#I will never in a million years find this song again unless it's saved in some dark forgotten corner of a hard drive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bubblesuga · 4 years

Text

Special-Tea

Summary: Yoongi’s always been a coffee man. When stuck at the studio in the early hours of the morning, he craves caffeine. The only problem with that is there’s no coffee shops open at three in the morning. So, he finds himself at the next best thing, a 24 hour tea shop where he finds you.

Warnings: cussing, smut, shower sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral (f receiving)

W/C: 4,798

It’s too early for this.

Or maybe it’s too late.

Yoongi isn’t sure. In fact, he’s pretty sure his clock stopped working three hours ago. Unless the last few minutes have felt like hours, then Yoongi was on the verge of tearing every piece of equipment from the wall and smashing it into a million pieces.

Yoongi’s been working on this album for far too long. His fingers are cramped from continuously playing the same three notes over and over just hoping and praying that something will come to him. He’s confused more than anything. Before he had no problem spitting out 2 or 3 songs in a day, recording demos and having the studio ready to record for the other members the following day.

Lately, however, he’s lucky if he can even get a concept for a song down. It’s like his mind has been clouded over with writers block and he’s not getting anywhere. Like someone sucked his ability to compose music right from his brain with a straw.

He tosses the pen he had been anxiously tapping on the desk into his bag, along with his notebook, and he stands abruptly.

Scoffing at his phone, he glares at the black 4:37 on the screen while the elevator in the BigHit offices slides downward. There’s no coffee shops open yet, there has to be something though. He just needs caffeine, though he could really go for an iced americano with-

“Special-tea...?” He raises an eyebrow at his phone, Google holding up options for the nearest place selling caffeinated beverages. Rolling his eyes, he begins the short journey to the one 24 hour shop within a five mile radius.

What kind of a name is ‘Special-tea’? Who sat in an office and thought, ‘ah you know what? Let’s name a tea shop but make it punny.’

“Stupid.” He grumbles to himself. He’s well aware that he’s far too tired to be having human interaction right now but he needs to get some progress done. At this point he’ll take a ghost of a song.

Stepping into the tea shop, he’s overwhelmed by the smell of flowers. Undeniably strong, he takes a moment to collect his thoughts before stepping all the way in. As the door chimes, he hears a gasp and a patter of foot steps.

“Welcome to Special-tea! How are you doing today?”

The voice is loud, echoing off of the various shelves scattered around the shop with loose tea for sale. He whips his head towards the register, spotting you.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He didn’t realize how sore his voice was from attempting to record backing vocals earlier in the day, but it came out gruff and quiet. A stark contrast to the bubbly barista in front of him, her nose dusted in flour and a messy apron protecting her clothes. Well, attempting at least, because Yoongi has to hold back a smile when he notices hand prints of flour on your backside.

“What can I get you this morning?” you question, leaning over the counter and causing Yoongi to blush when he notices the way you’re smiling. When you meet his eyes, Yoongi can tell you recognize him. For a moment he feels the need to brace himself, but soon realizes you’re calm.

Yoongi returns a smile, haphazardly running his fingers through his hair. “Dumb question, but do you guys sell coffee?”

“Coffee? No, but we do sell black earl grey. I’m told that’s a close comparison as far as bitterness goes,” You explain, turning to the shelf behind you and pulling out a bag of tea, “you’re welcome to smell it if you like.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward and sniffing the bag. He backs away quickly and watches you bite your lip to stifle a laugh, “It’s not exactly a new tea drinker’s type of tea.”

“I’m not really a new tea drinker,” he grumbles, wiping his nose, “I’m a tea drinker only in times of desperation.”

She smiles again, “What causes said desperation?”

Yoongi rolls his neck, “I’m trying to write another song. Get the ball rolling to finishing up an album.”

“BE, right? I’ve heard good things about the process,” you say softly, surprising Yoongi by your admission to being a fan, “I figured it would be finished already?”

His eyes stay trained on you as you turn back to the shelves, rummaging through various boxes of tea. It takes him a moment to realize what your question was, so he sucks in a breath, “Ah, yeah. It’s nearly there, we just need one more track because one of them got trashed.”

Why is he revealing so much to a stranger? Namjoon is going to kill him.

“Trashed? Why’s that?”

“We realized the song itself didn’t follow any of the messages we wanted to put out there.”

Damn it, Yoongi. Stop talking.

You finally stop rummaging and pull out a bag of tea without showing Yoongi. He tries to catch a glimpse but instead watches as you boil more water and begin steeping the tea.

“What kind of message did it have?” You ask, leaning backward against the counter and crossing your arms. Having expected a follow up question, Yoongi swiftly dismisses it, “What kind of tea are you making?”

“The kind you drink.” You smirk.

He lowers his gaze at you, “It’s kind of your job to tell the customer what they’re getting.”

You laugh, “Alright. Jasmine green tea. It’s subtle enough that it won’t get your coffee loving tongue in a twist, and has enough caffeine to keep you up to finish whatever you’re working on.”

Yoongi is happy with this response, taking the time to lean away from the counter and gaze around the shop. It’s small, something he’s definitely not used to from coffee shops. The earthy smells from earlier have dwindled down to a nice summery scent, lavender filling his nose the closer he got to the register.

