over as he gulps. “You just, you look, you… you look pretty.”

“Oh,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, “Thank you. It’s just the makeup.”

“No, it’s not that. You always look pretty; I just never have a reason to tell you. But I can… today.”

“You look handsome everyday too…” you fidget with your hands.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him bashfully. Quickly you take the razor from his hands, “even more handsome once you change. We’re going to be late."

You run back to your room and try to regulate your breathing. In the reflection of the fogged-up window, you admire yourself momentarily. You suppose you do look pretty tonight. …

You four travel in Mr. Hunhams rickety car. You awe at the town Christmas lights before arriving in front of what you assumed to be Miss Cranes house. One by one you all enter, lingering by the front door like wallflowers. You inch closer to Angus, self-conscious suddenly. You loop your arms together when Miss Crane enters to greet you.

“Oh, hi. Oh, you made it! Welcome,” she pauses to address you and Angus, “Aw hi!”

“I'm so glad you're here,” she tells Mary.

She laughs at the flattery and refers to the brownies, “Where should I put these?”

“Um, oh,” Miss Crane lifts the cloth draped over the tray and gasps, “Those, I’ll be putting on my bedside table.”

“Oh! You're a wicked woman.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she takes the tray off Mary's hands.

“Certainly a lot of people here,” Hunham comments, surveying the room. It is lively with Christmas classics blasting on the radio and kids running around playing tag. The entire house is decked out, almost looking like the spirit of Christmas had barfed out the decorations. Some adults take a swing of their liquor, others smoke, others do both as they chat.

“Yeah, yeah. Some family, friends from town. Only you guys from work.”

“That’s my mom on the couch,” She points to an older lady sitting by the silver and blue Christmas tree. Next to the woman dancing with her toddler who wears no pants. “Uh, that’s my sister Kathy and her son Marvin.”

As she continues to point out each invitee you wander with Angus further into the living room. He seems captivated by a snow globe on a mantel. He shakes it and watches as the snow falls around Santa. You too are enchanted by the sweet melody that plays from it.

“Angus!” Miss Crane snaps you both from your trance. Miss Crane stands next to a girl who appears to be around your age.

“This is Angus Tully. He’s one of our students at Barton. Angus, this is my niece, Elise,” she introduces.

“Niece Elise. Nice,” he glances at you, hoping you got the joke as Elise rolls her eyes at his word play. You give him a tight-lipped smile. “And is his friend Y/n L/n. She goes to the school across the lake from Barton. Janie Patrick’s.”

“Nice to meet you,” you stretch out your hand for her to shake. She does so awkwardly.

“And this is Mr. Hunham. He’s one of our finest teachers. History, right?

“Ancient Civilizations, yes”.

“And this is Mary Lamb. She’s the manager of the cafeteria.”

You don’t know why, but you start chewing your nails. A habit you had thought you had broken in the seventh grade. You bite down particularly hard every time Angus glances at Elise.

“Hey, why don’t you take Angus down to the basement and introduce him to our family tradition?” Miss Crane has a hint of something you can’t identify in her voice.

“Come on,” Elise tilts her head and hesitantly he seems to follow.

“Um. What about Y/n? Can’t she come?”

“Don't worry about that! I have someone I think she would like to meet,” Miss Crane nudges you forward.

“Oh?” you say worriedly.

Elise takes Angus away by the hand and distantly you hear him call out, “Wait what?”

“His name is Joseph Leery. He’s a freshman at Yale!” she gushes.

“Oh? Great? Go bulldogs? That’s the mascot, right?”

“Honey, save your charm for him!”

…

Angus descends downstairs. He repeatedly glances behind him, desperately searching for the remaining bits of your voice. “Um. Maybe I should go back upstairs? My friend Y/n doesn’t do so well with crowds so.”

“Nonsense! She’ll be fine. If I know Auntie Lydia, she’s probably introducing her to the Leery's son, Joe.”

“Joe?” Angus scowls at the name.

“Yeah. Family friend of ours.”

Elise leads him to an arts and craft table, full of scattered red, green, silver and white pipe cleaners. Glitter is spilled everywhere, and the kids take their time decorating their popsicle sticks.

“This is what you wanted to show me?”

“I grew up playing down here during my aunt’s parties. I think it’s kind of cool. There’s a purity to it. I mean, every child is an artist. The problem is remaining an artist when we grow up. Picasso said that.”

“Picasso’s cool,” Angus digs his hand further into his front pockets, “I saw Guérnica once. You know, the big mural, with the horse,” He tries to mimic it as best he can.

“Yeah, I know Guérnica. You really saw it?”

“Yeah. At the Museum of Modern Art in New York. It’s huge. My dad took me.” And Y/n too, he wants to say. Although if what Elise said was true, that Miss Crane fancied herself a modern-day cupid, then he figures he should try not to scare her off by bringing up another girl.

Although it's hard not to think of you when he thinks of his dad. His dad liked puzzles which you happened to have a plethora of that your parents had bought you to keep you entertained during long plane rides. This was before they trusted you enough to leave home alone.

In the winter you’d sit by the fireplace and lay out the puzzles of Monet’s Water Lilies. Then when the spring would offer you limited warmth, you’d all be found in the backyard of Angus’s house trying to piece together Van Gogh's Starry Night.

So many art inspired puzzles eventually had Angus’s father turn to you both and asking, “How would you guys like to see these in real life?”

That easter break had you three crammed into a yellow taxicab and enjoying New York pizza slices.

“Hey Guérnica,” she breaks through his nostalgia plagued mind, “You just gave me an idea,” she smiles.

…

Mr. Hunham stands by the funky-looking Christmas tree when he feels someone’s lips crash onto his cheek.

“Oh!” He says shocked. He feels as if he had just been dumped into a cold bucket of water.

“Mistletoe!” Miss Crane laughs, pointing at the little green and red plant that hangs on the ceiling. She hands him the Jim Beam he asked for earlier as she wipes the side of his face clean to get rid of any lipstick that might have been transferred.

“Yes, of course,” he laughs along, unsure of what else to do but to let her caress his face. “I didn’t you know you were quite the mastermind.”

Miss Crane tilts her head and motions him to elaborate

“Playing matchmaker for Mr. Tully and Ms. L/n.”

“Oh! Well, when Angus said they weren’t an item I figured they’d were itching for a chance to mingle outside of their little circle. I hope I didn’t overstep anything. After all I imagine they don’t get many opportunities to openly chat with people of the opposite sex! Dating is crucial in shaping character.”

“Yes, I imagine it is,” Mr. Hunham agrees, unsure if that is fact or fiction. He is awful at letting silence just be silence, so he does what he does best. Spew nonsensical facts.

“You know, it’s interesting. Aeneas carried mistletoe with him when he descended into Hades in search of his father.”

“Oh. Huh…” Now it is Miss Crane who is unsure of what to do with that.

“Um. Anyways. I like your tree. It’s really space age,” he comments and is hit slightly in the shoulder by her enthusiastic hand.

“I brought it to commemorate the moon landing!”

“Really? Wow.”

Miss Crane takes a sip of her punch, “So where is your family this Christmas.”

“Nowhere. I’m an only child. My mother died when I was young.”

“And your father?”

“Let's just say I left home when I was fifteen.” If Mr. Hunham had known this was what small talk topics had evolved into, then he must have been right in avoiding social functions all this time.

“You ran away?” She guesses.

“Worse. I got a scholarship to Barton. And from there, I went to college and never looked back.”

“But you did a little,” she points out.

“Hmm?”

“I mean you came back here.”

“Ah.” He really did not feel like being questioned so heavily tonight. Not to pat himself in the back, but he believes he's credible enough to label himself as a decent writer, able to handle the equal weight of a pen and his words with ease. But as a conversationalist, he figures even one of the dimwits in his Ancient Civilization classes have him beat.

“It feels kind of like home I guess,” he muses, “and I guess I thought I could make a difference. I mean, I used to think I could prepare them for the world even a little. Provide standard and grounding that Dr. Greene always drilled into us.”

Mr. Hunham can feel himself run out of breath, “But, uh the world doesn’t make sense anymore. I mean it's on fire. The rich don’t give a shit. Poor kids are cannon fodder. Integrity is a punchline. Trust is just the name of a bank.”

“Well…” Miss Crane tries to soothe him by running her hand back and forth on his arm, “look, if that's all true then now is when they most need someone like you.”

Mr. Hunham knows when he is being humored and told what people he wants to hear. He looks at Miss. Crane and for the first time in a while he is looked back at with genuineness.

…

Elise and Angus finger paint on a wide piece of blank paper. He’s mixing the colors, and they all tend to come out looking a sickly brown. Elise covers her side with an untainted red. She seems to be more into it than him as she incorporates real swirls and shapes onto their canvas.

“Am I doing this right?”

“There is no right or wrong,” she reassures. He feels her stare linger on him for a second. He is scared to look up. “Are you okay? You seem… gloomy.”

“Yeah. I’m fine. But, uh, tell me about this Joe guy.”

She looks at him suspiciously, “Why?”

“Just curious. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of him around my school is all.”

“Well probably because he graduated over a year ago.”

“So, he’s in college.”

“Yes. A freshman at Yale.”

“Yale!” He shouts loud enough for even the kids to glare at him for disturbing their fun. “Sorry,” he apologies to them.

“Would you say he’s cool,” he asks a millisecond later.

Elise tries not to laugh at his blatant desperation, “Yeah I would say so.”

“Funny?”

“He's basically Gene Wilder.”

“The dude from The Producers?!”

“Yes, and he was also a football quarterback.”

“What.”

“And valedictorian, and the heir to the Campbell Soup Company.”

“What the hell? Is this guy superman or,” Angus takes a minute to recognize the smug face on Elise. Finally, she breaks out in a loud giggle.

“Oh,” Angus sighs in relief, “You’re messing with me.”

“A little,” she says through fits of laughter. “Anyways if you’re so worried why don’t you go back up there?”

“I was just worried that he would try something. But technically he sounds alright.”

“Ah. So, you’re jealous?”

Angus rolls his eyes, “No. I’m a concerned friend.”

“I’m not sure about that. Concerned friends don’t start interrogating the girl they are on a hypothetical date with.”

She leans down to point at a glob of paint in the corner of the paper, “I think you even doodled her name.”

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, going over it and trying to cover it up along with his embarrassment.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like this was going to go be framed at the MET.”

“What are you implying anyway,” he narrows his eyes.

“You’re going crazy being gone from her for two minutes. What do you think I’m implying?”

Angus slumps his shoulders and admits what had been ignoring. It's like a message in a bottle he threw into the sea, desperately trying to avoid the shore. Even when it does reach land, the cap is tightly sealed, clinging on to the bottle and doing it best to remain unread. When it does pop open and the paper is unfolded, although it might be difficult to read, the message still exists. It still exists even though time fought so hard to destroy it.

“I do think about her that way. Sometimes. Then the rational side comes out and tells me that it's human nature for a girl and guy friend to think about each other that way.”

“Well, does she know you think about her that way?”

“No. Sometimes I imagine she feels the same, but you’d have to know her to understand why I’m so confused. She’s the most thoughtful, kind, and perfect person in the world. It's hard to tell if she’s showing that side to everyone or if I’m special enough for her to give me that treatment.”

“You know Picasso also said that ‘Everything you can imagine is real’.”

“Are you Picasso's biographer?”

Without missing a beat, Elise smirks and says, “Yes.”

Angus is up the stairs without having thanking her, too fueled by adrenaline to practice basic manners. He’ll have to tell Miss Crane to pass on the memo. He’s on the hunt for you but is yanked into the house's kitchen by a mysterious hand.

“Hey?” He asks, disoriented.

Danny is staring straight at him, with both hands on either side of his shoulder.

“I need you to find Mr. Hunham,” he orders. Angus looks past the man to see Mary weeping heavily into the sink. Understanding, he nods firmly and is back out the door.

…

Joseph Leery is not half bad. He’s kind of funny, clever and not a bad person to pass the time with. You sit in the back of Miss Crane's living room on a couch all to yourselves. He tells you how he’s majoring in English in hopes of becoming a journalist.

“What kind of journalist?”

“Investigative. I would love to be the next Upton Sinclair. Or Seymour Hersch.”

“Ew! The Jungle made me so sick for a week after. It was so gross.”

“I know but that's what made it so great. Exposing the meat packing industry probably put him on a few hit lists too.”

“Oh yeah definitely. So, then who are you planning to expose?”

He laughs, “I don’t know yet. Is there any chance you’re planning on becoming some corrupt politician?”

“Not in the foreseeable future. I’ll let you know if I ever do,” you giggle.

“What are you planning to do then?”

“Then? Um... Like as president? I don’t know. Fund schools-.”

“No,” he laughs harder, “I mean like with college and life. Do you have anything planned out?”

“Erm, not really. My parents probably want me to go to the Ivy Leagues and crap. I should have a plan, I know, but I guess I’ve been putting it on the back burner.”

“Why?”

You shift in your seat. “I have this friend. He’s sort of had this rocky life, not I haven’t, and I know it's stupid to mold your entire life to fit around one person’s but for him I would.”

Joseph sniffs and straightens his posture. “Sorry. Lydia didn’t mention you having a boyfriend.”

“No, I don’t,” you stress, “I just really care for him, you know. We’ve known each other for so long. He’s important to me.”

“Y/n have you ever read Persuasion?” he asked suddenly.

“Um, not yet. I know the gist of it.”

“Well, it's ultimately about regret, right? Anne spends eight years longing for Wentworth when she could have been with him instead, had she not given into pressures. The point of the novel is not to wait to love the person you’re sure is it for you.”

“Love?” You hear someone say above you. You look up to see Angus, his arms stiff by his side. He glowers at Joseph. You jump off the seat and on operating on some strange reflex you go to fix his shirt collar that has stood up.

“What's wrong?”

“What were you guys talking about?” he interrogates.

“Books. Why?”

Angus doesn’t buy it but ignores the gnawing feeling in his gut, “Mary needs us in the kitchen. Go ahead, I still need to get Hunham.”

“Oh…Alright,” you turn and wave to your brief companion. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah maybe,” Joseph lifts his canned soda as if to say cheers.

You walk on ahead as Angus loiters behind, silently scrutinizing him.

Joseph takes a sip from his coke and points towards the direction you disappeared to. “Your girl went that way man.”

Angus rolls his eyes but leaves, nonetheless.

…

Miss Crane and Paul are sitting next to each other, their drink half-finished. They can feel the red tinge on their cheeks and themselves becoming looser.

“Are you planning anything special for tomorrow?” Lydia inquires.

“No. Why? Are you having a…”

“No, I just thought maybe you’d be doing something special for Angus and Y/n.”

Mr. Hunham shakes his head and Miss Crane lets out a small gasp, “You should! Help preserve some of the magic. Angus may be a little difficult, but he’s still just a kid. So is Y/n. And life catches up to them so fast. Them,” she stares at her lap, contemplating. “Ha. Us!”

“You’re a very sweet person, Miss Crane,” he compliments.

Miss Crane melts, “So are you, when you want to be,” she quips, “and it’s Lydia.”

He enjoys the feeling of camaraderie between them. He feels a cool breeze at the back of his neck and the sound of the door opening.

“Excuse me for a minute,” Miss Crane gets up and moves past him.

Mr. Hunham turns in time to see a man take off his coat, a gift under his arm. A moment later Miss Crane is there to receive him with a kiss. Together they walk away, and Mr. Hunham is left alone. Once again.

“Mr. Hunham, could you come with me, please?” Angus nearly trips as he stumbles over to the teacher.

“Yeah, what is it?” He sighs as he gets up with a groan.

“Come on, it's serious,” Angus leaps away. Peeking at him at the corner to see is Hunham is following, “Come on.”

