#not yet but that's my catch-all spotify tag at this point

[please-dont-pet-the-okapi]

My top three artists this month on Spotify feels like a venn diagram.

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ𓆝 𓆡⋆Seaweed Ribbons𓆝 𓆡⋆౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: fluff :) pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: pirate billy x mermaid reader author’s note: based on my love @francixoxoxo 's pirate billy au- leaving the tag below. Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

It was always the details of you that Billy noticed, the pieces swirling into your mosaic. He could practically see you on the cover of a storybook, a thick volume about a mermaid who fell in love with a human like a tragic fairy tale. Only Billy would seize the pen before it could even deign to write you an ending that was anything short of magical.

Your laugh rang like the brass bell shelled in the brick-and-mortar church at the center of the town square, a heavenly sound. While Billy had never been a particularly religious man, he found God with you. Over and over again, enough to make him into a believer. Every touch of your skin was a miracle, not suited for the likes of him. Pirates were superstitious, but hardly ever in a good way.

He hated that he was counted among their numbers- ruthless, reckless men roughened by a life of dishonesty. And yet, it was the only thing he knew how to do. Billy supposed he could have made a life as a sailor, but he knew at this point no man would hire him for such work. The grimace that came along with the name piracy gifted to him was the worst thing in the world, second only to any notion of losing you

You didn't seem to care about any of it, promising Billy that he was a good man, good as they come. Many a night he spent nearly buried in the sand with you sitting contently across his thighs, tail flickering lazily like the flame of a candle as you hugged him around the neck, pressing gentle kisses there.

He fingered your necklace, crafted from delicate seashells shiny as sunbeams on water. You made all your own jewelry, he knew, and he adored it just like he adored everything about you. Every new thing he learned only advanced your beauty, just when he wasn't sure his heart could take any more.

Billy let his hand settle on your lower back, drawing infinities into your skin warmed from the sun. The first time you'd come onto land with him he'd been worried you'd dry out, wither away like a leaf in the fall. There had to be some catch to this. Some catch to a man like him getting to hold a woman like you. But here you were, sand coating your drying tail like a second skin for the hundredth time since the first, head on his chest, fingers skirting the neckline of his shirt.

He always found himself playing with your hair, as long and silky as it was. You always did something pretty with it, whether it be a clasp of pearls or an intricate braid he couldn't wrap his head around. Today it was half tied back on each side with seaweed ribbons of emerald green, the tails lost in your strands.

You propped your chin up on his chest, letting your cheek lean to the side. One of your hands came up to trace along his stubbly jaw, a ring with a single pearl like a teardrop circled around one finger. He watched you fascinatedly like always, tangled in your net with no hope or want of escaping.

"I wish you could come down with me," you murmured, ringed finger finding the slope of his nose and drawing a line up and down. "I want to show you so many things."

He tilted his chin up, pressing a kiss to your wrist. "Me too, angel."

The pet name never failed to get a smile out of you, and he watched joyfully as it lightened you like a sunburst. "It's so beautiful, Billy. I love it, and I want you to love it too."

"If you love it, I would," Billy promised, sitting up and holding you firmly by the waist so you wouldn't shift off of him with the motion.

You moved so you were sitting sideways between his spread legs, snuggling into his chest. "What do you love about the surface? I think I've told you everything I love about the water."

He hummed, getting lost in thoughts like a tangled ball of yarn. Billy never got tired of hearing about what you loved. You had such a wide-eyed, beautiful vision of the world, one that he could only wish to imitate. He wished he was a more eloquent man so he could pick out the things of the surface he thought you'd like and craft them into poetry only fit for your eyes.

"I..." his mind went blank. Billy was hardly capable of a thought that didn't pertain to how beautiful you were in your presence. "I like the stars, I s'pose. And flowers."

Your eyes brightened, and he felt a prick of pride for having said something that made them that way. "I like those too."

"Yeah?" Billy would pick every flower that sprouted from the earth, lasso each star and haul them from the sky to lay at your tail if it would make you smile. "I'll bring you some flowers next time, pretty."

"Really?" You reached up, kissing his cheek. Your lips left a burning spot, and he melted. You were a treasure no X on a map could ever amount to.

"'Course, baby." Billy stroked your back, an ocean of softened skin smoothed by saltwater. "It's only right a man does that for his sweetheart."

You giggled in delight, a babbling brook. "I want to bring you something pretty too."

"You bring yourself, don'tcha?"

"Billy."

He chuckled, lips finding your hair. A human would have to swallow stardust to glow as bright as you. "You're my girl. Ain't nothin' better than seein' my girl."

You gave him a fond look, wiggling a little in his arms. "I want to show you my treasures."

"Oh, baby I'd be honored to see your treasures." Billy reached up, catching your lips in a gentle kiss. You existed in a world of beautiful things, just how you deserved.

In words you'd described to him of the splendor of the sea, the way merpeople valued all that was good and lovely. Intricate carvings of pearl depicting wars of history, victory abound. Insides of clamshells ranging from the size of the palm of your hand to entire walls painted with artist's depictions of royalty. Seemingly ordinary rocks split down the middle, revealing crystallite insides. He couldn't have dreamt it up.

But as far as he was concerned, you were the most ethereal thing created by the world of mermaids.

You were pleased by his answer, rewarding him with warm kisses peppered to his cheeks. Billy could have sworn there was sugar rather than blood on your insides, given how cripplingly sweet you were.

He'd succumb to your spell every time.

Had Billy searched the catacombs of the earth like a man possessed, he never would have found what you were showing him right now.

To say he'd been surprised when you had announced you were taking him to your treasure grove had been an understatement. But the next thing he knew, he was holding onto you as you swam, head above water, faster than he knew was physically possible.

An island had been your destination, one swallowed by the sea, nearly. The greenery was lush and full, but you led him to the gaping mouth of a cavern, studded with crystals of every fathomable color. He'd been in awe, convinced your treasures were a place. But deeper into the hallowed halls of your special spot, he saw the reason you'd brought him.

It was very nearly a temple, held by columns of stone crawling with moss, the sea kissing the base a shallow pool with water lilies floating leisurely. Billy's eyes widened as he took it in. It was a relic, a forgotten wonder of the world. And you had found it, of course you'd found it.

Vines twirled the arches like a strand of hair around a finger, light seeping in through the cracks of the ceiling. The walls were lightened with faded color, the salt air chipping away at paint. He turned to you, heaving himself out of the water to sit on the edge of the pool. His shirt and pants were clinging to him, boots abandoned at shore. "What is this place?"

"It's my treasure chest," you said simply, arms folded on his knees, chin atop. "Nobody know about it, really. So I keep the things I find in here."

"The things you find?" Upon his question, you turned your head to the side, and he followed your gaze.

There, on the edge of the cavern, a collection of items laid lined up like soldiers on the stony surface. He shuffled over to examine them closely. Your collection ranged from chipped teacups to strings of pearls. There were shells of an inexhaustible variety, starfish and scales all scattered in the mix. But what struck him was the sheer amount of human things.

Pale figurines of nude women, an intricate silver hand mirror. A tube of lipstick, the lid missing, a bottle of perfume likely only filled with ocean now. A brooch the color of the sky on a sunny day, a silhouette stone faced depicted. There was a book with stiff looking pages at the center of it all, embossed with gold in a language Billy didn't know.

He turned to you, awe clouding his senses. "You found all of this?"

A shy little smile crept up your lips. "My treasures."

"Angel." Billy reached down, lifting you under your arms to come sit on his lap, the fins of your tail dipping into the water still. He pressed three kisses to your face; your cheek, nose, and mouth. You were too good for this world, too bright and glimmering for anyone to deserve.

Today your hair was loose, miniscule braids interwoven between strands. It wasn't uncommon for him to find broken pieces of seashell tangled in between, and even in the muted light of the cavern, they shone like bits of sunshine, the light catching them just right. Billy tucked your hair behind your ear, catching the pearls hanging from them, dripping with ocean. "It's beautiful. You're a sweetheart for showin' me."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, breasts flattening against his chest. "You like it?"

"It's like you're showin' me a piece of your heart," he said, relishing in the sparkle of your eyes. He shifted to the side, facing your collection again. "Will you tell me 'bout 'em?"

Billy could practically feel the excitement bubbling up inside you as you began to explain the origins of each find, voice a melody in his ear. He listened, savoring every detail to imprint on his memory. If his identity became a man in love with you, he'd die happier than most.

Your love enchanted him, consumed him like the impossibly high waves of a typhoon, swirling and tossing him back and forth against the walls of your heart. He was drowning in it all, engulfed in every salty wave that pulled him under.

Only here he would never come up for air.

[thisismeracing]

King of my heart | extras | Mick and Yn create a playlist together

― Summary: Yn and Mick are still threading through their feelings, none of them yet aware of how deep it is. Some say that actions speak louder than words, but guess songs do too sometimes. ― Word count: 1.3k ― A/n: This can be read as a stand-alone, but it’s better when you’ve read the series. ― Warnings: mention of food; tooth aching fluff.

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“I created the playlist,” Yn shares once she finds Mick in the garage. It’s close to lunchtime, and some of the crew are already leaving to eat at the paddock cafeteria. George is pointing something to Mick on the computer to which he simply nods before turning to Yn. “I just sent you the Spotify link,” she adds.

His eyes take her in and he nods again. He wants to say a lot of things, how beautiful she looks, how he missed her the whole morning, how boring it felt without her laugh, how happy he is that she created the playlist, that way he’ll have yet another excuse to text her, but he just nods. A lot of the things that are going through Mick’s mind are making him choose to keep his lips sealed. He knows each little thing can and will be pointed to by his friends as catching feelings.

The worst thing is that he believes that maybe it is true.

Maybe he is falling for Yn.

His friend’s sister. 

His co-worker's sister. 

“What playlist?” George asks, poking his head in their direction and Yn rolls her eyes playfully.

“It’s nothing, you’re a driver, not a reporter, you don’t need to know everything,” her retort makes Mick throw his head back in laughter and even Russell himself can’t contain the snicker.

“You’ve been walking too much with Lando, you’re getting sassier,” the British points while taking off the headphones from around his neck.

“As it happens, I’ve actually been walking a lot with you, George.” 

Mick snickers watching the whole interaction the way you watch a tennis match, head going from one side to the other to catch the faces the duo is making. 

“Anyways, I gotta go have lunch, you two have fun,” Russell patted Yn’s and Mick’s back before leaving them alone in front of the computer.

“Are you having lunch in the cafeteria with everyone?” he asks but what he really wants to say is: would you like to have lunch with me? 

Yn shakes her head, “I ordered lunch.”

“Oh-”

She adds before Mick can say something else, “I ordered two…you said you wanted to try that salad last time, and I thought-”

“Awesome! So we go through the songs while we eat lunch,” Mick has a small smile on his pink lips, whereas he’s jumping up and down inside. 

Yn nodded, starting the track to one of the meeting rooms she used to work while in the garage. Mick is right behind her, and the silence until they reach the door is peaceful. Yn left the package by the table along with two bottles of water, but they settled on the couch sitting in front of each other. Shoes discarded on the ground, legs crossed.

“I already added one song, I’m sorry,” Yn starts and Mick nods, silently asking her to continue. “Die Hard, by Kendrick Lamar.”

“This song is amazing!”

“Do you like it?” Yn asks, smile wider this time, and Mick nods.

“Can I add Lost by Frank Ocean?” the blonde asks and Yn jumps up and down while still sitting. 

“Yes!! Absolutely!!” 

She digs her fork into the food before taking a bite. Mick sips his water, and then asks, “So, you add one I add one? And we only add the ones we agree on or? How’s this gonna work?” 

“I think we can make a mix, no need to agree, we will listen to everything afterwards and then we can talk about the ones we never heard before… that is if you agree.” 

“Well, I’ve never made a shared playlist like this before, so yeah, I agree.” 

Yn smiles, “I do them all the time with Lewis, he hasn’t surrendered to Taylor Swift quite yet, but I always try,” Mick chuckles. “Anyways, I think we should add some classics like It Wasn’t Me, we were listening to it that day in the car, you remember?” 

“Yeah, you sang that Mick song too.” 

“Oh, Mick, you’re so fine, so fine you blow my mind,” she sang teasing him and the German rolled his eyes playfully, a flush creeping from his neck to his ears.

“Does she actually sing Mick?” he’s truly curious.

Yn shakes her head, “But I do,” the way she winks at him makes his stomach roll and feel cold in a strange yet good way. “She sings Mickey, but I think Mick fits better, don’t you think?” 

Mick is at a loss for words, so he chooses to stuff his mouth with lettuce and shrug instead of answering. How could he answer? Were they flirting? What the hell was this feeling in his stomach? 

“I propose we add the songs and go through it in real-time. Open the app there,” she points to his cell phone and Mick does as she says. 

“You just added Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls,” he states and taps his fingers on the screen adding Tennessee Whiskey, watching Yn as she furrows her brows.

“I’ve never heard this one.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah, I don’t know much about Country music,” she confesses.

“I’ll add my favorite ones for you.” 

Yn smiles at him.

They go about eating and adding songs to the playlist. There’s a smile and a giggle here and there, sometimes laughter, and frowns with the unknown songs. 

Yn is sipping her water and looking at the phone, when she sees a new song pop on the list, “What does ‘schön’ mean?” 

“I’m adding some German songs for you,” Mick explains, but Yn is not satisfied with the simple answer.

“‘Mkey, how do you say this?” 

“Sch-ön,” he slowly mouths and she giggles.

“With kissy lips?” Mick nods. “Man, you Germans are kinda cute. You make kissy faces every time there’s a word with this thingy?” 

“Umlaut,” he explains, holding back a chuckle. “And yeah, kinda.” 

“So…what is this song about?” Yn asks, hitting play.

Mick watches as Yn bops her head to the rhythm, a grin on her plush lips and her eyes closed.

Du bist schön und es macht Spaß, dich anzuseh'n

(So schön)

Du bist schön und meine Augen sind verwöhnt

(Verwöhnt)

Du bist schön, uh, du bist schön

“What is he saying, Mouse?” 

“You are beautiful, and fun to look at. You are beautiful and my eyes are… spoiled,” he tries to focus on the lyrics, but the second her eyes open and they find each other the song becomes mere background noise. “You’re beautiful,” this time his voice is a bit softer.

“Did he sing that again?” 

Mick shakes his head, notices what he just did, and then nods. 

“Yeah, it’s… it’s a simple song, it’s a good choice if you want to start learning some words in German.” 

They go about adding songs in silence again, until Yn jumps from the couch hitting play on yet another song, “Oooh, this one’s good, you’ll like it!” 

“Taylor Swift?”

“You were able to identify, that’s a good start. Yes. This one’s called Karma, it totally has your energy, Mouse.” 

Mick furrows his brows in confusion and Yn starts walking around the room while explaining to him the story behind the music which took them over twenty minutes, but the Schumacher wasn’t bored, quite the opposite, he listened to everything, asking one question here and there, and chuckling at her enthusiasm. 

It’s only when Lewis texts Mick telling him lunchtime is over that they wrap up their conversation, agreeing on adding songs to the playlist whenever they find something the other might like or should see. 

“Thanks for lunch. Guess I owe you dinner now, huh?” 

Yn sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, and Mick’s eyes drop slightly following the motion. 

“Yup,” she nods. “See you in a few, Mouse.” 

And when the door closes behind the blond Yn sighs. Her brother would have to forgive her. Not liking Mick was getting harder and harder. 

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this piece! A huge shout out to my ☕️anon for proofreading this piece so quick ❤️ Don’t forget to reblog and comment, and follow me if you liked it!

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[bed-chemist]

❝i got cake and i know he want a slice.❞

read the rest of the series before this chapter or you’re getting spoilers.

A/N: we're back, barbies! i successfully survived midterms so now I can breathe!! i've been working on this all week and tomorrow i promise, i'll work on my requests. a lot of y'all have been in my comments and reposts with pitchforks because joel didn't kiss ginny yet and all i have to say is, same babes. i don't make the rules (yes i do) i just enforce them. this isn't edited so ignore any mistakes. please leave feedback in the comments ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

Chapter Summary: the sweetest baker enlists joel to help her volunteer at ellie's school.

Chapter Warnings: language, alcohol, slight age gap (F!MC and Joel are 6 years apart), racial descriptions (tommy says black girls are his type basically), symptoms of anxiety and depression, lmk if i forgot something.

Series Tags: chef! Joel, single! father Joel, no outbreak! Joel Miller, slow burn, dual-pov, fluff, flirting, friendship, eventually established relationship, eventual smut, original character, black!fem!MC, no y/n.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist, joel masterlist ⋆ spotify playlist ˖ ݁ 𖥔.

“Taste this,” I demand Joel, shoving the spoon of icing towards his mouth.

Joel stops stacking the plastic plates, looking down at the utensil. “What did you say?” he asks with scrunched eyebrows.

I shake the fork impatiently. “Try,” I demand. He looks at me skeptically before leaning forward and taking a bite of the warm sugary liquid.

His mouth moves slowly as tastes. “Mmmhm, that’s good,” he compliments.

I want to put my hands up to hide the blush that’s inevitably covering my face right now. But I don’t want Joel to notice my reaction. “Thank you. I tweaked the recipe last week,” I say quickly, turning around so I’m not facing him.

“That’s why I’m here,” I hear Joel say.

Shaking my head, I pour the icing over the cakes. “No, you’re here because I didn’t want to be the only one working the booth today,” I defend myself.

“You would’ve called someone else,” Joel points out.

My shoulders rise with my eyebrows. “You’re probably right,” I conceded.

I enlisted Joel to do a booth with me instead of having two separate booths. Neither of us wanted to pull staff from the floor but still wanted to participate for Ellie’s sake. The two of us could handle it, with the help of some friends.

Joel and I mirror each other's movements in the kitchen. He makes sure the COVID-safe fall fest meals are ready and me adding something sweet into the mix. The hum of Taylor Swift plays in the background and I catch Joel slightly humming to ‘Welcome to New York.’ A snicker involuntary leaves my throat and I shove it down, hoping he didn’t pick up on it.

Once my job is done, I allow the dishes to clatter in the sink. The worst part about baking is the prep and the cleaning and I don’t have the energy for that right now. 

“Hello?” Madeline’s voice rings through the stairwell.

“Don’t shoot us,” Leonardo’s voice follows shortly after.

A scoff leaves my lips and I near the island to watch Joel skillfully move around the kitchen. Every move has a crafted purpose and I can practically see the blood pulsating through his veins. 

My breathing hitches and I shift in hopes of gaining composure. “I don’t even have a gun,” I pipe up.

Joel walks in front of me and motions behind me. We dance around for a little before he grunts in frustration and puts his hands on my waist. My eyes go wide as Joel easily lifts me onto the cold island before reaching behind me. “I do,” he murmurs, sliding the pan of bundt cakes toward his muscled torso.

His smirk has me wanting to strip my clothes off and give it to him in the nastiest way possible. Bad, ginny. He was just sick of you being in the way. “I don’t think that applies to this scenario, Joel,” I stress.

Joel moves from in between my legs and I turn my head to watch Leo strolling into the room confidently. “Hey, Miller,” he boasts.

“Hey,” I hear Joel respond next to me.

Maddie follows shortly behind him, wearing brown leather pants and high-heeled boots. She’s overdressed for a school event, but knowing her she’s probably looking for a husband. “Hi, Joel,” she purs, flashing him a smile.

My body turns to survey Joel’s reaction, but his poker face is stone-cold. “Nice to see you, Madeline,” he tries his hardest to force out through a smile.

It’s not that Joel doesn’t like Madeline, she’s just an acquired taste. Too much time around her can drive you crazy and sometimes when Joel picks Ellie up from the bakery, Madeline is sobbing her eyes out with a glass of wine in her hand. 

“Didn’t know you were working the party, man,” Leo notes once he and Madeline cross the large open floor plan into the kitchen.

“Joel’s daughter, Ellie, goes to school with Dina,” I tell Leo, motioning towards Joel.

Madeline nods, sliding into the bar stool and putting her shiny silver purse on the counter. “That makes sense.  What are you making?” she leans forward and asks Joel.

Joel rolls his shoulder forward, hunching over to plate the food. “Thanksgiving meals. Each meal comes with turkey and 3 sides. My brother Tommy’s bringing the rest,” he informs her.

Maddie's eyes light up and a smirk creeps onto her face. “I didn’t know you had a brother. Is he a chef, too?” she asks, voice laced with mischief.

Joel shrugs, not bothering to make eye contact with her. “Mostly just a pain in my ass but, yeah. He helps out at the Austin from time to time,” he grumbles.

“That's awesome! Is he cute?” Maddie asks excitedly.

“Maddie!” I hiss towards the blonde.

Joel’s phone buzzes on the counter next to us and he picks it up, turning the screen towards the group. “That would be him,” he says, shaking the device lightly.

Once Joel exits the room, I hit Maddie on the arm with the back of my palm. “What?! Not everyone has a Michelin-star chef whipping meals in their kitchen trying to get in your pants,” she frowns.

My eyes widen and I feel the sudden urge to yank my hair out. Now I know why Joel tugs on his roots. “Joel’s not– he’s not,” I stammer, pausing to collect my breath. “Joel’s not trying to get in my pants,” I sigh.

Maddie raises a brow, looking me up and down. “I beg to differ,” she counters.

Jumping down from the counter, I start to pick up where Joel left off with the meals. “He doesn’t have time to– Leo, don’t eat that,” I swat Leo’s hand, stopping him from picking up a bundt cake prematurely.

Leo winces, putting his hands up in defense before sliding into the bar stool. “So, how’s things been between you two?” he questions.

My brows furrow and I feel confusion wash over me. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, you’ve been seeing each other for what, a month. Right?” he asks.

Maddie snickers next to me and I shake my head, resuming my careful placing of the assorted dessert flavors. “No, Leo. We literally haven’t even been on a date,” I point out.

Leo twists back and forth in the spinning chairs like a child who’s bored out of his mind. “That means nothing,” he scoffs.

My head tilts and I point the spatula at Leo. “To you, you whore. To me it means something. We’re just friends,” I inform him.

Leo purses his lips and his brows furrow. “Oh, fuck off,” he nips at me.

“What?” I ask him.

Leo rolls his eyes and I want to lean forward to snatch them out of his socket. “I still don’t know how you’re blind to him flirting,” he complains.

Maybe I am reading things wrong. Maybe Joel is interested. “If he flirts with me so much, why hasn’t he asked me out on a date or kissed me?” I ask the pair confused.

My head darts back and forth between my friends. “Maybe he just wants to take things slow,” Maddie tries to explain.

Leo clears his throat and my head whips to face his. “Yup. You said yourself he has a daughter,” he shrugs.

My eyes look at the clock to check and see if we’re doing good on time. Ellie and Dina will be bursting in at any moment. They don’t need to be privy to this conversation. 

Once I have my confirmation, I refocus on the to-go containers in front of me. “Then why would he and his daughter sleep in my bed with me the other night?” I ask. 

Maddie's jaw drops and her eyes widen. “You slept in the same bed together?!” She practically shrieks.

“Yeah, I told you,” I remind her.

Maddie shakes her head in disbelief. “No, you told me they stayed the night. Not that you were cuddled up with Joel Miller,” she hisses.

I shake my head and begin pleading my case, “I wasn't cuddled up with him. Ellie had a sit–”

Joel walks in and I shut myself up, my eyes immediately finding his. “Hey y’all, I want to introduce you to my brother, Tommy,” he bellows with a smile, stepping to the side. 

A man a bit younger than Joel steps through my entryway, his hair slightly slicked back. He’s not my type, but he’s definitely Maddie’s. I stop placing the cakes in the to-go boxes, crossing the floor to meet them halfway. “Come on in. It’s nice to meet you,” I smile, putting my hand on his arm to pull him into the kitchen.

Tommy looks down at me and smiles. “Likewise. Heard a lot about you,” he confesses with warmth in his voice.

Fucking attractiveness and charm must run in the family. “Good things, I hope,” I suggest to Tommy, peering up at him.

Tommy nods, chuckling a bit. “Fantastic things, darlin’,” he assures me and I almost melt. It’s good to know that Joel and Ellie talk about me positively.

When we get to the kitchen, Maddies is already standing seemingly posing by the counter. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Madeline,” she flirts, extending her hand for him to shake.

I let go of his jacket, sliding into Maddie’s seat at the bar. “Tommy,” he shakes her hand before awkwardly turning toward me.