As much as he tried to keep his eyes away from the cute girl behind the counter, he couldn’t help but turn back and watch you as you organize various things. Something about the way your hair slips from the messy bun it’s in and your charismatic way of helping him while also providing a sense of normalcy drew him in in a way he has never experienced before.

“Order up, Suga.”

He shakes his head from his gaze, walking back up to the counter and pulling out his wallet.

“On me,” you say, “besides... don’t want to make you pay for something you may not like.”

Yoongi nods, murmuring a small ‘thank you’ and bringing the cup up to his mouth.

Without missing a beat, he reaches for his wallet and pulls out a 10000 won bill, stuffing it in the tip jar. He gives you a small smile, thanking you again as he turns towards the door.

“Wait!” you call, “What do you think?”

Yoongi raises his hand up just before he walks out of the door, “It’s delicious!”

The smile on your face was worth Yoongi’s little white lie.

~*~*~

“Alright, this is great! We’ll record tomorrow, yeah?” Seokjin speaks for the entire group as Yoongi plays them the demo of the song he was finally able to right. There were a few jabs here and there about the auto tune Yoongi likes to utilize, but other than that it was well received.

The only person he could think was you, though, because if he hadn’t have tasted that tea he would have never thought of writing what he did.

“How did you manage to spit out something like this in a night?” Jungkook teases, patting Yoongi’s shoulder softly.

“What do you mean?” Yoongi chuckles, clicking sound files around and creating a copy of his demo.

Jungkook grins, “Who’s the girl that made you think of that?”

“No girl,” he defends, “a good writer doesn’t need actual experiences. All from the imagination, young Jungkookie.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “I’m pretty sure that’s not the case at all.”

Yoongi shushes him, saving his project one more time before deciding to kick everyone out and lock the studio.

Of course they’re going to find out eventually what happened. Especially since Park Jimin follows Yoongi to the elevator. Once they’re the only ones inside, Jimin turns to his Hyung, “Tell me about the girl.”

Yoongi, knowing that no one else could read him better than Jimin, sighs in defeat. “She’s gorgeous. Her nose had flour on it, her hair was messy, and she was everything that I’m not used to. She has a smirk- god the way she smiles- it just makes me melt for her.”

Jimin seems pleased with this answer, “and you’re going to see her now?”

“Yep.”

The bell above his head is a welcoming sound. This time you’re not waiting in the back. Instead, you’re counting money at the register as he enters. This time you wore a purple apron, and it’s clean compared to a couple of days ago. You still haven’t looked up, so Yoongi walks slowly up to the counter and taps his fingers twice.

“Ah- Yoongi! Good evening, what can I get you started today?”

“The same as last time, please.” Yoongi grins, watching you carefully as you nod at him and turn on your heel and kick on the kettle. The way the straps of the apron tie right above the curve of your back has Yoongi’s mind beginning to wander. It’s been years since he even thought of looking at a woman like this in person, but for some reason when it comes to you he just can’t stop.

“So,” you break the silence, “how did that song writing go?”

“Oh,” his cheeks are a rosy pink, “it went well. I showed the other members the demo and we’re recording it tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.” You grin, pouring the water over the tea bags. Yoongi thanks you quietly and pulls out his wallet once more. You shake your head, “Nope. Your last tip was enough to cover your next 3 drinks.”

Yoongi nods, “Oh okay.” but then ignores you, slipping another 10000 won bill into the tip jar. Just as you’re about to open your mouth in protest, Yoongi sends you a wink and salutes on his way out before he closes the door behind him.

~*~*~

Your alarm is too loud.

It’s like a banshee screeching in your ear, like a baby crying, like a rooster crowing. You groaned loudly at the sound and threw your hand on top of it, rolling out of bed to drag yourself to the shower.

It’s been a few weeks since Yoongi became a regular to your work. The initial star struck feeling you got when you were around him had dwindled away, and now you feel you can call him a friend.

Your routine was as follows: Yoongi enters the shop, you make him his drink, and he stays and distracts you for a while. Much against everything you stand for, you drop everything to talk to him. It causes you to have to move much faster than usual on your prep work but you didn’t mind, because you loved seeing the way Yoongi would laugh at your jokes.

You feel like you know the man beyond the idol. The person who hides under the shadow of a stoic demeanor is bright. The way you perceived him prior to actually knowing him was wrong. He is, without a single doubt in your mind, the most interesting man on the planet.

When you arrived at work, your evening worker is already willing to go.

“I counted the safe and there’s some money missing. If Summer asks, it wasn’t me.” Flora says, shrugging her shoulders.

“Okay,” you raise an eyebrow, walking towards the back, “any orders?”

“Uh, yeah!” you hear her call, “chocolate covered strawberries for 6!”

“Awesome-- thank you!” You call back just as the door dings and Flora exits the store. You take a moment to walk through the kitchen to make sure everything is set up and then you pull your apron over your head.

The doorbell dings and you can’t help the smile that stretches across your face.

“What’ll it be today, Mr. Min?” You still stand in the back, glancing in the mirror to make sure you look your best.

“Honey butter croissant,” he yells back, “how did you know it was me?”

When you’re happy with your look, you finally walk to the front and smile, “So we’re changing it up today, are you okay? You sick or something?”