Mr. Hunham is dragged into the kitchen, where he spots Mary, crying quietly to herself. Danny is next to her. You’re across the room biting your nails and hinting at Mr. Hunham to do something.

“Mary? You alright?” he questions, even though he knows it's in vain.

“Just leave me alone,” She mumbles.

“Want me to take you home?” Danny offers, placing what he thinks is a consoling hand on her back.

“Back off! Back off!” Mary whisper-shouts, her hands shaking down in anger. Mr. Hunham shuts the door, giving her privacy if nothing else.

“He’s gone,” she erupts into full on sobs. The mask comes off and she’s no longer Mary, the woman who appears to deal with grief like it was nothing but a bump on the road. Instead, it's Mary, who lost a son and whose grief has entirely consumed her until she can no longer breathe.

…

Angus and Mr. Hunham support Mary on both sides, as they make their way to the car. “I was right. This is why I hate parties. That was a disaster. Total disaster!”

“Speak for yourself. I was having a pretty profound conversation. I was about to make some serious life altering moves,” he blurts, angry and unable to believe his window opportunity was slammed shut. He had an internal plan. That'd he’d whisk you away from stupid Joseph and ask you to dance, maybe lead you to a mistletoe and see where it goes.

“With whom? The niece? Are you kidding me? This poor woman is bereft, and all you can think about is some silly girl.”

“I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.”

“I’m not talking about Elise; I'm just saying this is the first good thing that came from being in this prison with you.”

“Need I remind you it’s not my fault you’re stuck here? Do you think I want to babysit you? I was praying to the God I don’t believe in that your mother would pick up the phone, or your father would arrive in a helicopter or a submarine or a flying fucking saucer to take you-.”

“My father’s dead,”

“Angus-,” he hears you say but he holds up his hand for you to stop speaking.

Mr. Hunham stops dead in his rant, “But I thought your father-.”

“That’s just some rich guy my mom married. Give me your keys,” he sticks out his hand.

“It’s unlocked.”

Furiously, Angus stomps away. You excuse yourself from the two adults before doing your damnedest to not slip on the ice. Flats at this time of the year were not your best idea.

“Angus,” you reach him, tugging at the back of his jacket so that he’ll slow down. “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

“The thing about your dad,” you mumble.

“The way my mom and Stanley talk about him, he might as well be don’t you think?”

“You don’t mean that,” you scold. “What happened? Are you really this mad about Elise?”

“No. Damn it. I don’t even like Elise.”

“Oh,” despite the circumstance, you can’t help but feel giddy. “Then what is it?”

“You seemed to be having a pretty good time yourself with Joe on that couch.”

“Joe?” You cross your arms. “You mean Joseph?”

“Oh great. You have a nickname for him.”

“Angus, Joseph is his legal name, that's the opposite of a nickname.”

“I don’t want to talk about Joe,” he says. You both reach the end of the block where Hunhams car is parked. In the distance you see them come closer, their feet crushing the white snow.

“You brought him up,” you massage your temple. You think back of the endless list of books you have read, or the many movies you’ve watched. You scour through the genres. You think of how Joseph managed to connect to life. You think of the rewatch of Cactus Flower with Mary. How envious Ingrid Bergman character was every time she saw Julian talk to Toni.

“Angus, were you jealous of Joseph?”

He stops his ongoing struggle with the car handle, finally prying it open.

“Were you jealous of Elise?” he asks you.

You frown and fixate on the pavement; your nails dig into your palm as your hands turn into fists. Deafening silence engulfs you before Angus exhales heavily. Before you can speak, Mr. Hunham arrives and motions for you to scooch over so he can open the passenger side for Mary.

“Sorry,” you apologize and get in the backseat.

“Straight to bed you hear me,” Mr. Hunham warns once you are all buckled in. “Enough theatrics for one day.”

“Mmhmm,” Angus responds, but all he is doing is looking at you.

[thebettybook]

(Chapter 1) A Spin on an Enchanted Tale

Characters: Miguel O’Hara, fem!reader, Gabriella O’Hara

Chapter 1 summary: My Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader AU inspired by Disney’s Enchanted (2007). Reader (a princess cosplayer in their late 20s) meets Miguel O’Hara (a 31-year-old single dad who doesn’t believe in fairy tales) and his adorable five-year-old daughter Gabriella O’Hara on a night in Nueva York

Warnings: A fluff story with just a sprinkle of Miguel angst

Spanish used (I used SpanishDict): Papá (Dad); Por el amor de Dios (For the love of God); Dulce sueños, mi solecita (Sweet dreams, my lovely sunshine); Tres leches cake (Sponge cake soaked in three different types of milk)

Chapters: Ch 1 {below} | Ch 2 | Ch 2.5 | Ch 3 {in progress}

“And they lived happily ever after.”

That was the phrase you could always count on at the end of each and every one of your favorite fairy tales.

That was the ending phrase that marked new beginnings, and so far, your “new beginning” seemed like it had already ended.

You let out a sigh, shifting against the metal bench you sat on. It was only about an hour or two since you were kicked out of your apartment; your landlady was tired of you being behind on rent.

To be fair, it wasn’t really your fault (as you tried to justify to yourself). An aspiring fantasy cosplay designer in their late 20s who wanted to create princess gowns, you moved to Nueva York to learn from the best of fashion houses that specialized in haute couture.

As with moving to any major city with bright optimism would go, you found yourself rejected by every fashion house you could find and turned to part-time work as a princess cosplayer for children’s parties.

Even though you loved your work as a princess cosplayer for children’s parties, the lack of pay from the job led you to this exact moment: sitting on a bench in full princess wedding cosplay and a suitcase carrying all of your belongings (a few day outfits in dire need of a good wash, your sewing machine, and a bundle of fabric scraps and accessories you kept with you at all times) parked next to you.

Ok, maybe it was your fault for thinking you could “make it” in a big city, as if you were in a movie or something.

At least no one was gawking at you. Nueva Yorkers were far too busy rushing into the many restaurants and shops around you or too busy looking at their phones to notice a “princess” in their midst.

Endless layers of ivory tulle pooled around you, shifting against each other as you lifted your feet a bit in front of you to make sure the dirt on the Nueva York streets didn’t soil your gown.

Your fingers picked up one puff sleeve larger than the size of your head that began to droop down your shoulder. If you weren’t kicked out of your apartment, you would have admired your handiwork on the gown—a white puff-sleeved wedding dress with a bustier corset and full floor-length skirt outlined with ruby lines.

You found the dress at a thrift store the day you moved to Nueva York and brought home to spruce it up, and had finally gotten the chance to wear the gown earlier today for a job at a child’s birthday party where you were requested to be the child’s favorite princess in a wedding gown. Your coworker, who was supposed to show up as the prince in his wedding attire, didn’t even come.

Despite that, you made sure the child had a fun party by putting on your best impression of the princess character and singing the character’s songs to the best of your ability along with the child.

A sad smile graced your lips for the first time tonight. You always believed that magic could be found in situations of the unexpected, but right now it was hard to find even a speck of magic to make you feel better.

A groan escaped from your lips as your tiara began to slip, too. The gold tiara nestled on top of your head, gleaming against the Nueva York moonlight with beaded ivory flowers you hot-glued onto the tiara, weighed on your head—heavy with all the questions that began to swirl in your mind.

I’ll have to call my boss tomorrow. How do I tell her I’m basically homeless now?

What do I do now? Where do I go?

You didn’t have any friends in Nueva York you could call about your current situation. Sure, you were friendly with your party princess coworkers, but you all didn’t contact each other much outside of work. Thus, staying with a friend wasn’t an option for you.

Your hands made their way up to your head, plucking off the tiara. You held it in your hands, gliding your fingers over the beaded flowers of the tiara.

The irony of being dressed like a princess in a wedding gown about to ride off into the sunset—or in your case, moonlight—to “happily ever after”—

“Are you a princess?” A voice so small, yet filled with such curiosity and wonder, interrupted your thoughts.

Your eyes flew up from your tiara to the owner of the voice. The voice matched its owner—a little girl who stared at you with awe.

She didn’t look older than six, and seemed to be into soccer, as you saw from her lavender soccer uniform, waves of dark-brown hair tied up in a ponytail, and black-and-white soccer cleats. She also had the same look most children from the parties you worked at did—her warm brown eyes widened and her mouth on the brim of beaming the sunniest of smiles at seeing you like you were a dream come true.

You couldn’t help but offer her a smile; even if your day wasn’t going great, you could at least make someone else’s day great.

“I suppose you could call me that,” you let out a twinkling laughter—one that you learned to perfect for your princess performances. “I’m Princess Y/N.”

“I knew it!” The little girl’s eyes shined like stars—something you’ve never seen in your time in Nueva York. “You’re so pretty, and your tiara is really pretty, too!”

Your lips broke into the most genuine smile you’ve had all day. “You think so?” You held the tiara out so that the little girl could see it better. “Wanna know a secret?”

The little girl nodded, her ponytail swishing behind her.

“I made it myself,” you revealed in a loud whisper, the back of your hand to the side of your lips.

“How?!” The girl’s eyes brimmed with even more curiosity. “I didn’t know princesses could make their own tiaras!”

“Princesses can do or make anything they want,” you winked, making the little girl giggle. “Whether that’s wearing a tiara from the castle’s treasury or sprucing up a $5 one with some paint and a hot-glue gun.”

As the child marveled at your tiara, you scanned your surroundings for any parent or guardian that the girl might’ve belonged to. To your slightly-frantic dismay, the people around you and the little girl just keep walking.

“Little one, could you please tell me your name? And if you have a mom or dad or guardian nearby?” you offered the child a kind smile. If you didn’t find the girl’s parent or guardian and the girl was lost, you decided that you would help the girl and call the police.

She nodded, her eyes moving up from your tiara to you. “I’m Gabriella, but you can call me Gabi. I don’t have a mom, but I have a—”

“Gabriella!” A man’s voice, ringing with worry, called out to the little girl. The thuds of his footsteps grew in volume as he ran towards the two of you and cut through some pedestrians who shot him annoyed glares before resuming their walks.

“Papá!” Gabriella ran towards the man, who immediately scooped her up in a hug.

“I was so worried I lost you,” the man’s voice was only filled with immense relief. He towered over most of the pedestrians around the three of you. While he was tall (probably over 6 ft tall), you couldn’t see his face clearly as he buried his face in the crook of Gabriella’s neck.

Gabriella managed to wiggle her way out of her father’s tight grasp. “I wasn’t lost, I was talking to Princess Y/N!” Gabriella turned around in her father’s arms to smile and point at you.

At the mention of your name, the man’s head snapped up. Your breath hitched; from the way his dark-brown hair swept back and curled at the nape of his neck to highlight his chiseled cheekbones and jaw to the biceps that bulged under his cerulean blazer and white dress shirt, he was nothing short of handsome. The warmth in his hickory orbs at the sight of Gabriella only made him more handsome in your eyes. Truly, he put every prince cosplayer you’ve ever worked with to shame.

Despite the sharp lines under his eyes, Gabriella’s father looked like he was in his early 30s. Before you could introduce yourself or assure him that his child was safe all along, his thick, dark brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed at you. The warmth in his eyes grew cold with suspicion as he scanned you from head-to-toe. You didn’t seem like a threat, but as a father, he had to ensure his child’s safety.

“I was going to call the police if I couldn’t find her parents or guardians,” you couldn’t help but let out in a rush, feeling the need to explain yourself as he continued to eye you.

After what felt like an eternity of his eyes on you, and after him coming to the silent conclusion that you were telling the truth, Gabriella’s father set her down and took her hand in his. He stepped forward, extending his free hand to you.

“Thank you for looking after my daughter,” he gazed down at you, his frown lines softening as he offered you a half-smile. “I’m Miguel O’Hara.”

“Of course,” you brought your hand toward his. He didn’t hesitate to give you a firm handshake. “I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N. I’m a princess cosplayer for children’s birthday parties, so before you think I’m some criminal trying to kidnap children or something here, I just got kicked out of my apartment right after coming back from a job in this getup.”

Gabriella’s father’s–Miguel’s–smile vanished, his brows knitting together. “Why’d you get kicked out?” His accusatory tone indicated that he wondered if you got kicked out of your apartment for any suspicious reasons on your part.

You fought the urge to let out a sigh of frustration. You had a long day, and you didn’t appreciate being interrogated by this frustratingly-handsome man, but you also understood his concern since he almost lost his daughter.

“I got kicked out because I was behind on rent,” you turned your face away from him in an effort to hide any hint of embarrassment on your face. “Being a princess cosplayer for children’s parties doesn’t exactly help pay bills. After I got kicked out, I ended up sitting here and Gabriella came up to me.”

“Ah,” Miguel paused and pursed his lips, not really sure what to say to make a stranger (a stranger he now deemed as a harmless stranger) feel better. “I’m…sorry you got kicked out.”

“Thanks,” you turn your face back towards him, now being the one to give him a half-smile. Your eyes then flitted down to your and his hands, realizing he didn’t let go of your hand till now. Miguel’s eyes followed yours before retracting his hand with an awkward chuckle. In a poor effort to make things less awkward, you echoed with an awkward laugh of your own.

You were both too preoccupied with this interaction of pure awkwardness to notice Gabriella’s movements. The top of her head barely reached Miguel’s knees as she switched her gaze from her father, to you, and then to your hand in his. A grin a mile wide lit up on her face at the two of you, the wheels in her five-year-old brain turning.

“Papá,” she began. At his daughter’s voice, Miguel instantly turned his attention back to her and kneeled down to face her at eye level.

“I’m glad you’re safe, but what did I say about running off by yourself and talking to strangers?” You noticed that Miguel’s voice was nothing but soft and gentle every time he talked with Gabriella.

Gabriella clasped her hands behind her back. “That I shouldn’t. I’m sorry, I just wanted to talk to the princess. But I won’t go away by myself anymore, pinky promise.”

She held out her right pinky in front of her, making her all the more adorable. Miguel only had a soft smile as he linked his own right pinky with Gabriella’s.

You eased down on the bench in silence, your half-smile growing as you watched the way Miguel gently swiped away a stray eyelash from Gabriella’s cheek with the back of his thumb.

You could tell he was having a hard time kneeling down with his tall stature and all by the way he shifted his feet behind him. But you also noticed that he kept kneeling down to appear somewhat at eye and height level with Gabriella so that he could foster healthy discussions between the two of them as parent and child. Even though you just met him, you could tell Miguel was a great dad and that he loved Gabriella more than anything.

“I’m just glad you’re safe.” Warmth flooded Miguel’s eyes, pooling gold flecks of honey into his hickory irises. “Let’s go home, say ‘goodbye’ to the princess.”

To your and his surprise, Gabriella shook her head furiously, her ponytail swishing from side-to-side. “No!”

“‘No’?” Miguel raised his eyebrows.

“Princess Y/N doesn’t have anywhere to go,” Gabi pointed at your suitcase, jutting her bottom lip forward to convey a pout. You were shocked she even noticed your suitcase; kids were more perceptive than you thought.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, little one,” you waved your hand, mustering the best and brightest princess smile you could put on. “I’m just waiting for my prince to arrive on his horse. Should be aaaany minute now.”

Miguel’s gaze moved from Gabriella, to your suitcase, to you. He didn’t know whether to stare at you to wonder if you were being serious about the prince and horse (and considering that this was Nueva York, he shouldn’t be too surprised), or whether to smile at the fact that you were trying to keep up your princess act for his daughter.

“My dad’s better than any prince,” Gabi took Miguel’s large hand in an effort to drag him closer to you before turning her head to gaze up at Miguel. “Papá, can the princess please stay with us? We have a ton of rooms at home.”

“No, no, it’s ok—,” you began, shaking your head as furiously as Gabriella earlier.

“—Gabi,” Miguel interrupted you, his tone a bit more firm this time. His gaze set on your gown. “We can’t just take in a stranger.”