He raises his brow almost as if he’s asking how I know them silently. “Madeline and Leo are my friends from elementary school,” I quickly explain.

Tommy lets out an ah sound, nodding a bit before Leo clears his throat. “Nice to meet you, man,” Leo chimes.

“Likewise,” Tommy returns.

I clap my hands softly, clasping them together in front of my chest. “Now, Tommy. I hate to put you to work but can you help me carry this stuff out to the van?” I request.

Tommy smiles, pushing his hair back with his fingers. “Of course,” he agrees.

My body turns towards my best friends. “Maddie, can you and Leo grab the cookie tubs and put them in the other van?” I ask the pair.

“I can do it by myself,” Leo grumbles and I realize I’ve hurt his ego.

“I know you can. Maddie is just the brains of the operation,” I soothe him.

Maddie snickers and Leo rolls his eyes. “Fine, let’s go brain,” he says, putting his arm around her shoulder.

“Aye aye, Pinky,” Maddie salutes him as they stomp out of the room.

Tommy and I get to work grabbing the Fall Fest dinners and putting them into a large box. After they’re stacked on a dolly, we begin to load them one by one onto the first bakery van. A comfortable silence fills the van as we secure the last of the food. “So, are you single?” I ask Tommy, attempting to play matchmaker for Maddie.

Tommy wipes his hands on his pants and my nose scrunches. Later he’s going to wonder where that stain came from… men. “Depends on who’s asking,” he drawls suspiciously.

I scoff, hopping down out of the van. “You and Leo are the biggest whores I’ve ever met. It’s a simple question Tommy,” I rant before forcefully pushing another box towards him.

Tommy stops the box from moving so quickly across the large metal floor paneling. “Who’s asking, Ginny?” he directs.

My leg bounces and the ways Maddie will kill me for this runs through my brain. “Madeline,” I jabber, hoping he won't tell her.

Tommy looks up at me blinking rapidly. His mouth forms a large o and his brows furrow. “I’m single, but I’m not interested,” he declares.

I put my hands on my hips. “What do you mean you’re not interested? She’s literally perfect,” I say, pointing out the fact that she’s a blonde with blue eyes. She’s every man in America’s dream.

Tommy shrugs. “Hate to say it but we Millers have a type. She’s beautiful, just not my cup of tea if you catch my drift,” he explains resuming his work.

Ohhhh. I didn’t know the Millers prefer brown women. But then again, I’ve never actually been to Joel's house or seen a picture of Sarah, or his exes. How the fuck was I supposed to know? “100%” I confirm, pushing him another box. “Can I ask you something?” I ask.

“Depends-” Tommy starts and I cut him off.

“On what it is I know,” I snap, gnawing on my bottom lip. “How do I say this?” I think out loud.

Tommy's choleric disposition takes over his face, similar to Joel's when he’s had enough. “Whatever it is spit it out,” he growls lowly.

The sweat on my forehead collects and I feel like hot water is being poured onto my scalp. But I have to know how Joel feels about me, and Tommy would know. “Is Joel interested in me?” I blurt, feeling like I’ve finally submerged myself in a cool bath.

Tommy doesn’t say anything, he just purses his lips. The comfort I felt turns into pain when the water turns into ice. My body is frozen and I’m rendered speechless.

I want to flee. I need to get out of here. I shouldn’t have asked. “Oh my god,” I finally speak.

“Mmmhm,” Tommy hums, motioning for me to pass him another box so I can continue t

I rub my eyebrows as the pit in my stomach fills with anxiety. “Oh god, Tommy. What am I gonna do?” I ask, unable to stand anymore with the alley seemingly spinning.

I take a seat in the back of the truck, putting my head in my hands. “What do you want to do?” Tommy asks.

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you,” I groan towards the ground.

“Well the way I see it, lean into it or tell him so he doesn’t fall harder for ya,” he advises.

My brain runs through all the moments that I’ve had with Joel. How the first day we met he offered to cook for me. Every lingering touch, all the compliments he’s given me, when vulnerable he’s been with me. You don’t do that with someone who’s just a friend. 

I peel my hands away from my face with realization. “Oh my gosh, he’s been sending so many signals. I’m going to throw up,” I groan.

Tommy steps out of the van, looking down at me. “Please don’t,” he pleads.

Suddenly, Joel comes around the corner at the most inappropriate time. These Millers just pop up anywhere and one day, they’re going to make me piss myself. They need a bell on their ankles. He hands the last boxes to Tommy and I pray to the gods above he didn’t overhear our conversation. “Don’t what?” Joel asks.

Fuck. My body tenses and I try to focus on containing the bile rising in my throat. “Ginny’s feelin’ dizzy. I’m almost finished here. She’s just gonna sit for a second,” he tells his brother.

Joel sits down on the metal butt of the truck next to me. He puts his hand in my lap, palm facing up towards me. I accept his offer, intertwining our fingers. “You need anything, sugar?” he asks sweetly, and I sigh.

I nod, running the back of his hands with my thumb. Attentive Joel is my favorite, but only because I’m an attention whore. “Can you get me a Coke from the fridge? Maybe I just need some caffeine,” I request.

Joel nods, trying to let go of my hand. Although I don’t want him to, I allow him to disconnect from me. “Of course, I’ll be right back,” he says, petting my head before turning around and disappearing behind the van.

A sigh of relief slips my lips and I try to refocus on calming my breathing. “So are you?” I hear Tommy say behind me.

I scoot back against the inside of the van walls, allowing the sides to cool me down. “Am I what?” I ask him with a raised brow.

“Are you single?” he reiterates.

A smirk creeps onto my lips. “Depends on who’s asking,” I taunt him.

“Joel,” Tommy cuts straight to the point, unlike me.

I giggle and I feel like the panic has finally subsided. “Yeah, I’m single,” I tell him.

Tommy finishes securing the last box and he turns around to face me. He puts his hands on his upper thigh, leaning on one leg. Jesus Christ, now that’s attractive. “And open? Ready?” he interrogates.

I nod, sliding out of the truck. “Tommy, I mean it. Make sure Joel knows how ready,” I say to him as he shuts the back doors.

Joel turns off the engine to the bakery van, having pulled into the spot at the school where vendors unload. He turns to me and flashes me a smile. “You alright?” he asks concerned.

After that conversation with Tommy, I needed more than just a Coke. I needed multiple shots of tequila. I forced Tommy and Maddie to join me, leaving Joel and Leo the only sober people to drink the trucks.

I nod, and my body bobs unstabily. “Yes,” I slur.

Joel shakes his head and his head falls back. He lets out a loud bellowing laugh, holding his stomach and I know he’s caught me in the lie. “Well, you are not talking to any parents tonight,” he chuckles, wiping his hands over his face.

I roll my eyes at him. “I wasn’t planning on it. Besides, all the moms are going to be all over hot Chef Miller,” I complain, hoping he doesn’t notice my jealousy. 

He laughs again and it’s so beautiful, I want to make his laugh featuring Ellie’s giggle my alarm clock so I can wake up peacefully. Snap the fuck out of it, Imogen. “That’s not going to happen,” Joel says, opening his door.

I don’t get to respond before he shuts it, jogging over to my side to retrieve me. Joel opens the door and I’m reading to pounce. “Yes, the fuck it is,” I counter, feeling my emotional drunk alter ego arise.

Joel leans against the door frame, extending his hand to help me down. “Well good thing I don’t want any of them,” he claims.

I accept his hand, looking at him with hope in my eyes. “Really?” I ask.

Joel’s pupils dilate and he flashes me a smile. “Really,” he confirms, putting his hands on my hips.

He guides me until my back is pressed against the cool metal of the truck. His eyes flicker down to my lips before back up to me. If he’s going to do anything, he better do it now before someone sees us.

“Joel!” “Ginny!” I hear Ellie and Dina’s voices call from behind Joel. Fuck, scratch a bell bracelet. They need a fucking air horn.

Joel steps back, putting some space between us. “Hey kiddo,” he greets her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

Fucking cock blocking crotch demons. Let it go, Imogen. He was probably just trying to perform a wellness check on you. “Hey, Dina,” I say, teetering over to her in my heels.

“Thanks for coming,” I hear Ellie say to her dad.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I hear Joel say before the second van pulls up in the spot next to us.

Ellie gasps when she sees who’s in the passenger seat. She slams her hand on the glass window, effectively scaring Leo who’s on the other side. “Uncle Tommy!” she cheers before running over to the passenger side.

Joel leans over until his lips are touching my ear. “It’s always ‘Uncle Tommy, Uncle Tommy.’ But never ‘Dad’,” he complains in a whisper.

I sway a bit, unstable from the drinking. “Patience, young padawan,” I quote Star Wars to him.

Joel wraps his arms around my waist to stabilize me. Dina’s eyes look us up and down. She leans forward and sniffs the air in front of my face. “Ginny, are you drunk?” she asks loudly.

“Shhhhh. You’ll tell the whole fucking school,” I shush her, pulling her towards me so Leo can get out of the car.

Dina snickers, lacing her hand in mine. “Come on, we’re walking to the corner store for snacks before it starts,” she enlists me.

I nod excitedly, thinking about the possibility of having slushies and Hot funyons. “Count me in. Got any cash, Joel?” I ask the resourceful man. He’s bound to have something on him and I don’t feel like bringing my purse.

He nods, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a brown leather wallet. “Mmhm. Take Tommy with you, Sugar,” he hands me back two twenties and I gladly accept them, slipping them into Dina’s hands.

I wine, squirming a bit. “But Joel, Maddie will be with us. All girls with Tommy would just be weird,” I complain.

Joel brushes past me, heading towards the back of the trucks. “I don’t care, you’re both drunk. You need someone out there lookin’ after y’all,” he says over his shoulder.

Dina tugs my hands a couple of times, dancing in place. “Awwww,” she coos.

I cover my mouth to try to stop the giggle that slips out. He’s cute when he’s all protective and shit. “Hehe. Does he have a gun?” I ask, pulling Dina towards the back with me.

Joel grabs the handle, opening the heavy doors. “Yes,” he answers.

“Well okay, as long as he doesn’t bother us,” I conceded.

The 3 others from the van join us along with Ellie. Dina immediately ditches me, joining her now best friend. “Tommy, walk with them to the store,” Joel commands his brother.

“Why can’t Leo do it?” Tommy groans like a child.

Joel takes out the Dolly to start unloading the items. “Because Leo’s sober, and I need his help with this shit,” he states frustratedly. 

Leo snickers, walking over to the truck to start unloading the boxes. “Ahem,” I clear my throat at Joel.

That fucker forgot one crucial part. “And stay ten paces behind them,” he adds.

Tommy puts his hands up. “Fine by me. I don’t wanna know you’re girly bullshit anyways,” he jeers.

Madeline pats him on the shoulders. “That’s what they all say, Tommy,” she argues.

Maddie links her arm with mine. “We’ll see you guys later,” I say to Joel before joining the teenagers for the walk down the block.

We walk through the parking lot for a bit before entering the school. Whenever I have a drop of liquor in me, I have the urge to Irish goodbye. I drag Maddie with me until were walking closer behind the girls. “We should really lose him,” I suggest.

Ellie looks over her shoulder at Tommy before nodding at Dina. “Okay, follow us,” Dina intrusts.

I nod as we move quickly through the hall taking a left and running into a room. We quickly shut the door behind us, and I peer out the window waiting for Tommy to walk by. When he does, he looks confused turning around in circles. I snicker and he seemingly hears. I quickly pulls my head away from the small plexiglass, hoping he didn’t notice me. “Did we lose him?” Ellie asks, looking over my shoulder.

Maddie takes matters into her own hands, stepping past me to check. “Coast is clear,” she informs us with a smile.

We break out into laughter and I feel like I’ve just pulled off the greatest inside job ever. “Let’s go,” Dina says, reaching for the door handle.

When we get to the store, I bolt toward the Slurpee machine. I grab the largest cup size, filling it with cherry and coke flavors. Once my drink is secured, I grab and fill two cups for Tommy and Joel. Ellie finds me, grabbing Joel's cup, and together we wander the store looking for the spicy chips. 

I snatch three bags from the top shelf, figuring someone will stick their fingers in my bag and piss me off. It’s always good to have extras. “You know, I’d be okay if my dad dated someone like you,” Ellie pipes up randomly next to me.

I almost drop the Slurpee onto the tile floor beneath me. “Oh. Where is this coming from?” I ask her with a raised brow.

She grabs some chips before we walk towards the candy aisle to meet with Maddie and Dina. “He asked me if I was okay with him dating someone the other day,” she leaves me hanging on her every word.

“What’d you say?” I dig deeper.

She turns towards me with a smirk on her lips. “I said I wouldn’t care as long as it was you,” she admits.

The door to the corner store dings and Tommy is pushed in by the windy city. He looks pissed as fuck as he stomps over towards us. “The hell? Your dad is gonna kill me if he finds out–” he starts before Ellie cuts him by shoving a Slurpee in his hand.

“He’ll be fine. Let’s go, Uncle Tommy,” she motions towards the counter.

By the time we’re back in the gym, everything is set up. Joel graciously accepts the Slurpee, which turns his tongue blue, sending Ellie into a fit of giggles. Now hours later, I walk around the gym shopping at other booths with Madeline. I can’t deny that every time I look at Joel, our eyes link for a second too long. The simple interaction causes my breath to catch in my chest every time, and I try to ignore it. 

After some time, we’re finished looking in the main gym, and we head into the hall to see the art auction pieces. Eligible students can create anything they want; a poem, a painting, or a sculpture to put up for action. The people who come to Fall Fest pledge money towards an art piece, and the money earned goes towards the student’s college tuition.

We stroll down the hall, mindlessly chatting about which pieces we want to bid on before Maddie points at a specific piece. “That’s fucking gorgeous,” she blusters.

A smile creeps on my face when I look closer at the signature. The familiar white calligraphy makes my heart sing. “It’s Ellie’s,” I boast about the talented young girl.

“Now I see why she’s painting the mural. This is some good shit. I’ve gotta commission her for some art,” Maddie rambles, seemingly entranced by the swirls of paint before her.

I nod, smiling at the though of Ellie becoming an artist of some kind. “She’d probably love that,” I tell her.

When I turn around, I see Joel walking through the door of the large hall. His eyes dart around till he finds me, b-lining for us. He stands in front of me awkwardly and when Maddie turns around, she jumps from being startled a bit. “Well, I’m gonna just go look…” she trails off, effectively excusing herself.

“Can we talk?” Joel asks, tilting his head towards a darker secluded hall.

“Yeah,” I say to him, pulling him into the area not lit by prison lighting.

Once we’re alone, I lean back against the wall. “What’s wrong?” I tilt my head attempting to cajole him into telling me.

“Nothin’ it’s just, I’ve bit my tongue 'cause I was unsure if–” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “I enjoy spendin’ time with you, Ginny. You’ve become important to me and you should know that I care about you deeply, sugar,” he confesses.

Oh, I wasn’t expecting that. This train has a one-way route towards the friend zone. “I care about you too Joel! And I like spending time with you too. And Ellie,” I sadly follow his lead.

Joel steps closer, putting his hand over my head and leaning forward. “I just really don’t wanna lose you,” he expresses, voice laced with sincerity.

My hands snake up around his waist and I grip the grey shirt he’s wearing. “How would you lose me, Joel?”

Joel's eyes stay fixed on mine and the brown in his eyes swirls like hot chocolate. “Sugar, I feel more than just a friendship level for ya. I like you,” he stresses.

“Oh, Joel. I’m not going anywhere. I wouldn’t,” I promise him, pulling him closer so our upper bodies are pressed towards each other.

He sighs, looking down at the ground between us. “I know, but telling you that means changing our relationship. I don’t want to scare you and I didn’t know–” he starts before I tap his side, cutting him off.

“Joel, I like you too. Like… a lot,” I confirm.

His head quickly rises and he sighs, “Oh.”

I’m starting to feel embarrassed by the whole situation. “Dear, god. I-I don’t know why my brain goes blank when I look at you. I think I’m going crazy. I feel like a high schooler,” I falter.

Joel chuckles, leaning forward to press his forehead onto mine. I clear my throat, impatient tugging at his side. “So, I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me,” I murmur.

Joel takes his forehead off of mine, searching my face seemingly wary of crossing the line. All he’s going to find is my stupid shit-eating grin. “Are you sure?” Joel asks for consent and I think it’s the most sexy thing I’ve ever heard leave a man's lips.

“Positive,” I nod, radiating with excitement.

“Okay,” he sighs and a wolfish grin creeps onto his face.

His hands slide up to my neck, pulling me closer. “Okay,” I murmur.

He grabs the back of my neck, crashing his lips onto mine. We both smile into the kiss and I force a giggle back down my throat. My lips open slightly, granting him entrance. His warm tongue dances with mine and I marvel at the taste of whiskey and apple on his lips. It’s filled with so much passion, that I feel like my heart is about to explode.

His fingers thread into my hair, massing my scalp as he kisses me. I moan into his mouth and my clit pulsates with a hunger for him. He disconnects our lips, leaving us both panting because of the other. “Was that as good for you as it was for me?” I murmur against his lips.

“Probably better,” Joel grunts before pulling back and motioning towards the hard member protruding through his jeans.

“Joel, oh my gosh,” I giggle, stepping forward and wrapping my arms around his torso. “Can I have one more?” I practically salivate, batting my lashes at him.

Joel nods, snaking his hand back around my neck. His thumb strokes my jaw and I lean into him. “Mmmhm,” he hums, dipping his head back down.

His lips connect with mine and my tongue continues to explore his map. I want to stay in this moment forever. It feels like a dream and I don’t want to wake up. His lips are surprisingly soft and I kick myself for not doing this months ago.

The smacking of our lips is apparent when we pull back this time and I know my face is covered in pink flush. “Damn it. I was supposed to do this right. Date first, then kiss,” he curses himself.

I giggle, standing on my tip-toes to press a kiss against his cheek. “Joel, I asked you to kiss me. Besides, we’ve known each other for months,” I acknowledge our past.

Joel nods, but he doesn’t seem ready to let it go. “You’re right, but still. Can I take you out on a date?” he pleads.

I’m practically bouncing on my toes, my mind racing with thoughts of my future with Joel. Relax Ginny, he just asked you out on one date. “Yes,” I blurt.

Joel chuckles at my excitement, taking a step back and lacing his hand with mine. “When are you free next?” he turns to me and asks as we walk back to the gym.

“Thursday, but it’s Thanksgiving. After that, on Friday. Speaking of, do you guys have any plans for the holiday?” I inquire.

Joel shakes his head, confirming my suspicions. “No, just me, Tommy, and Ellie eating at an undecided time,” he informs me.

“How about you join me at Maddie’s house? Her family always orders catering for Thanksgiving,” I offer, hoping he’ll grace me with his presence sooner than a week from now. I get we’re both busy food industry owners, which I love, I just don’t think I can wait that long to be in a romantic setting with him.

“I know. They’ve put in an order at The Austin for the past two years,” Joel dictates and I nod. Just my luck, the man’s food I’ve been shoveling into my mouth for the past 6 holidays is also the man I’m trying to date.

I poke his muscular bicep with my free hand. “Even better, you can personally deliver it and tell everyone who doesn’t like it that they’re wrong. Just like you did on my birthday,” I joke with him and he puts his hands on his chest, seemingly hurt by my statement.

“I’m sorry about that, darlin’. Really I am,” Joel apologizes.

I tug on his hand, trying to grab his attention and snap him out of a spiral. “I’m fucking with you, Joel. Please come. I’m sure Ellie would love it,” I practically beg him.

Joel pauses, looking up to think about it. He’s probably worried about how unpredictable his two family members would be in this setting. “Okay, we’ll come,” he concedes, finally.

“Good. I’ll text you the details. You’re standing straighter,” I beam, pointing out his posture change.

Joel chuckles, rubbing his thumb across mine soothingly. “I feel like a house just lifted off my back. I’ve had my eyes on you since June 30th,” he confesses.

I smirk, leaning closer to him. “So Maddie was right, you were practically drolling on my shoulder,” I taunt.

“She said that?” he asks with furrowed brows.

I nod, attempting not to give him too much information. “Mmmhm,” I hum.

He tugs on my hand, stopping me in my tracks before I reach the entryway. “I’m not going to deny that, Sugar,” he looks me up and down like I’m a meal he wants to ravish.

The thought of us fucking turns me on even more, and I have to remind myself we’re in a high school. “Okay, one last kiss before we’re back in the gym?” I use my siren eyes against him, peering up at him through my lashes.

“I like how you think,” Joel mumbles, sliding his free hand up and around the front of my neck. He gently pulls me forward, connecting our lips one final time. A wave of relief hits me, and I moan as his tongue dances with mine in the filthiest way. Me and Joel Miller are going out on a date.

read the rest of the series

[cannibalsrider]

Hi! Saw you asking for req under the bsd tag soo if possible I'd like to request for Tanizaki and/or Ranpo with gn!reader. Just overall fluff/comfort stuff of reader being super drained for a days and not managing to catch a break, which get them on the verge of crying for even little stuff like accidently burning food

Hope it is fine and thank you🫶

of course and i hope u like it anon^.^ lowk apologizing now if Tanizaki seems ooc at all I haven't written much for bsd yet!

ft Tanizaki x bsf gn!reader

warnings: mentions of reader overworking and mentions of reader just being overworked and needing a hug, derealization kinda but lightly implied

a/n: lowk is one of my favs so far and a fun fact I finished this while listening to a bedtime story I found on Spotify about Prometheus!

In a way, you could say the past few weeks had been like watching the charge on a phone slowly deplete with each passing second. It wasn't anyone else's fault; cases had just started to pile up, and I was trying to handle each one as quickly as possible while assisting other agency members when they needed help. But something about today felt like the metal casing of the pipe my life had become wanted to burst at the seams.

Standing by the stove with Tanizaki as we made Tempura, everything felt overwhelming. The hot oil popping up sporadically and the heat of the kitchen added to the exhaustion I felt. As I stood idly in front of the stove, holding a piece of Tempura tightly under what felt like scorching oil, time seemed to freeze. It felt like I was the shrimp, unable to swim back up, staring at my exhaustion holding me down.

"(Y/N)?" Tanizaki tapped my shoulder, trying to snap me out of what felt like a near-unreal state inside my body. "Huh?" I mumbled, snapping out of my thoughts as I looked down at the nearing burnt shrimp in the oil, quickly retrieving it and placing it with the rest. I blinked a few times, hearing the stove click off as Tanizaki moved the pot of oil to a different burner. "You looked like you weren't there for a second. Are you alright?" he asked me. I nodded, wiping my hands off with a small towel before rubbing my face with my hands, trying to wake myself up, but instead, tears threatened to burst from my eyes.

Why did it have to happen now? I hadn't given myself a break in almost a full week. "I'm fine. I think I'm just not feeling good," I mumbled, trying to brush the tears away. Everything was fine, right? I just needed to sit down for a moment, and everything would be fine. I'd feel better, and I wouldn't look like a complete idiot in front of him. "You don't look okay, (Y/N). Sit down; let me get you some water, okay?" Tanizaki suggested.

I nodded as he went to fetch water. As I sat down at the small table, I realized the scattered papers from the case we were supposed to be working on for the past couple of days. Now, I couldn't even give a straight answer if I was supposed to work or not. Tanizaki returned, sitting across from me. I tried to wipe my tear-stained cheeks clean, feeling embarrassed, but I could tell he knew it was more than just tears.

"You know, you don't have to do all of it," he said, his voice like a soothing breeze. "Picking up all those cases… We can all help you, (Y/N). We're like a big family, and we all want to help each other whenever possible. You aren't alone." His words reassured me, and suddenly, tears began to flow uncontrollably. I didn't even try to stop them; I just let them flow as I stared down at my hands.

"I know. I just thought I should do as much as possible," I managed to say through my tears. He hugged me, my head resting on his shoulder, soaking his shirt slightly with salty tears. "You do more than enough, (Y/N). You don't have to overwork yourself to the point of exhaustion to prove that, I promise," he said, warding off any lingering thoughts of self-doubt in my head.