“I just wanted something new,” Yoongi looks different today. He’s dressed in a cream cardigan and black jeans, the usual rose tint to his cheeks is a bit stronger today.

“Okay, I’ll have to bake some new ones. It’ll take about 20 minutes if you’re willing to wait.” You explain, with an unsure smile.

Yoongi looks around for a moment, “Ugh, I guess I can wait.”

“Awesome,” you speak, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

As you walk towards the back, Yoongi listens carefully to you humming along to a song that’s been stuck in your head for days. You pull out a couple of fresh croissants and prep a baking sheet. Sticking it into the oven, you brush the flour from your hands onto your apron and walk back to the front.

Yoongi jumps up from his phone when he notices you standing in front of him. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him, the freckles across your nose easing him into a sense of comfort. “Do you plan on telling me why you kept ordering a drink you hate?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, “Now why on Earth would you think that I hate it?”

“Welp,” you laugh, “you’re usually my only customer at night, and every morning I would check the outside garbage to see if it needed to be changed, yet the only thing I would find is a full cup of tea, with your name on it.”

For a moment, Yoongi was silent. He stumbles over his thoughts in an attempt to come up with some type of excuse. Something to hide why he had been coming here all this time. Yet, he couldn’t. So instead he looks up from his chair and smirks, “How else was I supposed to talk to the pretty girl at the tea shop?”

You swallow, your mind racing a million miles a second. Before you have the chance to respond, he stands. His body is close, and he smells so good. His cologne is expensive, herbal and earthy, and it makes you want to bury your nose into his neck and inhale. His eyes, the usual dark brown has turned into honey, drawing you in and keeping you there.

“You could have asked me on a date, we could have gone from there.” You shrug, feeling Yoongi’s calloused hand gently push away a stray hair behind your ear. He doesn’t move it afterwards, though, instead his thumb finds home on your cheekbone, stroking gently. His face has shifted, and he laughs. Almost bitterly, causing your heart to sink.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be interested in the types of dates I get. You see,” his other hand slithers around your waist, “we get long walks in the park but we have to wear a mask and a hat. We get picnics by streams late enough at night that we know no one will be around. Sometimes we can slip away to another country where we pray that no one recognizes us, but with my schedule that thought is laughable at best.”

“What if I like long walks in the park with masks and late night picnics?” You breath, the look in your eyes stirring Yoongi’s heart.

“Then I guess we’d have to give it a shot, wouldn’t we?” He whispers. Your eyes flutter from his eyes to his lips, silently begging him to close the gap. You could sense his hesitancy, though. It blossoms from his chest and heats up his entire body but for some reason he’s frozen, completely still. He’s fighting, urging himself to lean forward and kiss you but he can’t move.

Good news for him, though, because you take a moment to lean up and press your lips against his softly. It’s gentle, easing him into the feeling of you so close to him. His lips taste of mint chocolate, causing you to smile into the kiss. It takes a moment, and for a second you’re hoping that you didn’t read the situation wrong until finally, he kisses back. It’s eager, introducing his tongue to yours and grinning idly into the kiss.

You allow him to back you up against the counter, boxing you in and surrounding you completely. His hands move down and pull your hips close to his, feeling the strain of his cock against his jeans.

“We’re entering dangerous territory here, baby.” Yoongi speaks, pulling away just a little bit. His eyes stay closed and his breath is hot on your face.

“How so?” You whisper, afraid of the answer but also intrigued. He doesn’t respond, instead capturing your lips and breaking the kiss repeatedly. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders and he smiles at the knowledge that you’re enjoying this just as much as he is.

A groan fills the air when you finally buck your hips towards him. In a feverish attempt to feel more, you wrap your legs around his waist and hang from his shoulders. Just as you’re about to slip your hand between your bodies, the timer on the oven blares through the building, shattering the small walls you built around the two of you.

“Fuck--” you gently pull away, “I’m sorry. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Quickly, you slip off the counter and rush to the oven. You pull out the croissants and douse them in honey butter from the fridge. You watch the butter melt for a moment, collecting your thoughts.

Did that just happen? Did that actually hap-

When you walk back out, Yoongi’s hands are clasped behind his back. He mutters a small thank you as you hand him the plate. He rips off a corner of the pastry, and pops it into his mouth.

There’s a beat of silence. One-- two-- then he speaks.

“It’s delicious.”

“Thank you, I work hard on them.”

~*~*~

“And you just left her?!”

Oh god. Yoongi has never seen Jimin so angry before. The small man can yell louder than ever imagined, and Yoongi would be lying if he said that he wasn’t scared.

A mere 30 hours ago, Yoongi had his tongue buried in your mouth and he was the happiest man on the planet. Then it changed quickly once he realized what exactly this could entail. Even though he wanted nothing more than to bend you over the dough table and take you roughly while you scream his name, he couldn’t help but over think.

Standing in Jimin’s living room, he expected to be comforted and given some nice advice from his friend. Instead he’s learning that he pulled a bad move.

“You’re supposed to be giving me advice, not yelling at me!” Yoongi yells back, gesturing his hands wildly. Even though he’s scared, he can’t help but defend himself to a certain extent.

“Hyung, I thought you’d have enough intelligence not to kiss her and run!”

Yoongi groans and drops onto the couch, his face falling into his hands, “The things I was feeling scared me.”