Miguel’s hands rested on his hips. He couldn’t help but eye you from head-to-toe again, as if he was trying to detect any threats you might have kept hidden from him.

You met him with a raised brow and crossed your arms in front of your torso, trying to appear nonchalant and ignore the heat growing on your cheeks at the fact that his eyes were on you again.

“But you always tell me that it’s important to help others,” Gabriella put her hands on her hips, comically trying to mimic her father. “And I wanna help my best friend Princess Y/N.”

Miguel’s gaze dropped from yours as he turned to his daughter faster than lightning. “What? I thought I was your best friend,” he mumbled. You let out a snort of amusement as you heard Miguel sound genuinely hurt.

“You can be my best friend again if you let Princess Y/N stay with us,” Gabriella ran over to your side, sitting next to you on the bench.

She wrapped her hands around your arm and clung to your side despite the layers of tulle from your gown that tried to push her away. “I don’t want Princess Y/N to be cold and outside by herself,” Gabriella whispered as she nuzzled her face against your arm, making you want to shed tears right then and there.

“Gabi, I’ll be ok,” you tried your best to muster a smile and appear brave for Gabriella. However, you knew you weren’t being too convincing, and the subtle crack in your voice stemming from your fear of the unknown was something you didn’t miss.

Miguel didn’t miss it either as he let out a huff mixed with annoyance at the situation and sympathy for you. His daughter was just as stubborn as he could be, but she also had a point.

As a gentleman through and through, Miguel didn’t feel right with the thought of leaving a lady like you out alone on the streets of Nueva York in the middle of the night (even if he didn’t question that you could defend yourself). What kind of example would he be setting for Gabriella if he just took her home and left you here?

“…Alright, you can stay with us if you’d like,” Miguel let out with a sigh. “And you can stay with us while we help you find another place in Nueva York to live.”

Your eyes widened at his decision, and your mouth opened instinctively to say “No, thank you,” but before you could do so, Gabi ran back to her father and into his arms.

“You’re the best, Papá!” Gabi’s statement made Miguel beam brighter than the Nueva York moon as he scooped her up. If you weren’t so shocked by his proposal, you would’ve laughed at how endearing he was with his daughter.

The two O’Haras then looked at you while you tried to weigh your options, but you only had two:

1. Stay with this little family you knew nothing about

Or

2. Stay out on the streets until you could contact your boss (which would be tomorrow because you felt unprofessional at the thought of calling your boss after work hours).

“…If it’s not a bother, I would love to take you up on that offer,” you shot Miguel a smile that no doubt displayed all your nerves at the thought of staying at a stranger’s place, even though he was the one who just offered a stranger to stay at his place.

“You’re coming home with us!” Gabriella raised her hands in the hair before scrambling down from Miguel’s arms. Before you could blink, she took your right hand and tugged on it so you could stand up.

“I suppose I am,” you chuckled, letting yourself be led by the child. As you stood up, you used your left hand to smooth the front of your gown’s skirt. You then turned to your suitcase, only to see Miguel approaching it.

“I got it, if that’s ok with you,” Miguel tipped his head to the direction of your suitcase.

You nodded, letting yourself be led forward by Gabriella to the direction of wherever you assumed would be her and Miguel’s home.

“Thank you. Not just for that, but for letting me stay at your place,” you turned to Miguel as he held your suitcase’s handle with his right hand. “I haven’t met many kind people in Nueva York since I moved here.”

“It’s Nueva York, not exactly the place for fairy tales,” Miguel’s sarcasm slipped out with ease without thinking. He then turned his face away from you when he realized that he forgot you were literally dressed as a princess. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” you shot him a rueful smile as the two of you fell into the rhythm of walking next to each other with Gabriella skipping between you two. With one of her hands in your right hand, Gabriella took Miguel’s left hand in her free hand. “I learned that the hard way.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Miguel replied with more sincerity this time. He didn’t follow up with anything more to say, and the two of you walked past a few streets in awkward silence, the beeps! of Nueva York taxis and Gabriella’s upbeat humming filling the silence.

“We don’t need to take a taxi?” You spoke up, trying to start a light conversation with Miguel.

“Our place is just a few minutes from here,” Miguel answered, his gaze set straight ahead. “I was actually taking Gabi to get ice cream not too far from our place after we came home from her game.”

“Yeah! We were gonna get ice cream!” Gabriella’s eyes lit up even more at the mention of ice cream. “‘Cuz I scored a goal today! Wait, Papá, where’s my ice cream?”

“I didn’t know I was in the presence of a soccer star,” you grinned down at Gabriella, who smiled toothily up at you at being called a “soccer star.”

Despite fatigue from a long day of work seeping into Miguel’s bones, his lips couldn’t help but falter from their default straight line into a small smile at seeing Gabriella be so happy—more so than usual—in your presence.

“Well, you ran off, so I had to find you and didn’t get us any ice cream,” Miguel raised an eyebrow down at Gabriella, but his smile and tone indicated his light teasing. “We can get ice cream tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Gabriella raised her hands in the air, swinging your and Miguel’s hands that held hers forward. She then spotted what you assumed to be her and Miguel’s building, and broke away from the two of you to run up ahead.

“Por el amor de Dios,” Miguel muttered under his breath, stopping in his tracks and leaving your suitcase next to you. “Why does she have to run so fast?”

Without another word, he sprinted after Gabriella. You were surprised Miguel could run fast, but you figured that it made sense since he was so built.

Your gaze then panned from Miguel catching up with Gabriella and scooping her up with ease to the building before the three of you.

The building was easily the tallest apartment complex in Nueva York—a cylindrical tower with state-of-the-art glass architecture.

“Wait…,” your voice trailed off, your chin tipped up as your eyes could barely find the tip of the tower. You walked toward Gabriella and Miguel while hauling your suitcase behind you. “Where are we?”

“We’re home!” Gabriella answered in Miguel’s arms as he stood at the glass door entrance. “Papá and I live at the very top!”

Your eyes couldn’t help but bug. “Miguel, is it ok if I ask what you do for a living?”

“I work in research,” Miguel chose not to elaborate, making him sound like a secretive spy in a movie without meaning to. His broad back was to you as he used his free hand to place a card against the building’s recognition panel. It beeped green, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were breaking into a top secret government building.

“Papá’s the king of his job!” Gabriella chimed with adorable pride for her father as the building’s double doors swished open.

You could only assume “king of his job” meant Miguel was either the CEO of his workplace or he held an equally (if not more) high position, but you decided it wiser to not ask any more questions for the time being as you followed Miguel and Gabriella to the elevator.

The elevator, like the rest of the building, was cylindrical, and spacious enough that you guessed it could probably hold 300 people at a time.

Once inside, Miguel tapped a code into a panel, which you assumed was for accessing his and Gabriella’s home. Your shock at everything only increased when the elevator ascended past 50 floors.

50…60…90…

Gabriella yawned when the elevator passed 90 floors, prompting Miguel to rub her back as she snuggled her face against his shoulder. It wasn’t long before she was out like a light, snoozing in her father’s arms.

“Dulce sueños, mi solecita,” Miguel pressed a kiss on the side of Gabriella’s head. A yawn unleashed from him after he pulled back from Gabriella at the same time you let out your own yawn.

Your eyes met his, and this time Miguel gave you a kinder, more sincere smile as he found it funny that the two of you yawned at the same time.

Ding! The elevator chimed once it reached the 99th floor, the top floor of the building. You tried to brace yourself for whatever the 99th floor would reveal of Gabriella and Miguel’s home, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight before you.

Their penthouse gleamed in all its glory, from the marbled flooring to the ivory spiral staircase in the left corner. To the right of the penthouse was a massive kitchen with a sleek silver stove and a matching fridge, island, and cabinets.

The walls were a simple white which only added to the elegance of the entire penthouse. You noticed that instead of expensive paintings that usual penthouses would have, the walls of this penthouse were decorated with Gabriella’s various crayon drawings and framed pictures of Gabriella and Miguel from her birth till now.

Your eyes were captivated especially by those framed pictures, but before you could step into the penthouse, you turned to Miguel.

“Shoes off?” you whispered, not wanting to wake Gabriella. He answered you with a nod.

You shuffled off your [your favorite color] sneakers, placing them on a three-tiered shoe rack by the elevator door as Miguel did the same with his burgundy dress shoes and Gabriella’s soccer cleats.

“I didn’t know princesses wore sneakers,” Miguel’s voice was so quiet that you couldn’t tell if he was serious or teasing.

“This princess does,” you straightened up, grinning as if you were revealing a corporate secret. “Especially if she has to run after children all day. Though I only wear sneakers when I get to wear long gowns like these that hide my shoes. Wouldn’t want to ruin the magic for the children.”

“We can’t have that, now, could we,” Miguel flashed you a tiny grin, revealing his pearly whites. “If children realized princesses wore sneakers and not glass slippers, that could mean the end of the multiverse.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise at Miguel’s attempt to engage with you in light teasing and chatter. “Multiverse, huh? Are you into comic books or superheroes or something?”

He merely shrugged his free shoulder as if to appear cool and not “nerdy.” “I like science.” Before you could ask Miguel more about what comic books he liked, Gabriella stirred in his arms.

Miguel wheeled your suitcase to you with his free hand. “I’m going to set Gabriella down in her room,” he whispered in an even more hushed tone. You had to stop yourself from chuckling; he just didn’t seem like the type of person who whispered often. “Make yourself at home in the meantime.”

He made a beeline for the spiral staircase, going up to where you assumed were all the penthouse’s bedrooms.

You knew he said “make yourself at home” out of customary politeness as a host, but you found it difficult to instantly “make yourself at home” in such a grand place.

Not knowing where to sit or where you could sit, you took a step toward a wall lined with framed pictures of Gabriella as a baby.

Some photos were in black and white, some were in full color. A smile bloomed on your face at how cute Gabriella looked as a baby, her smile in the pictures just as infectious then as it was now.

You also noticed, however, that Gabriella’s biological mother wasn’t in the picture—in any picture on the walls, to be exact. There didn’t seem to be a partner in Miguel’s life either, from the way all the family pictures on the walls—whether they were selfies taken by Miguel or pictures taken by someone else—only had him and Gabriella in them.

Your nosy mind couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Gabriella was adopted or conceived via surrogate. The first theory, you crossed out of your mind since Gabriella looked too much like Miguel to be adopted.

Before you could come up with other theories, Miguel descended the spiral staircase and made his way over to you with a neatly-folded bundle of clothes in his hands. He stopped next to you and followed your gaze to one of the pictures.

“I took that one on Gabi’s first birthday,” a soft smile on his face as he nodded to a framed picture of a baby Gabriella laughing at the camera despite having globs of cake and frosting on her face and on the teeny swirls of her wavy brown hair. “That was the first time I ever made tres leches cake, and I’d say she loved it.”

You grinned at the picture, before biting your bottom lip in hesitation. “May I ask you something? You don’t have to answer.”

Miguel simply nodded, his eyes roaming the various pictures of Gabriella. “Has it always…been just you and Gabriella?” you kept your eyes forward. “Sorry, I know it’s a personal question.”

You turned your face towards Miguel, whose eyes set on a black-and-white picture of a sleeping newborn baby Gabriella, swaddled in a blanket and bald head covered with a cap.

Various emotions flickered in Miguel’s eyes which you could only guess to be sorrow, pain, confusion—not at Gabriella in the picture, but at whatever or whoever was related to that picture.

“It has,” Miguel answered simply and all-too-quickly, the edge in his tone indicating that he didn’t want to talk about the subject more.

He blinked, as if telling himself to forget whatever or whoever he was thinking about, and turned his attention back to the bundle of clothes in his hands.

“I wasn’t sure if you had any clothes to wear in the meantime, so I grabbed a couple of old shirts and pants from my closet,” Miguel’s voice sounded more normal now. “I don’t think we’re the same size, but you can keep these and use them as you see fit.”

“Thank you,” you took the bundle of t-shirts, dress shirts, and sweatpants from Miguel’s hands. You were sure they were a couple sizes larger than your own based on Miguel’s figure, but the gears were already turning in your brain on how you could sew and upcycle some of these.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Miguel began walking to the direction of the stairs once more, his long and fast strides making it difficult for you to keep up with him.

You followed him up the stairs to a spacious floor with around five rooms and more walls framed with Gabriella’s drawings and pictures of Miguel and Gabriella.

“That room is my office, and the other one is for storage,” Miguel pointed to two rooms to the right at the end of the hallway. “That’s Gabriella’s room and my room’s next to her’s.” He pointed to two rooms on the left at the other end of the hallway.

“And this will be your room for the time being,” he led you to the room in the middle next to his room. “It’s our guest room.”

He opened the door to reveal a neat room with a queen-sized bed with a bedside table, and desk near the window area. The entire room matched the sleek aesthetic of the penthouse, from the silver bedside table to the matching desk.

You rolled your suitcase onto the polished wood-tiled floor of the bedroom, noticing a private bathroom just a few feet away from the bed. The whole room felt more like a hotel room than any bedroom you’ve ever been in.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me,” Miguel stood at the door, his hands naturally resting on his hips. “Our laundry room is downstairs next to the kitchen if you need to use it tomorrow.”

“Thanks again,” you turned your attention away from the desk to Miguel, giving him a smile you hoped that conveyed your immense gratitude.

Miguel simply nodded and turned his back, ready to leave.

You couldn’t help but wonder and worry if he was mad or something at you asking him that question earlier. You also finally noticed the shadows of gray that filled the lines of stress and fatigue under his eyes.

Whether such stress and fatigue was from his mysterious job or from almost losing Gabriella tonight, you didn’t know. But what you did know was that you wanted to tell him the words on the tip of your tongue—maybe to prove to him you weren’t a bad person trying to take advantage of his and his daughter’s kindness, or maybe because you just wanted to say the following:

“Good night, Miguel. I hope you sleep well.”

Miguel stopped in his tracks before turning his face back towards you. “What?” Your statement shocked him; it had been a while since someone other than Gabriella wished him a good night’s rest, and it had been an even longer while since he actually had a good night’s rest.

“I said ‘good night’?” You cocked your head to the side, worrying if you said something wrong again. “And that I hope you sleep well?”

“…Night,” Miguel mumbled, turning his back to you once more, his hand resting on the door knob. “I hope you sleep well, too.”

The door knob clicked after Miguel ducked his head below the head of the doorframe and made his way out of the room.

You stared at the closed door for a few seconds before making your way over to the closet. It was roomy and empty, with only hangers in it. You carefully peeled your gown off your body and hung it on a hanger.

The gown took up a good quarter of the closet’s space from its sheer size alone, but you had a garment bag in your suitcase you could use.

Putting the gown in a garment bag and taking a bath will have to wait till tomorrow. You didn’t fight the urge to let out a yawn. Sleep. I need sleep.

You didn’t even think twice about putting on an old white t-shirt and gray sweatpants from Miguel—both oversized on you—until you stepped into the marble-tiled bathroom and glanced at your reflection in the mirror.

I sure don’t look like a princess now. You let out a chuckle before brushing your teeth.

It wasn’t until you set your tiara (you didn’t realize you were still wearing it) down on the bedside table and settled into your new bed that your mind wanted to keep you awake with various thoughts.

I’m wearing a stranger’s shirt and pants. A very handsome stranger. And I’m sleeping in his house.

Wait, that sounds wrong. You shook your head before turning to rest your head on the other side of the plush pillow.

I probably shouldn’t have asked him earlier about whether it was just him and Gabi.

I don’t want to bother Miguel any more than I already have.

Before you could let more intrusive thoughts swim in your mind, another yawn escaped from your lips.

I won’t stay here long.

I’ll figure my life out tomorrow and be out of here before we all know it…

— — — — —

The same time you drifted off into dreamland, Miguel stared up at the ceiling of his own bedroom next door.