[alligator-tearzz]

Burning My Love - Prologue

I've been so deep in an Interview With The Vampire obsession, and wow, what does my brain like to do with every interest I have? Insert RDR2 into it. So. Here's the prologue to the new Javier fic I've been casually writing, the AO3 link will be HERE And the Spotify playlist can found be found HERE I'm still writing Why Didn't You Stop Me! Just had a bit of a writers block with it recently, but next chapter should be out by the end of the week :) Also ! I will say this now,, although this is mainly a Javier fic, don't expect Javier and the main character to be end game hehe

Warnings and tags

Vampirism, stalking, obsessive and possessive behaviour, mentions and descriptions of violence (including killing and physical fights), manipulation, dub-con, major character death

If you are sensitive to these things, read at your own risk or don't read at all!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

PROLOGUE

“My maker had always had a silver tongue and razor sharp wit. He seduced me with his words, then slowly, he molded my mind and made me bend to his will. In my naive, young eyes, he was an angel put on earth. He had flawless, porcelain skin, hair so blond and silky it seemed to glow under the light of the kerosene street lamps, and an aura so hypnotizing I couldn’t help but put my trust in him. He offered to walk me home, catching me hastily leaving my friend’s house just outside of Blackwater. I knew for a fact that I shouldn’t be trusting a man, especially not so late at night, but something about him drew me to him. The world seemed like it stopped when I looked at him. The crickets were silent and the grass was still. Yet, somehow, I felt safe. I accepted his offer.

He walked me into Blackwater, where I lived with my parents. 

At my age, 22, I should have been married off and out of my parents’ house before they could even reminisce how many years went by, but the marital market in Blackwater was quite grim, and the men that were available were clearly not suited to be husbands.

The streets were empty, save for a few drunken men who had managed to stumble out of the saloon, staggering and swaying as they tried to let muscle memory lead them home.

The man paid them no mind, staying by my side, walking with a purpose as if he already knew where I lived. He led me through twists and turns to the point where I didn’t know if I was in Blackwater anymore, but I was. The smell of the water mixed with horse-shit from the road was enough to ground anyone in the moment, and after we took a turn between two buildings that seemed to hide us from the rest of the world, I finally dared to look directly into his eyes. His strikingly bright blue eyes, that now gazed upon me as though he was a predator that had finally caught his prey, slowly stalking closer toward it to strike. And strike he did.

I never in a million years would have ever thought vampires existed, let alone in a town like Blackwater. How did he manage to stay here undetected? In a town this small, any odd occurrence would be spread across town in less than an hour. 

As the endless questions raced through my brain, this man had sucked almost every drop of blood out of my body. He caught me as I fell, ever so gracefully, and nicked his own wrist with his fangs. He held it up to my lips and I began to drink from him with a newfound desperation. A painful thirst had taken over my senses, and a beating pulse rang through in my head as I drank from him.

When he decided I had enough, he yanked his arm away from me with a new look of annoyance, dropped me on my back on the ground, then turned on his heel and walked away. I pushed myself up onto my elbows and watched his retreating figure halt, not even bothering to look back as he said in a haughty French accent, “You best follow me before the sun burns your pathetic body alive.”

I stumbled after him, legs shaking like a newborn lamb, clinging to the last glimmer of consciousness I could find.

I had to make the decision to leave my parents that night. I didn’t actually have a choice, now that I think about it more. They were always early birds, they rose and set with the sun. There was no possible way I could live under the same roof with them, now that I was the way that I was. I never returned to my house after that night. I never crossed paths with my parents again. Our cycles were so opposite it almost made me forget they even lived in the same town as me. 

I moved into a small rickety room with my maker, just above the saloon. It helped that it was empty during the day. It gained life at night, the same time I did. 

In the following months after that fateful night, my maker had taught me all I needed to know. I learned how to choose my kills, when to sleep, how to tune into the minds of other people, and how to get by my night to night life almost completely undetected.

Once he deemed me ready to survive on my own, he left.

I woke up one warm night after having slept in, only to find myself alone in my dark room. There was nothing beside my coffin and my belongings. He left behind nothing, not even a letter, and I was oddly satisfied with that.

For three years I slowly adjusted to living by myself. I didn’t have my maker to scold me or books about vampirism to study . My entire understanding of living as a vampire after my maker left was all based on trial and error.”

“What was your maker's name?"

The pale woman blinked and paused, staring at the man who questioned her. Her bronze eyes seemed to slightly glow despite the only other light source in the room being candles that were dangerously close to extinguishing yet never went out.

“You will not ask me that. Ever again.”

The man swallowed. The woman raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. He stammered as he felt his mouth go dry, then resorted to nodding furiously.

“I’m sorry. Continue. I do still want to hear about the coven you fell in with from New Austin.” The woman nodded once, then continued.

[existentialcrisistime]

tagged by: the lovely @dumbf1sketches!

last song: Into the Night - Tonic Walter (from a Deep House Relax playlist on Spotify)

favourite colour: either a Payne's Grey or Jane's Grey (deep bluish grey, bonus points for blue-brown granulation)

or a cool toned violet such as Ultramarine Violet

or black, of course

currently watching: catching up on the Max Fewtrell twitch stream from last night, been enjoying that as a bedtime routine lately. Or, not right this minute, but I've been watching a Lot of Practical Engineering videos on youtube lately

last movie: I think it was Orlando: My Political Biography at the cinema the other month—an excellent French trans retelling/part documentary, would highly recommend if u wanna sob like a baby and fall a little bit in love

sweet/spicy/savoury: all things balanced, except I am a massive wimp with capsaicin type spice so maybe not that one (but will gladly eat horseradish/wasabi/ginger type things straight out of the jar)

relationship status: just vibin', and/or that one Whoopi Goldberg article/meme where she's asked why she isn't married yet and she says "I don't want anyone in my house"

current obsession: today? the new album Glory by The Airborne Toxic Event. In general? F1, civil engineering, and black chai with honey

last thing you googled: "capsaicin" because I forgot how to spell it. Still not convinced tbh

I'm tagging: (if you want to!) @formulaborb @twinkboimler @teethingpains

[lostmeadowjade]

get to know you better game! answer the questions and tag people you want to get to know better

Tagged by @bagheerita

Last Song I listened to: Well I noticed being tagged just as my Spotify shuffled from "Hail to the King" by Avenged Sevenfold to "Secret" by The Pierces.

Currently Watching: uh... before life imploded on me I was watching Halo (which I very much have been enjoying and really need to catch up on). And I don't know if the cyclical re-watch of SGA counts because that's a Sunday regular.

Currently Obsessed With: Stardew Valley 1.6 just dropped so, it's been the forefront of my current obsessions. Even if a number of my fav mods haven't been updated yet (and a couple look as though they won't be at all), I am really enjoying all of the new content. Even the fishing, to a point. But aside from that, been thinking of the AU that I wrote for SGA for @a-storm-of-roses, giving Rodney McKay dragon heritage... where he likes to hoard scientific discoveries and credit... and how that might affect things. Re-reading the "Shattered Albion" series written by deathofaraven for Fable because that is still a fucking awesome fic.

No Pressure, Tagging: @a-storm-of-roses @hero-in-waiting @carsonsweebabyturtles @shieldshawk @sga-owns-my-soul

[sirdindjarin]

Six Days, Part II - (Sierra Six x F!Reader)

I wrote this because ✨️Six deserves a lil more than a kiss✨️ 😌 I read the first The Gray Man book, and some characterization is based on it, but mostly this is movie-based. Let's pretend Lloyd Hansen survived his ordeal, shall we?

A/N: I had not yet read Ballistic (Book 3 of The Gray Man series) before writing this so the unintended similarity between Ch 36 and my work here was unintentional. I'm gratified to know Court Gentry so well lmfao. 💀 My bad, Mr. Greaney.

Lil Spotify playlist I listened to while feverishly typing. (Wipe Your Eyes is a Sierra Six song, I said what I said.)

Beginning / Ending / Prequel

TAGS: Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Six x F!Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI 18+, sexual content, mention of rape (rape is not threatened nor occurs), drugging, blood/wounds/death.

WORD COUNT: 8.6k (yeah, I'm REALLY sorry)

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

IIII

The room is dim when you wake. It can’t be later than six o’clock, but the bed is empty, cold where he should be. The bedsheets rustle as you twist to read the green-lit clock on the bookshelf. Your face ticks in confusion at the numbers spelling out 9:09 a.m.

Must be a cloudy morning. Too bad I can’t see out this fucking frosted window, you grumble internally.

Sitting up, you pull the sheet a little tighter to your naked chest and squint at the bathroom door, bringing it into focus despite your sleep-laden eyes. It seems completely closed, but if Six is in there, he’s unusually quiet. 

You drop the sheet and leave the bed, looking for your clothes on the floor. On Six’s chair, a pile of material catches your eye. Your hand trails across the folded, new clothing; you pick up the top item, the tags still attached. A smile splits your face in two. He’d laid out a pair of plain white underwear, denim shorts, and a green t-shirt. You quickly locate your old bra and underwear and throw away the bottoms. You’re too uncomfortable without the support of a bra, so you put it back on despite its desperate need of a wash. 

Once clothed, you knock on the bathroom door but it swings open with the contact. It’s dark and unoccupied. A sudden wave of fear hits you and you take a step back. 

Where's Six? 

Irrationally, your mind taunts you: Did he leave me? Get what he wanted and cut his losses? A small sound escapes you at the intrusive thought, but you remember the way he had held you all night, the gentle yearning of his touch, the devotion in his sapphire eyes. You silence the unhelpful worries. No way. That’s not him.

Shit, shit, did something happen? Oh, my god, I hope he’s okay. The fears cycle through your mind. He’d never left without telling you before. Not back at the original safe house, not here, not ever. Unease settles in your chest like a virus.

It was evident he had left and come back this morning to bring you new clothing, but where was he now? You move into the bathroom, quickly flipping on the light to try to dispel some of the dread. You drop to your knees and begin feeling around the floor as grime and dirt pile along your fingertips. 

Oh, god, I bet it’s under this disgusting-ass flooring. 

You lean left to grip the rough edge of the linoleum where it lies underneath the sink. Pulling at the aged material, it comes up easily enough, and you’re rewarded by a discolored section of hardwood floor. The linoleum slips from your dirty fingers, and as you reach to grab it again, a loud crash booms behind you. 

The front door bangs open. You spin around, knocking yourself on your ass. Your heart fears it’s an intruder, but your brain expects it to be Six, mad at you for not hearing his knock. 

As the door swings wide, you’re faced with an unfamiliar man, clad in a blue patterned shirt and slacks, standing with a firearm in his right hand. It’s the first thing you see, but it’s not pointed at you. The man looks relaxed - happy, you notice. 

“Hey, doll. Been lookin’ everywhere for ya.” His voice is upbeat yet menacing.

“Whatcha doin’ to that floor?” He marches over to you, roughly grabbing your upper arm.

As his fingers dig into your flesh, you stare at the stumps where his little and ring fingers should be. He hoists you to your feet. You don’t even struggle as your brain tries to play catch-up. 

“Who- the fuck are you?” Your voice trembles despite your efforts to the contrary. Your heart is throbbing, painful aching in your veins; your worst nightmare is coming true.

“You haven’t heard of me?” He sounds surprised. “Well, isn’t that hilarious. Mr. Moral Compass has been keeping secrets from you.” He makes a mockingly sympathetic face.

“Where is he?” Your voice cracks and pain pricks in your eyes, your vision watering. You’re petrified of this man’s answer. 

To your great discomfort, the man laughs. It’s a terrifying laugh: somehow, all of his features seem warmed by his mirth, like he’s energized by your distress.

“That's supposed to be my line, buttercup.”

He makes a condescending gesture, “Someone saw you clomping around this hallway out here. Not very smart, are we? And wherever you are, Six is sure to be trailing like a sad puppy. But I’m not too worried about where he is right now; he’ll follow us, and that saves me quite a bit of effort. Not to mention bullets and bruises.”

It takes a second for his words to find you through the panic, but when they do, you’re nearly lightheaded with relief. You’d thought you managed and processed that first night well. It had given you confidence in your ability to persevere. But standing here, face-to-face with a man who seemed to know things you didn’t, who exuded the dangerous energy of a wild animal, you were frozen in fear. However, if Six was still out there, still okay, you had some hope. You had every hope in the world, in fact.

Six. Six, please. Please walk through that door. All your wits could offer was to repeat his name like a prayer.

“Let’s head on out, shall we? Car’s waiting.”

His grip on your arm tightens painfully, and you still don’t fight him. He steps toward the bed and, with a flourish, places a piece of paper on top of your pillow.

“MapQuest for 007,” he explains without explaining. 

You know you can’t win a physical fight with this much-larger, armed man, but the dam in you breaks as he pulls you toward the exterior hallway. You’re already leaning forward from the way he’s holding you, so you aim at your closest target. Your right fist slams just below the zipper on his slacks and he exhales with a yelp, doubling over. He recovers too quickly, though, and whirls you around, leveraging your throat with his forearm. He squeezes and wins a pained, high-pitched rasp from you.

“Do it again and I’ll leave your dead body for him to find instead of that paper,” he says through gritted teeth. 

You shiver and try to swallow, panicking when you can’t. He loosens his grip enough for you to shuffle along, and when he tries to walk you both through the door a second time, you let him. 

You were right, the sky outside was blanketed by wooly clouds threatening to let loose a deluge. The old city you’d holed up in was quiet for the time of day, and no one saw the well-dressed man toss you into a waiting black SUV. Your cheek smacks the faux-leather gray seat, and you push your arms underneath your body to reorient yourself. 

The air inside the vehicle is artificially cold and smells new. The pleather squeaks as the two armed men who had been waiting outside your room seat themselves on either side of you. You hadn’t seen them until the well-dressed man had dragged you from your shelter out into the sterile-looking hallway. It seemed to you that they were reasonably sure you were alone. There was no way he wouldn't have sent an entire team in if he’d thought the two of you were together, right? This man didn’t dress like it, but maybe he didn’t have the funds for a whole team. Six had mentioned to you once how expensive one mercenary could be, and the going rate for a whole group could feed a small country for a week. 

A thumb and forefinger pinch your nose, and your mouth drops open automatically. Your hands shoot upward to fight off whatever assault is beginning, but then the agent to your left pops something small into the back of your throat. You try to choke it out, but he had thrown it skillfully, and you accidentally swallow. You lurch forward violently as the driver accelerates. 

You gag but nothing comes up. Coughing, you ask, “What'd you give me?”

The kidnapper’s smooth voice answers you from the passenger seat, “The ineloquent call it the ‘date-rape drug’.” 

Utter fear shocks through your body at his blunt words. You’re a chemist, you know exactly what it is he gave you. 

He turns a little to face you, “Sugar, you look nervous. Don’t worry,” his voice is jovial, “This is a date, not a rape.” 

You shrink into your seat as best you can, trying to protect yourself. City blocks quickly turn into dilapidated housing, then farmland since Six’s safe house was close to the outer edge. You don’t know anything about the country you’re in, so memorizing the now-green scenery would be useless. Instead, you decide to evaluate and catalog the men next to you.

The man on your right is tall and tan. With his ironically trustworthy face, you would’ve never given him a second glance if you passed by him on the street. He’s holding what you believe to be a submachine gun, and a pistol butt pokes out of his waistband.

Your friend on the left is his friend’s polar opposite. This man makes you feel like the kidnapper does, and your hands shake just by looking at him out of your peripheral vision. His sharp, pale features keep anger at the forefront. His dark eyes, though rarely on you, twitch with menace. He’s carrying the same weapons as his partner, but you see an added hunting knife hanging from his black cargo pants. Unconsciously, your weight shifts to your right side, trying to put as much distance as you can, though, of course, you know the other man is truly no better.

Heavy exhaustion suddenly falls on you like an anvil. Lethargy places immense pressure on your limbs. Your world goes startlingly black for a second, then you realize you’ve closed your eyelids. You try to lift them, but it’s so difficult. Straining, you see a sliver of blurry light, but your eyes return to darkness. It feels like a weight is pressing on your chest - like Six did last night. Delirious, you half-smile at the recollection. Your head drops to the side with its own weight, and your final conscious thought is that you hope you fell to the right.

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

Feeling more peaceful than he ever had in his life, Six had woken that morning on his side with your head on his right bicep. You were asleep facing him, your right calf sandwiched between his thighs, your hand curled on his chest. If he didn’t include every other time he looked at you, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Six felt a sense of possessiveness surge through him; he was never going to let anything take you from him. If you wanted him, he would be there.

Six had never told a woman that he loved her. Certainly not romantically. He wasn’t completely confident in how it all worked, but he no longer wondered what it felt like. Six knew by the way he wanted to care for you as you did him. It was evident in the way he found himself pulling your favorite mug from the cabinet each morning before you’d even woken; it was evident in the way his body thrilled as he counted your not-so-sneaky glances at him. Six knew how powerful love was because he felt all other aspects of his life drop in priority to you. He didn't pretend to be good at it, but he couldn't stop himself from trying.

In a matter of excellent timing, you rolled away, tucking your head down and off his arm. He extricated himself from the bed, intending on performing a quick errand. He was incredibly energized; after yesterday’s long-awaited activities and then the full night’s sleep he’d gotten, he felt sure he could do anything. 

After showering, he located an old, plain black tracksuit set that he’d hidden years ago in the bathroom closet. It wasn’t exactly clean after all this time, but it wasn’t the disgusting shirt and pants from the past few days which was all he cared about.

He thought about leaving a note, but it was so dark outside that he knew you’d still be asleep when he returned. And also, he had no pen. Nimbly, he moved to your side of the bed where he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his feather-light touch never waking you. You sighed into his hand as it curved down your cheek, and he felt himself twitch at the familiarity. He quickly decided that he’d be keeping you in bed today; his high energy would be put to good use.

Six casually moved out onto the streets of the old world city. It was just past eight-thirty. The air was nice: warm and breezy, hinting at the coming storm. It wasn’t a bustling locale, but its population was large enough to provide some cover. Six’s furtive yet discreet searches around the area told him that all was well, so he trekked through the city to a store he knew supplied women’s clothing. He figured your old clothes were no longer suitable - he himself had torn them off in more ways than one - and he had nothing in his cache that would be practical for a woman. He was still cautious, still calculated. If he needed you to run, you couldn’t be tripping around in too-long pants.

The brightly lit store didn’t have much, so he purchased the first items he saw that best fit the summer weather, making no guesses as to your size since it was something he’d memorized for this exact situation. He thanked the shop clerk in his native tongue, then took a shortcut back to the room. 

He returned as the green numbers glowed exactly 9:00 a.m. to find you still sleeping as he had suspected. He laid the pieces on the chair and then moved to the kitchenette. His jaw set as he realized the food was entirely gone; there wasn’t any substantial meal to be eaten, and canned peaches weren’t going to satisfy the both of you. Grumbling, he took another survey to confirm your slumber, then exited once again, locking the door as he left. 

On his ten-minute jaunt to the corner store, Six felt uneasy. Now he believed the electricity in the air had nothing to do with the impending thunderstorm. He felt the breeze rustle through his blonde locks and tried to relax a little. He had a few - well, he couldn’t call them friends - in this general part of Europe, but only one lived in this area. He hoped the man hadn’t seen him; or you, considering the man might know about the situation. 

He’d run out of cash, and his nearest stash was about a four-hour drive away in Latvia, so he was forced to steal a loaf of bread and two chunks of meat. Six left his not-inexpensive watch as payment, but he regretted being forced to this level. He’d never stolen anything in his life (except the odd vehicle, those almost couldn’t be helped) and he hated it. He was paid well for his services; he never needed to steal. Every bit of decency he could afford, he performed. If you hadn’t been waiting, he would’ve contented himself with the peaches for the next few hours, but you were injured, and moving on to Latvia could wait one more night. 

His walk back from the store was circuitous by habit. He took two extra turns and an alleyway before opening the glass-paned door to the building. The room you two had been sharing was the very first on the ground floor, and something was horribly wrong.

Groceries fell to the floor, replaced instantly by his gun. He swept into the room, then the bathroom, already knowing you weren’t there. A sharp intake of breath sounded as he realized the linoleum had been disrupted. 

Thank God, you’d gotten into the safe room. 

He grunted as he pried open the heavy trapdoor, already beginning to tell you everything was okay, when the dusty hole gaped empty beneath him. The breath heaved out of him. He cursed loudly and slammed the door shut with such force that it reverberated throughout the lower floor. He spun around and his eyes snagged on the paper positioned on the pillow you’d occupied only moments earlier. He snatched it up.

 - Do you miss her like I miss my fingers? -

Below the handwritten taunt was an address. Six needed no further information - he sprinted out of the building and up the street.

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

Groggy and unsteady, your left eye opens a little before your right. Warm light streams from a small round window at the other end of the room. It’s dusty, and motes float about in the beams. Your hands chafe at the handcuffs, but the most uncomfortable aspect is the rickety chair you’re roped into. Your shoulders ache and your neck is pained at the position you’d been unconscious in. 

Fear rises in your throat, bubbling like lava in your chest. But it’s mutating with another emotion you’re not sure of just yet. You rock forward violently and shift the old chair forward a little, trying to move toward the window. The impact of your weight rattles the rafters, and you realize that endeavor is hopeless if you want to remain alone. You try to scoot, using your untied feet to pull you along, but the chair catches on a warped floorboard, and you’re left stuck.

Panting from the claustrophobic panic and the exertion, you begin taking some calming breaths you’d read about once for test anxiety. It helps, but then you hear the creaking of hinges as a trapdoor falls away a few feet from you. The ladder slides down smoothly, and moments later the head of a man appears. His fit, sweater-wearing body follows. He glares at you.

“You got bits of ceiling plaster on my sweater.” 

“What’s going on? What do you want me for?”

You expect him to say something about your job, to demand access to the research, to complete some of it yourself; maybe he wants you to oversee a project of their own. You have no idea and you’re not prepared for what he answers.

“I don’t want you at all, honey. Sorry, you’re not my type. I like women who don’t punch me in the dick.” He says testily. “No, I want your boy, and I want him to be sad. I had no idea you existed ‘til a friend snapped a few pictures of the two of you getting cozy.” 

He unfolds three photos from his back pocket. The first is through the large glass backdoor in your original safe house, the telephoto lens capturing Six’s hand nearly touching your lower back, your head turned to smile at him. A second photo was taken from a distance through a window, and it shows Six sitting on the couch beside you, talking. The man holds up a third photo, this one of the two of you outside, Six’s face glows with that reluctant smile he favors, though it's much larger than usual; facing away from you, he looks downright joyous at something you must’ve said or done. 

The emotion you’d had trouble naming finally identifies itself as you spit, “Fuck you.” 

The man backhands you hard enough to split your lip, but he doesn’t knock you over. Tears spring to your eyes instantly, and you yelp. The moment this man had stepped through your door, you’d done your best to prepare yourself for physical pain. You were still surprised, still shocked by it. 

The man crouches in front of you, his eyes level. Your upper lip curls into a snarl.

“I know Sierra Six. That man is a goody-two-shoes. Although, apparently he’s been lying to his lady love. See, I did do my homework: your employer’s security contract with Six ended a month ago. He’s been bunking with you because I sent him those photos the day before termination. If he stayed with you, I knew it was genuine.” He pauses, then jeers, “He doesn’t allow himself to get attached to people.” The man smiles, perfect teeth flashing behind pink lips as he waves the photographs, “But I found the one he has.”

Unable to fully comprehend what’s happening, you just stare. You’d been through quite a few emotions over the past twelve hours and the tumult in your head was raging. Your admittedly hands-off employers had never told you when the protection detail’s contract ended, they probably had just assumed Six would leave of his own accord. The house had been furnished with anything you would’ve needed so you’d kept on working, and your employers kept getting what they paid you for. As long as the status quo remained, no one would’ve questioned each other.

“So, you’ve got me here in this dry-ass attic because you don’t like Sierra Six?” Your confusion manifests with righteous anger. This man is using you, not for your brain, but to get to someone you care about.

He sharply raises his left hand as an example, “I fucking hate him, actually.

“Don’t your manicures cost less now?” You hiss venomously.

Your chair nearly tips when his hand connects once again with your face. You spit out blood, but you’re weak and it lands pitifully on your shirt. 

Your mouth already open, you ask one last question, ”And when Six comes for me… you’ll kill him?” You are still angry, but your worry over Six causes your voice to break.

“All part of the show, babe. I’m not monologuing to you.” He shrugs, smiling as if he wasn’t just monologuing to you. He stands and jogs forward-facing down the ladder. You hear his rich voice say something about a knife, and your body goes rigid. More pain. Your heart rate skyrockets and traitorous tears fall.