“Oh my god, go to the tea shop!”

~*~*~

Yoongi spots a customer at the register. He opens the door quietly, the break of dawn just behind the mountains. This was different to Yoongi’s usual time and you know that, your eyes going wide in surprise while you finish ringing up the last customer.

Once Yoongi hears the heels clack against the tile and the door open, he rounds the shelf and walks up to you.

“I’m sorry I left so quickly yesterday. I just- I got scared. I wasn’t sure how to approach the situation but after thinking over it I realized that I really need you to kiss me again,” Yoongi speaks fast, quicker than you’ve heard him before and it takes a moment for the words to settle in your mind, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You breathe out a laugh, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his again. This time it’s slow and soft, different but Yoongi loves every second of it. The minute you kiss him, you taste coffee. You hold back another laugh, pulling away with mock hurt, “You cheated.”

Yoongi brows furrow, “I don’t follow.”

“You drink coffee and then come try to sweep tea shop girl off her feet? Cheater!” You tease, putting your hand on your chest as though you’re in pain.

Yoongi grins, “You’re crazy. I would never drink coffee, not when I can taste you. You’re probably going to have to kiss me to make sure.”

You gnaw your lip, leaning upward and pressing a kiss to him again. He giggles against your lips, a sound that you will never get sick of. You pull away much to both of your dismay, “Let me take you back to my apartment. It’s small but it’s big enough for the two of us.”

He agrees instantly.

Yoongi waits in the car while your relief shows up and you clean up. He taps his feet against the pedals anxiously, the thought of what could happen exciting him. You have clouded his mind for a weeks now and as you skip out of the building and hop into Yoongi’s passenger seat, he can’t wait to get his hands on you.

He follows your directions, his hand resting on your thigh as he tries not to speed. When he pulls into the parking lot, you lead him up the stairs to your apartment.

Nervously, you toss your bag onto the couch, “It’s not much. . . but it works for me.”

Yoongi grins, “It’s quaint. Cute.” He reaches forward and wraps his arms around you in a back hug. You welcome it, craning your neck to kiss him.

“I need a shower. Join me?”

Yoongi nods, “Yes please.”

There’s a thumb in your chest louder than you’ve ever felt before. This is actually happening. Min Yoongi, is being lead to your bathroom and you’re about to shower with him.

Yoongi doesn’t waste much time once the door is shut behind you. He latches his lips onto your neck, tugging at the hem of your shirt and easing it over your head.

“I want to make sure you want this as much as I do.” Yoongi says breathlessly as he catches a glimpse of your bare chest. You don’t respond verbally, but you look him directly in the eye as you slip your pants and panties off in one swoop.

You stand in the shower, turning on the water and peaking your head behind the curtain, “What’s taking you so long?”

Yoongi moves fast as he tears off his own clothing, and you close the curtain so you don’t spot his body too quickly. Building suspense for yourself, you wet your hair under the warm water and feel your muscles relax after your long day of work. Although your eyes are closed, your ears are trained on Yoongi. He steps behind you, continuing his assault on your neck.

You sigh happily, but everything changes the minute Yoongi opens his mouth.

“Spread your legs, baby. I’ll hold you up.”

Instantly you feel your cunt clenching around nothing (unfortunately). You immediately allow Yoongi to guide your leg to the edge of the tub. He slides a finger in between your folds, collecting your wetness all while his lips trail kisses across your chest.

Finally you allow yourself to open your eyes, gasping at the image in front of you. Yoongi’s body is as rosy as his cheeks, his knees on the bottom of the floor and his face level with your heat.

“Ah, now you open your eyes.” He smirks, and doesn’t give you much warning as he licks a long stripe from your heat to your clit. You instantly moan, tossing your head back and bracing yourself against the wall of the shower.

He moves ruthlessly, consuming you like a starved man. The feeling of him against you doesn’t compare to the imagine in front of you. His fingers reach between your folds and pump in and out of you while he continues to nip and suck mercilessly at your clit. He looks up at you through his lashes, and you swear you feel him smirk against you as he speeds up his thrusts and sucks as hard as he can.

“You look so good like this,” you moan, “your tongue feels so good.”

Yoongi pulls away to let out a groan, “Fuck.” His chest is heaving and he reaches a hand down to squeeze his shaft for a moment of relief, then he stands.

“Think you can hold your leg up for a moment, baby?” Yoongi instructs, laying a kiss on your forehead as you spot his hand pumping himself a few more times. You nod silently, allowing yourself to relish in his glistening skin as he runs the head of his cock over your slit. You appreciate his concern, and you know he’s going to take care of you after he’s finished ruining you. You couldn’t be more excited as Yoongi’s cock continues to slip over you.

For a moment you feel him enter, both of you gasping at the contact but just as quickly as he enters, he slips out.

“No,” you shake your head, “please no teasing. Fuck me.”

Yoongi gives you a devilish grin, his hand holding up your thigh once again as he finally begins to push into you. He takes pleasure in the way that your lips part with every inch that he pushes in. Yoongi was proud of his size, and your reaction further fuels his ego. Finally, he bottoms out and you’re rewarded with being filled to the hilt with nothing but Yoongi.