It had been a long day for him, from almost losing Gabriella to taking in a woman who dressed up as a princess for a living.

Did I just let a stranger into my house?

Shock.

…

She won’t stay here long. We’ll be back to our own lives as soon as possible.

And with that, Miguel nodded to himself. Logically, or at least logically to him, it shouldn’t take more than a few days to find a new place for you to stay in Nueva York.

Miguel was someone who despised the unexpected—he was used to being in control so he could know what would happen next. So that his daughter could be safe. So that he could feel safe.

Gabriella randomly running away from him at the ice cream shop was unexpected. And you…you were definitely unexpected. While Gabriella liked you and you seemed like a nice enough person, a smidge of distrust for you gnawed at Miguel’s mind.

However, it was your words that bugged him more.

“I hope you sleep well.” Can’t she tell I barely get any sleep?

He let out a puff of air through his nose, only to be surprised by a yawn that followed. It wasn’t long before his eyelids began to droop.

Despite everything that happened today, little did Miguel know that he was going to get better sleep tonight than he did in ages.

🍓 Strawbetty’s notes: If you read all the way to here, Miguel gives you a 🍓 :D. I’m gonna make a separate post with more of my author’s notes on this fic later but for now I’m eepy :’)

🍓 Tag list: @allysunny, @charms-cat, @tymns, @tayleighuh, @moyo5653, @sizeablysized, @deputy-videogamer, @marvelofcourse, @flordelalunas, @thethirdyo, @sleepingghoule444, @eyes-stuff. If you would like to be added to the tag list for upcoming chapters, please comment or reblog below :)

Important:

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

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🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Want more Miguel content? Check out my masterlist.

[elliezlils11utt]

Bad idea - girl in red. (E.W)

content: You cant get your on & off ex, Ellie Williams, out of your head. So you decide to call her over.

song link: https://open.spotify.com/track/57j65yC2HggQfmYNc6rdOK?si=2416f86b42e84be8

warnings: nsfw, hate sex, angst, smut, mean!ellie, degration, reader is a hot shit mess. (me!) if i missed anything lemme know!

a/n: Im still sick asf and my phone is broken so ive kinda just been writing the past few days. this is not my best work, like at all. (its so bad) but the storyline is kinda interesting. (based on "bad idea"- girl in red)

proofread?: none of my work is ever proofread lmao.

You and Ellie had been broken up for a couple months now. But of course you had not been able to get her slick ass smile out of your head. She plagued your thoughts, being the only thing you could think of. She was the worst partner you could ever have. But, god was she ethereal. 

So when you sat at the edge of your bed with her image glued to the inside of your eyelids you picked up your phone. Was this a bad idea? Probably. Did you care? Nope. You sat there staring at the past messages. The fights, then the make up texts. Then more fucking fights. 

You squeezed your eyes shut. Contemplating the mistake you were about to make. Its like she was a fucking drug you were addicted too. You couldn't get enough of her, even If you tried. Which you really did this time. Really hard. This had been the longest you and Ellie had stayed apart. Ever. You always somehow ended up back with her. Ignoring the pleas of your family and friends to dump her ass for good this time. It was a bad idea, to think you could stop. Because now here you were, your phone up to your ear with Ellie on the other line. 

“Hey, ellie?” You stumble over your words. 

“Hey.” Fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Her voice.  

“Uh- um. What are you doing right now?” 

“Nothing.”

“Wanna come over? Like, for a smoke.” bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. 

What you can only assume is an amused chuckle muffles the phone line. “Sure.” 

“Kay, cool! Uh, see you soon?”

“Mhm.” 

The line ends abruptly. Oh fuck. Ellies coming over. Again. Fuck why did you do that? Your totally fucked now. You spend the following minutes pacing around your house. One little horny butt dial can turn into a series of bad decisions. You knew this. Yet Ellie is sitting across from u on your coach. Blunt in mouth, eyes on u. 

“You know, ive missed us.” she admits while passing the weed to you. You take a drag of the blunt, ignoring her blatant attempt to ‘win you back’ (it was working)

“Why did you call me over..?” 

“You want the truth?”

She just stares back at you with those droopy red eyes of hers. Those gorgeous fucking eyes that got you into this mess in the first place. 

“Im horny. and i missed you.” Smoking always makes the whole truth come out of you. Even if you didn't want it to. 

“Yeah?” There it is. That cocky lopsided smirk. 

“Yeah.” Blowing the smoke out of your mouth you lean closer to her. And she does the same. The tension makes the air thick and foggy. A competition to see who will break first. (that she always wins) and surly this time was no different. You close the gap between you two. Pressing your lips onto hers. She cups your face with her hands, desperately pulling you farther into her. She put her hands under your shirt. Undid your bra and said these words. “Darlin you're so pretty it hurts” breaking the kiss she pulls your shirt over your head. And threw your clothes down on the floor. Your brain goes numb. Allowing Ellie to take complete control. All you can think about is her lips on yours. Too busy thinking about the wet kisses trailing down your neck to worry about the consequence to this pleasure. 

She said “darling are you ready for more?” Her hands found your tits rubbing the fatty flesh in her hands while she kissed your collarbones. Her lips pecked kisses down your body. Her tattooed hand slipped down and into your painties, feeling your heat. her finger explored your slippery folds. You throw your head back while whimpers leave your mouth. She plunges a finger into your sopping cunt. “F- Fuck els” 

 “Yeah? You like that pretty girl? You missed my fingers, yeah?” 

You just nod repeatedly. Another finger finds its way into your cunt. Her digits curl into you relentlessly. 

“Words baby.” 

“Fuck els. Yes. y- yes.” You moan 

“Fucking slut.” she chuckles before returning her mouth onto your tit. Her tongue swirling around your pebbled bud and her fingers pumping in and out of your pussy makes your back arch. But you can't help but be pissed at yourself for letting her bring you this pleasure after the pain she caused you. This is wrong. You shouldn't be doing this.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, ellie. Ellie stop.” you push her head away.

“What's wrong? I thought you wanted this.” 

“I do, I mean. At least I thought I did.” You quickly throw your shirt back on.

“I don't get it?”

“It was a bad idea, calling you up. I shouldn't have said anything. We are bad together ellie. I fucked up.” guilt rushes over you. You shouldn't have said anything. And that was the truth. You told yourself that you would never get back with Ellie again. Ever. You told yourself that you would never let ellie fuck you again. You told yourself that you wouldn't let Ellie get in your head again. “I need to be alone. Just, go? Please.” 

“Yeah alright. Call me when u wanna finish this, kay? Cause u always do” She says bluntly before rolling her eyes and leaving. A tear breaks free from your glossy eyes. Thats fucking problem. She thinks that you will call her again. Because ‘you always do.’ And she's not wrong. You always end up calling her again, Whenever u get lonely, or horny, or miss her. Who the fuck would miss Ellie, fucking, Williams? You. You miss her. Because you can't get enough. 

a/n: I apologize for this. :D

[daydreaming-in-letters]

From the Shrike Windmill Studios vid! Which is possibly my most favorite look of his my god. Whatever you want to do with this—fluffy, steamy, whatever—but my god his eyes 🫠 had to share it

This was a most unfair attempt to ruin me. How dare you throw that picture my way? I hope this is what you had in mind. I tried to stay as close to the scenario of the video and the song as possible.

Warning: brief talk about alcohol; slightly smutty

This was torture. He had never felt more alone or more out of place even though he was surrounded by people he loved in a place he usually felt so at home in. But today, it was not merely hard to focus, to remember the lines and notes that had sprung from his own mind, it was impossible. Images of you, of you and him together, kept constantly replaying on the oversized screen at his cinema of memories. 

Last night, you and him, it had been messy. The best kind. Tangled limbs and sweat-soaked skin, and those kisses. Deep and passionate, set on consuming the both of you whole. He was sure they had left an imprint on his soul, never to be erased again. 

It had been everything his heart desired, but not at all the way he had wanted it to be. And now all he could think about was that it might have sent the wrong message, that instead of bringing you closer to him, it had driven you away for good, especially since you had been gone this morning, not a trace of you to be found, as if you had never shared that night in the first place. No forgotten items of clothing, no lipstick on the pillows, not even the tiniest mark left on his body to prove that he had been yours. 

Only his shirt had held the faintest scent of you, a little reminder that his lovesick mind had not just dreamed it all up. But even that might be nothing but his imagination running wild. He had put it on this morning anyway, keeping you close, just a little longer. 

In the end, it had not turned out to be his wisest choice. It was distracting, making him forget the words he was about to sing or pick the wrong strings, so much so that he could feel the nerves of his band members wearing thin upon his lack of concentration. 

Luckily, this time he had almost made it to the end of the song without messing up, when another wave of your scent forced his eyes shut in a feeble attempt not to lose focus. Thick and heady it invaded his nostrils, sparking the memory of your moan close to his ear. It had been his name that had rolled over your lips on the peak of your passion, it had echoed from the walls of the dimly lit room, and set every last fibre of his heart into motion. It was still humming in the reverberation. 

But when he finally opened his eyes again, it suddenly stopped. There you were, looking just as miserable as he felt, his chest pierced by a violent sting upon the hint of puffiness around your eyes. 

“Can we talk?” you mouthed without making a sound and the casual wink and nod he chose to answer your question with could barely hide that these three words had been enough to pull the rug and send him spiralling into an abyss of anxiety. 

He had no idea how his legs had mustered the strength to move, but he found himself walking anyway, following you to some place quiet while the rest of the world drowned out around him. He could barely make out someone’s annoyed voice over the white noise in his ears, uttering a miffed, “Let’s take five then, shall we?”

He felt claustrophobic, the walls slowly closing in on him as he let you lead him down the corridor and into some tiny room at the far end he was sure he had never been in before. 

“Look,” you began, your voice frail and choked, and even the tiniest drop of hope he had been harbouring like a miser until now, that this might somehow still end well, evaporated, “about last night. I…can we just…well, I know you didn’t mean to…you’d probably had a few drinks and…things just happened, I guess.”

His brain needed a moment to process your words.

“A few drinks?” What were you even talking about? “I’ve never been more sober in my entire life.”

He watched as a myriad of emotions washed over your face, leaving deep creases on your forehead.

“You mean…”

A frustrated sigh escaped his lungs and he immediately wished he could take it back. You would surely take this the wrong way, assuming he was annoyed by your lack of comprehension, when he would never. Instead it was his own inability to make his feelings for you clear that vexed him beyond reason.

“What I mean is that everything I said, every single thing I did, is exactly what I meant to do. What I have been meaning to do for so long now. But if this is not what you want, just say the word and we’ll never have to talk about last night again.”

Moments went by, possibly mere seconds of your silence, and still they felt like an eternity in the depths of Tartarus. This was agony, his personal living hell, and what made it even worse, it had been born from his own reckless behaviour. This needed to stop, and if you could not end this futile endeavour, he would.

“I see.”

Two words, it did not take more, and still they had cost him everything. He needed to leave, now, because he could not stand being so close, knowing full well that the two of you would never be close again. And so he turned, not sure if there was anything he could say to make this less awkward, when your hand wrapped around his wrist out of nowhere.

“No, you don’t.”

Your voice was dry and measured, forming the perfect contrast to the language your hands spoke. Frenzied fingers fisted his grey undershirt to pull him closer until your bodies collided, the momentum sending you stumbling backwards. He barely just managed to soften the impact, one hand pressed against the wall, the other cupping the back of your head. 

In the blink of an eye the same fever that had befallen you last night took hold of you both again. You moaned against his lips as his mouth met yours, falling open instantly to taste you and allow you his familiar taste in return. 

He wanted you, more than he had ever thought it possible to want someone, but he could not. Not here. Not like this. He wanted to properly make love to you this time. To show you what he truly wanted, how his heart was beating for you, so you would never doubt his feelings for you ever again. 

And so he stopped, his hand finding your cheek, tender thumb gliding along your cheekbone in a silent apology. He knew you understood, you had always understood him better than anyone. Still it was him who could not resist the lure of your lips now. They were still trembling from the sensual kiss you had shared, and he needed to feel them again, just once, just for a blink of time. One last taste to get him through the rest of the day before he would at last have you all to himself again tonight. 

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 5: On the Road Again

Word Count: 997

Rating: G

Pairing: None

CW: None

Summary: Wayne joins the band on the road for a couple of days

@corrodedcoffinfest

Wayne really hadn’t wanted to, but here he was. 

Since Corroded Coffin’s tour began, the guys had tried to get Wayne to join them on the road for a few shows. The older man always turned them down, insisting that they’d have more fun without him, and that tour bus living wasn’t for him.

But, just like it had been from the day he was born, Wayne would do anything to make his nephew happy. So, he told them he’d come on tour with them for one weekend. Two days only, no ifs, ands, or buts.

The shows that lined up with the weekend Wayne chose were Orlando and Tampa, and Wayne thanked God it wasn’t the summer. Never mind dealing with the weather, Wayne worried the heat would make the tour bus smell worse than it probably already did. 

“Wanna visit the Mouse while you’re here?” Gareth teased when they picked Wayne up from the airport.

“I sat in front of kids who were headed to Disney –I’ve heard enough about that damn rat to last the rest of my life.”

The show that night was in a nice-sized venue, but like most of the venues on this tour, it was standing room only. That wasn’t going to work for Wayne. Luckily, there was a sound booth towards the back of the crowd with a chair Wayne could comfortably watch the show from. Or maybe just watch the show, Wayne thinks as he eyes the hard-looking plastic seat. 

The music was even louder than when Wayne would swing by to pick Eddie up from rehearsal at Gareth’s place. The audience only added to the noise. That was good for the band, he knew, but it was also grating on his nerves. 

Eddie belonged on that stage, though. Wayne watched his nephew work the crowd, never missing a note or lyric. He assumed for the lyrics, anyway. Wayne couldn’t hear Eddie clearly through the speakers, the bass drowning out his voice in every song. 

But as he watched the show, watched Eddie effortlessly play his music, Wayne knew this was exactly where the kid was meant to be. The stage was his home just as much as that one-bedroom trailer back in Hawkins. 

Seeing Eddie up on a stage felt so natural and right. But the rest of the night’s events were some of the wildest Wayne’s ever seen. The number of people waiting between the backstage door and the bus left him speechless. Security officers kept them at bay, but the cacophony of screams made Wayne think he’d landed himself in the middle of a riot.

The guys took it all in stride, though. They were sweaty and tired, but beamed at their fans as they basked in the attention. 

About halfway to the tour bus, a woman in a modified red Corroded Coffin tank top lifted her shirt up, flashing the band as they passed by. 

Wayne looked to his nephew and friends for their reactions. There hardly were any, though. To them, it was something that happened from time to time—it didn’t faze them anymore. But Wayne couldn't help but shake his head as he kept walking. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled under his breath.

When they finally made it onto the tour bus, Wayne felt like he escaped a war zone. The roar from the crowd outside could still be heard, but it was mostly muffled. 

“Woo!” Eddie cheered. Using both hands, he rubbed over his face to get any excess sweat off. 

“How’d ya like it?” Jeff asked as he walked towards the mini fridge. He pulled out two cans of beer and handed one to the older man. 

“Was loud,” Wayne said as he popped open the can. “But you guys look real good up there.”

Jeff slapped a hand on Wayne’s shoulder in thanks.

“So, old man,” Eddie said as he plopped down on the couch, “wanna party?”

Even the mere question made Wayne feel a hundred years old. Party? His internal clock was all messed up, trying to adjust to not being on the night shift. Right now, the only one Wayne wanted to party with was a bed.

“Boy, you must’ve lost your damn mind,” his uncle answered him.

The guys chuckled from behind Wayne, and Eddie looked up with an amused smile.

“I’m messing with you. After a show we just kinda wind down for a bit then hit the sack. Have a beer, eat something, and just bullshit for a while.”

“Too fucking exhausted for anything else,” Gareth added.