Calm down, get calm, I can’t be calm, just be calm, this is insane, deep breaths, it won’t help, you’ll be fine, your thoughts race uncontrollably. 

Stressed wood and hinges ring out from the ladder as he reappears with a switchblade. He squats and ties your ankles to the chair legs with little effort, despite your kicking. Then he pulls another chair from the far side of the attic to face you. 

“Oh, I’m Lloyd, by the way.” He grins as he slices at your already-injured leg. 

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

Though he’d brought a comfortable chair, Lloyd didn’t stay long. He made a few cuts, watched you scream and squirm a little, but then his stomach had growled. He stood, wiped the bloody knife on your denim shorts, and folded the weapon as he left the attic. He made a little quip about letting bed bugs bite, and then the trapdoor squealed as it shut, as he left you in darkness. 

The window across the room is dark blue, now. You beg your mind to relive the previous sunset, but the pain in your wrists and your leg are agonizing. Lloyd had cut a shape into your leg, and you didn’t want to see it. You’d not looked as he worked, and you were unable to do so now. Maybe it’ll be gone by morning, you childishly wish.

Again and again, your mind returns to Six. As much as you may have had a right to be, you didn’t have the capacity to be upset with him. Certainly not right this moment, as all you wanted was to be secure in his arms, and it was unlikely you’d be too pissed later, either. Six was your friend. Sure, he was generally reserved, closed off - but those were his natural defenses, and it was impossible not to feel his sincerity, his regard. Six had stayed on without payment for an entire month. He’d asked for extra men, probably calling in a favor instead of offering a reward. Just because he wanted to protect you. If he’d felt it was best to keep the truth hidden, then the truth was probably best kept hidden. After all, the man was the best tactician around; even you knew he had a near-mythological reputation. 

Simply put, you trusted the man unequivocally. You just wished that he would both hurry and stay away. If this lunatic managed to kill Six by using you as bait, you weren’t sure you could live with the guilt. Six spent so much time walling himself off from everyone, and you’d purposefully broken down those defenses. Now you were both in danger. Six was all you had, all you’d wanted, and now that you had him you were about to lose him. 

You sat there as time slipped by, in the dark, crying, until your body exhausted itself.

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

IIIII

A splitting headache wakes you. Your neck is screaming at the position it’s been in for hours, and you feel a little nauseous. The strong light from the round window allows you to clock the time at late afternoon, and you regret waking. Your body straightens when you realize that the sound of the trapdoor opening is what woke you. The sound sharpens and you tense, waiting for more pain. 

As expected, Lloyd’s face beams at you. Immediately, you’re on edge: if Lloyd is happy, you shouldn’t be. He finishes climbing the ladder, and when he does, he motions to someone else to come up.

“Guess who,” he raises his eyebrows conspiratorially. 

“No,” you plead. "No.”

“Mhm. ‘fraid so.” He couldn’t possibly smile wider.

A blonde head that you’d recognize anywhere materializes. He’s shoved by someone else you hate to see: the pale man on your left. The pale man looks terrible. His face is swollen and bloody. Since the ladder rises away from you, you don’t see the prisoner’s face until the pale man roughly turns him around, but you knew it would be Six. He’s slammed into his own rickety chair. His beard is sticky with blood, and a cut near his right eye oozes more blood. His black tracksuit is filthy and torn, and his hands are bound in front of him with zip ties. The instant he faces you, he holds your tearful gaze, and he winks. Your eyebrows constrict briefly in confusion, but you return to utter despair quickly. Lloyd was never going to let you go if he captured Six, and you’re pretty sure he never even offered that lie up to you. Now you were both going to watch each other die. Your chest heaves in sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is a hoarse whisper, but Six frowns and shakes his head. His attention is forced away from you, however, when Lloyd steps in front of him.

“Wow, Lloyd, you should’ve squeezed the CIA for a better patch job. You look like shit.”

Lloyd laughs, “Aw, don’t make me kill her already. I was just getting excited.”

“Did you do that to her face?” Six asks conversationally. 

“It wasn’t the only thing I did,” Lloyd answers suggestively. And though you can’t see his face, he grins at Six who barely keeps a leash on himself. He files that comment away for later fuel. 

Lloyd begins to speak, cajoling as Six flexes his jaw, his expressive eyes never leaving the threat. “The CIA didn’t ‘patch’ me up. They’ve pinned that whole … situation… on me. Rather unfairly, wouldn’t you say?” He doesn’t give Six time to answer before he continues, “I have other powerful friends who aren’t hunting me for war crimes. But they don’t matter. They support my little personal revenge mission, although they’re not funding it.” He holds up his hands, “Don’t be offended I didn’t send a whole squad after you, Six. I’m pretty depleted after all your shenanigans. But anyway!” He claps his hands, “Don’t you wanna know how I knew?” He sounds thrilled.

“A little birdy told you?”

“Your friend Denver. Now isn’t that just the worst? He sold you out. ‘Six has found himself a girl.’ His plan was to live that night, but hey, can’t win ‘em all, right?”

Lloyd moves to grab his chair, and you’re able to see Six’s reaction. His face doesn’t change, but you know those eyes. He’s not completely shocked, he can’t afford to be in his line of work, but you can see the betrayal, the sadness pooling there. 

Since he has line of sight on you, again, he takes advantage and the corner of his mouth quirks up quickly. The smile is gone before you’re even sure it existed - but that’s the second time he’s signaled you. Trying to keep me from panicking, as always, you reason. You give him an answering smile, but it’s sad, and he grunts in frustration.

Lloyd has his chair in hand, and he looks animatedly between the two of you - back and forth, back and forth, as if trying to choose. The pale man, still standing next to Six, laughs. Your disgust evident on your face, Lloyd makes his choice and sits directly in front of you. 

“Did you miss me, honey?” He purrs. You know from his tone that everything this man is about to do has one purpose: to twist a dagger into Six’s soul. 

“Didn’t really get a chance, asshole,” you pour every bit of rage and hatred you can into your voice. This man might break your body, but you’re pretty sure this level of anger will protect your mind. 

“Let me see that six.” He orders, which stops you right in your tracks.

“What?” You ask, perplexed.

“The six! The six I gave you.” His bottom lip pouts, “You didn’t even see what I gave you?” And he points at your thigh. 

Amidst the blood, you finally see the pattern he had carved into your leg. He hadn’t cut as deeply as your other wound, just deep enough to ensure scarring. 

“You said something about wanting a six, right?” He plays dumb. “If that one’s not big enough, here, I’ll do another.” He lifts the knife quickly and you start at the sudden violence. 

Behind him, you hear Six grunt, then an unfamiliar, more pained-sounding grunt. Lloyd doesn’t hesitate before he jumps behind your chair and sticks the knife against your neck. As he does so, you see the body of the pale man drop to the floor, his submachine gun in Six’s freed hands. Your chin tilts up as high as you can to avoid the blade.

“You brought a knife to a gunfight, Lloyd.” 

“Quite the party foul of me, huh?” Lloyd rejoins. “Oh, well. That’s where your bitch comes in handy.” 

Six doesn’t react. Lloyd's using you as a shield, but he is much larger than you. One good shot would knock him back enough that Six was confident he could reach you before Lloyd recovered. Six starts to squeeze the trigger when the knife leaves Lloyd’s hand, aimed directly at his heart.

Six bats away the shining switchblade with the gun, which sends him a little off balance. Lloyd uses his chance to rush Six. Like the football star he had been, he tackles Six to the floor. Six groans in pain as the wind is knocked from him, and a scream tears from you. At the last second, you remember that the other man in the car, the one on your right, was probably somewhere below. Surely he had heard the thumping, right? Why wasn’t he coming?

Six quickly gets the upper hand, kicking out from underneath the other man, smashing the gun into Lloyd’s face twice as he did so. Six is loath to shoot the man outright because he really wants to beat the shit out of him first. Lloyd gets to his feet at the same time Six does.

Frantically, you knock the chair over, and try to wiggle sideways towards the knife Six had hit. It was several feet away, very close to what now looked like a standoff. Six hears what you’re doing, and circles a little more to his right, putting himself between you and Lloyd. He thrusts the butt of the gun at Lloyd’s gut, but Lloyd grabs hold of it. Six immediately ejects the magazine faster than he’d ever made the move before. He releases his hold on the weapon, knowing it won’t make a difference. Lloyd gives him an eyebrow raise before tossing the gun down the ladder.

Your chair scrapes with every inch, but your desperation gets the knife into your right hand right as you hear the gun fall. You saw at the ropes around your body, then once free of that, you cut the flimsy material around your ankles. Unfortunately, you are still handcuffed to the chair’s armrest. Keeping the knife in hand, you lift the old chair and slam it against the floor, once, twice. Thinking better of that, you sit down and jam both heels on the underside of the armrest, hoping to force the slim piece from its spindles. That worked. Unfortunately, you are still handcuffed.

Six waits for Lloyd to swing first, and when he does, Six puts every play he’s ever learned into action. He swings haymaker after uppercut at Lloyd, most of them connecting viciously. Lloyd gets in several licks, but each time Six shakes it off with a growl. Hoping to shorten this dance, you hold up the knife, hoping it’s Six and not Lloyd who sees what you have to offer. They both notice.

As Lloyd starts to run at you, Six leaps forward, grabbing him around the throat by his forearm. He uses the momentum to slam Lloyd down to his knees. Lloyd twists and claws at him, but Six is stronger. To Lloyd’s endless consternation, Six has always been stronger. You gawk on in horror. You’d seen Six kill a man before, but this was different. This was personal, angry, justified. Six is silent as his arms strain, pressing every bit of strength he has into Lloyd’s windpipe. Lloyd is gagging, gurgling. It was terrible. 

“Go!” Six commands through gritted teeth, and though he wasn’t looking at you, you obey. You didn’t want to see this. 

You flee down the ladder, knife still in hand. Subconsciously, you take in your surroundings: a vacant, crumbling mansion. The white hallway was cracked, and moldy. No furniture could be seen. You could still hear Lloyd’s death throes above you, so you stumble along the hallway, desperate to end the nightmare.

Your right leg, so damaged, gives out and you hit the floor. You see stair railings a few feet away, but you can also see the attic entrance from where you fell, and you weren’t going anywhere without Six. So you drag yourself up against the wall and try to slow your labored breathing as you wait.

A few minutes later, a man dressed in black climbs down. Your heart pounds at the sight of the blonde hair. You stand, wobbling, and drop the knife. As he reaches you, he wraps an arm around you. His hand presses your head to his chest. 

“Let me see your hands.” 

You hold up your cuffs. He unlocks them with a small key you can only assume he got from one of the bodies upstairs. He nudges you forward, and you start down the hallway, then down the stairs. When you get to the bottom of the wooden steps, you see why the other man never came running. He lay bloody on the floor of the foyer. Six had killed him first. 

“Didn’t know where you were in this big old house, so I made my entrance known. Lloyd would take me wherever you were. Amateur.” 

Stepping around the body and out the front door, you hysterically giggle at the stolen car Six had parked normally. “You literally walked in the front door?” 

“Yeah.” 

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

IIIIII

Lloyd had taken you over the Latvian border by several hours, so while you were in the right country, you were still a couple of hours away from Six’s cache. As he drives, you curl up on the back seat, trying to relieve your sore muscles and your stinging leg.

It’s nearly midnight by the time Six pulls to the curb a block from his newest safe house. The streets were bustling with people enjoying their evening, and it wasn’t difficult to blend in. In the darkness, no one could make out your bloody leg, his bloody face. 

Six breaks the padlock off the abandoned-looking building’s side entrance, then steps inside, ensuring it was uninhabited. There’d been no actual threats to your life besides Lloyd Hansen, your company hiring Six as a precaution over rumors, but Six was never going to take a chance again when it came to you.

He ushers you through the door, then tucks you into his side as he opens another door. It’s pitch black, and you cling to his jacket. You hear the door shut behind you, then you hear the sound of his hand sliding along the wall trying to find the light switch.

He succeeds and the room is illuminated in warm, artificial light. It’s another ground-floor apartment, and it’s similar to the previous minus Six’s favorite wingback chair. He takes your hand and guides you into the bathroom where you see the biggest difference yet. The bathroom is clean, spacious, and it has both a bathtub and a shower.

“Capital cities have the best safe houses. More people to maintain them,” he replies to the question in your mind. “Strip.” 

Your head jerks up to look at him. He unzips his track jacket but leaves his pants. You pull the hem of your shirt over your head and drop the bloodstained fabric to the floor. Six crouches in front of you and unbuttons your shorts.

“I’m a professional,” he whispers, trying to lighten your wordless mood as he covers your new knife wound with his hand and pulls your shorts down. 

He takes your hand to balance you as you step out of the bottoms. As he touches you, he looks for a sign of disgust, fear, something that will break his heart but make sense after what you’d been through. 

He grabs a washcloth from the counter and wets it. He crouches in front of you again and begins softly cleaning the blood from your thigh, leaving a wide gap around the actual wound. 

You’re a little unsteady after the lack of nutrition and the stress your body has undergone the past day, but you steel yourself for a moment: you focus on not freaking out, not crying just yet in order to take stock. You watched him kill someone. How do I feel about that?

In your heart, you know that it doesn’t change anything you feel about him. Six killed bad men - always had, always would - and you’d known that when you met him. Your torso shakes, nearly hyperventilating. No, the worst is that you could’ve died, you could’ve watched him die. You collapse onto his shoulders, your arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry.” He says, the timbre of his voice letting you know that he means it for all that has occurred. For what Lloyd did to you physically and probably emotionally. For not telling you the truth, but mostly for putting you in the situation in the first place.

Too emotionally distraught to check the words thoroughly, you try to relieve his guilt: “’s not your fault someone loves you, Six.” 

Still not noticing your own words, you bury your face in his shoulder, and your tears fall freely. The noise he makes under his breath sounds affectionately amazed.

He stands, picking you up, and your legs wrap around him automatically. Your cuts are nearer the outside of your leg, but it still sends a jolt of pain down your limb when you use it to latch onto him. He sets your bottom on the countertop. One hand rubs your back while the other nestles into your hair. 

He knows you’re in shock, and he knows you didn’t mean to tell him you loved him like that. It’s good to hear, and he can’t help the sunrise in his heart, but his primary concern is consoling you. Or distracting you, if possible. Early in his career, he had learned that the best way to move forward was to stop overthinking. Distractions worked well for that.

“Shower or bath?” He asks.

He doesn’t have an ulterior motive, and you’re more than welcome to answer with neither. But in his mind, if it comes to it, he could try to make you forget today for a little while. You sniffle as you pick your head up off his shoulder to see his face.

He’s looking at you like you just saved him, and it’s somehow exactly what you needed.

“Shower.” 

You’d love nothing more than to be warm, bloodstain-free, and staring at Six naked. Without another word, he drops his pants and unclasps your bra. You push your underwear off. You latch around him again, and he carries you into the shower. You drop your legs and stand while he adjusts the temperature. The shower’s wide enough that you don’t feel the water at all as it warms up. 

As the water begins to steam, Six looks over at you and holds his hand out, palm up. A smile touches your lips and he answers with his own as he pulls you to him underneath the showerhead. His hair soaks instantly. He rotates so your hair can rinse free of all the shit it had gone through in the last week.

Six takes a clean, soapy washcloth and stoops to finish cleaning your leg. He tries to ignore the shape that those cuts are in, but it’s still torturing him. He’d tried to forget it the moment after the words had left Lloyd’s mouth, but now he was face-to-face with the physical consequences of his feelings for you. He straightens up and lets the water get the rest of the blood. 

You watch as his expression twists, and he won’t meet your eyes. 

“They’re shallow. They’ll heal.”

“Yeah, right into my fucking name.” He begins washing himself as a means to avoid your face.

“It’s not your name." You cup your hand to his cheek. "Hey, ‘Six’ is not your name. Those marks will heal, and even if I’m still able to see the number, it doesn’t bother me.” Your voice rises with each word. You’re trying to tell him that it’ll be an incidental scar, and even if it mattered, it’s the pseudonym of the man who rescued you.

His stormy eyes meet yours finally, skepticism clouding them. “It doesn’t matter to you that you were tortured and permanently scarred," his voice acerbic, "because of me?”

“It does matter, but it wasn’t because of you, Six. It was because that guy was insane. He was unstable. He hated you and I was useful.” You're pleading with him to hear you. Your hand slides up from his cheek into his drenched hair. 

You decide to gamble a joke, “Always wanted a man’s name tattooed on me, anyway.” 

Your eyes shine up at him fervently, hoping the joke corroborates your apathy over the wound. Because that really didn’t matter to you. The physical scars were nothing - they would heal without issue. If anything, you worried about being separated from Six. How would you ever feel safe without him again? 

Your gamble works. He snorts and leans his forehead to yours. Stray water droplets collect in his facial hair. 

“But you’re right, that’s not my name,” he murmurs, then carefully presses his lips to yours. He’s gentle, but pain issues forth from your split skin, anyway. You flinch slightly, and Six murmurs, "Sorry."

Angry at the reminder, you decide you’re not letting Lloyd take any more seconds of your life, so you deepen the kiss. Your lips part to allow him in, and at the first touch of his tongue, a spark of tension flares.

He hums deep in his chest at your enthusiasm, your reassurance. Six’s right hand curves around the back of your upper thigh, underneath your ass, and he half-lifts/half-pushes you into the icy wall of the shower. You hiss in surprise, but his warm body follows with a grunt a split-second later, and you’re no longer thinking of anything but him. 

Your hand drops to stroke his velvet length against your thigh, and Six’s groaning mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw and drops to the hollow he knows you love. His hands caress your curves, one hand traveling to grasp your breast as the other hand slides between your legs.

You gasp as the friction of his rough palm, then his fingers, send a jolt right to that coil in your stomach. He squeezes your breast gently, and his thumb rolls over your nipple as Six drops to his knees. 

“You don’t have to -” you start, but change your mind instantly as you appreciate Six below you: his hair drips into his profoundly blue eyes; water runs down his well-defined body, and his thighs flex as he shifts closer to you and sits back on his heels. His large hands wrap around your hips. You feel your breath hitch as he angles forward and his breath touches your tender skin a moment before his heated mouth. His tongue flattens against you before flicking at the perfect pace; he alternates between the two patterns. The heat floods through you in a deluge - your eyes slam shut, your head rolls back, and when your stomach constricts, your legs go weak.

He makes a pleased guttural sound that vibrates into your skin, and he plants one firm arm upward along the inside of your hip, his hand on your ribs, to keep you upright. His other hand on your hip welds you firmly to him. Your cries of pleasure echo in the space, and he feels himself growing painfully hard. 

Your body having been stretched to its limits in so many ways means the euphoria you feel now has you coming easily. Six feels the tension in you splinter, feels the shuddering in your legs. The pride it gives him is unmatched as he holds you still. You moan into the steamy air, and he knows could do this forever.

He continues at the same pace, but in a moment of lucidity, you miss him against you. You pull at his shoulder, and he obliges, standing. His right hand grasps the underside of your knee, palm on the outside of your leg, and he fits himself right against you. You can feel him twitch with expectation. An aftershock of your first orgasm ripples through you, and has you clenching around nothing. You shiver, already anticipating how good he will feel. 

“Please, Si-” you beg him, unnecessarily.

He makes a sudden decision, cutting you off, “It’s Court.”

Your eyes fly up to his. But before you have a chance to speak, he steadily shifts up into you. His quiet groan is punctuated by your gasps. His eyes close involuntarily at your tight warmth. Your nails dig into his biceps where you’d braced yourself. The stretch hurts a little this time, but you're too satisfied with the closeness to care. Relishing the unique intimacy of being inside you, he skims one hand down your side before he drags himself unhurriedly out, and thrusts back in. 

He begins to slowly increase his rhythm, and with each incredible entrance, you both let the sounds spill out from your mouths uninhibited. Before long he is driving into you so unrelentingly that all you can do is hang onto him. He never neglects your lips for a second, his deep, messy kiss the only thing keeping you sane. You feel white-hot; it’s nearly painful, but it’s so good.

Tears leak down your face. His left hand cups your cheek, thumb swiping away the salty liquid. He can see you’re about to snap once again by the way your face pinches, then begins to unwind underneath his hand. He drops his hand to work you over further. He never knew life could be so sweet. Reserved, isolated his entire adult life, he knows that he’s never going to be happy if he’s not coming home to this. 

“Don’t say Six,” he begs. It’s never mattered to him before. He was the same person no matter what anyone referred to him as. But he wanted you to know, to have the purest version of himself. The version no one else had.

He looks down into your eyes as he asks, and when the understanding hits you, it’s the final nail in your coffin. A sob echoes in the small room as your walls constrict around him, fluttering. He revels in the image of you falling apart against him.

He kisses you again, then lets his lips hang open over yours as you both breathe heavily from the wicked roll of his hips. He’s blurry through your tears, and you blink a little to better understand what you just saw flashing in his eyes. What you’d seen there two days earlier, too. He loves you, your mind supplies unasked.

Court’s rhythm changes to deep, passionate thrusts as he tries to bury himself in you. His desperate grunts send aftershocks throughout your thighs. He’d never stop if his body would allow it. He gradually slows his movements, still working you through your own high. He finishes with a low, animalistic noise and closes the small gap between your mouths. Neither of you move, panting.

You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes full of tears at the emotion between you two. He kisses you, hard - full of everything he'd wanted to say for months. After several moments, he lets go of your leg, and removes himself from you.

Unwilling to stop touching you, though, he takes you by the hand as he exits the shower. You twist the knob to shut it off as you walk by. 

He wraps an old, gray towel around his waist, and hands one to you. You squish your hair, then wrap it around your chest. He’s quiet, uncomfortable for some reason, so you take his hand again, and back him up against the counter. He barks a reluctant, low laugh at you pretending to be able to keep him pinned. He rests his hands on your waist.

“Why are you sad?” You ask bluntly.

“I’m not the one who was just crying,” he deflects with a quip. 

You raise your eyebrows and frown at him. 

Remembering that he wanted you to know him, he cautiously answers in a halting undertone, “I would like a calm life.” He stops, thinking. “Maybe with you...”

It's almost a question, and he doesn’t say what he means exactly, but you understand. You're his chance at a normal life. A happy life.

“Maybe not a calm life, no, but you could have me.” You phrase it as a potential, though it’s not one. He’s had you wrapped around his finger for months. You'd do anything if your reward was this man.

His face doesn’t change, so you try again, “You already have me; so, it’d be nice if you’d accept it.” 

“Oh, I don’t even get a choice, now?” He smirks faintly, his thumbs rubbing along your hips through the thin towel.

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel happy without you,” you confess your earlier thought. Your hand traces over the tattoo on his chest. “I know I wouldn't feel safe."

He sighs heavily. “I can’t say nothing will ever happen,” he says honestly, “but I can promise I'll be there." He pauses, trying to figure out how to express himself. "If you want me, then-"

“I always want you, Court.”

You cut him off, speaking his name for the first time. When when he smiles, it finally touches his eyes. His grip tightens on your waist. He's contemplative for a moment as his look turns mischievous.

He lowers his voice, “About that book you tried to kill me with: I think I remember a page or two -” he breaks off as he bends faster than you’re capable of reacting to, and throws you expertly over his shoulder, smiling at your laughing shriek.

[mycurrent-hyperfixation]

Take A Chance On Me - Chapter Six (Eddie Munson x Reader Series)

Series Summary: Corroded Coffin is lacking only one thing that could help them win the upcoming Battle of the Bands; original songs. So when a new band comes to town with a lead singer that looks all too familiar and a repertoire of original songs up their sleeves, Dustin concocts a plan that will get you to spill all of your songwriting secrets to Eddie. It’s just a few dates, right?

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Masterlist

Word Count: 4.5K

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader, Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, 10 Things I Hate About You AU

A/N: First off, just wanted to point out that, no, I do not think Eddie Munson would listen to My Chemical Romance. But the songs I've chosen for all the songs in this fic are based more on the lyrics rather than anything else so let us focus on that instead. My Spotify wrapped is gonna look super weird this year because of this fic. I've listened to so many songs trying to find the right ones to fit the different plot points so I don't want people to get too hung up on the genres I'm choosing from. Lyrics, people. Let us focus on the lyrics. Also, I know this chapter is on the shorter side, but the next chapter is going to be soooo long, so that will make up for it. I love and appreciate you all for keeping this fic alive so please keep up with the likes and comments because they honestly make my day. As always, I love all of you xxx

Eddie could feel the change more than he could see it.