He moans your name in your air after you adjust to his size, beginning to thrust faster. “So... tight. Fuck.” He sinks his teeth into your collarbone, relishing in the feeling of your nails scratching into his back. He can’t bare to leave your cunt for more than a few seconds, because the way you clench tightly around him was the closest thing to Heaven on Earth that he’s ever experienced. Every one of his thrusts is meant with a rewarding moan from you, your juices coating his cock more and more and fueling his pleasure.

“Ah,” you moan, “Yoongi. So good.” Your brain was absolute mush. You couldn’t think of anything else but him.

“So good at taking my cock,” he laughs breathlessly, “I can’t believe how well you’re doing.”

You surrender yourself completely to Yoongi at his words, his encouragement pushing you closer to the edge. “I’m close.”

“Good girl, cum for me. Cream on my cock.” Yoongi praises, kissing your lips tenderly as you feel yourself clench tightly around him. White hot electric shocks rush through your body, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He breaks the kiss with a bite to your bottom lip, “Take my cum. Take it- fuck fuck-” Yoongi’s cut off by his orgasm taking over, and you open just in time to see his jaw drop as he rides out both of your orgasms with increasingly slow thrusts until finally, he slips out, the feeling of his release dripping down your thighs.

He rests his forehead against yours, suddenly hyper aware of the water dripping down your bodies.

You lower your legs onto the floor, Yoongi holding you up while you struggle to regain your balance. The two of you giggle, sharing kisses for a moment as you both work off the pleasure.

You reach behind Yoongi, squeezing shampoo into your hands and massaging it through your scalp as Yoongi takes your soap across your body. It’s such a simple move, but even though you’ve already had sex he still is taking the time to take care of you. It’s endearing, and it fills you with hope for something more with Yoongi.

As you both finish the shower, you step out of the bath tub and reach for a towel.

“Oh, by the way, Yoongi?” You say as he runs a brush through your hair. You bite your lip to hold back a giggle as he stops, “Yes baby?”

“I still tasted coffee.”

Yoongi laughs, “God damn it.”

#midway through this i lost everything and had to start over lmao #that was a fun journey but bc i could actually sit and write i wanted to get something out for y'all #ty for reading!!#min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #bts #yoongi x reader fluff #yoongi x reader smut #yoongi x you smut #suga x reader #suga x you

372 notes · View notes

mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

A Fire I Can’t Put Out (Songbird Chapter 2)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: One week later, a chance encounter leads Reader and Spencer to each other once again. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Smut (exhibitionism, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, thigh riding, male masturbation, fingering, oral sex - male and female receiving, multiple orgasms), Language Word Count: 10k (I got really carried away lol)

SERIES MASTERLIST SERIES PLAYLIST (new songs added with the release of each chapter)

NOTE: Alas! Our first inkling of fluff! While this chapter is very spicy (you get 2 smut scenes 😉), there’s also a very cute, fluffy moment at the piano that I hope you all enjoy! (Just thinking about it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside...) See you on Valentine’s Day for Chapter 3! 🥰

(Also, everyone should listen to the song I added to the end, it’s BEAUTIFUL and I changed the song/title of the chapter to match it last minute, because I just discovered it and it was too perfect not to use lol)

***

The note felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. It may have one time been a crumpled receipt, but now it was a searing reminder of the one time in my life that I'd broken my own rule and allowed a man to stay. It hummed ferociously, screaming at me to do everything in my power to find him again and finally learn his name at the very least.

Because that was the thing that bugged me the most. I thought that by refusing to learn his name that night, I would save myself the potential attachment, but it turns out all that did was make me even more attached to him.

I tried to convince myself over and over that it was just because he fucked me so good I thought I hurdled through space and time, and not because he was incredibly gorgeous, respectful, and pretty much downright perfect. Maybe it was all of those things rolled into one perfect, blissful night that was meant to be just that—a one-night stand. The one-night stand, if you will.

But no matter what I tried to tell myself, my thoughts always drifted back to him. S...

What could his name be? Steven? Sam? Scott? Sonny? Saxon?

I didn't want to think about it anymore. Maybe his name didn't even start with S... Maybe he meant it to mean Stranger. That was possible, right?

That was probably it. That had to be it, otherwise I was going to lose my mind trying to figure it out when there was a high chance I was never even going to see him again.

My fingers drifted over the piano keys and tried to play anything, anything from memory, anything from scratch? God, just play something... And when I finally did feel my fingers press down into the keys, I didn't register what the song was until I was singing the words.

"Say you'll remember me..."

"No!" I slammed my hands on the keys and then leaned forward on my elbows, resting my head in my hands as the loud array of notes faded into the bright, morning air. I took a deep breath and started to laugh to myself. "What the hell, Y/N..."

He wanted to be remembered, right? He wanted me to remember him. And by leaving the first letter of his name—and a note in the first place—that surely meant that he hoped I'd see him again, right? Or that I'd try to find him? Maybe that was his subtle way of telling me he'd be at the bar for the next open mic night, just in case I decided to show up again.

Or, maybe he was just being a decent human being, Y/N, you know shit like that doesn't happen in real life. Don't fucking fall for it.

I sighed and hit random keys on the piano again before getting up and deciding to take a drive.