Wayne sat down on the bench situated next to the dining table. 

“I might not even make it through that whole party, but it sounds good to me.”

The next day was the same thing, just a new city. Same uncomfortable chair for Wayne, bass drowning Eddie’s voice out, screaming audience members that swarmed wherever the band would be. But there was one thing that made everything more than worth it.

“Ed? Can I talk to you for a minute?” Wayne asked after the show in Tampa, while Jeff was in the bus shower, and Gareth and Frank attempted to pop a bag of popcorn without burning it. 

“What’s up?” 

Wayne had never been an emotional man, especially on the outside. He usually just mumbled and hoped it conveyed the message.

“I, uh,” Wayne started, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Watching you be that rockstar up on stage is…it’s something that you always wanted. And you went for it and look at you now. You put your mind to it, worked hard, and it paid off. Eddie, I—I’m really proud of ya, son.”

“Thanks, Wayne.” 

Eddie was equally as awkward with emotions; even though Wayne’s words touched him almost to the point of tears, Eddie wasn’t sure how to express it. Before he overthought it, Eddie stepped forward and hugged him. 

Wayne wasted no time in embracing him back. 

“Thanks, Wayne,” Eddie repeated. “For everything.” 

[fr3akho3]

Stuck in a sticky situation

Kinktober day 1: Tied up

Warnings: Tied up, use of nickname ‘Drac’ ‘Draculara’ ‘Princess’, Boyfriend! Peter Parker, Established relationship, Fem! Upset! Reader, slight angst, fluff at the end, after care, slut calling, praise, SoftDom! Peter Parker, Tied webbed to bed

2.5K words

You were having a hard enough day already, everything was off schedule and you were stressed, you were already 14 minuets late to your boyfriend, Peter Parker's, house, your phone had died, and you were not in the mood for mid-day New York traffic.

After 20 more wonderful minutes of Queens traffic you arrive to his apartment, buzzing him then heading up.

As soon as Peter opens the door to you, you collapse in to his warm arms, a comforting smell of cinnamon that he knew you liked so much filling your nostrils.

"You miss me, Drac?" He laughs out, stroking gently on the back of your head. You only let out a quick nod, not caring to step out of the doorway. "You tired, bad day?" You nod softly, a tear trickling down your cheek, the familiar lump in your throat bobbing back up. "Let's go to my room, Draculara, yeah?"

You both lay on Peter's bed, not saying anything, just holding one another peacefully, softly kissing every once in a while.

"You want anything to eat? I can't cook or bake but I own an air fryer? I'm sure I can make something you'd like in there?" Peter says; gently sitting up and placing your head comfortably on his thighs, stroking your soft hair, feeling fuzzy against his callous finger tips.

"Oh my god, dude, you know what would be so good right now? Fuckin' crinkle cut fries, they’re so good, you should make us some," You say smiling happily. "Please, Peter?" You beg happily, to your boyfriend's dismay he gets up and heads to his kitchen but not without turning around and lifting you out of his bed, he places an arm around you, walking you and himself to the kitchen, he pulls out a chair for you and goes to his freezer, getting the fries out as you pull your phone out.

"Drac? Who you texting?" He says; a tinge of jealousy pangs in his voice along with curiosity, as he goes on his toes to try and see.

"No one, i'm putting music on, Pete." You say, smiling as you hear the jealousy in his voice, knowing you would and could never see another person in the same way you love, or even like, him.

"What song, you thinking, bug?" He smiles at you, his smile lines were your favorite.

"Mm Pretty girls make graves, Love songs on the radio, or Luna?" You ask him looking up from your phone.

"I have no idea what songs those are, so you pick." He says, ogling over you just sitting there.

"Luna's a Smashing Pumpkin songs, and Pretty girls make graves is The Smiths, and then Love songs on the radio's Mojave 3" You state like it was the most common thing on the world.

"I'm sorry, Mojave 3?" He says checking on the fries, making sure they're cooking fine and not burning.

"Yeah, good band, promise."

"Put Love songs on the radio, whatever you pick'll sound good" You put on love songs on the radio, the soft melody filling yours and his eardrums as you stare at each other, content with the love you have for one another.

The fries finish and you sit peacefully with each other, the fries sat and watching from an oval bowl, you've both found your way to Peter's bed, eating and watching Hocus-Pocus on his laptop.

"He's cute," you say not thinking about it about Max from Hocus Pocus

"No he's not, he's probably ugly and old now." Peter says getting defensive which gets you smiling

"Peter, I think your beautiful."

"You do, Drac? You promise?" He says looking away, he's aware it's corny and sappy but he doesn't ignore his feelings.

"Yeah...I do, promise." You say softly, kiss between his forehead and hairline.

Peter kisses your lips softly, devouring your saliva like it was The Body of Christ, worshipping your every movement.

Those few kisses lead to you straddling his lap, he kisses your forehead as you go for his neck and collarbone, leaving small bites and hickeys all over.

"You know...May's working a 10 hour shift...we have a lot of time...only if you wanna..." He stuttered through every word, it wouldn't be your first time together intimately and certainly not last, but Peter was always respectful and careful to avoiding breaking boundaries and such.

"Mm a lot of time to do what?" You said intoxicatingly, the way your voice sounded induced him further, the apples of his cheeks growing red.

"You know...get together..." He said shyly; his pale face turning a light pink

"Oh yeah?" You say teasingly, not wanting to let the moment end.

"Yeah..." He says getting red. "Can we try something...new...together?" He suggests rather sheepishly

"Like what?" Yoh look at him with those beautiful eyes he loves so much

"Well it's October, Halloween season, and I have webs..."

"Whatcha suggesting, Pete?" You say brushing your hands through out parts of his hair

"Wanna tie you up...web you to the bed..." he says hiding his face in the crook of your neck

"What? Can't hear you?" You tease him further.

"Wanna tie you up and let me fuck you," he says louder, still hiding his face in your neck, leaving soft kisses.

"Do it then, pussy." You laugh softly out; teasing the poor boy to his wits end.

"Oh yeah? You gonna be a good girl and let me?"

"Please" You say looking into his eyes

"Want me to tie you up and fuck you? Yeah? Oh yeah?" He whispers; hesitating to go on

"Fuck, yeah, Pete. I need you" you breathe out, staring at him from on top of his lap.

He slides his shirt off, taking your shirt off of you as well, leaving you in only a bra. He lifts you off his lap and puts you sat back on his bed, elbows propped up beneath you. He soon slides down your pants revealing underwear.

"You look perfect, you know that? Gonna take such good care of you" He says grabbing the Vaseline from his bedside table, rubbing it softly on your wrists.

He gets up and grabs his web shooters you whimper as both your hands are webbed to his bed frame

He's careful to pull your bra above your soft and tender boobs carefully. He takes his callus hands spreading one knee to the side then soon the other, he smiles up at you at your slick spreads with your folds.

He massages around your nipples as you whimper, he brushes your cheek with his other hand, inserting his finger inside, stretching you with your slick

"That feel good ,baby, tell me when you want me, okay?"

"O-okay! I want you now, please! I need you, Parker" you beg, vulnerably.

"I'm gonna put it in, alright?" He says softly; pushing your hair out of your face as you nod rapidly.

He's hardened dick slowly teases your entrance, making sure to go slow not wanting to harm you. He's cold hands grabbing onto your hips, his palms cupping your ass and back of your thighs, while his thumb strokes the inside of your thighs, holding them apart.

His tip enters, he pulls in and out a few times trying to feel you out; leaving you whimpering for more.

He's soft to make sure he isn't hurting you; wanting your pleasure as much as his.

He goes all the way in, earning a grown from both of you. His moan was long and relieving.

“Parker, please, start moving.” You beg, your legs crossed around his hips, your hands gripping at the webbing.

“Be patient, Draculara, s’gonna take good care of you, yeah? You gonna be my good girl?” He teases, slowly moving his hips in and out. “Look at You? My pretty girl, all spread for me, all naked, tied up. Fuck I need you”

He pulls all the way out and slams back in, letting out a lewd moan, you whimper as your knees clamp against his waist.

“Fuck! Parker! Please, go harder, please baby?” You squirm and he lightly pinches at your nipple, caressing the other between his hand

“No, keep ‘em open for me, princess, or I swear I’ll stop.” He goes all the way out, leaving his tip in as he slams his hips in and out. “Yeah? You good princess- ah- fuck- you see how hard I am for you? Fuck- y-you see how my cock fucks you?” His hands Go to your waist, moving you up and down on his cock as he goes in and out.

“Fuck! Parker! Please, I’m begging you! Fuck me harder! Please Parker! Fuck- I need you- I want everyone to know I’m yours and I need you so badly, please, baby?” You beg, trying to move your hands; he lets out a chuckle watching you suffer as one finger goes to your clit and the other on your waist.

“I know, Princess, your doing so good for me, yeah? Just keep going for me, your gonna feel so much pleasure, s’yeah?” He goes faster, the lewd sounds of his moans filling the room, as you bite at your cheek, concealing the sounds of your loud moans.

“You feel so good in me- babe- babe! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, please! I- I- I- need you, please baby” you beg your knees clenching together, Peter looks down at you as he stops.

“What’d I say Princess? Spread ‘em Draculara. Maybe I’ll eat you out later if your good, okay? C’mon Princess be a good girl for me and spread ‘em legs?” He’s careful to not mess up your hair as he strokes your cheek

“I-I’m sorry, please, Peter, keep going?” You smile at him as he begins rubbing your clit, ghosting on top of it.

“I’m gonna start going, yeah?” He’s quick to put his cock back in, going slow at first, before putting it all in you, he quickly pulls out leaving just the tip before slamming all of him back in, not giving you time to adjust before fucking you faster then ever, while rubbing your clit with his callus fingers.

“You want it? Mm- yeah princess? You’ll have it. All of it, fuck- all of me. Oh- oh- fuck- mm” deep inhales leave his body, you hear his heavy breathing, his hand leaving your waist and going to your stomach, pressing down to see how far he is, making you go crazy

“Fuck, I love all of you in me, you’re so good to be, Parker, wanna see you cum, wanna see you cum in me, please- Fuck! I- I- I can take it, all of you. I promise.” You whimper out, your back arching forward as your squirm and yell out sinful moans.

“Mm- fuck- Drac- your driving me fuckin crazy- I’m so close- I’m so close- oh- oh- oh! Yeah! Fuck! I love you- princess fuck! Oh yeah? You really love me? Yeah? You gonna let me fuck you? Oh princess…oh fuck, oh what did I do to- ah- deserve this pretty pussy! Mm- please!” He goes faster, you can see this thigh muscles flexing , his cock twitching inside you with every movement.

“Oh- oh- oh! Please! F-fuck! Fuck me! Parker, please, I’m so in love with you, I’m so so in love with you. I need you! I need more of you! I need more of you in me!” You beg as you grind for any friction left.

“Drac- f-fuck! Your tiddies s’beautiful. Wanna suck on ‘em, can I? Please, oh- oh! Please baby let me suck on ‘em while I fuck you and hear your pretty m-moans?” He leans down and takes your boob in his mouth, swirling the warmth of his tongue on your erect nipple.

“Parker! Wanna cum with you! Please let me cum with you! P-please, oh! Oh! F-fuck, oh…oh…you’re so good to me, baby!” You whimper out grasping the webs as your hips lift off the bed.

“Princess- oh Drac! O-oh! Fuck- s’you…you slut…you are just so desperate for me, aren’t ya? You love this cock hard and deep in you? Look at you, didn’t even b-bother! F-fuck-to take your bra off fully, what kind of slut- oh- fuck! Can’t even wait to take her bra off!” He slams deeper within you, hitting the spongey spot that makes you feel so good, he goes up from your chest and leaves hickeys on your collar and moans into your mouth.

He slams his hips, bruising his bones at your entrance. He knows he’s close and he’s hoping you are too. He needs you to cum around his hard and veiny cock.

“F-fuck, my beautiful, smart girl, I’m so in- l-love with you babe! Fuck, can I cum in your pretty pussy, Drac? Pretty please, babe?” He begs with his brown doe eyes.

You don’t stop him, your mouth left agape from everything, his hands on your clit, one on your waist, his mouth against your neck. Soon the feeling of him warm, gooey, seamen fills you and he fucks it into you, it all becomes to much, his screams and yours fill the room.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Don’t stop! Fuck me! Please! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! Please, Parker! I love you!” You screams, your out of breathe and sweaty as his pace slows down, he kisses your cheek before slowly pulling out, being careful at his tip.

“S’You did so good for me, yeah? So good my princess. Was I Good for you?” He asks, kissing you and getting up, graving a warm wash cloth and wiping his cum out of you, careful to not hurt your tender cunt.

“Thank you, baby. You did so good, I love you.” He kisses you again. He gets an anti-web fluid and sprays it on your wrist, kissing them as he gets your wrists out.

“Wanna shower then cuddle? I wanna get you cleaned up, Drac” he says, rubbing Vaseline over the places where the webs had left purple and red. “S’My pretty pretty girl.”

“Yeah, shower then cuddle sounds good, thank you baby.” He sure you up and kisses your nipples then you, carrying you bridal to the bathroom, where you two were sure to have more fun.

Authors note: how we feeling about my first kinktober?

Tag-list:

@thedevax @tpaints @parkersmjs @eefeefeefeef12345 @whenisthefall @andr3wgarfieldsupremacist @blossoming-cee @d3adp00ls @aliengirl99 @just-levyy @nixxaswrld @mentallysickphysicallythicc @isretroavibe @olivezgalore @jakobsdump @crypticbutterfly5 @practicallylivesonline @did-someone-change-my-name @80pairsofcrocs

Comment to be added (will be posting tomorrows teaser shortly)

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

The Trip To Cornelia Street

main masterlist

spencer reid x famous!reader universe

word count: 1.5 k

warnings: slut-shaming? i think thats all

Being away from Spencer was hard, especially when they had just spent a week together. But now they were both in New York, Spencer here on a case and Y/N staying at her rented place on Cornelia Street. Sadly though, being as Spencer was here for a case she didn’t know exactly when he would get off and be able to come see her. So Y/N had gone to a bar, wanting to see her girl friends. But god, she couldn’t have picked a worse time.

Y/N phone would not stop going off in the back pocket of her jean shorts, grabbing it to turn off her notifications, she sees messages from some of her friends that weren’t with her now, asking if she was okay? Why would she not be okay? Y/N takes a step towards the bar to sit and check twitter. One of the biggest mistakes people make everyday. 

Kim Kardashian had posted an altered video of Y/N saying she approved the lyrics. God it felt as if Y/N world had come crumbling down, some of things people were saying. Calling her a liar, and playing the victim card. The bar suddening started getting hotter, felt like it was closing in on her.

Y/N called her car, after she got out of the bar her fresh air. She then sent her friends, who are still in the establishment, a text saying she was leaving and that they should stay and have fun. She didn’t want to ruin her friends' nights. 

Her car arrives, not leaving her waiting long. Sitting in the backseat of the car, her mom texting and trying to call, all Y/N wants to do, the only person she wants to talk to is Spencer. She knows he was on a case, but it was very much possible that tey had finished the case. They had been on it for four days. Maybe it was her emotional state or the few drinks she had in her, but nonetheless Y/N called Spencer. Miraculously Spencer answered after the third ring.

“Hey, baby.” His voice was soft, yet raspy at the same time. He must had been just going to sleep.

“Hey.” Y/N’s voice breaking as she speaks, it was at this moment she realised she was crying. 

Spencer on the other line, sitting up in bed at the tone in her voice asking, “Baby, are you okay? What's wrong?”

She said “I’m fine.” but they both knew it wasn’t true.

“I know you’re not fine. What happened?”

“They hate me.” Her voice breaks again.

“Who-who hates you?”