His interactions with you since that fateful night of the party had been fleeting, coincidental occurrences. That was at least what Eddie told himself when he found himself driving to Family Video or the record store or the Hideout, knowing full well that you would be there and yet hoping that his feigned surprise at seeing you was enough to play them off as chance encounters.  

When you spoke with him it was always with your usual smile so that sometimes Eddie found himself questioning whether anything was wrong at all. And yet it was in the way your eyes met his less frequently now, your gaze always wandering away from him, seemingly more interested in your surroundings. It was in the way you sought him out less to talk, only ever engaging when he spoke first. It was in the way you spoke, less animated when you did so; your smile less wide, the sparkle between your eyes slightly dimmer.  

So when Eddie saw you emerge from your car in the parking lot of the competition’s venue, your eyes alight as you continued on in whatever conversation you were enraptured within, he couldn’t quite stop himself from staring. Your lips were curved into a smile; the very same smile that he had so thoroughly missed over the past week so that even from the distance that stood between you he still found his heart beating faster at the sight of it. This was the real smile—the genuine one—not the slightly forced and slightly fake one he had seen so often lately.

The drive had seemed so very long this time without you by his side. Periodically throughout the journey Eddie had found himself searching for your car by the side of the road, hoping that maybe a new issue had arisen; perhaps a flat battery or a punctured tire. But then of course he would catch himself before the thought was even fully formed, chastising himself for ever wanting such a thing to occur. Good people did not wish for their friends’ cars to break down on the side of the road. And yet as much as Eddie hated himself for it, he could not quite quell the small sliver of hope that it would happen.

But it hadn’t.

“Why don’t you just go over and talk to her? Your pining is starting to get creepy,” Dustin said from beside him as the rest of the boys unloaded their instruments from the van. The strap of Eddie’s own guitar case hung loosely from his shoulder, his grip on the strap tightening somewhat as a laugh escaped from your lips.

“I think she’s mad at me,” Eddie responded, his gaze not moving from you.

“Well we’ve got the song for today, so something seems to be working,” Gareth called.

Eddie flinched.

“I think we should stop with the plan,” he mumbled.

“Oh, have you already written the other songs we need?” Mike questioned.

“No, not yet, but I-”

“Well then a few more dates can’t hurt,” Jeff added.

Eddie wholeheartedly disagreed. Because every time he looked at you and remembered the plan that had been so stupidly concocted that night within his trailer, the sinking feeling that had slowly been forming over the past few weeks somewhere within the pit of his stomach grew stronger. It ate at him, slowly and yet surely so that now, whenever he found himself within the warmth of your presence, there was that feeling lingering in the back of his mind.  

It disgusted him.

The plan had seemed so innocent at first; so easy. And yet now the thought of it followed him around like a shadow. He had considered just telling you, maybe playing it off as a joke so that the guilt he found himself constantly racked with would finally leave him. But then he would think of the change that had already begun to occur between you and he could not quite bring himself to push you any further away from him.  

“Whatever,” Eddie mumbled, not having the heart to continue with the conversation.

“You know, she’s not going to get less mad at you if you’re all the way over here,” Dustin said.  

A small smile grew upon Eddie’s lips.

“You’re wiser than you look, little Henderson,” Eddie said before he found himself traversing the carpark. His legs felt slightly unstable as he walked—your figure slowly growing closer and closer towards him—until he felt almost as if they were about to buckle right out from under him when he found himself within your presence. Your back was to him, your head slightly hidden in the boot of your car as you grabbed your guitar from within.  

“Allow me, m’lady,” Eddie said and before you could respond he was leaning over you and grabbing the strap of your guitar case, flinging it across his shoulders where it joined his own. Eddie could tell that you were slightly taken aback by his sudden presence, although your surprise could have also partly been because now he was standing so very close to you. He could feel the heat emanating off your skin, could smell that same tantalising scent of your perfume, and although he knew he should probably step away from you, he did not particularly feel like doing so.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, and Eddie could’ve sworn he saw the slightest upwards curve of your lips before it vanished. He so missed that smile.

“I know,” Eddie responded. “But I want to.”

A silence lingered between you then, and Eddie could feel the rest of your band staring quite unsubtly at him.  

“Okay,” was all you responded with before you were walking away from him. You made your way hastily over to Vicki as you entwined your arm with hers before beginning the walk over to the venue without so much as a backwards glance.

Eddie sighed.  

“Just give her some time,” Eddie heard from behind him, and upon turning around, found Robin looking almost pityingly at him.

“I’m guessing she told you what happened then.”

“Oh yeah she called me straight after.”

Eddie sighed again.

“Does she hate me now?”

Eddie furrowed his brows when Robin burst out laughing.

“Men are so dumb sometimes,” Robin said, and then upon seeing Eddie’s confused expression, elaborated. “She’s not angry, she’s embarrassed, dingus.”

Robin rolled her eyes and turned on her heels as she begun making her way across the carpark. Eddie hastily followed.  

“You’re the first guy she’s let herself like in…forever,” Robin continued. “So when she tries to actually show some sort of affection and gets rejected…well that’s not great for anybody’s ego.”

“She likes me?” Eddie whispered, his lips upturning into a wide smile. He didn’t miss the blatant rolling of Robin’s eyes. “But I didn’t reject-”

“I know that, you know that, and somewhere in that stupid little brain of hers, she knows that. It’s just hard for her to open up and now she’s embarrassed since it didn’t play out like how she wanted it to.”

“So what should I do?”

“Jesus, do I have to spell everything out for you? Why don’t you grow a pair and—oh, I don’t know—actually ask her out!”

Eddie was too stunned to form a coherent response. He didn’t quite know what he had expected from this conversation, and yet being provided such an obvious answer had not seemed to even cross his mind. He turned his gaze forwards and watched on as your figure disappeared into the venue. Slowly, he felt a sly smile creep onto his features.  

Eddie eventually found you sitting within the green room, still enraptured in a conversation with your bandmates. You looked up as he walked in and Eddie offered you a smile, his heart skipping slightly when the corner of your mouth upturned slightly in response.

“I thought you’d run off with my guitar there for a moment,” you said.

Eddie, in all honesty, had forgotten he was holding it.  

“O-oh, yeah,” he said, hastily reaching to unsling your guitar case from around his shoulder, outstretching it towards you. When you reached out and grabbed the strap, your fingers brushed ever so faintly across Eddie’s so that now he found it was him who was averting his gaze from you as a vibrant blush crept up his neck. It was stupid really, blushing from a simple touch of your hand, and yet Eddie’s heart beat faster all the same. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time, though. It’ll be hard to win the competition if you’re down a guitarist.”

Eddie offered you a devilish grin and found his breath hitching in his throat when you smiled back at him. Whatever he was doing seemed to be working, for this smile was different to the ones you had been offering him lately. This one was wide and full and so very breathtaking that Eddie knew it was genuine. At the sight of it, he allowed himself to hope that maybe he was succeeding in getting things slightly back to normal.

“Even without my guitar we would still thrash you, Munson.”

Oh, how he had missed you.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, sweetheart.”

Faintly, Eddie could hear the rest of his band slowly begin to make their way into the room, but in that moment he seemed incapable of tearing his gaze away from yours. You were close now, closer than he remembered getting to you, and your eyes were so very hypnotising as he stared into them.

It was this that he had missed, he quickly realised. It was the taunting tone of your voice and the confidence in your smirk and the unrelenting attitude that never seemed to back down. It was the way you relished in the challenge of it all. It was the way you never seemed to be scared of Eddie—even with his long hair and dark clothing and inked skin—your eyes instead always focusing on the smile on his lips or the glint in his eye. And as you looked at him—really looked at him and did not back away from what you saw—Eddie felt himself begin to melt.

It was only when Dustin loudly cleared his throat that Eddie finally pulled away.  

“Finally finished a song then?” you questioned with a smirk.

“As a matter of fact, we have.”

“So what’s it called?”

Eddie’s smile widened.  

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

---

Your band was playing first this time much to your dismay as you waited in the wings, hands gripped so tightly upon your guitar that your knuckles were turning white. It was harder now that you no longer had Eddie beside you as a distraction, the familiar feeling of your chest constricting and your palms sweating coming back in full force.  

But then the stage manager was ushering you forwards and so you had little time to think of anything other than placing one foot in front of the other. The crowd cheered as you appeared on stage, the lights so blinding that at first there was nothing but a sea of darkness stretching out before you. Eventually, as you begun to set up and as your eyes slowly started to adjust, you began to make out faces among the crowd. Your breath hitched in your throat when you noticed that the size of the crowd had grown, a feat you had honestly not thought possible considering how many people had been present at the last performance.  

With a shaky exhale, you tried your hardest to curve your lips into a smile, allowing your gaze to flicker quickly over the crowd. Most of the faces you found staring back at you were smiling, which you supposed was a good sign, but you still could not quell the anxiety that lingered in the pit of your stomach. As if drawn to them, your gaze came to find Eddie’s, his tall frame lingering off to the side slightly. When his eyes met yours, he offered you a wide smile, and even though the change was barely there, you felt your nerves ease somewhat.

“Hello everyone!” you called, revelling slightly as the crowd erupted into cheers. “Tonight, this song goes out to all the wannabe lovers and to the all the cowards who won’t do anything about it.” A few whistles joined the cheering now. “This one’s called Kiss Her You Fool.”

Eddie couldn’t quite stop the laugh that erupted from his throat earning him several confused looks from his band mates standing next to him. He paid them no mind as he continued to look up at you, your eyes meeting his one last time before you began as you flashed him a cheeky smile.

When the song began, Eddie found he could not quite wipe the smile from his face.

“Stop making up your excuses

Call her up, tell her you forgot something

It’s worth more than you are thinking

Don’t be a fool, tell her you think she’s cool.”

When you closed your eyes as you so often did when you played, hands still moving fluidly over each string, Eddie found his gaze flicking over to Robin for just a moment. She was staring right at him, a wide smirk upon her lips as she pulled one eye down in a not very subtle wink. Eddie rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Stop waiting for a fairy-tale to take you away

Don’t wait for someday.

She’s thinking the same thing as you

Don’t be afraid, dreams aren’t found they’re made.”

Eddie did not regret the decision he had made within his van that night. He was, in all honesty, quite in awe of how he had even managed the self-control to pull away from you in the first place. He did, however, regret the way he left things. He regretted letting you leave his van without explaining himself further, without setting things right. Because in that moment when the pungent smell of alcohol had wafted towards him, he had thought of nothing other than you.  

You would regret the action when you were sober, he had been quite sure, and maybe in the end it would have caused a bigger rift to grow between the two of you. A drunken decision, nothing more, probably made from a primal desire to seek out warmth in the cold of the evening. And even though Eddie had dreamed about kissing you—the thought often plaguing his mind at odd hours of the day—if he was ever lucky enough to get the chance to do so he needed to know that you wanted it to.  

“Cause you’ve only got one chance.”

Your eyes found Eddie’s once more.

“You’ve only got one chance

Kiss her you fool.”

For just a moment Eddie allowed himself to dream. He allowed himself to think about that night, how lovely you had looked in the dim light of his van. The alcohol had caused your cheeks to redden slightly and had probably had some effect on the wideness of your smile. But you had been so very beautiful sitting next to him all the same so that sometimes Eddie found himself wondering whether he had not been more drunk than he remembered and had simply hallucinated it all.  

But this dream was different this time. Because as you sat before Eddie, your hair falling slightly in front of your face so that he had the desire to lean over and brush it away, you were not drunk. He smelt only the familiar scent of your perfume as he leaned forwards, so that this time there was nothing but his own racing heart making him hesitate before closing that final distance between you. But in the end he did, and he was positive that you would have been just as soft and warm and delicious as he had imagined you to be.  

Eddie was pulled from his reverie as Jeff tapped him lightly on the shoulder, gesturing that it was time for them to go.

---

As you ran offstage, the adrenaline from the set still rushing through your veins, you couldn’t quite help the smile that erupted onto your lips at the sight of Eddie waiting in the wings. His guitar was held firmly in one hand, Gareth, Jeff and Mike beside him as they awaited the signal to start heading onstage. He smiled at you as you approached him, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Interesting lyrics,” Eddie said with a smirk.

“Yeah well Robin’s been pining after a crush for quite some time, so I guess I was inspired.”

“Liar,” Eddie whispered to you just as the stage manager signalled for him to go. He left your side with one last smile, revelling in the slight blush that began to creep up your cheeks.  

By the time you had hastily put your guitar away and made your way into the crowd, Eddie and his band had just finished setting up their instruments. The crowd was so dense that you ended up having to remain on the outskirts, unable to penetrate very far through the throng of people to get any closer to the stage. But Eddie found you anyway, smiling before he tapped upon the microphone.

“Hello!” he called, clearly revelling in the cheer from the crowd. “We are Corroded Coffin and tonight we’ll be playing an original song that was named by a very special friend of mine.” You furrowed your brows slightly as Eddie’s eyes remained upon you. “This one’s called,” he shot you a wink before continuing, “Na Na Na.”

Eddie could see the rolling of your eyes all the way from the stage and found himself having to stifle a laugh as you flipped him your middle finger.  

Gareth tapped his drumsticks together four times before the room became alight with music.  

“Na, na-na, na-na, na-na, na-na,” Mike, Gareth, Jeff and Eddie practically screamed in unison. It was electrifying, the concoction of drums and guitar that exploded throughout the venue so that you couldn’t quite blame the crowd for going wild. It was an easy song to get lost in, the beat so very prominent so that one could almost not help but bang their head to it. You found yourself doing so after only the first few counts.

“Drugs, gimme drugs, gimme drugs,” Eddie broke off on his own.

“I don’t need it, but I’ll sell what you got

Take the cash and I’ll keep it.”

You hadn’t quite known what you were expecting from an original song that was written by Eddie Munson, but the loud, dramatic and practically unhinged music that filled the room was probably close. The song was fast and rowdy and partly deranged in such a way that was so very him so that you couldn’t quite wipe the smile from your face as you listened.  

Eddie was having fun. It was so very clear on his face as he sang and as his hands danced over the strings of his guitar. And although you had seen him play before and although that experience had itself been entirely captivating, it was somehow even more so now that he was playing his own creation. There’s was an enthusiasm behind his voice now, something so clearly genuine that it would have been hard for anyone not to love the song.  

“Love, gimme love, gimme love

I don’t need it, but I’ll take what I want from your heart

And I’ll keep it in a bag, in a box”

Eddie’s voice was not one that was entirely smooth. It instead possessed a slight rasp to it, and although it was not exactly conventional, it seemed to only add to his charm upon the stage. His voice was something that was perfect in an imperfect way; something that was gruff and guttural and entirely hypnotizing so that the more that you listened to it the more you began to wonder how husky it would get in the early hours of the morning.  

The thought caused a heat to erupt low within you and a blush to rage violently across your cheeks. But the thought continued to grow and develop and multiply until it was almost like it possessed a mind of its own. There was the image of a mop of curly brown hair laid out messily across a pillow. There was the sight of a wide expanse of skin, a bare torso littered with black markings lying beside you, half covered by a blanket. There was the beginning of a voice, deep and hoarse as it wished you a good morning, pulled from the depths of sleep. You physically shook your head to dispel of the idea, and yet still the remnants of it would not leave the depths of your mind as you tried to focus back in on the song.  

The lyrics seemed slightly manic and altogether quite haphazardly strewn together, each line of the chorus intermingled with that same opening sequence of na na na’s sung by Gareth, Mike and Jeff. The song was a call to arms, a rebellion against conformity that managed to get the crowd so worked up that halfway through the song, people began to repeat the na na na’s until the hall was practical shaking with the sound. It was entirely electrifying, the buzz in the room practically palpable.

It was a good song, you had to admit, and the small inclination of annoyance that lingered within you because of this had you altogether feeling quite guilty. And even though your comment regarding Eddie’s song-writing troubles had been said in passing that night at the party, and even though you had said it with the intention to help him, this blatant implementation of your tip had something twisting within your stomach. It was a strange concoction of pride, jealousy and hurt, for you had never had such a large reaction from any crowd that you had ever played. And although you were well aware that your feelings were largely unwarranted and completely unfair, as much as you tried to dispel of them, they continued to remain.  

---

“Interesting lyrics you had there, Munson,” you said as Eddie entered the green room. Most of the other bands had packed up and left already, leaving the space oddly quiet as the rest of your own band began making their way out of the door. Before she left, Robin turned back to look at you before flashing you a wink paired with a grin. You rolled your eyes as she disappeared from sight.

“I just have these genius sparks of inspiration sometimes,” he responded with a smirk. Without another word as you clipped the case of your guitar closed, Eddie leaned over you and plucked it from your grasp, slinging it across his shoulder just as fluently as he had done the first time. And as you turned to look at him and as he continued to smile down at you, the curve of his lips soft and relaxed in the position, all the animosity and resentment you had felt within the crowd slipped away.  

“I want writing credit if you ever record that,” you said, pointing a finger up at him sternly.

You slowly began to make your way from the room, Eddie staying by your side as you traversed the hallway.

“I’m surprised you would want to be associated with such a…hmmm what was it…mediocre band I think you called us.”

A laugh escaped your lips.

“You’re not getting out of this one that easily, Munson”

“I hardly think you can copyright ‘na na na’.”

“It was practically half the song!”

Eddie bent his head back slightly and let out a hearty laugh. Your walk was slow, hesitant almost as you emerged from the depths of the dark hallway out into the moonlit carpark. Eddie’s shoulder brushed periodically against your own as you went, and although you thought this an indication that you were likely walking too close, you did not move away. You could see your friends lingering by the side of your locked car and Eddie’s bandmates doing the same by his van, and although the wind brought with it a slight chill, neither of you quickened your pace. Whilst you still could, you simply allowed yourself to relish the moment; the comfort of the silence that lingered between the two of you, the thought of a boy walking beside you as he carried your guitar bringing a smile to your lips.  

One of Eddie’s hands gripped lazily onto the strap of his guitar case, the other dangling between you. You thought briefly of reaching out and grasping it within your own, entwining your fingers with his. They would be large, you thought, and would likely engulf yours completely. For just a second, the skin on the back of Eddie’s hand brushed against your own, but whether it was intentional or not you couldn’t quite tell. Either way, the touch had you yearning to reach out and do it again.

But then suddenly the walk was over as you came to stop by your car. Your bandmates stood around it, quite unsubtly staring straight at the boy beside you so that your movements were done hastily as you unlocked the vehicle for them. Hesitantly, they began to pack their instruments away before climbing inside.

There was another silence that lingered between you when you turned back to face Eddie; this time something thick and timid and slightly awkward.

“Well I’ll see you later, Munson,” you said, reaching out one hand to open the door of your car.  

“Wait.” Eddie wasn’t quite sure what overtook him, but suddenly his own hand was outstretching towards yours, trapping your wrist within his fingers. You widened your eyes slightly in surprise, but you did not pull away from him.

“I wanted to ask you,” Eddie continued, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest. “Um…I was wondering if maybe…if you were free…only if you wanted to, of course…I could maybe…take you out sometime?” Eddie cringed internally at his own lack of confidence, the timidity so very clear in his voice.  

You simply continued to smile up at him devilishly.

“The thing is,” you said, pausing for a moment. “I don’t really go out with lyric stealers.”

Whatever Eddie had been expecting you to say, it certainly wasn’t that. A hesitant smile formed on his features.  

“So…is that a yes?” he asked.

“No.”

Eddie felt his smile falter slightly. You had meant it as a joke, had said it in the same taunting and teasing tone that you always used with Eddie. And yet you saw it all in the span of a second; the doubt and the embarrassment and the sheer heartbreak that flashed behind his eyes. All of it had you hastening to continue, but before you could do so Eddie spoke once more.

“So was it a no?”

There was a sadness behind his voice now, one that had your heart beginning to break.

So with a movement so quick Eddie wasn’t altogether sure it actually happened, you were suddenly standing upon the tips of your toes and placing a delicate kiss against Eddie’s cheek.

“No.”

---

Songs Used:

- Kiss Her You Fool by Kids That Fly

- Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na) by My Chemical Romance

---

Taglist:

@alicetweven @juggernort @theh3aven @manamitoyota @mimiluvsualot @cherrypieyourface @kaqua @c0untryclub @goldencherriess @emotionaldreamer @givemethesleep @milkiane @miscreantsnopossoms @legendaryfestsoul-blog

Series Taglist

@grungegrrrl @thirddeadlysin @boomitsallie1 @renaroo123 @wordsthatwaterflowersinyoursoul​ @annnnn91 @bakugouswh0r3 @aivilovio @wannabewiedzma

[highqueenofelfhame]

I’m not posting a tag list for this part because it’s late and I’m exhausted and wanna get it out for you guys. If it does poorly I’ll go back and tag but right now I’m just very over tag lists. Follow the “#hqoe f&f” tag or “falsehoods & fistfights” or “Hqoe writes” tags to more closely follow my work. You can also follow @highqueenofelfhamewrites and turn on post notifications if you want to be notified of my writing! I’m not doing this to be mean, I’m doing it to save time and frustration when the tagging system fails (as it often does)

Hugest shoutout in the world to @punkassbookjockey26 for being the best beta in the entire world. She helped so much with this update!! Give her a pat on the back.

Part One // Masterlist

Rowaelin // 5681 words

~*~

For the last several hours, the clatter of her clicking keyboard and the flipping of pages had been on a continuous loop. At some point, Aelin had opened Spotify and forgotten to turn on any music, clearly content to keep to her rigorous work pace in near-silence. The door to her office was closed, and no one had stopped by to bother her since she’d arrived. Only a handful of phone calls had disrupted her this morning, which meant she had gotten plenty of work done.

Except that it wasn’t morning at all— it was two in the afternoon, and she couldn’t quite figure out how the hell that had happened. She was still squinting at the time on her computer screen when a firm knock sounded at the door, and she called out, “Yes?”

“Have you eaten today?” At the sound of Rowan’s voice, Aelin’s head whipped toward the door. She was unable to stop the smile that spread wide across her face or stop herself rising from her chair to meet him. Aelin perched against her desk, accepting the brown paper bag he held in his hands. No, she hadn’t eaten, not since her half a bagel and cup of coffee before she arrived at work. She’d left a banana in her car for a snack but hadn’t wanted to run back down for it.

“Barely. I didn’t even realize it was past lunch,” Aelin sighed, looking back up at his face. Rowan was grinning down at her as she tore a bite of croissant off and popped it into her mouth. The man looked criminally good, wearing jeans that hugged his legs in all the right places and a white button-up shirt. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and her eyes lingered on his tattoo that swirled down to his fingertips.

“Can I kiss you in here?” His question caught her off guard, a laugh bursting from her lips. “Because this whole…” Rowan gestured to her outfit. “It’s really doing it for me.”

“You like librarian Aelin?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning down to press his lips to hers. The get-up he referred to was a pinstriped pencil skirt that hit just above her knees and patent black stiletto heels that had her only a few inches shorter than him. She had a red tank top tucked into the skirt and, at some point, had discarded her white cardigan over the back of her office chair. Her lips matched her shirt in a bright, matte, red lipstick that she’d neglected to touch up throughout the day. Still, when Rowan pulled away, his mouth was tinged with the outline of hers. “I like this a lot. Fuck.”

“For the record, you can kiss me anywhere you want to,” she told him. “Especially in my office, especially when the door is closed.”

“Noted.” Rowan tugged on her high ponytail before sinking into one of the leather armchairs in front of her. Aelin continued to munch on the variety of pastries he’d brought for her while his eyes seemed to be glued to her legs. Aelin wondered if he was thinking about laying her out on this desk and having his way with her here, but she also knew he wouldn’t let that be their first time. No matter how badly she wanted it to be.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Whitethorn?” She asked, nudging his thigh with the toe of her shoe. The way he raked his teeth over his bottom lip before looking up at her told her that, yes, he was thinking what she was thinking. The way he quirked his brow at her also told her that, no, it wasn’t going to happen.

They were kind of dating, in the sense that they had been on a handful of dates. They had shared many heated kisses against the door to her apartment when he dropped her off, but he was being such a godsdamn gentleman about all of it that they hadn’t had sex yet. Aelin would have fucked him in the bathroom of the bar that first night, and they both knew it. But something was holding him back. To be fair, she couldn’t place all of the blame on him. She was holding back as well. Whatever this was between them felt like something that could be extraordinary, and she didn’t want to be the one that fucked it all up because she couldn’t keep it in her pants.