When even music didn't take my mind off anything—which was almost never—driving always seemed to do the trick. Sure, there was usually more room for thinking when it came to driving, but for me, it was almost panic-inducing if I wasn't giving the road my full, undivided attention. It's not that I was bad at driving, but I certainly wasn't great at paying attention unless I was fully committed. Since I didn't want to seriously injure myself or die in a car wreck, I found that the best option to get my mind off of anything that was troubling me was to just drive.

It hadn't failed me yet, but maybe this would be the thing that finally sent me flying off a bridge and into a river.

I promptly decided not to think about that.

While I was going out I figured I'd stop by the coffee shop on my way out of town, that way I'd at least have a nice iced coffee to indulge in while I just wandered around. I made sure my driving playlist was downloaded to my phone before also grabbing my bag and keys, and then leaving the apartment.

***

"Hi, I'll take a large vanilla iced coffee, please."

"Will that be all?"

I smiled at the barista, whose nametag read Reyna. "Yes."

"Okay, your total is $3.50."

After handing her a five-dollar bill and putting the change in the tip jar, I stood on the other side of the counter to wait for my order and scrolled through my phone as the next person came up and ordered. It didn't take long, which I was more or less thankful for, but when I turned around, I ran right into someone's back and almost dropped my coffee.

"Whoa! I'm so sorry!"

I instinctively looked down to make sure I didn't spill anything, or that the person I ran into didn't spill anything, and when I finally looked up to apologize to their face, I froze and almost dropped my coffee anyway.

There was no fucking way.

"Hey, Stranger," he said almost nervously, his cheeks flushed.

I wasn't sure when I actually answered, but it seemed like forever because I was just so shocked that I actually fucking saw him again. I truly didn't think in a million years I would live in a moment like this, but there I was, taking in this man in all his beautiful glory.

He was more dressed up than the last time I saw him, maybe for work, or maybe that's just how he dressed sometimes. Whatever the case, I didn't give a shit because it was hot as hell. The color of his corduroy jacket was the same as his eyes, which now that I could see him in better lighting were lighter than I remembered. Under it was a white dress shirt and some type of olive green vest. His hair was still messy and downright tug-able, light curls framing parts of his face. Which was currently in the process of taking me in as well.

I smiled at him, though I wasn't sure if it was coming off as too excited, revealing myself to him, or if it was underwhelming. Or maybe it was just right?

Oh, who cares, Y/N, just fucking say something back!

"Hey, yourself. I... can't believe I ran into you again."

My stomach flipped at the way he smiled back at me, like he was almost nervous to be in my presence. Like I would have shooed him away rather than acknowledge him. He was fucking nervous and I found it incredibly endearing. It was such a contrast to... that night. Once he gained confidence, he was really something... But even now he still was really something, just in a different way, as he visibly tried to find the right words to say.

Finally, he settled on, "Yeah, I... I didn't think I'd see you again. It's... a nice surprise."

Understatement of the century, I thought as I waited for him to speak again. His voice was so... I didn't know how to describe it, other than to say it was so fitting for him, and therefore it was perfect.

Was that weird? Was I being weird?

"Do, um... Do you want to sit down?" I offered, gesturing to the tables on the other side of the café.

"Oh, I don't want to keep you if you're busy, I—"

"Nah, I had nothing going on today, trust me." I gave him a wink as we started making our way to the sitting area. "Besides, Stranger, if we're gonna keep meeting like this, I'm gonna need to at least know your name, don't you think?"

He laughed a little before shrugging, waiting until we sat down across from each other to respond. "I don't know, I... I think I like hearing you call me Stranger. It has a nice ring to it."

We both took a sip from our drinks, our eyes never losing their contact. By the way his face turned even redder, I would have thought he'd look away first, but he didn't. I had to wonder if he didn't look away because he didn't want to, or if he couldn't. Either way, I liked it.

"So, Stranger, tell me..." I said, setting my drink down and folding my hands over the table. "You been thinking about me as much as I've been thinking about you lately?"

I could tell he hadn't been expecting that question, because for a second it looked like he was choking on his drink. He coughed before setting it down, though his hand never left the cup. "I— Y—you've been thinking about me?"

Suddenly remembering the note in my pocket, I scrambled to get it out. And as he looked at me, still shocked but a little puzzled now, too, I started to wonder if maybe it was a stupid idea. But there was no stopping it, now, because that would have been even more puzzling, not to mention embarrassing on my part.

I un-crumpled the note and held it in my hands, outward so he could see his handwriting. "I've been staring at this thing and carrying it around with me everywhere in my pocket for the past week, dude."

It looked like he was trying to hide a smile, and failing miserably at it. "So... Leaving the note was a good idea, then, huh?"

I smiled, though trying to hide it wasn't even an option. "Well, it certainly got me thinking about putting a name to the face... and the body... But in all honesty I think I would have been thinking about you regardless."

He studied me for a moment, and an unfamiliar feeling in my stomach just about sucker-punched me at the way he did it, his face softening and just getting lost in thought. Or me, though I didn't want to flatter myself. Even still, the thought of him being completely lost in my presence, in my just being here, discussing our brief past, was enough to tighten the knot in my stomach.

I couldn't tell if I liked that feeling or not.

Because while my body certainly seemed to like this uncharted territory, something tugged at the pant leg of my brain like a small child, looking up at me and saying with sad eyes that they wanted to leave and go home, back to the comfort and safety of what they already knew. And who was I to deny that?