“Everyone. You remember- of course you remember.. I told you about the lyrics in Kanye’s song about me?” She waits to hear him mumble a quick ‘mhm’ before continuing, “And when Kim s-said that I knew about the lyrics, well she… She posted an altered video that sounds like I agreed. And now everyone hates me. Y/N L/N is over party is trending worldwide. They hate me.” Y/N says struggling, having to pause a couple times to wipe tears or sniffle 

“Love, where are you?”

“You can’t come, you have a case.”

“No, not anymore we solved it. Where are you?”

“I-I’m uh in my car.. Going to my place on Cornelia Street.”

“Okay I’ll meet you there. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

-

At this point Spencer had calmed Y/N down enough, with a bath, and sweet cuddles, mixed with even sweeter kisses. Spencer had asked for a few days off to help take care of Y/N, Hotch gladly let him, knowing Spencer wouldn’t ask unless it truly was important. 

It was now the next day. Whenever Y/N was with Spencer he hadn’t let her on social media, but with Spencer in the shower there was sadly no one there to stop her. Y/N reading tweet after tweet with the hashtag Y/N L/N is over party. Tweets saying she was a liar, always been a bitch, and a slut. Someone saying she’s a mess, and that her new hot boyfriend should get out now, that she didn’t deserve anyone. Y/N couldn’t help but agree, she never thought she deserved Spencer and now with someone else saying it and thousands agreeing, it clearly had some truth. But the worst came when someone replied with a picture of Spencer hugging another girl. No one she recognized, it surely wasn’t any of the women on his team.

Was he just leading her on, did he love someone else? She trusted him, she thought he was worth trusting. 

Y/N was in an emotional, and irrational state, there was no logic to her next move, of leaving the rented house, without saying goodbye to Spencer. She quickly packed her bag, while Spencer was still in the shower, then she left. Not leaving a note, just leaving. 

-

Spencer walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, walking towards his and Y/N’s shared bedroom. Seeing the room in a dishevelled state, one of Y/N’s suitcases, and quite a bit of her clothes gone. Spencer immediately calls Y/N, pacing around the bedroom as he lets the phone ring several times, Y/N not answering. Spencer decides to get dressed while he continues to call. Placing the phone on the bed, on speaker, slipping his pants on, buttoning the buttons of his shirt. Spencer was borderline ready to call the team, worried out of his mind. Until Y/N had finally picked up.  

“What do you want, Spencer?” Y/N asked harshly, she never spoke to him in this tone. And never calls him by his full name. It’s also Spence, or baby, or his favourite my love, never Spencer.

“Where are you? Where did you go- why did you go?”

“I saw the pictures of you and that woman, Spencer.”

Once again with her tone, it told Spencer that she was not in the least bit joking. Yet he had no idea what she was talking about. Him and another woman? Anyone would be stupid to do that to a woman like Y/N, and Spencer is provably a genius. Not to mention that he had no idea how he got Y/N to go out with him, he couldn’t do it again if he tried. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, baby.” Hearing him call her ‘baby’ caused a tear to drip out of her eye, not being able to handle it, not being able to handle the idea of losing him. 

“Spencer. I saw the picture of you with a red head, you were hugging her. Your hands were on her waist.”

At that Spencer had finally registered what she was talking about. He had seen the cameras yesterday, taking pictures of him while he was getting victims of the serial arsonist they were dealing with. The woman in question he was hugging, her son hadn’t existed the building yet. Spencer comforting and holding her so she didn’t run into the building herself. 

“Y/N no- please come back so I can explain. And I do have an explanation.”

“I want to hear it then.” 

“Okay.. That woman was a victim of a serial arsonist and her son wasn’t out of the building yet. I was holding her back from running inside. I didn’t tell you, because I know you don’t like to hear about the bad side of my job. I’m sorry, I should have told you when I saw people taking pictures, so this didn’t happen.”

Boy, did Y/N feel stupid, with all her past relationships it seems she always expects the worst. But Spencer wasn’t like all the other guys she’s dated he was better, kinder, gentler, definitely smarter, yet she still expects the worst in him.

“Spence, I’m so sorry.”

“No. You don’t have to be sorry, I didn’t tell you.”

“You shouldn’t have to tell me every time you comfort a victim, that’s your job. And I promise I won’t run away like this again, I’ll talk to you first.”

“Okay, are you coming back then?” Spencer’s voice sounded small when he asked, like he wasn’t sure if Y/N needed more time. It made Y/N smile, he was so god damn adorable, and she loved every bit of him.

“Yeah, I’m turning around now. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sweetheart.”

-

The next few days were spent at the Cornelia Street house, cuddled together on the couch, each taking turns picking movies to watch. Which caused weird combinations like the 2002 ‘Solaris’ movie, Spencer had gone on and on about the original being a 5-hour long movie in Russian, not that Y/N minded, she always loved listening to Spencer talk about topics he knew a lot about, which happens to be almost any topic she could think of. ‘Solaris’ was followed by ‘Mean Girls’ which was quite a culture shock for Spencer.

They spent the night in the secret oasis of their bed, sharing sweet kisses, and gentle touches. It was a good escape for Y/N given all that was going on with her name at the moment. Spencer was a great escape for her.

[christophersturnilover]

Do you think i made it inside your house?

this story has some lines from popular halloween movies!

this is based on the songs

This story contains MURDER. This story is pretty long and English is not my first language! Not proofread.

Warnings- Murder, mentions of blood, angst, crying, stalking and i think thats it?

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was close to October, the stores were halloween themed and the cold breeze with the scent of pumpkin spice would fill your nostrils each morning you'd awake.

You'd go to your nearest coffee shop to buy your favorite coffee. A pumpkin spice latte cold or warm, which ever you chose it really didnt matter because, the only reason you had gon the last few days was because there was this guy.

His name was Christopher, you found him attractive. But unfortunately you were unlucky and he had already been in a relationship.

You would only want him to serve you but you were to embarrassed to even order infront of him, he'd obviously catch onto this pretty quickly and one day he asked you to hang out,

as friends but you said you were busy.

You suddenly felt envy towards him and his girlfriend everytime they'd hang out at the coffee shop during his breaks.

One night, you cried all eight full hours because you felt like you weren't enough or pretty enough for him.

That sadness quickly turned into hatred and jealousy.

The week after that, on a Friday you found yourself digging up your backyard to hide a fucking body.

How it happened. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Ever since that night you cried, you wouldn't stop having dreams of Chris' girlfriend dead right on her living room floor as Chris was at the store getting snacks for both of them.

You had pretty much picked up the sign that maybe you should act on what your dreaming about.

You had been looking at where she goes to find the perfect moment to get rid of her, everyone as in your thoughts believed she was most vulnerable at her own home, Alone.

You saw she never acted on her thoughts and was only nice when Chris was around. Maybe she did infact deserve to be gone.

Yeah, "violence isn't always the answer" you thought. But isn't it sometimes? You tried so hard to gaslight yourself into believing you werent a bad person if you murdered someone just because she was a dick to other people and dated the guy you liked.

You followed her for three days straight and she rarely left her house unless it meant meeting up with your future boyfriend, Chris.

And once when you were following her, she realized it.

"Are you fucking following me?" She spat getting some of her damn spit on your face. Gross.

"What? No im waiting for my friends" You lied straight out of your teeth.

"Let's not lie hon, the only reason your following me is because you like MY boyfriend Chris so bad and you want to be me. But lets be honest, with the amount of depression and loneliness you hold, your future is absolute shit." She said.

Yeah she may have gagged but you wanted to stab her throat right there and then. If it weren't for all these morons watching the scene her guts would have been entirely ripped out of her stomach.

You walked away from her slowly going to this random group of people you didn't know,

But quickly went back to following her home.

It darkened quite quickly and you quietly entered through the open bathroom window. "What a fucking idiot" you thought.

She was on call with Chris completely ignoring what he was saying,

"hey, are you listening?" he said sweetly.

"yeah! of course" she said sarcastically.

You'd watched her every move, if she even moved an inch you'd want to drop kick this hoe into god knows where.

"hey, chris, i always feel somebody's watching me. i dont know why." she said, clearly scared of some presence always watching her every move.

They eventually hung up and you walked closer to her, my boots would creek everytime you'd move but you wouldn't complain.

"Who's there‽" she asked afraid to actually go and see.

She quickly locked her house through her phone.

Keeping your ghostface role you gave her a call from an unknown number,

"Who's this?" she asked in a rude tone.

"Do you think i made it inside your house before you could rearm?" you asked with my voice changer.

She hung up, scared. You could see it in her watery brown almost black eyes she was afraid. But you couldn't care less and acted on proceeding with your plans.

You went up behind her and ran your knife straight on her lower abdomen. She screamed so loud you bashed her head right on her marble counter causing her to drop on her floor. You continued to stab her on her stomach and on her chest, watching her choke on her own blood gave you some type of satisfaction.

Maybe you were insane or maybe you liked watching people you hated suffer to death.

She tried yelling but wasn't able to because of how you cut her throat. Ear to ear.

You didn't give a fuck about the mess in her house but you took her lifeless pale body and tossed it into and trash can. You dragged it towards your house and to your backyard and began to dig up a hole to the size of her body.

You had a crippling anxiety of getting caught but did it matter at this given moment? absolutely fucking not.

You threw her body in the hole and covered it then went inside your house but right when you opened your door, you saw a pale chris standing inside your house.

"Who are you? you killed her. you fucking psycho." he spat clearly angry and horrified.

He tried walking out but you pushed him making fall and slide back on the floor.

"Dont fucking start with me because im not afraid to end another life!" you threatened.

He moved back as you stepped closer,

"P-please no!" he stuttered.

"No one wants you to die sweetheart, but sometimes you dont really have choice." you said while holding your knife against his pale, creamy skinned neck.

"I won't snitch! please!" he begged as he squirmed to get out of your tight hold.

"stop fucking moving!" you spat cutting open his neck as his warm dark red blood spilled everywhere.

You were in awe as he chokes on his own blood trying to breathe but can't. You started to feel bad but sometimes you can grieve over the stuff you should and shouldn't have done.

And suddenly you found yourself sobbing, trying to find a way to help yourself stop what you did but you couldn't. There was absolutely nothing to justify both of the murders you committed that night.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[sokoneedsagun]

Giving batfam songs I think fit them and they would like

Bruce- Lithium by Nirvana (I have to)

(Ok so tumblr seems to really hate links to nirvana songs, so I’m sorry but Bruce won’t have a link, the song shouldn’t be hard to find if you want to find it)

(This is my third time typing this, sorry if it seems like I’m annoyed while I am, tumblr is being fucking stupid tonight) I picked the song lithium for Bruce because of a few lines in particular. The song itself is about a man who is depressed and finds god, but to me it represents how Bruce became Batman and what it did for him. “And just maybe I’m to blame for all I’ve hurt, but I’m not sure” can represent how Bruce hurts his friends and family by doing what he does as Batman, but often doesn’t realize the extent of it, he doesn’t know if he should be blaming himself because he doesn’t know how much he’s hurting them. “Light my candles in a daze, cause I found god” could easily be about how at this point he doesn’t think about being Batman, he just is. Finally “I missed you, I’m not gonna crack” to me is about his no killing rule. Even with how much he misses and loves his parents and kids (especially Jason) after their deaths he refuses to kill, he misses and loves them but he won’t crack.

Dick- Mama by My Chemical Romance

I picked this one for Dick because the song is about a solider going off to war, and when they come home their mother is horrified by the atrocities committed by her child. I think that could fit both Dick and his parents and Dick and Bruce. Dick’s biggest fear is disappointing Bruce, and if Bruce were to find out some of the things Dick has done that’s exactly what would happen. One of Dicks first thoughts after the blockbuster incident is what Bruce would say.

Babs- Malibu by Hole

The song is about how Courtney Love and Kurt Cobain used to talk about leaving LA to go move to Malibu together and get away from it all, and it kind of reminds me of Barbara and Dick, because neither of them would walk away, but I think there would be times they talked about it, but also I think a lot of hole songs would fit Barbara in general.

Jason- Bullet With Butterfly Wings by The Smashing Pumpkins

“Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage, someone will say ‘what is lost can never be saved’” and “tell me I’m the only one, tell me there’s no other one, Jesus was an only son” (and “Jesus was an only son for you) are enough to explain why this fits Jason. (Alternatively for a younger Jason, army dreamers by Kate Bush)

Cass- The Garden by The Crane Wives

Truly if you haven’t listened to this song you really should, the crane wives are an amazing band and so many of their lyrics just read as poetry. But I picked this song for Cass specifically because of the lines “the crows in the garden are laughing at my expense” “hold your light to the darkness in my brain, put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat” or “my darling, the devil knows my name.” To me as a whole the song represents the way that Cass has spent so much of her life being used for others gain (mostly by her father), the line about the darkness in the singers mind reminds me of the fact that Cass doesn’t think of herself as a good person, which is why I think the line is fitting.

Tim- Boys Don’t Cry by The Cure

Tim has had a long history of going through extremely traumatic things but refusing to feel the emotions that come with it, that coupled with the misogynistic writers for Tim Drake in the 90’s made me pick this for him. The lines “I would do most anything to get you back by my side” or “but I know that it’s too late and now there’s nothing I can do, so I try to laugh about it cover it all up with lies” really represented the grief he’s had to go through with loosing friends and family for me.

Steph- give me Novocain/ she’s a rebel by Green Day

Both of them work for Steph really fucking well and I’ve said the she’s a rebel thing before the post just got no notes, both songs are also incredibly underrated and glossed over and so is Steph. (Alternatively so nice, so smart by Kimya Dawson, although to me that more represents her relationship with Tim)

Duke- Class of 2013 by Mitski

Duke lost his family at a young age, he lost the security of having someone to take care of him. Then he had to lead a revolution again, as a child. “Mom, I’m tired, can I sleep in your house tonight?” Represents that to me, because I think after it all that’s what he would want, he would want his family after being as tired as he is. “And I’ll leave what I’m chasing for the other girls to pursue” is also fitting because people refuse to even acknowledge that Duke counts as a Robin. They don’t include him and I doubt that they have many plans to. They want him to leave behind signal and Robin for the rest of his siblings to pursue.

Damian- Bigmouth Strikes Again by The Smiths

Damian has long since been a martyr for both the writers and fandom. He’s constantly used for the benifit of others while also being told he’s a brat or a demon or whatever else anyone would like to call him, he’s a child. He does know how Joan of Ark felt, he’s a child constantly being victimized by people who should be protecting him. The line “and I’ve got no right to take my place to the human race” also fits him in my opinon due to his struggle with finding a way to fit in, in not only Gotham but his own family.

Harper- the kids aren’t alright by Pinkshift

I think the song itself fits Harper’s general attitude towards a lot of things, plus it seems like something she would listen to. But the lines “is it the cramps or was my life always this bad? I don’t know if I’ll ever make it to the other side where sky’s are blue and I don’t have to pay to stay alive” specially were what made me pick it for Harper.

Kate- Topless by The Malefactors

I think this song fits Kate really well, a lot of it has to do with her sexuality and how I interpret the lyrics. Specifically “I think you’re pretty when you’re topless, you know the law can never stop us.” Or “you know I love it how we play friends.”Fits Kate because the law didn’t stop her, she got kicked out of West Point because she refused to hide who she was. Also “I think you love it when I’m upset, like I love your fucking pessimistic mindset” fits her relationship with Renee (Montoya) very well.