“I have a fight on Saturday, and I was really hoping you would want to come. Obviously, I would give you tickets, plus however many extra you want to bring whoever.”

“Just Aedion, I think.” Her cousin would likely die to be personally invited to one of Rowan Whitethorn’s fights, the same way Aelin knew he’d been having a bit of a mental breakdown when he found Aelin with him at the bar.

“Not your friends’ cup of tea?” He teased with a grin.

“Not even really mine, but you get like, almost naked for these things, yeah?” Rowan’s head tilted back as he laughed, reaching out to catch her fingers between his own. He squeezed them, shaking his head at her. “I’m just saying, any female fans you have are not because they want to watch you fight. I Googled you.”

“Of course you did.”

“And if coming on Saturday,” she paused, fighting the twitch of her lips at the innuendo, “is what gets me to see you sweaty and naked, I will be there.”

“Apparently, you can find that on Google also.” Aelin started to jerk her hand from his, but he laughed again and tugged forcefully enough that she dropped into his lap, his arms settling around her hips.

They didn’t have sex on her desk by the time he left, but he did have a trail of lipstick down his neck and red smudges on his collar.

~*~

There had only been a few times where Aelin had seen Aedion this excited. He was practically jumping out of his skin, trying and failing to keep his wide grin at bay. The whole way there, he’d talked about Rowan’s stats and how likely it was for him to win this fight. Apparently, it was very likely, and according to Aedion, if anyone bet against Rowan in the gambling pools, they were going to lose a lot of money.

This version of Aedion was almost completely opposite the one that had shown up an hour late to the bar a few weeks ago, only to find Aelin perched in his personal hero’s lap.

By the time Aelin spotted a familiar head of golden blonde hair making his way through the crowd, Rowan had stayed true to his promise. He’d bought her not one but two drinks, and she had a very happy buzz flowing through her.

“Aedion!” She hadn’t bothered to get out of Rowan’s lap; she liked the way his hand felt on her thigh, the other twirling a piece of hair around his finger while he talked to the tall, broody one— Lorcan.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay; I made friends! And a fiancé!” Rowan laughed then, sticking his hand out for Aedion to shake.

“I’m the fiancé. Rowan Whitethorn. You must be the cousin she’s been waiting on.”

“I got held up at work. Aedion Ashryver, nice to meet you.” Despite the cool and collected exterior Aedion was giving off, Aelin knew without a doubt that he was dying inside. She spent several nights curled up on his couch while Aedion and his friends watched Rowan’s fights, though she’d never cared enough to pay attention. Usually, she disappeared to his guest room to read a book or snuck out after an acceptable amount of time to hang out with her own friends.

Aelin had heard about Rowan’s victories time and time again. When Aedion showed her different self-defense moves, he would say that Rowan Whitethorn took someone down with the same simple maneuver. To say that he admired Rowan would be an understatement. He damn near idolized him.

“Nice to meet you? That’s what you’re going with?” Aelin asked, mouth dropping open as everything Aedion had ever said about the man beneath her flooded her memory. Aelin looked at Rowan, shaking her head and pointing at her cousin. “All I ever hear about when you have a fight coming up is ‘Rowan Whitethorn this’ and ‘Rowan Whitethorn that.’ Yet now he’s here, and all he says is nice to meet you. Unbelievable.”

“Rowan doesn’t look like someone who particularly cares for fan service. Though if I’m wrong, correct me, and I will rectify that immediately. On my knees even, if he decides he’s interested in men at all.”

Aelin’s lips dipped into a drunk pout as she said, “I saw him first.”

“Technically, I saw you first,” Rowan interjected, a teasing tone in his voice. “And you rejected me.” A wrinkle appeared between her brows as she looked up at Rowan’s handsome face, disliking that she was already being ganged up on.

“I’m sorry— you rejected him?” Aedion sputtered in disbelief. Aelin flicked Rowan’s nose, and just like that, they settled into an easy banter that tugged on Aelin’s heart entirely too much.

Now, though, Aedion seemed to be nearly vibrating out of his skin with excitement. At will-call, they’d learned Rowan had set aside special floor seating just for them. When they walked into the arena, Aelin was pleased to see Rowan’s group of friends from the bar. She’d spent the most time with Fenrys than anyone else, and he welcomed her with a big hug, insisting she sit beside him instead of Lorcan. Aelin was more than happy to oblige, as Lorcan didn’t seem to have a taste for her. He didn’t even bother saying hello.

They settled into their seats, Aelin sitting between Fenrys and Aedion, both of whom had skipped the pleasantries and moved right into a conversation about the upcoming fight. Aelin leaned back into her chair and took in the surroundings. There were bits and pieces she remembered from her time barely watching matches with Aedion, but it was still different than what she expected. There was a large octagonal ring in the center of the room surrounded by black fencing that had to be about six feet tall. She wondered briefly if the fence was to keep people out or to keep the fighters in.

People were milling about, but Aelin realized that the arena itself was three levels high, and seats were piled around the room from floor to ceiling. There had to be thousands of them, and from the look of the crowds filing in, there wasn’t going to be an empty spot in the house. She hadn’t realized that MMA had such a following.

After about twenty minutes, the lights dimmed and the booming voice of the announcer filled the arena. People cheered wildly as the introductions for the fight were made and the sponsors were thanked. And finally, Aeling knew it was time. The announcer over-dramaticized the entrance for the first fighter and Aelin watched as a lean-muscled man walked up to the ring. He entered through a gate on the side, and people cheered as he made his rounds. Aelin sat on the edge of her seat for the announcer to start his next introduction, ready to see Rowan walking through the tunnel, when a different name was announced and a different man came strolling out. The confusion must have been all over her face when she looked at Aedion because he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Rowan is the main event,” he said. “Which means there are a few fights before his.”

“Seriously? You mean I have to wait?” Aedion nodded and her scowl deepened. “How long?”

“Looking at the schedule, Rowan’s fight is slated to start in about two hours.”

“Two hours?! I have to wait two hours!?”

“Come on, Ace. It won’t be that bad. Just try to enjoy it.” Aedion turned away and was immediately drawn into the fight that had begun in the ring just a few feet in front of her. Aelin pouted, remembering all the reasons why she never stuck around to watch these matches with Aedion previously.

“All I wanted was to see Rowan sweaty and half-naked. I literally don’t care about anyone else,” she grumbled, mostly to herself. Beside her, Fenrys chuckled and threw his arm around the back of her seat as she settled back. Aelin frowned down at her phone, opening Snapchat to get a quick photo of her expression, which she promptly sent to Rowan.

It took him a good ten minutes to reply back to her, and it seemed he knew why she was pouting because the text across his photo simply said be patient.

After that, she didn’t want to bother him, and whatever pre-match rituals he may have, so she settled for scrolling through various social media apps to bide her time. When she found herself restless, she gave in and opened her book app to continue reading a romance novel she’d started the day before. The male love interest may have been a boxer and may have been incredibly sexy, and she may have downloaded it after searching for fighting-related books.

She had just reached a particularly steamy part of the book when she felt Aedion nudge her arm. Godsdamn him, the leading male was just about to give the girl the orgasm of her life when he’d interrupted. Aelin scowled up at her cousin, but the expression morphed into one of incredulity and excitement when she heard Rowan’s name announced, and he walked out into the arena.

Aelin immediately perked up in her seat, sliding her phone between her thigh and the chair. Rowan strolled out like a king surveying his kingdom, and the cheers were deafening. He wore absolutely nothing but a pair of forest green athletic shorts that left little to the imagination and some sort of fist guards over his hands. A wicked grin formed on his lips as he jogged up to the ring and hoisted himself up over the side with practiced ease. There was a very dramatic introduction, one that had the entire crowd screaming and getting to their feet. Aelin couldn’t help but join them, giving a standing ovation to the man she’d spent so many stolen hours with lately. Beside her, Aedion was absolutely losing it. It only made her smile more.

Even as the arena quieted while the referee explained the rules, nobody returned to their seats. Everyone stayed on their feet, and Aelin could understand why. Once the fight started and the hits and kicks started to get thrown around, she found herself filled with a restless energy that she couldn’t push down. Every time his opponent’s fist swung toward him, her heart began to beat frantically in her chest.

But Rowan ducked and dipped out of reach almost every time. The way the muscles of his arms and legs rippled every time he took a swing at the other man, Cairn, her mouth went dry. She hadn’t walked into the arena tonight expecting to find anything about the fight beautiful, but it was. The way that Rowan’s body moved was like watching a dance unfold before her. Every swing of his arm or swift kick of his leg sending her heart racing just like it had when she’d watched ballets growing up. It felt like such a bizarre comparison to make, but Rowan Whitethorn’s body was nothing short of a work of art.

But there was also a ferocity in it. Where ballet was soft and demure, Rowan was a force of nature. His face was hewn from stone, each strike with his hands or legs precise and controlled, but with an element of chaos surrounding it. He unleashed himself on Cairn, throwing punches and kicks swiftly, so quick that Aelin could not keep up with where the next one was going to land. With brutal efficiency, Rowan managed to get past Cairn’s guard to deliver several painful-looking blows in quick succession that had the crowd collectively wincing. It seemed that Aedion’s idolization hadn’t been misplaced.

Rowan breathed heavily, sweat dripping down every inch of his torso. His abdominals flexed with every exhale, showing off every hard line and sharp curve. The tattoo that swirled down his left side glistened under the bright lights of the arena. He looked like a god, and Aelin discovered that she found it quite difficult to keep her mind from falling off into the gutter when he looked like that.

When he made the final blow, a hit to Cairn’s face that had him unconscious before he even hit the floor, Aelin was surprised by how wholly turned on she was. He dominated the fight and looked damn good while doing it. Rowan was announced as the winner, fierce triumph written all over his face as the crowd completely lost their minds. Pride swelled in her stomach, and she couldn’t help her wide smile as she cheered along with the thousands of people in the arena. Even though it was televised, it felt special when he made eye contact with her and grinned before exiting the ring and heading her way.

Of course, he was intercepted about a dozen different times by dozens of different people offering their congratulations. When he finally got to her, he dipped down and hugged her tightly to his chest, pulling her feet off the ground. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin layers of her clothing, scorching her skin. The smell of him, a musky scent of sweat and the pine body wash she had come to associate with him assaulted her nose and she breathed him in deep. She felt the want ratcheting up in the most delicious way and knew that she would no longer be content with a night of only being pressed against her apartment door. Their kisses, no matter how desperate they had been, wouldn’t be enough to sate the need she felt for him. She needed all of him, and she needed him as raw and unrestrained as he had been during that fight. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as her feet met the floor, and he stepped back.

“Sorry, I’m sweaty.”

“You were amazing.” Amazing didn’t quite cover it, but it was the only word she could think of that came anywhere close.

“Does that mean you’ll come out with me tonight? To celebrate?” She wanted to say yes immediately. But with him in front of her, covered in sweat and looking like the only thing she wanted her mouth to touch for the foreseeable future, Aelin shook her head as her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. The disappointment began to cloud his handsome face, but she shook her head faster as though it would dispel his negative thoughts.

“I was kind of hoping I could steal you away. Celebrate with you alone.” Her voice was low and sultry, and she almost laughed because she could see him calculating just what that meant. The two of them. A celebration. Entirely alone, with no one else around.

“I— yeah. Yes. We can— yes. I have to wrap up here and then we can go to my place?” At all of his stuttering, she couldn’t help the bright laughter that bubbled out of her as the usually confident man in front of her stumbled a bit. His attention was drawn away temporarily when Aedion clapped Rowan on the shoulder and began to spew his admiration and congratulations. Rowan took it with grace, thanking him for coming while trying to keep his eyes off Aelin’s face. The way she bit her lip clearly wasn’t helping because his eyes kept dropping down to her mouth.

When a member of his team told him he needed to hurry— he had a short press conference post-fight and still wanted to shower before— Rowan dropped a chaste kiss to her lips and headed back to the locker room.

Aelin waited not-so-patiently, standing on the outside of Rowan’s group of friends in the parking lot while they talked. Aedion fit right in, pointing out the highlights of the fight with renewed vigor. He still seemed to be riding the adrenaline high from watching Rowan fight , and Aelin was sure he would implement something of what they saw into her self defense training.

When Rowan finally came out, they all cheered and shoved him around their little circle in celebration. He was grinning from ear to ear as he reached for Aelin and pulled her into his side, dropping a kiss to her hair. It was impossible to stop the tug she felt in her stomach, something between excitement and nerves. Everything inside seemed to be tied up in delicious knots as she leaned into him, enveloped by the scent of his body wash, the smell of pine equal parts comforting and arousing. “Where are we going tonight?” Fenrys drawled, throwing his arm around Vaughan. The quiet, dark-haired man tried to shrug out of it, but it only ended with him in a headlock.

“I will actually be stealing him away,” Aelin said before Rowan could even get a word in. Rowan’s hold on her shoulder tightened as he squeezed, and she squeezed him back where she had her arm around his waist, secretly thrilled that he was as on board with this plan as she was. His friends groaned in protest but Aelin and Rowan laughed. Lorcan looked particularly displaced about the revelation and was the first to step backward out of the circle and bid farewell. It didn’t take long for the others to follow and for Aelin to lace her fingers through Rowan’s and tug him toward his car.

While their pace could be described as leisurely, Aelin felt anything but. Now alone, she felt that want from earlier return with a vengeance. Rowan squeezed her hand, and her mind immediately wandered to those strong hands touching elsewhere, all over. A quick glance up at him left her reeling when she caught his gaze on her, and swore she saw every dirty thought that crossed his mind. It excited her, knowing that despite his cool, calm exterior wrapped around all of that cockiness, Rowan Whitethorn was just as affected as she was by what was to come.

When they arrived at his car, a sleek, black sports car that was perfectly him, Rowan opened the passenger door for her, ushering her in. Aelin turned her head towards him, and under the parking lot lights, she could see where Rowan had taken a bit of a beating.

Ducking inside the car, Aelin turned to look at Rowan, her thumb coming to brush over a bruise that was forming on his cheek. It was already a blue-purple color, indicating that it would only look worse over the next few days. Luckily he hadn’t taken too many hits, so this seemed to be the worst of his injuries. There was one other place near his temple that had drawn a little bit of blood but it was already on the mend, cleaned by the medics backstage.

“I’m okay,” he reassured her, his hand coming over to rest on her thigh. Aelin pulled hers away, startled by the softness in his voice. Her eyes searched Rowan’s for the lie that he was more hurt than he let on, but she saw nothing. She supposed it should have comforted her that Rowan knew what his limits were, but still, it seemed crazy that this man before her was the same one that had attacked Cairn in the ring and ended the fight in the first round.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, her voice echoing the softness of his own.

“You just saw me get pummeled a few times and you’re worried about hurting me?” His voice dripped with disbelief, remnants of a laugh bubbling out. Aelin shrugged, cheeks stained a rosy blush.

“I don’t want to accidentally push on places that hurt.”

“I can assure you that anything you inflict upon me will be the sweetest kind of pain,” he promised, lacing his fingers with hers and bringing them to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles as he started the car and drove out of the dimly lit parking lot. Those knots in her stomach unspooled themselves into liquid heat as her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. “Don’t do that.”

His voice was rough with want, and it scraped over her, leaving small goosebumps on her skin. She shivered in anticipation, and ached to hear more in that deep, rumbling timbre. Reaching out a hand, she coyly ran her fingers slowly, softly up the taut skin of his arm. “Do what?”

“Bite your lip like that when I can’t kiss you.”

“If you drove faster, you would be able to kiss me,” Aelin teased, leaning over the center console to press a lingering kiss to his shoulder. Rowan’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the steering wheel, glancing over at her as the car rolled to a stop at a red light. Soaking up the opportunity they’d graciously been given by the gods, he deftly captured her chin and crushed his lips against hers, kissing her in a way that stoked the smoldering want inside her into an inferno. She felt the sinful slide of his tongue brushing against hers, of his teeth tugging over her bottom lip like he wanted to take a bite out of her. Aelin hoped that he would.

When he pulled away, Aelin’s eyes stayed closed, her lips stayed parted. A shaky breath tumbled from them, filling the tense silence in the car. It took everything in her to sit back in her seat and let him drive. If she were to do what she truly wanted to do, she would have him pull over and climb with him into the backseat, his apartment and privacy be damned.

Aelin wasn’t so sure that Rowan would stop her if she tried to coax him into it. How they had managed to go this long without tearing each other’s clothes off was a mystery to her. As she looked over at him, her eyes lingered on those strong hands gripping the steering wheel, hands that she wanted gripping her in the same way. She desperately wanted to have his fingerprints bruised into her thighs, to see the imprints of his teeth all over her chest. The idea of his back being covered with the marks of her nails only fed that growing fire within her.

The drive seemed to take an eternity, consisting of stolen kisses at stop signs and longing looks. It was hard to keep her hands to herself, and that seemed to be the case for Rowan, too. By the time they reached his apartment, his hand had drifted so high up her thigh that it was burning a hole straight through her jeans.

Rowan held her hand loosely while they walked inside the building and to the elevator. As soon as the metal doors slid shut, however, he was tugging her toward him and pressing her back against the wall. His hands slid from her hands to her waist, dropping down to her thighs to lift her up on the railing. Aelin couldn’t help the moan that she breathed into his mouth, her fingers twining into his hair while he tugged at her lip.

When the elevator dinged on his floor, Rowan was dragging hot kisses down her throat. It seemed to be too much for him because he had to take a moment before he pulled away. Rowan’s mouth stayed against her neck while he caught his breath causing goosebumps to rise all over her skin. The doors were beginning to close again when he finally pulled away and shoved his hand out to stop them.

Aelin laughed then, sliding down from the railing and tugging him down the hall toward his apartment. At the door Rowan fumbled with his keys, pressing kisses to the side of her neck as the lock tumbled and gained them entrance.

Any restraint he had left seemed to dissipate as soon as the door was shut and locked. Once again her feet left the floor as he carried her to his room and laid her down on his bed. Their kisses were hungry, starving as he lifted her shirt and tossed it onto the floor. His hands made quick work of the rest of her clothing, and before long they were just skin on skin, his mouth drifting lower and lower down her body.

All of it was pure ecstasy, almost too much for her to handle. It didn’t take long before she fractured beneath his mouth, her nails digging into his back, scratching desperately over his skin as he moved back up her torso to press his lips against hers.

When he pulled back to look at her, something had shifted. Gone were the frantic kisses, replaced by deeper ones that stole her breath from her lungs. An impossible feeling was tugging at her heart as their bodies moved together beneath the sheets. This time when she fell over the edge, Rowan went with her. Their bodies were so tangled it was hard for her to think clearly enough about where he started and she ended. Their gasping moans were a harmony she wouldn’t soon forget as he collapsed on top of her.

Aelin’s heel pushed down the strong muscles of his thigh, his calves, silently begging him not to move. His lips ignited sparks over her collarbones as he settled atop her while her fingers ran softly up and down his sides.

Eventually Rowan rolled off of her, and she would have frowned had he not tugged her into his side a heartbeat later. Aelin draped her leg over his waist and nuzzled her face against his chest, pressing a single kiss over his heart.

The last thing she remembered was the feeling of his hands in her hair and his low humming of a forgotten melody as she drifted off into a blissful sleep.

~*~

Soft kisses were being dropped over her bare back, leaving a trail up and down her spine. Aelin hummed in approval as a grin spread across her face. Her eyes were still closed, ignoring the rays of sunshine that were likely illuminating her face, when Rowan pressed a kiss to her cheek and the corner of her mouth.

“Good morning,” she said hoarsely, her lack of voice another reminder of everything that had transpired last night. She had woken Rowan a handful of hours after their first time, rolling on top of him and placing teasing kisses over his neck and chest until his calloused hands guided her into position. That time, Aelin had been control, her hands gripping the headboard through wave after wave of pleasure. There was an ache between her legs that made her want to beg Rowan to touch her despite how exhausted she was.

“Hi, baby.”

Aelin’s smile widened as she rolled onto his back and looped her arms loosely around his neck. Rowan kissed her properly then, long and slow until she was sure they were going to go for a third round in under twelve hours.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, fingers brushing her hair back from her face. Aelin wanted to snort in response, knowing last nights makeup was likely smeared around her eyes and she reeked of sex and sweat. But there was such reverence in his tone that she couldn’t bring herself to disagree, his green eyes bright in the morning sun as they traced over every feature of her face. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her hand moved from his neck to the side of his face, thumb brushing lightly over the bruise that marred his skin.

“You saw me fight. You watched me beat the hell out of someone and you didn’t turn and run. You didn’t balk. You still wanted me.”

Aelin was positive the confusion was written all over her face from the downturn of her lips to her furrowed brow, but still she said, “Has that been a problem before?”

“Yes.” Rowan pressed a series of kisses over her face starting at her temple and ending at her jaw.

“It’s not a problem for me,” she promised, voice barely a whisper against his cheek. Rowan was quiet for a moment, turning his face to look at her. “You’re a fighter. That’s what you are. I wouldn’t want you to be anything but what you are.”

A mix of emotions fluttered across his face, whatever he felt being a catalyst for kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, nose, and finally her lips. When he pulled back, he looked hesitant and unsure. It was the first time Aelin had ever seen him like that and it felt raw. Like he was exposing a part of himself he seldom did. She was ready to ask him what was going on when he kissed her so thoroughly she’d nearly forgotten the conversation at hand.

“What if I wanted to be something else?” Rowan gazed down at her, teeth grazing over his bottom lip. Again, she swore she saw uncertainty on his face and in his tone as the question rushed out in a single breath.

“Like what?”

“Like your boyfriend.”

She couldn’t help the joyful laughter that bubbled up and out like champagne. Rowan grinned too, so widely that his dimples were deep in his cheeks. Her thumbs ran over them as she kissed him, both of their smiles making it almost difficult. It was too cute, the way he’d seemed almost nervous and bashful in his delivery. It felt like high school all over again in the most innocent way.

“You can be that, too.”

[miracle-sham]

Crack Your Bones and Say Those Lies.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 3: And They Were Roommates} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

———

| After getting roped into the Vigilante life by Chat Noir, her friend and partner in crime, Maladroit tries her best to help fight crime to make the city a better place, if only Red Hood and his gang would stop causing problems. |

| Or alternatively, Marinette and Jason are roommates with secrets. Both have huge crushes on each other but more importantly, both are trying to juggle moonlighting as their secret identities. However, when watching the nightly news together, everything changes. |

| Word Count: 5,014. |

| Warnings/Tags: No Miraculous/Different Powers Au, Roommates, minor gang mentions/Red Hood is a gang lord, gun violence, Vigilantism, Identity Shenanigans/Mistakes, Miscommunication, some emotional hurt, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, and Domestic fluff. Also Oblivious, Protective, & Mutually Pining Marinette and Jason. |

———

| A/N: Hey! Sorry this is nearly a week late but where I live got hit with a nasty heatwave and I was barely able to write from sheer exhaustion from the heat. But on a happier note, I'm so glad I've finally been able to write and post a proper Vigilantes au (as in like Spidey style vigilantism with homemade gear and all!) Because that kinda Vigilante au especially combined with roommates is my favourite trope ever! Well maybe joint with Dragonrider AUs, but still! I've had multiple Vigilante Aus sitting in my notes and drafts so it's brilliant to finally release one into the wild! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

It's Friday night, and Maladroit and Chat Noir are midway through their usual patrol of their slice of territory in the city.

“Race you to the billboard!” Chat Noir calls out, snickering in an almost cat-like-chitter as he launches himself forwards. Swinging over Maladroit's head with his grapple, he lands on the next roof ahead, in a perfect three-point landing.

Maladroit giggles, “Oh, you're so on!” She grabs her grapple and shoots. Swinging after him and onto the same roof. She instead, dive forward rolls for her landing and uses the momentum to propel her into a run.

Losing his lead due to the momentum loss of the three-point landing, Chat Noir vaults over a roof vent.

Forced to swerve to the side, Maladroit barely dodges a massive puddle of rainwater on her side of the roof.

Neck and Neck, the two raced across the rooftop. Closer and closer to the billboard they raced.

Nearly there! She thinks, c'mon! Reaching an arm out to slap the billboard—

Bzzt!