But at the same time, I couldn't for the life of me let this man go. I wanted, ached to know more about him.

I was intoxicated, and it scared the ever-loving fuck out of me.

"Can I tell you my name?" His voice almost made me jump.

I considered it for a moment, before ultimately deciding that it would be a good small step to take. "Yes."

"Will you tell me your name?"

"Maybe."

We both smiled at each other for a few seconds before an idea came to my mind. He was about to tell me his name right then I think, but I held up my hand and leaned forward, tilting my chin up a little. "You know what... Before you tell me, I wanna know something... Have you ever fucked anyone in a public restroom?"

If he'd had any coffee in his mouth, it surely would have been all over the place right then. Instantly his eyes widened and he looked around the room as his cheeks flushed redder than I'd ever seen them. "What are you doing?" he gushed out really fast, almost refusing to look me in the eye.

"Giving you a deal. No one uses the restrooms here because people are always rushing in and out to grab coffee, or there's hardly anyone here to use them anyway. Bottom line is: we can easily be inconspicuous. So here's what I'm offering."

"This isn't a good idea—"

"You don't have to agree, obviously, but hear me out."

I waited for further resistance, but he just blinked at me, and I took that as my cue. "I'm gonna get up and walk to the women's room. You'll follow me after about a minute, and if you can make me cum twice then we can exchange names and numbers."

"We... We can do that without the exhibitionism, though, you know that, right?" He spoke as if anyone would be able to hear him if he wasn't quiet enough.

"Of course. But... I really haven't been able to stop thinking about you, and judging by the way you're shifting in your seat I can tell you're strongly considering taking me up on my offer. Because you haven't been able to stop thinking about me, either. And you really want to fuck me again, probably almost as much as I want to fuck you again. So what do you say?"

He still didn't speak, only stared at me, which left me to wonder what he was thinking. If anything, he almost looked a little petrified, so last minute I decided to take a little pity on him.

"Okay, new plan. I'm still going to go into the bathroom and wait a minute for you, two tops. I am gonna give you this, though..." I grabbed a napkin, a pen from my bag, and wrote my number down on it before sliding it to his side of the table. "I'll wait for you. If you don't want to go through with this, you can leave. But then you're gonna call me later, and we'll set a date to meet up if you want. How's that sound?"

I think he was completely overwhelmed by my ultimatum, because he still didn't say anything. Though this time he seemed... awed. Not necessarily as embarrassed as he was before, but more enchanted with the idea of what I was offering, the way I presented everything to him.

Figuring that was a good sign, I winked at him and made it a point to walk to the bathroom as seductively as I could without being too obvious.

Though, the further I got, and the longer I waited in the bathroom, the more I wondered if he'd already left the café. And then it started to dawn on me that I might have acted like an asshole, giving ultimatums to a man who was just trying to tell me his name. Why couldn't I have just let him tell me? We were right there, and I had to go ahead and turn it into a fucking game... And for what? So I could get laid? The thing is, I was so sure he liked me enough that after he told me his name we probably could have gone somewhere private and—

The door opened, and I was about to yell at whoever it was that someone was in the room already, but then I saw his face and felt myself relax.

"Hey, I'm... I'm sorry if I pressured you into doing this," I said sincerely, as he locked the door behind him. "We really don't have to if you don't want, I was... I was just trying to... I don't know, be mysterious or something? Which, I guess I can be, but I promise I'm not usually like this, and—"

"Hey, it's alright. I promise. Now... I don't mean to change the subject so quickly, but I do believe I owe you two orgasms. And I don't want us to get caught, so I'd like to get to it if you don't mind."

Holy fucking shit..

"You really know how to get a girl to shut up, Stranger," I said, grabbing him by the jacket and pulling him to me. I looked up into his eyes and smirked, walking us backwards until I hit the counter, just beside the sink. "How fast do you think you can get me there?"

A small smirk twitched at his lips before he surprisingly lifted me up and promptly sat me on the counter. "Depends... You gonna keep talking or are you going to let me do my job?"

The low tone in his voice was unlike anything I'd heard from him thus far, and it lit this fire in me that I didn't know I had. With a small, involuntary moan, I spread my legs wide and let him stand between them. He pulled me in for a long, hot kiss before dropping to the ground and wiggling me out of my pants. He ended up taking off my shoes, too, so he could slip my pants and underwear off my body completely. No sooner than they hit the floor did he get to work, his hands coming up to spread my legs once again, propping my heels up on his shoulders.

Unfortunately I couldn't keep myself from moaning out as he worked my pussy with his mouth, each long, wet drag of his tongue adding fuel to the fire he'd already kindled within me. I tried to bite my fist, hoping it would muffle some of the sounds, but it wasn't working.

I was thinking about calling the whole thing off and going somewhere we wouldn't get in trouble, when he seemed to have another idea.

Before I knew what was happening, my panties were shoved in my mouth, and my eyes were rolling to the back of my head as he slipped a finger inside of me with ease. In no time I felt my orgasm creeping up on me, every pump of his fingers and every quick, meticulous flick of his tongue on my clit getting faster and faster with each passing second. I shrieked into the ball of fabric as quietly as I could manage as I started to fall, clenching and shaking around him in record time.