This took me forever to type so I hope it turned out ok and I explained everything well, if you disagree that’s fine, you’re allowed to, just don’t be rude about it

[roserefrain]

“A Cage Full Of Oxygen” - Linnet Playlist

spotify - youtube

canary in a coal mine - the crane wives / the world is smiling on me - ferry / lose your head - vane / magical girl and chocolate - pinocchio-p / pathological facade - ghost / mrs. bluebeard - they might be giants / philippians 3:20-21 - the mountain goats / heel turn 2 - the mountain goats / heat abnormal (cover) - luvp / rookie - deco27 / getting into knives - the mountain goats / 100 epitaphs - ferry

welcome to under the cut where my very long notes on why I chose these songs live. there’s also links to lyrics for all of these songs down here, since some aren’t in english!

initial things! the order does matter to me (it turns from a delwyn playlist to a linnet playlist), which is why I’ve included a youtube link as well! since spotify without premium always does shuffle. also. the spotify playlist adds 4 songs that are not part of the playlist. plz ignore those ones. we should all explode spotify with our minds :)

the title and image come from the device known as a canary resuscitator. this was a cage that could be filled with oxygen, saving a coal mine canary once it had started to die. (delwyn/linnet is the canary, becoming a songbird was being resuscitated. you get it)

oh btw these notes do assume some amount of familiarity with linnet's general lore and might be a bit hard to follow without that! here is his about page if u need that, u can probably just skim the backstory bit and be good.

canary in a coal mine - this is a delwyn song to me. a song about how he feels his only use to the people around him is his blessing, going into the dungeons and getting hurt. fun fact! for a while I considered making the linnet/kestrel tag “friends of empty graves” which is a bit from this song! I ended up not going with it, but in my head that’s still a good line for delwyn/blaidd what with the whole. coming back from the dead thing.

the world is smiling on me - another delwyn song ! the idea of the world, sky, and god smiling on someone, but still having basically nothing good to say felt fitting. also “I cursed the love I’ll never get back” leading into the chorus of the world smiling on them very much makes me think of blaidd and delwyn’s fight leading delwyn back into the dungeons to prove his blessing. this is one of those ones that is just mostly vibe based. please note the line “I pick the scab under my hair”. it is a surprise tool that will help us later.

lose your head - the delwyn song of all time, though this is the first of them that is both a delwyn song And a linnet song! it switches between the two, since it’s a song reflecting on memories. this. whole thing fits so well for him but I wanna highlight two specific lyrics.

“bleeding through the rubble, scared of causing trouble, knowing that the house of god was built upon the martyr’s claws”

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m pissed that god made me this way in a morbid exchange of theatrics and heavenly fate.”

magical girl and chocolate - another delwyn song !! this one is about not wanting to be a magical girl anymore and wishing you could just use that magic to protect the people you care about. I do not need to elaborate.

pathological facade - for the lyrics being (as described by the person who made the song) “a stream of thoughtless rambling” they sure do fit for delwyn and linnet! I’ll highlight a few here !

“a couple years ago I was told that I would be a miracle, something theoretical I guess.” (delwyn’s blessing)

“you’re crying as you call out, halt, and move on without someone that you think a lot about.” (delwyn and blaidd’s big fight)

“sunday was jarringly redone, a faulty illusion. the ending left misunderstood amnesia for a diorama love. who will I become?” (delwyn becoming linnet)

mrs. bluebeard - this song in my brain leads from delwyn and blaidd’s big fight, to delwyn and blaidd dying, to coming back as linnet! a very bitter song about feeling betrayed and dying even though you thought you did everything right. he’s directing it at blaidd, at the townspeople who claimed he was blessed, and at himself.

philippians 3:20-21 - delwyn death song ! mainly from the perspective of people he knew in the town. specifically the first but feels relevant.

“the path to the awful room that no one will sleep in again was lit for one man only, gone where none can follow him.” (I feel like the townspeople would stop sending anyone to the dungeons after delwyn’s death, and kind of. disregard blaidd’s death.)

heel turn 2 - WE’RE FINALLY OUT OF DELWYN TOWN. sort of ! this song is delwyn becoming linnet in both a literal sense and an emotional sense. throwing away his perfect blessed hero persona so that he can figure out who he is and so that he doesn’t stay dead. finally allowing himself to be mean and wrong and imperfect, with the repeating line of “I don’t wanna die in here”. yea. (also the instrumental goes like. 3 minutes after the lyrics stop? mountain goats why did you do that)

heat abnormal - LINNET TOWNNN. I really like this song just for the setting of songbirds in general, and specifically this english cover. a lot of the imagery lines up with things talked about in songbirds 3e! but specifically for linnet, I think this represents well the like. panic and trauma of suddenly coming back to life with no memories and weird ass powers, trying to piece together what your life was based on the feelings that remain.

I especially like this bit for him, “a blinding light was seared into my eyes, the bells of departure toll in the sky. the history built by a godly hand shoved an answer in my mouth that broke apart and turned to sand”

rookie - this song to me is sort of touching on linnet’s internal feelings of the facade he uses to interact with people vs his true self. he realizes that his facade can be useful, but he feels completely stuck in it, and wants to just say fuck it and act however he wants. (“gotta act all cutesy again, man, what a funny joke, not!”)

basically him learning to be more comfortable with dropping his mask and telling people off if he needs to. (“giving the cold shoulder to everything, how totally rock is that?”)

also I think linnet would maybe get tattoos as he has his character development ! not 100% sure about it, but I like the idea of him trying to look more punk for a while to get people to take him more seriously, and then realizing that’s just. putting on a different mask.

getting into knives - I think a quiet, calm sort of revenge song is fitting for linnet. he does feel a lot of anger for how his past went, (even as he can’t remember it), but as he figures himself out it turns to a sort of quiet rage. he knows somewhere deep down that he was failed by pretty much every adult in his life at every turn, and he refuses to forgive them for that. he’s getting into knives, and he’s not going to let himself be hurt again, even if he doesn’t have a direct target to point that anger towards.

100 epitaphs - we’re finally at. the last song. the culmination of all the different facets of linnet ! this song to me is linnet reflecting on everything, and realizing that he ultimately, is both a completely different person than delwyn, and is still the same person. and sort of accepting that and allowing himself to move on from it, no longer wanting to focus on the past (or read an epitaph)

also. do you remember that surprise tool that would help us later. the line from the world is smiling on me “I picked the scab beneath my hair”. 100 epitaphs has the line “what’s the point of picking at your wounds, your scratches and your scars?”

yes I did do that one on purpose ! it’s a lot of the reason why I included both these songs together here, instead of putting 100 epitaphs on the linnet/kestrel playlist. it shows the difference between linnet and delwyn, how linnet is ready to move past his old pain, and how the picked scab has become a scar with time.

have some other lines I wanted to highlight cuz they’re really good for linnet.

“overindulgence in grief is only immature, forgetfulness if both the sickness and the cure. lay your emotion with them like a mourning wreath. I chose to shut my eyes, you chose to bear your teeth.”

“a helpless child the same as before, I grip its neck and reach my hand for the door.”

“don’t make me laugh, I will not read your lousy epitaph, who do you take me for?”

JEEZ. if you read all this. thank u. I love talking about how songs fit for characters. grabs ur hands and spins around joyfully. I might update this playlist in the future if I find a song that Really fits for it, and if I do I’ll probably add some notes down here for it. that is all for now ! expect the linnet/kestrel ship playlist to be soon.

[lemonlamblaura]

My Husband is the God of Pestilence - chapter 19

This is the song that the band uses as the wedding march 😊

It was a quiet day in Anchordeep, in that confusing hour when it was difficult to tell whether it was late afternoon or early evening. Seaweed was swaying in the currents and fish were swimming about, ignorant of what an important day it was.

Kallamar's followers were gathered in the main hall, and excited murmurs were bouncing off the walls. Everyone had been looking forward to today ever since the engagement was announced, and now that it was finally here, no one contain themselves.

The groom paced back and forth in his study anxiously, going over his vows over and over again, his new, white wedding robes trailing behind him. He was already on edge after meeting with Arete to ask for flowers for Lilybell's bouquet and now he had nothing else to do but wait for his bride to be ready for the ceremony. It felt like it had been hours. What could she possibly be doing? Was she getting cold feet?

"Calm yourself," Shamura advised. They sat at his desk watching their brother go about the room, their eyes following his every move. "You will be exhausted before even beginning the ceremony. You have no reason to be nervous."

"Why is she taking so long?" He asked desperately. "Shamura, please help me go over my lines again."

"You already have them memorized."

Narinder, who was playing with some crystals on Kallamar's desk, looked up with a smirk. "Maybe she ran away from you."

"Be quiet, Narinder. Brother, come sit down. Every bride dreams of looking perfect for her wedding day. You expect her to show up looking a mess?"

"I just want to be married already," he complained, putting his head in his hands. "I want everything to be perfect."

"Wishing for perfection is foolish, as such a thing does not exist." Shamura rubbed his back soothingly. "If you keep fretting, nothing will go as planned. You have prepared well for today. The only thing you need to do now is recite your vows and let everything else fall into place."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Rowan peeked inside and announced, "I just got word from Merryn that Lilybell is almost ready."

Kallamar looked up with hope in his eyes. She still wanted to get married. This was still happening. In a little while they would be husband and wife.

"We shall make our way to the main hall," Shamura told Rowan. "When the bride is ready she may join us there."

Rowan left and Kallamar stood, his tentacles shaking slightly. He looked at Shamura for reassurance. "Let's be off," said the spider.

Kallamar nodded, swallowing nervously. It was time.

In the couple's shared bedroom, Lilybell sat at the smaller table while Merryn fussed with her makeup. Merryn painted a red pigment on her lips that tasted terrible, yet she had a hard time resisting licking it away as she wasn't used to the feeling, and it had to be reapplied at least three times. Then the same pigment was rubbed onto her cheeks, giving them the appearance of a blush, and her eyes were lined with black khol. The same black stuff was brushed into her eyelashes, making them look darker and fuller.

Anna sat in another chair behind the bride, taming the last few the wild knots in her long hair. For the first time in a long time Lilybell could run her fingers through her hair without them getting tangled. The long tresses were gathered up in a large, tight bun, kept in place with hair pins and finished with a light blue ribbon. The ribbon matched the edges of her white dress, which were a similar blue, and tied at the waist with a navy blue sash.

"I think we're just about done," Merryn said with a satisfied smile. She set aside the makeup and picked up a hand mirror, holding it up for Lilybell to see herself. "I don't know if red is really your colour, but the black on your eyes looks good."

Lilybell took the mirror from Merryn, unable to look away. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so much like a princess. She couldn't get over how much longer her eyelashes were. The red gave a nice splash of colour to her white cheeks. The ribbon tickled her neck. She had been to a few weddings in her village, but never dreamed that she would be a bride herself. "Wow."

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Merryn reached into a bag she brought with her and took out a small bottle of perfume. She parted the thick wool at Lilybell's neck and dabbed a drop on the pink skin on each side. "Kallamar will get a nice surprise tonight," she winked, putting more colour in Lilybell's cheeks.

Rowan's voice came from outside the room. "Can I come in now?"

"Yes, we're just getting the veil on," Merryn replied, setting the lace veil over Lilybell's head.

Rowan entered, pausing in astonishment while Lilybell stood up. A tear came to his eye. To think he could have missed this. If he had been more stubborn he would have never seen his little girl get married. He pitied her mother. She would never get to see what a beautiful woman Lilybell had been on her wedding day.

"Don't cry, dad," Lilybell consoled gently, giving him a tight hug.

He sniffed, blinking back the tears. "You look so beautiful." He buried his face in her neck. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because lately I haven't been treating you like the adult you are. For all the times I told your mother to let you grow up, I've still been seeing you as my baby girl. But now, the way you look, it's hard to believe that you really are an adult now. That you aren't my little girl anymore."

Lilybell pulled away a little to look her father in the face. "I'll always be your little girl, dad. That's not gonna change just 'cause I'm getting married."

"Maybe not, but I promise to let you make your own decisions from now on. I won't stick my nose in anymore. Okay?"

She gave him an odd look, not understanding what he was talking about. "Okay."

Rowan left her arms, wiped his eyes and handed her her bouquet. "Okay." He cleared his throat, offering his daughter his arm. "Let's get you married."

Lilybell smiled, walking to the main hall on her father's arm while Merryn and Anna held the veil up off the floor so it wouldn't get dirty. Shamura was waiting for them outside the doors, opening them without a word to let them inside while they gestured for the band to begin playing. A gentle flute began the wedding march before the rest of the band joined in and soft music filled the air. The other followers turned to stare in awe, whispering amongst themselves about the beautiful bride. Even the prejudiced Mortamer admitted to himself that she was pretty, though he would never admit it.

Kallamar was waiting for them on the stage, the pulpit removed so everyone could see the ceremony. His jaw dropped seeing Lilybell walk towards him. He thought she was beautiful before, but this was another level he had never even thought possible. Time seemed to stand still, the other people in the room fading away as Lilybell looked up and made eye contact with him.

Lilybell's heart fluttered as she laid eyes on her future husband. The white robes were a drastic difference from the usual black but they seemed to suit him just as well. A bit of gold around his neck and in his ears was a wonderful addition, standing out against his blue skin. He looked like royalty. Seeing him dressed up made her giddy, and she lifted up her dress before breaking out into a jog up to the stage, pulling her father and the seals behind her, trying to keep up and breaking the regal illusion. The band, likewise, tried to keep up with her, wanting to keep the music in time with her pace so it would conclude as she stopped in front of Kallamar.

Finally, they were face to face. Kallamar continued to stare silently, hardly believing his eyes. Lilybell was panting a little, but she beamed up at him blissfully. Things were quiet for a moment before Kallamar finally seemed to find himself, reaching out with his lower set of hands and letting her take one finger in her small ones.

"You look beautiful," he said quietly.

"So do you," she replied bashfully.

After another moment, he turned slightly to address the following, not letting go of Lilybell's hands. "Everyone," he announced, "you shall now bear witness to my marriage between myself and Lilybell. I thank you all for being here." Not that they had a choice. "We shall begin by exchanging vows."

His upper set of hands pulled out a small piece of paper upon which he had written key points to himself so he could stay on track.

"Lilybell, when I first met you, I had no idea that this is where we would end up. But, over these months, as we have come to learn more about each other, I know that there is nowhere I would rather be than here." A glance at the paper. "You have made me smile, you have made me laugh, and you have made every day better simply by being here. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. You have stolen my heart, and I can think of no one I would rather have as my wife, my dearest, my greatest treasure. You are more beautiful than the most brilliant diamond, more precious than the rarest pearl. Will you be mine, darling?"

She nodded vigorously, still smiling.

"Will you love me in the darkest of times? Will you be there for me always? Will you help me in all you can?"

"Yes!"

"Thank you, darling. You may read your vows now."

Lilybell had a similar paper that Merryn handed to her. Unlike Kallamar, however, she barely glanced at it. "Kallamar, when we first met, I wasn't scared of you, even though you were trying to be intimidating. You always helped me and looked after me even when I was being annoying. I don't understand what you see in me, but whatever it is, I'm glad you do because you make me happy every day. You always make me feel so special but I feel like I never do the same for you." At this, her voice broke and tears welled up in her eyes, but she cleared her throat and blinked them away. Kallamar regarded her worriedly, almost stopping the ceremony, when she began again. "I hope I can be a good wife to you, and be a credit to you. Do you promise to love me and take care of me, no matter what?"

"Yes, darling."

"Will you be patient with me, even when I make mistakes?"

"Yes, darling."

"And you won't give up on me?"

"Of course not, dear."

Lilybell smiled up at him, not as bright as before, but just as sweetly. "Thank you."

At the back of the room, Narinder yawned deliberately, and Shamura gave him a sharp smack. Kallamar ignored them, temporarily letting go of Lilybell's hands and turning as Saleos came up beside him, holding a plush cushion with a small sheet draped over it. Under the sheet was the small gold tiara that had been seized from Carcharias's temple. He picked it up delicately, turning back to Lilybell.

"With these vows exchanged, I now pronounce us married. Please accept this as a symbol of our union and wear it proudly... and may everyone who lays eyes on it understand its significance."