“Eep!” She yelps, startled by the buzzing crackle of her earring-comms. Unintentionally, she accidentally veers to the side and crashes straight into Chat Noir's side.

They collide with a loud thud, and two of them crumple into a pile.

“Graceful as ever, Mal.” A voice teases over her earring-comms. “Joking aside, didn't mean to spook you, sorry!”

Maladroit groans, “thanks,” and gingerly extracts herself from the vigilante limb pile.

“Gamer!” Chat Noir cheers, having heard him through his own disguised comms. “Got any crimes for us to fight tonight?”

There's a chuckle over the line, “Lucky you should ask, Chat, I do happen to have found some villainous plans for you to thwart.”

Chat Noir cracks his knuckles and stretches. “Oh? What are they?”

“Two which are time-sensitive.” Gamer adds.

Maladroit stifles a squawk, “Two! That are time-sensitive?” Her voice goes up a pitch on the last word, making it sound like a question.

“Uh-huh.” He confirms. “Chat Noir, there's a break-in at a jewellery store two blocks over from you. I'm sending you the directions now to your phone.”

Chat Noir does a two-fingered salute to the nearest security camera. “Got it, G! Detective Noir is on the case!”

“And Maladroit, we've got reports of sightings of Red Hood outside his usual area. By the Warehouses on fourth. There are no security cams around there so I've got nothing but rumours to go on. See if you can check it out and find out what he's up to.” Gamer informs her, sounding slightly irritated at the fact he's got little information to give her.

Maladroit nods, grumbling slightly. “When isn't he up to something.”

Slinging an arm around her shoulder, Chat Noir grins like the Cheshire Cat. “C'mon, Mal! It'll be a quick sweep and nothing will turn up like the last twenty times we've gotten this kinda tip-off!”

“You owe me ice cream from André's when we're in civvies tomorrow!” She huffs. “I made us macarons last time!”

“I haven't forgotten!” Chat Noir protests. “Anyway, see you tomorrow if we don't catch each other for the end of the patrol?”

Maladroit nods. “Yep! See ya later Minou!”

The two split. Chat Noir dashing after the directions, and Maladroit swinging towards the warehouses on fourth.

———

Breathe, Maladroit—reminds herself, perched on the rafters in one of the warehouses on fourth. Staring at the blood-red glowing mask of the red hooded villain, who happens to be oh so creatively named the 'Red Hood', leaning on the balcony railing on the opposite side of the warehouse to her rafter, and presumably glaring up at her.

“It's you again, Maladroit.” He growls, distorted by whatever voice modifier he's got wired into his mask.

She can't help but wince at the reminder of the word she had accidentally said the first time she had ever helped Chat Noir fight crime. Which irritatingly enough, stuck as her vigilante name. Especially since her second attempt at a name, Ladybug, didn't stick. She frowns beneath the black and red spotted bandana covering her mouth, and tightly grips her bladed yo-yo—with piano wire instead of string—of the same colour scheme.

“What are you planning, Red Hood?” She spits out, voice also modified by her bandana, a tad too grumpy and bitterly for the awkward-but-smiley "persona" she's supposed to act like (although it's not so much of a persona when that's just how she is almost all the time). But in her defence, she's had a rough day at uni, things have been awkward at home because of her crush on her roomie lately, and more importantly, Red Hood's lackeys have been a pain in the neck for the past week, so her reaction is more than warranted.

He has the audacity to laugh. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Pipsqueak?”

“Well,” Maladroit huffs, “I was hoping you were feeling considerate.”

Red Hood shifts his shoulders. “Aww, sorry Pipsqueak. I'm not feeling particularly considerate today.” In a split second, he slips both guns from his holsters, spins them, and shoots.

Maladroit squeaks, instinctively tugging on her power, and dives off the rafter to dodge the shot. “Rude!”

She's just able to shoot her grapple off and swing up to another metal beam.

“How the fuck do you keep dodging my shots?” He snarls, gesturing at her with his guns in short angry-looking motions.

In response, she throws her yo-yo at him, tugging on her power again. The yo-yo spins through the air, slashing through the Red Hood's jacket sleeve and slicing a deep groove into the gun, then rewinds on the wire back to her. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Bullet Boy!” She parrots back, cheekily.

“Hey!” Red Hood snaps, aiming another shot at her.

Tugging on her powers once more, Maladroit yelps as she swings to yet another metal rafter beam in order to avoid the shot. “Your aim sucks!”

“Fuck you!” He retorts, firing off four more shots aimed at her head.

There's a horrifying moment as she barely manages to tug on her powers in time. The bullets barely skimming past her hood, one even tearing the fabric slightly.

“Mal!” Comes Gamer's terrified voice over her earring-comms, “I need you to pull back immediately! Red Hood and his gang have been spotted nearby and Chat can't get to you in time to back you up if you do get into a fight!”

She raises a hand to her earrings and quietly laughs hysterically. “Little too late for that, G! I'm uh currently staring… face to gun to him”

“Oh, fuck!” Gamer responds, voice going up a pitch. “I'm contacting Chat now. Try and get out if you can but prioritise not getting yourself killed, please!”

Red Hood fires his guns again. “Eyes and ears on me, Pipsqueak.”

Squeaking yet again, Maladroit desperately tugs on her power once more and swings to another rafter. Her heart thunders in her chest as loudly as his gunfire. She spits out a frantic, “no promises!” to both of them.

“I've informed him, your backup is on the way.” Gamer tells her.

The main warehouse doors clatter open with a resounding slam! Followed by the stomping of multiple pairs of boots storming inside.

Maladroit waves at Red Hood, the quiet terrified hysterical laughter practically bubbling out of her mouth. “Haha, well I'm afraid that's my cue to Bug Out!”

“Oh, I don't think so, Pipsqueak.” Red Hood taunts, shooting six bullets at her, rapid-fire. “I ain't finished with our convo yet.”

Squeaking for the umpteenth time, and really just giving him even more reason to keep giving her that stupid pipsqueak nickname, she riskily shoots her grapple, aiming and swinging towards the warehouse's large balcony windows.

“Get the fuck back here!” He snarls, voice deepening with fury. Pausing to reload before firing off more shots at her with abandon.

Maladroit wriggles midair, tugging on her powers to try and dodge the shots. She curls into a dive forward roll as the grapple forces her to land onto the balcony. The same one that Red Hood has been stood on this entire time. Oh, help me! She thinks, eyes widening behind her makeshift red with black tinted lenses, goggles-slash-domino mask.

He aims his gun at her once more. “Move and you fucking die, pipsqueak.”

Putting her hands in the air, she swallows a gulp of air. Her body armour is padded beneath her red, and black spotted, hoodie but it isn't bulletproof. And she can feel the straining exhaustion of overusing her powers clawing at her.

They're at a standoff. Still as statues, the both of them. It's almost poetic how they parallel each other. He's got his gun aimed at her, whilst she's desperately clutching at her grappling hook gun in one of her raised hands. Both donned in red. Both committing crimes in the eyes of the law. Two sides of the same coin, one and the same.

Maladroit feels sick to her stomach, staring down the barrels of his guns. Ever so slowly, she tugs on her powers. The window a little bit behind her creaks quietly enough that Red Hood doesn't seem to notice beneath the clamour of his gang doing whatever it is they're doing below.

She counts her breath and tugs on her power. A minute passes with no movement, no words, nothing happening on the balcony. Out of the corner of her eye, she can just see that it's now open enough that she should be able to make it out unscathed. Or at least mostly unscathed.

Closing her eyes, not that he can see, her power snaps. Instinctively she doubles over and slaps a hand over her mouth. Barely in time as a stifled scream is yanked from her throat, leaving her panting for breath. Her knees crash onto the balcony flooring. A bullet whizzes past her neck.

“Shit. What the fuck was that?” Red Hood grumbles, sounding genuinely concerned. He storms across the balcony towards her.

Maladroit can't help but flinch, bodily throwing herself back as far away from him as she can. Mind racing in panic.

He stows one gun back into a holster then reaches a hand towards her. “Hey, hey, hey. Calm down.”

“Gotta go! Bug-bye!” She squeaks out, wrenching on her power with all her remaining strength, and bolting for the window.

“I think the fuck not! Fucking pretending to be hurt.” Red Hood barks, ripping the gun back out of its holster.

Narrowly dodging the spray of bullets shot at her, Maladroit dives through the window and fires off her grapple. Safely swinging far away from the warehouse.

———

Carefully Maladroit drops with the ease of far too many nights of practise, onto the fire escape outside her bedroom window. She crouches and lets the shadows of the night hide her form. Creeping closer, she checks the windowsill for any marks or signs of tampering but it all comes away untouched. Content with her quick security check, she fumbles for the disguised piece of string wedging the window ajar in a way that's barely visible unless you know where to look for it. Got it! She thinks to herself, grabbing ahold of it and prying it, and the window above it, up and open.

Slipping through the open window, she sits on the sill to rip her thankfully not-too-dirty studded steel-toed boots off. Picking them up in one hand, she wiggles the rest of the way into her room and immediately resets the security measures, yanking the curtain down for privacy.

Maladroit then shuffles over to her bed. Tikki—her gorgeous fluffy red and dark brown miniature dachshund—blinks sleepily up at her, from the dog bed next to it. The puppy yaps in greeting before snuffling and curling back up to sleep.

She coos at the cuteness before continuing on. With the other hand not carrying the boots, she pries the blanket covered duffel bag out from underneath. Wrestling to unzip it in one janky and awkward motion, grunting slightly at the exertion. The metal of the zip digs in but the discomfort is mostly mitigated by the padded gloves and wrist guards she's wearing. The easy to clean plastic bag designated for temporary storing of her boots is dragged out of the bag and said boots are tossed in without a second glance.

Huffing, she starts to take the rest of her cross between mostly homemade and refashioned sports kit vigilante gear off. First, tugging down the hood of her hoodie and unclipping the black scrum cap hidden under it. It's dumped unceremoniously into a secondary plastic bag in the open duffel bag. After that, Maladroit removes the black neck guard and pulls her makeshift goggles-slash-domino mask over her head. Those too, are dumped into the other plastic bag. Then she unties the bandana with the nose guard underneath, from around her mouth and nose. Unsurprisingly, they're also dumped in the bag.

Next, she undoes the velcros on her red and black padded gloves, black wrist guards, as well as black elbow, knee, and shin pads. Also dumped into the other bag. With the outer protective wear removed, Maladroit pulls her hoodie over her head. Continuing on, she peels the padded rugby body armour and shorts off, and then the thermal under-armour. All dumped into the third and final plastic bag. “I swear,” Maladroit mumbles to herself, “getting changed out my gear never gets easier. And to think back when I had my last P.E. lesson at school, I thought I'd never have to touch this kinda kit ever again. Rip me.”

Lastly, Marinette—no longer Maladroit seeing as she is no longer in her vigilante gear—throws on her running-to-the-bathroom spare bathrobe to cover herself. She hastily shoves the three plastic bags into the duffel bag and kicks it under her bed. Purposefully leaving it unzipped but quickly fixing the blanket covering the bag, so that she can more easily grab her kit to clean everything later, whilst keeping it sufficiently hidden.

With that mostly taken care of, she nabs the mouthguard case, some clean pyjamas, and dashes out of her room—clinging awkwardly to the bathrobe. She hops in the apartment's shared bathroom, the rest of the place is silent, meaning her roomie, Jason, must have gone out. Still, Marinette locks the door regardless. If there's one thing she's learnt in her foray into the nightly masked vigilantism, is that one can never be too careful.

“Shit! Nearly forgot to take this out.” She grumbles to herself, just as she was stepping into the shower. Prying the mouthguard out of her mouth as she shuffles over to the sink, she gives it a quick rinse under the tap. Followed by a thorough scrubbing with her toothbrush and glob of toothpaste. She pops it into the mouthguard case and leaves it on the side of the sink for now.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Marinette finally allows herself to indulge in a good half an hour-long hot shower to get the grime from a night of crime-fighting off of herself.

She's only just drying off her hair, having already changed into her pyjamas, when the blare of the TV echoes through the apartment. Tensing up, her anxiety runs wild. It's what they get for living in the cheaper but slightly dodgy apartments where the walls are thin and the doors are thinner. Grabbing the mouthguard case, she wraps it up in the bathrobe and peeks out the bathroom door and looks down the hall into the open plan kitchen lounge. Jason's back, he's sitting on the sofa watching the TV.

Shoulders untensing, she finished drying her hair and heads out into the hallway. In place of a greeting, she exclaims, “oh! Jason, you're back!”

Jason flinches slightly and looks over his shoulder back at her. “Yeah, a friend had an emergency so, y'know.”

Immediately, concern wrenches at Marinette's heart, “oh no, I'm sorry. Are they… okay?”

He waves a hand in a so-so gesture and clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. They're fine now.”

“That's good!” She says, nodding, as she makes her way fully into the lounge and the TV catches her attention. “Oh is it nearly the eleven o'clock news already? I need to watch this! Alya texted me earlier saying I have to, and she sounded really excited!” Glancing down at the bundle in her arms and flushes red. “Actually, I'll be back in a second!”

“I'll yell as soon as it actually starts.” Jason offers, smiling warmly at her.

Marinette just misses the smile, rushing back to her room, and throwing a quick, “thanks,” over her shoulder back at him.

Also missing his smile turn fond and the good-natured roll of his eyes at her antics.

Barely half a minute passes before she's bounding back into the lounge, with a sleepy Tikki at her heels. She plops herself down on the sofa next to him and hopes the blush on her face could simply be mistaken for the flush of running about like a mad thing instead. Tikki whines until Marionette picks her up and lets her on the sofa with them, padding over to the furthest corner to curl up in.

Jason points to the pink floral steaming mug on the coffee table, right next to his Pride Prejudice and Zombies themed mug. “Whilst you were in the shower, I made us both hot chocolates with marshmallows, my granddad Alfie's recipe.”

“Oh!” Marinette responds in pleasant surprise. She turns to him and positively beams, eyes shining with happiness. “Thank you so much, Jason! You're always so thoughtful!”

He blushes and rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “Yeah, well, I thought it's only fair since you normally make 'em. And I visited Alfie recently, and I promised to get you his recipe to try, so I thought it'd be a nice surprise for once!” He pauses and points at the big bowl also on the coffee table, “also I cooked us some popcorn.”

“Aw! Thank you again! I really appreciate this!” She scoops up the hot chocolate with slight reverence and takes a sip. Immediately her face lights up even more in joy. “Oh, this is delicious!”

Jason chuckles, “isn't it the best! I'll pass that onto Alfie though, he'll be glad to know you like it so much. Speaking of which, he's gonna give making them a try next time I'm up since I wasn't there long enough this time. Would you fancy coming with me to see him, then?”

Her eyes widen and her heart stutters in her chest, feeling close to bursting from happiness. “I'd love to! Do you have a date when you're thinking of going up?”

He nods. “Yeah, maybe around—”

But he's interrupted by the starting audio of the eleven o'clock news.

They both immediately shut up and watch the screen intently as the news anchors appear on the show. The starting discussion is somewhat boring, talking about the local billionaire Wayne-or-something business and a related upcoming charity event of some sort.

Marinette doesn't pay attention to it, but she does catch Jason wrinkling his nose and scowling at the conversation.

Luckily, the topic shifts quickly enough. “And now, over to our newest reporter, Alya. We hear there's been some rumblings regarding the conflict between local vigilante Chat Noir, his sidekick Maladroit, and the gang controlled by the infamous Red Hood himself.”

“That's stupid,” Jason grumbles, “Maladroit is a fully-fledged vigilante in her own right and not just the catboy's sidekick. That's like saying Nightwing is Batman's sidekick!”

Marinette frowns, very touched by his words and trying her damnedest to appear nonchalant. “I don't know… from all the-uh news clips, Maladroit seems like Chat Noir's sidekick to me. She's always hovering nervously near him like a strong wind would spook her.”

“C'mon! She's been reported to have held her own against Red Hood on multiple occasions, alone!” He argues, sounding rather offended on her alter egos behalf.

Scoffing, she shakes her head. “Clearly that's because he's going easy on her! He's never directly shot her, according to the reports clearly, he's soft on her!” The lies taste bitter on her tongue.

Jason splutters and flushes bright red, turning away from her slightly. “W-well that's obviously a testament to her skill and not Red Hood's mercy! He's always reported as being a merciless killer, why'd he be soft on her!”

“I don't know!” She makes a dying-choking noise as she flushes even more red than earlier. Shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth to avoid having to respond any further.

Luckily, the news shows pans over to Alya standing in front of a screen showing a recorded feed of a warehouse. Not just any warehouse, but specifically the one on fourth that Maladroit had faced Red Hood in less than an hour ago.

Marinette feels her pulse quicken at the reminder of the close shave she'd had.

“Hey wait a second, those warehouses don't have security cameras at all? How'd they get this footage?” Jason complains, eyes narrowed at the TV.

It feels as though ice has been poured down her spine at his words. She freezes, body stiffening in shock. He's right… G said there's none because that's why he asked me to check things out. The only people who'd know this are Chat, Gamer, myself, and Red Hood and his gang. She swallows thickly and tries to subtly side-eye Jason. Oh no. I've been crushing on my roommate who works for Red Hood's gang? Oh god! The friend with the emergency was referring to Red Hood calling him into work!

She can't help but inhale a shallow panicked breath. He could've been one of the lackeys shooting at me and Chat this past week. Or, or I could've hurt him with my yo-yo. Or—

Jason turns to fully face, clearly registering the blatant panic on her face. “Hey, hey, hey, Marinette, you're okay, you're safe. What's wrong?”

“Are you working for Red Hood?” Marinette blurts out, accidentally, the words pouring out in an unintentional panicked rush. “Are you in his gang?”

He jerks back, fear, confusion, and hurt crosses his face. “Wh-what? What makes you think that?”

“His gang was just in that warehouse, and you were out on an emergency for a "friend". And how would you have known unless you were there tonight and working for his gang?” She chews her lip forcefully and winces as the taste of iron floods her mouth.

He reaches towards her, eyes widening concern.

She flinches back, suddenly reminded of how similar this is to that moment with Red Hood on the warehouse balcony.

Jason jerks back as if her flinching burnt him. Raising his hands, he leans away from her to give her some semblance of space. “Fuck. Look, I'm not going to hurt you! Have I ever hurt you whilst we've been roomies?”

Nervously, she shakes her head.

“I really care about you, Marinette. Hell, we've lived together for nearly a year now. I would never hurt you, okay! I promise.” Tears prick in his eyes, and he grimaces slightly, lowering his hands to rest on his lap. “Yeah, I uh, I'm working for him. But I do everything I can to keep work from following me home. I didn't tell you because I never wanted to scare you.”

Guilt gnaws at her. “I'm sorry! I shouldn't have judged. I—” She takes a shaky breath, “I really really care about you too. I'm just worried, what if Red Hood, or even Maladroit, or any of the other vigilantes hurt you? What if you get hurt in one of those gang wars?” Her words aren't lies but they're not the full truth either.

He sighs, “I can't promise I won't ever get hurt on the job. Maladroit and the other vigilantes do a lot of good but Maladroit especially is far too nice to hurt any of us. I've uh, seen her fight some of the others gang members, and been fought by her too. And out of everyone against the gang, she's the one who leaves us with barely more than a scratch at worst.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Most in the gang really respect her for that, y'know.”

Marinette's brain feels like the windows shutting down sound. “Oh. Oh.”

Sheepishly, he smiles half-heartedly at her. “Yeah.”

“So, is that why you were so adamant she's a fully-fledged vigilante in her right?” She asks, feeling bashful yet honoured whilst completely surprised.

Jason clears his throat and glances away. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” Her brain rewinds a moment. She splutters for a second, desperation racing through her. “Wait, she's fought you!?”

Full-on grimacing, he nervously laughs. “Left but a scratch!”

“Are you misquoting Monty Python right now? Oh good gods, that's the knight who says that after getting his limbs chopped off!” Marinette exclaims, looking every bit as horrified as her tone of voice conveys.

“Seriously, I've never gotten worse than a couple of minor cuts and bruises, I'm fine!” Jason reiterates.

She frowns and gingerly shuffles across the sofa closer to him. He keeps leaning back away, so she physically throws herself at him, pulling him into a tight hug. Incidentally burying her face in his shirt. “Okay, okay. Just, please let me know next time you get hurt. I've a friend who lived in a bad situation before, so I know how to help patch up minor injuries. Promise?”

Jason stiffens at the hug and slowly moves one hand to cup the back of her head whilst wrapping the other around her back. He shuts his eyes, cocking his head back and sighs. “Alright. I promise I'll tell you. And I'm sorry for keeping something this big from you. As I said, I was worried you'd be scared of me or that you'd get dragged into gang-related shit because of it.”

“You don't need to apologise.” Marinette mumbles in response, “I get it. I really do understand.” She bites at her sore bleeding lips again in guilt, her secret identity left unspoken on her tongue.

He shrugs, “so uh. I'm guessing you're still happy to stay roomies then, right?”

“Of course!” She responds without missing a beat hugging him even tighter.

Eventually, they release each other from the embrace to finish their now lukewarm hot chocolates and popcorn. The news continues playing, no longer forgotten in the background as the two try to act as if nothing has changed.

———

Jason collapses onto his bed with a heavy sigh. He pulls out his phone and rings a number on autopilot.

The dial tone plays as the line connects. “Hey, whaddup Jay?”

“Holy fucking shit balls, man.” Jason groans. “I fucked up.”

Roy hums, “like need help burying a body fucked up or what?”

Jason groans even louder, smushing his face into his bed covers. “My roomie is smart, right. I accidentally let a tiny detail slip when we were chatting whilst watching the eleven o'clock news as usual. And she now thinks that I'm in Red Hood's gang.”

There's a long pause, before Roy bursts into raucous laughter. “Holy shit, I'm dying! She's not wrong!”

“Yeah. I know. She ain't right either though.” He grumbles in response. “She was absolutely terrified when she realised. Nearly had a full-on panic attack and everything.”

“Oh fuck.” Roy helpfully says.

Jason grunts in agreement. “She was also real concerned that Red Hood or the vigilantes have hurt me.”

“Well, that's better?” Roy offers, sounding rather unsure of his own words.

“Yeah but she's taken thinking I'm some low-level member of my gang this badly, how the fuck d'ya think she's gonna take finding out I'm the big bad Red Hood himself?” Jason sighs. “I don't want to ask her out without her knowing this, 'cause it could endanger her.”

Roy hums again, “well, you've been roommates this long already and she's been completely safe from the Vigilante-Gang life so far.”

There's a gentle thump as Jason lifts his head and throws it into the sheets again out of sheer frustration. He relents, reluctantly. “That's true…”

“See. And since it sounds like she's not planning on moving out, clearly she doesn't mind living with you. Just ask her out to dinner already.” Roy adds, cheerfully.

Huffing, he rolls over on the bed. “I'm starting to feel like those weird girl slumber party ads with the creepy phone-a-boy games.”

Roy wheezes, followed by a thudding noise and the distant sound of his cackling.

“Wow. And to think I called you for help. I'm offended.” Jason goads with no bite, waiting a few seconds to hear Roy's response but it's just more laughter.

He rolls his eyes and ends the call, not like Roy will mind. Throwing an arm over his face, Jason barely refrains from grabbing his pillow to scream into. He doesn't, obviously. Because the walls are thin enough that Marinette might hear him and he's worried her enough this night as is.

Sighing like a lovesick protagonist in a period romance novel, Jason moves his arm to run his fingers through his own hair. A date. Just gotta ask her at some point, to dinner at a fancy-ish restaurant. It'll be fine, what's the worst that can happen?

Her terrified reaction on the sofa flashes through his mind, followed by the reminder of how small and scared Maladroit had seemed when she had fallen to her knees on the warehouse balcony. There was no way that she was faking the pain, like he'd initially thought. She had practically staggered in her mad dash to escape. And there's no way for me to find out whether she got to somewhere safe afterwards. God, she could be lying dead in some dank alleyway for all I know right now. Fuck, I hope she's okay...