With that, the tiara was carefully placed on her head, nestled amongst the lace veil and wooly hair. With the large blue sapphire at the center, the couple almost seemed to be wearing matching headgear. Lilybell beamed up at him with all the brightness of the sun, and Kallamar smiled down at her with equal adoration.

The room erupted into applause and cheers, people throwing colorful paper confetti into the air to celebrate the married couple. Among the cheering was a few screams of, "kiss!" "Kiss her!" "Give'r a smooch!" Blushing at the insistence, Kallamar allowed Lilybell to step into his hands, bringing her to his face. She threw her arms around his cheek and planted a big kiss on him, leaving a print of her lips behind. The crowd went wild, more hollering and cheers filling the room.

Kallamar set his new wife back on the ground, looking to the back of the room to Shamura. Their face held no immediately recognizable emotion, but they were clapping quietly and daintily. Narinder stared at Kallamar with a bored expression and Kallamar was reminded of the fact that even as a god, the kitten was still a child, and got bored easily.

When things settled down, Kallamar directed everyone to the dining room for dinner and dancing. The long dining table was filled with food of all kinds, salads, meat, bread and, of course, multiple types of fish. Kallamar sat at the head of the table on a cushion on the floor, while Shamura and Narinder stayed by the band and talked.

"Do you have any questions?" Shamura asked.

"Are all weddings so boring?"

Shamura didn't laugh. "No, but they are usually formal. Perhaps you shall have a wedding yourself one day."

"But I thought you didn't want Kallamar to get married." Narinder raised an eyebrow.

"It is not ideal, but he should make his own decisions. He is allowed to be happy."

"Why aren't you married, then?"

Shamura thought about it. "I have never had a lover, nor been inclined towards romance. So, I have never felt the need to get married."

"I don't want to get married," Narinder said with a glare at the back of Lilybell's head. "And even if I did I would want them to be smart."

"That is wise. Remember, Narinder, marriage need not revolve around love. It is often used to gain power, or improve your station."

Then he wasted his chance, Narinder thought about Kallamar, sipping his cup of juice and wishing it was wine.

At the table, Lilybell sat with Kallamar and Rowan on either side of her, filling her plate with food and trying to keep her tiara on her head. It had already fallen off once on the way to the dining room and she would hate for it to fall in the food and get dirty. One of the dishes that piqued her curiosity was a shallow bowl of yellow liquid held suspended over a small flame.

"What's this yellow stuff?"

"That is called butter, dear. It is made from mothers' milk."

Lilybell froze. She was just about to reach over to take a better look at it, but drew her hand away at the word "milk". Dairy was very rarely consumed in the mountains. Some places used it more often, however. The topic could be a sore subject depending on whom you were speaking to.

"Have you had it?" She asked uncertainly.

"Yes, we had it often in Silk Cradle. You simply must try some with lobster, it is divine." He demonstrated by picking up an entire tail with his fingers, dipping the meat in the butter until it was soaked through. Then he placed it on his tongue, and closed his mouth, sighing contentedly at the flavor.

Rowan, who was trying to be more open-minded since the bachelor party, also tried the butter, though it was too much fat for his tastes. Encouraged by her two favorite men, Lilybell tried some of her own, and was delighted by the fat, salty flavor.

When most of the food had been gobbled up, a huge pound cake was brought out from the kitchen, at least 5 tiers high with pounds of boiled icing and many sugary decorations in the forms of coral, seashells and pearls. At the top was a tiny blue crown made of sugar, and a smaller gold crown beside it. Kallamar and Lilybell cut the cake together (or rather, Lilybell held the small knife and Kallamar pushed it down) and shared their first piece. Kallamar was not a fan of sweets, but ate the cake anyway, as was tradition. Lilybell was so excited by the cake her tiara fell off into her slice and was covered in crumbs and icing, and everyone shared a good natured laugh.

After the cake had been mostly eaten, Kallamar and Lilybell shared their first dance together as a married couple, although it was somewhat awkward as Kallamar was still at full size. The dance ended up with the two shuffling together, Kallamar hardly moving at all while Lilybell had to do most of the footwork. Still, the followers seemed pleased, and everyone clapped when the music concluded.

With the first dance over, followers began talking amongst themselves, dancing, or helped themselves to more food, as it seemed almost neverending. Rowan and Merryn shared a dance together while Lilybell kept Anna company, and Kallamar talked quietly with Shamura.

"I cannot thank you enough, sibling. My wedding day would have been dreadful if not for you. How can I ever thank you?"

"Only by growing, Kallamar. I am proud in all you do. I am pleased to have helped you today. However, I feel I must retire, as I feel my social abilities have reached their end. Do not concern yourself with my followers, I shall collect them later; they have their orders only to work as much as needed. Have you seen Narinder?"

The kitten had snuck away to the table and found himself a cup of half drunk wine. Unfortunately, he found the alcohol not to his taste, making a disgusted face at the flavor, and found it better to stick with juice for the time being.

When Shamura and Narinder left, Kallamar went to Lilybell and took her hand. "Come with me, darling. There is something I would like to show you."

The music and chatter faded as they made their way to the bedroom. Once the door was closed, Kallamar shrank in size, and was immediately attacked with kisses.

"Today was so nice," Lilybell whispered, staring into her husband's eyes.

"The day's not over yet, my love. I have a wedding present for you."

Beside the small table was a foreign object covered in a white sheet. Kallamar pulled the sheet away, and Lilybell was met with a gold harp that was almost as tall as she was, with long wire strings and decorated with delicately crafted carvings. Lilybell gazed in awe, covering her mouth with her hands. This harp was so much more majestic than the one the cultist had. She felt almost beyond it, like it was something she couldn't, shouldn't have.

"You see? I told you I would get it for you."

After a long day, even a happy one, the magnificent gift was too much for her. Her eyes welled up with tears and she began to cry softly.

Kallamar rushed to her side. "What is it, darling? Speak to me! You don't like it?"

"Of, of course I do-o-o-o!" She sobbed as Kallamar pulled her into his arms. "It's so beautiful... I don't deserve it..."

"Of course you do, Lilybell! How can you say such things?"

She sniffled, burying her face in his shoulder. "You always get me such nice things but I can't do the same for you. I'm not useful to you. I can't help you the way I want to..."

Kallamar pulled away, taking her face in his hands. "Stop this foolishness this instant. You have no idea how helpful you are to me. You help me with your love everyday. I would not be the person I am without you. As for the gifts, I do not give them with the intention of being repaid. I give them because I love you, and I love to see you happy and I love to see you at your best." He used a thumb to wipe away a stray tear. "Don't cry anymore, darling. A bride shouldn't cry on her wedding day unless it's from happiness."

Lilybell smiled through her tears, drying her eyes and giving him another kiss. "Thank you, Kally. I'm sorry for being silly."

He let go of her and walked over to their gramophone beside the table, setting the needle on the record. Soft, quiet music filled the room, and Kallamar held his hand out to her.

"Come, darling. Our first real dance."

She entered his embrace again as all four hands went around her waist and hips, and her arms went around his neck. The two danced together in time to the music, staring into each other's eyes. After a few minutes of slow dancing, her face broke out into a cheeky grin and her hands went around his back, attempting to dip him. He was too heavy, however, and the two fell to the ground with a laugh.

*

Lilybell awoke later that night to the unexpected sound of snoring.

She rolled over to see Kallamar lying beside her, dead asleep. It was the first time she had ever seen him like this, as he usually lied awake at night or at the very least dozed. His mouth hung open while he hugged the pillow, drool soaking the fabric. He looked so cute she couldn't help but watch him. Apparently he was more worn out than he appeared, the stress of the day sending him to dreamland.

She watched him for a while before realizing she had to visit the outhouse. Kallamar had insisted on getting a chamber pot so she wouldn't have to go outside, but she hated the idea of someone else cleaning up after her, so she preferred the outhouses.

The outhouses were located just outside the temple, and one usually had to go out the back doors to the courtyard in order to access them. No one met her on her way, which was odd, as usually Saleos had a few guards take up the night shift. The courtyard was empty too, but this was less surprising.

Upon exiting the outhouse, Lilybell was met with a sight in the courtyard that had not been present when she first went in. It was no longer empty. Just past Kallamar's prayer idol was a large colourful tent, with equally colourful pelts before it and incense sticks burning to the side. Crystals were laying haphazardly around the tent as well. A large creature cloaked in red sat at the tent's entrance, appearing to be sitting cross legged.

Entranced by the odd newcomer, Lilybell approached curiously. As she came closer she noticed the creature was much larger than she previously thought. She guessed if he stood at full height, he would stand taller than Shamura.

"She from the mountain's peak," he said mysteriously. "Greetings, bride of pestilence."

"Who are you?" Lilybell asked.

"A being of future, past and present, the last of the old ones... but you may call me Clauneck. The cards request an audience with you, and I have sought you out, as is my duty."

She looked down and saw a deck of black and red cards that seemed to appear from nowhere.

"You're a fortune teller!" She exclaimed excitedly. "I've always wanted to meet one! Mother always said they only wanted your money but I always wanted my fortune told!"

"I have no need for coin. I go where the cards demand." His face was unchanged by her excitement, looking relaxed, almost too relaxed. "Sit. Put your faith in faith."

Lilybell did as she was told, sitting on the cushy pelts cross legged. Clauneck took the cards and swiftly spread them out so they were in a line. Three cards were chosen from the line. The first had two blue hearts on it. The second was a rabbit's foot. The third was the queerest, showing the red crown with many black spots being drawn towards it.

"So the cards decree," was all Clauneck said.

"That's Narinder's crown," Lilybell said, touching the card. "I don't understand. What does it all mean?"

"Love nor riches shall save one from calamity. Death comes for all, regardless. Beings built for slaughter meet their end before their time no, matter their sin. In the end, one shall rise and bring new life from death, and love and riches shall come again, as they always do."

Lilybell continued staring at the cards, trying to make sense of it all. The hearts were clearly meant to represent her and Kallamar. The rabbit's foot was less clear. Maybe she and Kallamar would be rich in the future? The third card gave her the most trouble. Narinder's prediction repeated in her head. Maybe it wasn't a joke after all.

"This one is me and Kallamar, right?" She asked, pointing to the hearts.

"Perchance."

"Are we going to have a lot of money?"

"Perhaps."

"You're not being very helpful. Do the cards ever lie to you, mister Cowneck?"

He didn't react to the mistake. "I have known the cards to be vague at best. They have never decieved me, not once."

After a moment, she looked back towards the temple. Maybe she should get Kallamar and ask his opinion. When she turned back to ask another question, she blinked in surprise. Clauneck, the tent and the cards had vanished into thin air, the only proof of their existence being a brilliant scarlet feather.

"Miss Lilybell?" A voice called out. One of the guards was coming towards her. "What are you doing sitting in the sand?"

She gawked at him. "You didn't see him?"

"See who?" The guard laughed. "You must have been dreaming, miss Lilybell. Come on, let me take you back to bed. We can't have your new husband getting worried about you!"

Lilybell allowed him to lead her back to the bedroom, frustrated with being spoken down to and confused by "Cowneck's" words. She put the feather away and crawled back into bed with Kallamar, who was still snoring. She snuggled close to him, and he put his arms around her instinctively.

"That was stupid," she finally grumbled.

[like-what-the-fuck-scoob]

I miss Eddie so much :(

Could you do Eddie x reader where the reader is in a metal band and Eddie doesn't know until he finds them practicing one day and gets all lovestruck towards reader? Fluff please. I think they would bond over it lol <3 thank you !

So Fucking Metal (Eddie Munson x Drummer!Reader)

Summary - Eddie Munson x Reader. When Eddie stumbles across you playing drums in the music room, he can't help but be intrigued.

Word Count - 839

Content Warnings - None really? Eddie is a little cocky at times. Very very brief and vague mention of reader having insecurities.

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It was just another Thursday lunchtime as Eddie Munson strolled down the halls of Hawkins High, on his way to the music department.

It had become a regular ritual, for him and his band to get together and practice their songs a few times a week. In fact, for Eddie, it was one of the only things about school he actually enjoyed, one of few motivations he had to roll out of bed and jump into his van every morning. The soundproof walls and frosted glass of the music room provided an ideal, private space to rock out, and today was no exception. Skipping down the corridor, a pep in his step, the brunette anticipated business as usual; a delightful hour of rehearsal with his friends, temporarily switching off from the harsh reality of his studies as he absorbed himself in each strum of his guitar.

But today, he certainly didn't anticipate meeting you.

Abruptly spinning on his heels, Eddie stopped in his tracks as he walked past the practice room on the left, hearing what he recognised as drums being played, very impressively in fact. But they weren't just any drums, they were rock drums. And like a curious puppy, Eddie's wide eyes peeped through the glass, as he tried to identify the source of such a heavy, deep rhythm - a kindred spirit.

Meanwhile, you were certainly not blind to the presence that seemed to be lingering outside your session. At first, assuming it must have been a teacher on patrol, you carried on playing, watching and waiting for the shadow to pass by. But they never left. Whoever they were, this person was clearly listening in on your rehearsal, their form pressed against the clouded glass. Mid flow, you rolled your eyes, placing your drumsticks down with a huff, striding over to the door.

"Excuse me? Can I help y-" You paused, caught off guard as Eddie's eyes met your own. You knew Eddie. Well, you knew of Eddie, sometimes hearing his band practice as you worked on your sheet music in the adjoining classroom. He was talented, and you secretly looked forward to those days where you could tap your foot and nod your head along to his guitar, the thickness of just one wall between you.

"Ah, hi!" Eddie scratched the back of his head awkwardly, leaning his hand on the doorframe as you acknowledged him. "Sorry I um, I was just passing, but I thought you sounded great."

The compliment stunned you for a moment.

"O-Oh! Thank you, I uh, I've been practicing for my band." You explained, flicking your hair over your shoulder. It was an anxious quirk, one you'd picked up over years of insecurity, naturally plaguing you now as you struggled to digest Eddie's flattery.

"A band?" Eddie asked, his eyes wide with intrigue. How had he never met you before?

You nodded, reiterating yourself. "I play with my friends. We make metal music, like you."

He raised an eyebrow at your sentiment, his tall frame resting more comfortable now against the hard glass. "How do you know I make metal music sweetheart?" He asked with a cocky smirk.

God, he was charming.

With a nervous chuckle, you dismissed his question. "I'm sure everyone knows you, right? Corroded Coffin?"

Eddie didn't concur, instead giving a presumptuous, high pitched 'hmph' as he segwayed into his next line of thought.

"So, now that you've caught me in the act, can I come in and hear you play?" He bit his lip, eyeing your blushing cheeks with a bashful smile.

"I- yeah, I guess."

You swallowed nervously, trying to settle the lump in your throat, exhaling deeply as you followed Eddie back to your drums. Sure, you were used to playing in front of a crowd, but something about the curly haired guitarist gave you butterflies.

He took a seat on the piano stool at the far side of the room, and motioned towards you with a nod and a reassuring grin.

Clearing your throat, you picked up your drumsticks with shaky hands, and proceeded with your earlier piece, eyes glued to the white plastic of the drum for fear of faltering if you locked eyes with Eddie for even just a brief second.

As you played, the dungeon master watched you with admiration, his deep brown eyes sparkling with amazement as he concentrated on every single beat, edged forward in his seat. He found himself gazing over your delicate features, noting the way your tongue rested between your teeth in focus, and your hair bounced with every thump, ricocheting off your shoulders. He wasn't just enjoying your music, he was enjoying you.

As your rhythm came to a close, you turned apprehensively to Eddie, anxious for his reaction, whatever that may be. But he didn't cheer, he didn't scoff, he didn't mention your music at all. Instead, he asked a simple question.

"What's your name?"

Dazed, you responded with furrowed brows.

"Well, Y/N." Eddie stood, walking towards you. "You're so fucking metal."