He groans in distress and shifts in place. Already feeling like he really won't be getting any sleep at all tonight at this rate, thanks to his concern for those two.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| I decided to go close to canon for names this time, hence why Chat Noir remains unchanged but Max is Gamer (because A. that was his Akuma name, and B. he's like Player from Carmen Sandiego in this, couldn't help myself), and Marinette is Maladroit (from the first thing she calls herself in Origins). |

| Oh, also whilst it's not explicitly stated in the text; Marinette/Maladroit's has the power of luck/being lucky, Chat Noir has the power of being unlucky, and Red Hood has "Perfect Aim" aka he's a hitscan. Which is why Maladroit is able to dodge his bullets by making herself "lucky enough" to dodge in time. |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[littlemisslipbalm]

“You Get Me” Pt. 3 (famous!y/n x harry)

Aka “Kissy” 🥺

honestly its really just domestic harry bahaha and I added that they have a slight age gap ?but seriously I hope y’all enjoy the third and final installment of my first ever writings -  a little miniseries if you will. I loved writing this part sm, probably my favorite part yet. I linked a spotify playlist that was some inspo (I literally listened to your summer dream on repeat for one part that I wrote, that song is so beautiful) anyways - not really proofread and I tried to break it up more so it was less big chunks to read formatting wise

here’s part 3! read: part 1 | part 2

word count: 4.0k  | warnings: makeout sesh, shirtless harry!, nothing graphic tho (I think!)

tag list : @marauderswhisperer, @morgannope, @daddystevee, @kthemarsian, @bi-andready-tocry

playlist for the inspo✨

-

One Week Later

“Hey, Har...change of plans!” you exclaimed as you peaked through a door in Harry’s house.

You’d hung out together at your apartment once since your phone retrieval visit and the two of you had been texting constantly. You loved Harry’s company and Harry couldn’t get enough of you. Harry had called you late last night, ‘Want t’take you out tomorrow, love.’ his voice was groggy as if he was about to fall asleep. You’d instantly agreed and drove over to his house the next day. He was leaving back to London on Saturday, so it was your last day to see him for awhile.

Inside the door you had just opened, a beautiful vintage convertible sat. You had found the garage. “You are so driving this,” you turned to see the man who held your entire heart in his hands walking up beside you. Harry reluctantly agreed and leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Ready?” he questioned, holding up the soft blanket he had retrieved for your coastal picnic. You nodded, proudly displaying the little picnic basket you had packed full with food. Simultaneously the two of you reach for each other’s free hands, clasping them together and walking out to the car.

“I’m on aux, you can focus on the road,” you told Harry when both of you went for the cassette device that functioned to allow you to play music from your phone despite the age of the car. Harry loved how assertive you were even if it meant he didn’t always get his way. That was one of the reasons he liked you so much, your strength, your ability to hold your own in any situation, even with him, opposite of how a lot of people treated him in the industry in bids to get in his good graces. You were his match, so similar, yet so unique.  

The pair of you started out on the road. Harry wore a white t-shirt with a blue bee slogan,  purple trousers, and some clean white vans. His rings and pearl necklace wrapped up the look. His tattooed arms starkly contrasting the crisp white of his shirt. His eyes on the road were covered by large sunglasses, but his hair flew out behind him as the wind rushed over the car. You had chosen high waisted mom jean style denim shorts and a lavender femme top with a mesh white floral overlay, it had ties on the shoulders and it complimented your skin color perfect, tanned in from your life in the golden state. You too had your rings on and a silver necklace with your first initial hidden in the pendant. Even your clothes complemented each other.  

The first song to play through the speakers was Joni Mitchell’s “California.” You looked over to see Harry smile and you two began to sing along. You didn’t talk much on the ride, staying silent other than singing along when you pleased, but you always made sure not to overpower the actual song, you didn’t like to do that if the music was there for ambiance. Harry would speak up a little when passing various things, just simply pointing them out. Then, after the first notes of “California Dreamin’” came on Harry couldn’t help buy say, “Y/N, seriously?  S’not like I don’t love these songs, but please tell me you didn’t just search up ‘California’ and are playing tha’?” All you did was shush him and tell him this was one of your favorite songs before singing along.

Then, as the Mamas and the Papas voices began to fade out, Harry started again, “This next song’s title better not be fuckin’ California or somethin’ with-” but he stopped as the light quick notes of “Golden” came through the speakers, followed by his own voice. You grinned and gave his shoulder a little push. You had just gotten on the PCH and you remembered his mention of it being the quintessential coastal drive song a couple years ago so you had queued just in time.

A grin spreads onto his features that had been in slight exasperation at your antics previously and shakes his head at you, does a little finger shake vaguely in your direction, “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.”

You both burst out in song, practically yelling the first chorus, Harry taking little harmony parts that most wouldn’t even notice, but he notices them, he made them. You dance in your seat to the song, taking control of the background ‘da da da’s. Harry is in awe of how well your voice sounds with the track, when you sing along to the second verse, much more seriously than the first one you had screamed together. He glanced over at your moving figure that began to sway at the slowing of the song. You weren’t wearing sun glasses and you had your eyes closed, basking in the shining sun. You looked at peace, yet completely fulfilled and overjoyed. In that moment, Harry knew he wanted to keep making you feel the way you did right now every time you were together. The song ended and your playlist continued, random songs regarding California and the feeling you get with someone you care about - makes you feel sunkissed.

-

“You’re literally so corny,” Harry laughs to you when ‘California Girls’ by the Beach Boys came on. You throw side eyes at him, “What can I say, Brian Wilson knew, California girls are where it’s at,” you roll your lips into your mouth and then bite your bottom lip.

-

The drive continued with you giving a rousing rendition of ‘California Gurls’ with Harry as Katy Perry and you as Snoop Dogg as you had insisted. Harry even busted out some minimal dance moves while driving the car, honking the horn at the appropriate moment. You made Harry feel like he was 19 again.

Then, straight into ‘Canyon Moon,’ Harry really was in disbelief of the woman next to him. You got so into the “I’m goin’ home” part of the song. Harry said, “Really like tha’ one, I gather,” after it finished. It was your turn to look at him in disbelief, “It’s my favorite, Har, I remember listening to Fine Line the first time and loving it immediately. Still loved it even after everyone else barely talked about it. Deserved so much more, s’amazing.” You finished with a half smile slipping onto your face. Harry gave a quiet ‘thanks’ and returned the smile.

-

Harry was finally satisfied with where you had landed along the coast. There had been no set destination, just a plan to drive to a lookout for the picnic. Finding a small parking area, you two gathered your items and set out for the perfect spot. The California coast really is beautiful. You’d lived there your whole life, just further up north, moving down to Los Angeles when you started your music career. You ran ahead of Harry to seek out a little bluff you’d seen in the distance. “Oi!” Harry called, but didn’t run to catch up, he had taken the picnic basket and it had drinks that wouldn’t be great if they were all shaken up.

You were right, it was the perfect spot, a little ways up from the set path there was a flat surface on the edge of a cliff, it was safe, with wildflowers and tall grass around a more bare area. You layed out the large blanket, then stood and watched as Harry made his way to you. His hair was every which way due to the wind whipping through it during the car ride, you subconsciously ran your hands through your hair for that reason. He looks gorgeous, you thought.

When he arrived at your little patch, he sat down the basket and you threw your arms around his neck. You pulled yourself into him and basked in his glow, his warmth and scent. He held you and ran a hand through your hair. The pair of you could have silly fun, but you could also be extremely intimate. In these quiet moments you wished you could stop time and live here forever. To live in his arms would be a wonderful thing. “So happy right now, darling,” Harry whispered, the soft swish of grass and the distant crash of waves the only sounds he had to speak above. You said nothing, but pushed yourself even further into his body, a response in and of itself. In this moment, there was no one else, just you, Harry, and the beautiful nature you stood in. This moment was everything. And you didn’t want to set it free.

Eventually, the two of you parted and relaxed into the blanket. For once, neither of you played music, you talked and ate and listened to the ambient sounds of nature. The melodic waves carried the conversation, when neither of you felt the need to say words. After eating, you let Harry pop the bottle of champagne he had brought along, unbeknownst to you, nevertheless when you saw it you wanted to be the one to uncork it. Still, your protests fell on deaf ears. “Y’seem to be getting very used to getting everythin’ you want, huh? Already a spoiled princess after a couple months of fame,” Harry teased as he worked to open the bottle. You huffed at his teasing and your failed attempt to get the bottle from him, which had caused him to move off the blanket and have his shirt be stretched from you grabbing at the bottle and only getting fabric.

“Whatever, don’t act like you’re not a total diva sometimes, Styles.” You couldn’t deny that him calling you a ‘spoiled princess’ made you feel things, unholy things. Of course you found Harry unbelievably attractive, but this was your fourth time being with Harry and the two of you hadn’t done anything besides heavy makeout sessions. You loved the way he said your name, but you also loved his nicknames for you, but this was a new one that seemed to hold some meaning within it.

Harry liked to see you all worked up, but knew he could get the exact same way, upset when things don’t turn out the way you want them. Frustrating. Finally, he popped the cork and you both cheered for the golden bubbly liquid. You had spent almost about an hour on the road and an hour or two already on the cliff, so the sun was starting to make its farewells to this side of the earth. The sky was beginning to light up with pinks, oranges, and lavenders. You both sat back down on the blanket, this time with you sat up inside of Harry’s spread legs, reclining back onto his chest.

You continued to talk, about the view before you for a little, but then each other. Whenever you were together, the two of you gravitated to the topic of enjoying the other so much. Today was apparently Harry’s turn to share. “When we were in tha car, earlier,” he started as you twiddled your fingers on his thigh, drawing shapes. You looked up into his eyes to encourage him to continue. “Haven’t had tha’ much fun in awhile. You…” he hesitated again and averted his eyes from your stare. You whispered a little ‘yeah’. You really cared about Harry feeling comfortable with you and making him happy, so you knew encouragement was helpful when he was trying to gather his thoughts. “Y’make me feel young...tha’ sounds so dumb, but y’really do,” he finally got out as put his hand over your moving one on his thigh. The two of you didn’t talk about the fact that Harry was a bit older than you. He was famous when you were a puberty-stricken teenager. The age gap wasn’t really an issue, you were both adults, but his statement reminded you that he would be 30 soon and you were still in your early 20s.

You twisted around to sit on your knees and face Harry. You placed both of your hands on his face, cradling his jaw and cheeks on each side of his face. This forced him to look you right in the eyes. You appreciated the beauty of his piercing green eyes for a moment and then went to kiss his crows feet on the sides of his eyes, his forehead lines, his hairline, his five o’clock shadow, and his smile lines, that had cropped up as he giggled at you. You were making exaggerated kiss noises as you loved on his face. “First of all, you are young,” you finally said in audible words. You waited a beat, then you kissed his soft lips that were smiling up at you. He was still smiling when you kissed him so your lips hit a bit of a tooth and you both giggled. But, you stood strong, not pulling away to laugh. Harry kissed you back. He shifted and brought his hands up from the ground where they had been holding him up to cradle your body instead. The kiss stayed chaste, despite Harry’s protests when you pulled back.

“And second, you make me feel alive.” “Alive…” Harry echoed you slowly, “Tha’s a better way to put it. I am young,” He smirked and then winked at you. You moved your hands to sit on his upper chest and could feel his heart beating soft, but strong beneath his skin. You grabbed his arm and moved it from around you. Harry quirked a brow at you. Then you placed his hand above your left breast and below your collarbone. Now he could feel your heartbeat, too. Yours, you thought, was beating a bit faster than his, but you didn’t care. Touching like this, made you feel close to him. Like you could see inside each other.  

-

You finished off the bottle of champagne because Harry had to stop drinking to be able to drive the two of you home safely. You felt very warm from it, despite the sun setting a while ago and your bare arms and legs. Luckily, besides the slight buzz you had, it was summer in California, and the nights stayed relatively warm. You skipped to the car and bent over the convertible to put the picnic basket in the backseat. Harry was right behind you and gave your bum a light pat, you pulled yourself up and flipped around, giggling. You tugged Harry in by his shirt and demanded, “Kissy.” Harry snorted and obliged, but with an open mouthed kiss where his tongue basically slobbered over your lips, mouth, and a bit of your nose. You whined, “You’re fucking disgusting, Har.” “Ya’ love it,” he responded with a faux posh voice before giving you a quick peck to your lips and rounded the car, telling you to get in and buckle up.

The whole ride home, Harry had his hand on your thigh. With it there, you occupied yourself with twisting his rings and and dancing your hand around his fingertips. The champagne had made you quiet, but smiley. The music you played was softer on the ride back home, you knew Harry needed to focus with the dark road and you didn’t want the music to distract him.

One song that was of note was “Lavendar (Take 4)” by the Beach Boys. The recording is somewhat unpleasant, but the song is beautiful. It had reminded you of the clothes you and Harry had worn on your date, the wildflowers that had just surrounded you, and the color of the sky when the sun had set on the scene of you and Harry tenderly kissing each other. The Beach Boys are known for their California, Surf pop sounds, but this sound is soft and filled with lushious harmonies, an ode to lavender, maybe a girl named lavender, but nonetheless it was for lavender. Harry harmonized along with their voices, returning to his original state. It ended and went straight into Simon & Garfunkel’s “America.” Paul Simon’s voice passed through the speakers and whispered to us sweetly. Harry again hummed in appreciation for the song choice.

-

When you arrived at the house, you helped Harry clean up the dishes and trash in the picnic basket. Then you sat on the couch, it was around ten o’clock and Harry had offered to make a pot of tea. You looked over the back of the couch as he moved around his kitchen. He padded around, putting the kettle on, opening cupboards for mugs and tea choices. When the water was ready, he got the tea ready, choosing a loose-leaf blend he’d found at a fancy restaurant in Amsterdam. “No cream tonight,” you called, still watching him work his way around his home.

Admiration shown in your eyes as he nodded and finished up the tea, bringing it over to you at the couch. He chose your mug tonight. Different from the previous two, his and yours were a matching set with dark blue interiors with tiny cartoon sailboats. You loved his collection of fun mugs, it fit him so well. After handing it to you, he snuggled in beside you and you took a sip, then rested your head on top of his strong shoulder. You turned your head to give a light kiss to his shoulder, and then moved back to staring ahead of you.  

“Wanna stay?” Harry asked, his arm around your body, holding you close to him. “Can just drive ‘ome in the mornin’,” he continued. “That’d be really nice,” you sighed. This was so comfortable, how was in possible to be like this with someone you’d known for a little over a week? It didn’t matter to either of you how quick it had happened. But it happened, and it felt right, so you went with it. This, what you and Harry had, made you happy so there couldn’t really be anything wrong with that.

-

You two chatted a bit more - about your week of tour preparations, Harry’s flight time tomorrow, various random thoughts, - and you drank your tea. At about midnight, Harry suggested that you and he get ready for bed and then watch something on his laptop. You agreed and ventured into an unknown part of his home. You’d started to snoop earlier today when you had found the garage, but had only gotten that far because you got distracted by Harry’s car.

His house was beautiful and perfectly him. It was big, but his decor and things made it specifically Harry, even if he didn’t live here full time anymore. You reached the master bedroom, located in the back of his house, with french doors, identical to those in the sitting room, opening out to the grass in his backyard. His bed. His bed. It was a California King with tasteful bedding and a beautiful wooden headboard and frame.

You ran and jumped onto it, the bed sinking beneath you and the bedding fluffing around you. You snuggled and rolled around in the sheets, “This is so much nicer than my bed in the apartment, it’s only a full…” you trailed off. Harry leaned against the doorway of the room, smiling to himself as he watched you make yourself at home among this life. “You’ll be gettin’ a new place, soon, I reckon?” Harry asked and went to grab you both some clothes to sleep in from his closet. “Yeah, maybe!” you called out to him in the little room connected to the master that housed his clothes.

When Harry returned, he was only in boxers, but was holding two large t-shirts, a pair of sweatpants, and another pair of boxers. “D’ya mind if I sleep like this? I can put more clothes on if that makes you more comfortable?”

You couldn’t keep your jaw from dropping. You’d seen Harry shirtless before, everyone had, but to see him right in front of you, that was something else.

He noticed you staring at his body and smirked, but then threw a shirt and the pair of boxers your way, “Stop bein’ such a perv, love,” he teased. “Rude,” you muttered, “Was simply admiring...but if you don’t want me to look, you can sleep fully clothed,” you scratched your nose and then shrugged your shoulders.

As you worked to slide off the big bed, Harry crossed the room and trapped you on the edge, leaning over you with both his hands landing on either side of you on the bed. You scrunch your eyes and nose up as he tries to make eye contact with you. He goes to kiss you, but you turn your head and your cheek receives a kiss. He stays against your cheek, drags out your name and groans, “s’teasin’ you.” “I know, baby,” you respond and kiss his cheek now. You duck under his arm and run into his en suite bathroom, shutting the door to change. When you re-emerge, Harry’s in the bed, with the sheets pulled back, and his computer in his lap.

Harry calls out to you without looking up from his screen, “S’was thinkin’, y’know, since you’re always saying your apartment is tiny, y’could house sit ‘ere while I’m away?” You tilt you head as you approach the bed as you ponder the idea. “I mean, I guess ‘why not’? It would be a longer commute into the studio, but this place is gorgeous, and I’m gonna start traveling a lot anyway so I won’t need my apartment for much longer…” You continue to think on it as you climb back onto Harry’s bed and snuggle yourself into his body. Harry looks slightly down at you by his side, he’s put on his glasses, “Think you should, I’d also like knowin’ someone was ‘ere, keepin’ things running while I’m away.”

You nodded and move slightly to rest your head on Harry’s naked chest. His sunkissed tattooed body is mesmerizing, you reach your hand up and start tracing the various designs and running your hand along his collarbones and veins as well. Then you flattened a palm and smoothed it over his right pectoral. Harry hummed and pushed himself further down the bed. “Can we not watch anything actually, m’kinda tired,” you whisper up to Harry, your voice the only sound in the house besides the light clicking of a clock in a different room. Harry responds by closing the laptop and readjusting your position in the bed. You and Harry are a tangle of legs and bodies pressed against one another. Everything is calm and Harry says one word, “Kissy.” And you smile and let yourself pull slightly away from Harry to lean up and kiss him one more time before the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms. It’s soft and chaste, completely closed mouths, but you linger in the kiss, feeling his warm nose brushing besides yours. A hand moves up to his hair and gives it one good run through and then you pull away, “Kissy,” you finalize. The two of you giggle and snuggle even further together.

Your bodies fit so well together and again you were struck with the feeling that you never wanted this to end, even if tomorrow he was flying away, to somewhere halfway across the world. The distance didn’t matter. You knew the two of you had what it took to be there for each other, even if you couldn’t touch or feel the other. Even if laughter over the phone had to suffice for awhile. What the two of you had was greater than all of those obstacles of space and proximity. It was powerful because you were both powerful. Powerful in the way you loved, in the way you worked, in the way you simply were. You fell asleep in Harry’s arms that night filled with contentment. Harry fell asleep with you in his arms that night filled with joy that he’d found someone to share everything with. Someone who was willing to give him all of themselves. Someone who was finally able to get all of him.

-

love y’all sm 🤍🤍 hope you enjoyed and have a nice day

[viviskull]

Rules tag 10 followers you want to get to know better!

Tagged by: @bluescarfvivi​

Tagging: This is out to the people who are fans of my work but are silent most of the time on my content! I SEE YOU!!

Name: Phoenix (I also go by Lina, but thats for my close friends. You can go nuts with it, but I might not always respond to it at first tho lol)

Star Sign: Gemini

Height: 5′ 3″ 

Middle name?: Grace

Put your itunes/spotify/youtube on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs that popped up?

1. Firage - The Grim Reaper Blows the Horn

2. Electric Swing Circus - Everybody Wants To Be A Cat - Electro Swing

 3. Electric Swing Circus - Bella Belle - Electro Swing 

 4. Never Sleep Again (Dark Rooms vs. Mystery Skulls)

 5. Shoot Him Down

 6. Everybody Talks

Grab one book nearest to you and turn to page 23. what’s line 17?:

"He would happily take a stomach bug or a bad cold over how bad he felt.”

Ever had a poem or song written about you: Closest I got is some random birthday rock song from the early 2000s that involved my birth name a bunch of times.  I remember listening to nothing but that song for four straight months, and I distinctly remember breaking my Disc player with how many times I played it.  I don’t know if it was a common where everyone else lived, but back then there was a time where a bunch of CDs made involving that same song (but with different names added in, if I remember correctly) and I vaguely remember going to a store buying one of those things back then with my parents.

When was the last time you played air guitar: Never played it

Who is your celebrity crush?: Unless ya count Jessica Rabbit? Ya won’t catch me simping over an IRL celebrity.  They all suck anyway lmao.

What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?: Whistling at high pitches just hurts my ears (people joke I have the ears of a dog with how much I can hear someone talk through a wall).  For a sound I like, I like when I tap my fingers on my desk.

Do you believe in ghosts?: Sure.  My house makes weird sounds all the time and I think the ghosts that live in it are just my weird roommates at this point.

How about aliens: Hey, if we exist?  There might be a chance we got brothers out there, somewhere.

Do you drive?: I’m still working up the courage to drive on a highway, but I’m getting there!

If so have you ever crashed: Not yet, and I’ll try to keep it that way.

What was the last book you read?: I’m still working on getting my last FNAF book over and done with. 

Do you like the smell of gasoline: It’s not pleasent, but I don’t hate it either.

What was the last movie you saw?: Coco

What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?: When I was really young, my dumbass though that using a knife in the place of scissors (I couldn’t find them apparently) to help open some sandwich packet would be a good idea.  When you take this in and add with having poor motor skills (at the time).. ya boy managed to cut open a deep gash in their left thumb.  I did have to go to the ER for it to be glued shut (there was no need for sewing luckily) and had to wear a thumb cast for a straight month.  It was not fun to deal with, let me tell you.

Do you have any obsessions right now?: Idk man.. *is currently holding MSA tightly in my clutches* .. I got some hobbies here and there.  But fr tho, I love MSA with a deep passion.  If you ever need something on MSA or are rather new to it?  I’m always usually the first to hear anything related to the MSA verse and its video updates.

[wilhelmina-murray-harker]

I got tagged by @chiropteracupola!

Rules: tag 9 people you want to get to know better or catch up with (or whoever, which is what I’m doing bc all of my other ppl have already been tagged lol)

Favorite Color: red! but, like, a dark red. Also this one specific shade of blue that’s sort of cerulean but more that shows up for a little bit during sunsets

Last Song: Spotify says it’s Enola Gay by Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark but I have Backwards by AMH stuck in my head rn

Currently Reading: for school, Beloved by Toni Morrison, and I’m also reading a bunch of plays to find monologues

Last Movie: uh I think the newest spiderman? I don’t really watch movies all that often but ive been meaning to get to encanto and tick tick boom

Sweet, Savory, or Spicy: tie between sweet and savory, but salty wins overall

Currently Working On: i like just posted my new embroidery project lol, and I’m still crocheting the blanket I’ve been making for the past four years. Writing-wise, I’ve got a huge war au fic I’ve been working on for fairy tail, and then I’ve got an original thing I’ve been writing (still need an actual plot though). Also a bunch of scenes and whatnot that I’ll get to at some point, and a play

The only people I’m tagging are @dolphinsarefratboys and @firstmatedville because I don’t think they’ve been tagged yet and the rest of my buds have. Feel free to do this but no pressure :)

[camb99-cbmi6]

Catch up with me!

Thank you for tagging me @secretly-of-course! :3

Last song you listened to:

Electric Avenue by Eddy Grant, but I've had Equinox Part 4 by Jean-Michel Jarre stuck in my head for quite a bit of today (Spotify's update is eek btw je n'aime pas)

Last movie you watched:

Pirates of the Caribbean - On Stranger Tides (I've been re-watching them all)

Currently reading:

Sadly nothing :( I wanna read a pirates book (yk the era NOT meaning stolen lmao) but I don't have any unfortunately

Currently watching:

Just YouTube really, although I'm gonna watch POTC 5 at some point soon as I've still got that to do (although I'm not really looking forward to it as I didn't enjoy it the one and only time I watched it before)

Currently craving:

Cuddles lmao

Currently working on:

Some custom Lego designs lol, a big Black Pearl being one of them (anybody got a 3D printer that works with ABS plastic willing to print me the hull pieces? XD)

Currently playing:

Not sure yet, but I finished Lego Pirates of the Caribbean on the weekend (so many funny glitches)

Tagging:

@business-pug, @sparkga, @za1-01, @etherealprince92, @long-life-town, @seanmgilbert20, @an-actual-duck, @bitchard-of-oz if you want to :3