Once I relaxed, he pulled himself away from me and stood up, licking his fingers clean and working at his belt as I stared at him with pleading eyes. I wanted to take the panties out of my mouth, but I knew that if I did I probably wouldn't be able to keep quiet. And the fact that he'd put them there in the first place, after so clearly being flustered at my suggestion to go have a quick fuck in a public restroom, completely turned me on and made me want him even more.

I did manage a pretty decent moan when he finally came forward and lined himself up with my waiting pussy. He smiled a little before leaning forward, never entering me but running his dick over it, coating himself with my arousal. He leaned his head in and brushed my hair from my neck before kissing it, and even softly biting me. If it was going to leave bruises, I didn't care. I welcomed every kiss, every lick and bite, and every slow, excruciating drag of his cock along my pussy.

He slid the tip of himself into me for a second before pulling out and moving my face with his hand, gripping my jaw and making me look at him. I whimpered at the loss of contact where I was clenching around nothing, patiently waiting for him, and also at the gain of our eye contact. I genuinely had no idea what he was going to do next, but I hoped it involved some semblance of a repeat of last time.

But once again, he surprised me, leaning forward and bringing his mouth to mine, ripping the panties from my mouth using his own. He leaned back, the pale blue fabric hanging from his teeth, and the sight drove me absolutely wild. It didn't help that he kept them in his mouth as he slapped my clit with his dick, and it took everything I had not to moan obscenely. He could tell, too, because he brought a hand to cover my mouth right as he pushed into me and held himself there.

He tossed his head to the side and dropped my panties on the ground, then ran his hands along the insides of my legs and rested them on my thighs. "I'll keep going as long as you keep quiet."

"You probably should have kept the panties in my mouth, then," I breathed, clenching myself around him and feeling him grip my skin tighter.

"Guess you'll just have to try and be quiet like a good girl, then, won't you?"

The whimper that escaped me was utterly pathetic. And I loved it.

Needing this to get going now, I reached forward and grabbed his hips, urging him to start moving, and thankfully he did. It was slow at first as we both just savored the feeling of being together like this again.

But in a matter of seconds all pleasantries were thrown out the window, and he slid his hands up to grip my waist as he pounded into me as quietly as he could. To ensure the skin-on-skin slapping wasn't too loud, he kept his thrusts short and staccato, but incredibly deep, setting my insides on fire and making me clutch onto the back of his ass for dear life. I tried so hard not to yell out that I was pretty sure my nails broke through his skin. He hissed out sharply, confirming that I was hurting him, so I let him go and opted to for gripping his shirt instead. I drew him closer, that way I could kiss him and feel all of him at once.

I might have also needed to find some way to keep myself quiet.

I moaned into his mouth as he kissed me back, every swipe of his tongue somehow managing to perfectly find a rhythm in tandem with his thrusts, despite how rushed and sloppy we were being.

It wasn't long before I felt myself start to fall apart, my hands clutching onto his jacket for dear life as my stomach started to knot. "Gonna cum, gonna cum," I murmured into his mouth, and he pulled away to kiss my neck.

My arms wrapped around him and pulled him as close to me as room would allow, right as my eyes squeezed shut and I saw stars, my second orgasm quick and intense. I mumbled little 'uh-huh's into his mouth as he fucked me through it, and when I was done, he pulled out, leaving me dazed but also confused.

It looked like it pained him to pull his pants up and tuck his still-hard dick away, so I reached out. "Why didn't you finish? We're in a bathroom, I can clean up just fine..."

"My orgasm wasn't part of the deal," he stated simply, straightening his clothes and trying to get comfortable.

"So, what, you're just going to walk around town with a boner?"

"No. It'll go away soon, I'll be fine." Once his clothes were all the way on, he reached into his jacket pocket, handed me a slip of paper—a business card it looked like—and kissed me quickly one more time. "Besides, the next time I cum inside you, I'd like to hear you saying my name."

And then he walked out of the bathroom without another word, grabbing my panties and shoving them in his jacket pocket as an afterthought before he disappeared.

I don't think I moved for a good minute or two before I finally looked down at the card and read his note. He must have written it down before he came in here.

Y/N, I heard them call your name at open mic night, and that's when I knew. I'm free tomorrow night. I hope you'll call. —Stranger

I turned the card over and saw his number, followed by his name.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

The second I got home, I ran to the bathroom and fixed my... problem... I wanted so badly back in the café to finish what I started, but I'd meant what I told her. I'd sighed her name out as I touched myself the few times since I'd met her, and I could only imagine what it would finally sound like to hear her say my name. I knew she could already tear me apart at her touch, but I wanted desperately to know if my name on her tongue would have the same effect.

I was almost positive it would, but I just needed to know.

It surprisingly didn't take long for me to finish, just the mere thought of her face and the way she looked at me as I shoved her underwear in her mouth enough to take me to the edge. And finally, when I felt them practically bruning a hole in my pocket, I tensed and sighed out her name, cum spilling out over my hand and into the toilet.

The orgasm should have calmed me down, should have relaxed me, but instead, as I cleaned up and changed into different clothes, I wondered if she would actually call me.

First of all, it was a wonder I'd ran into her at all. Truthfully, I didn't think I was ever going to see her again, and when I heard her voice call out an apology for bumping into me, I really thought I was dreaming. And yet, there she was, right in front of me in all her beautiful glory.

So when she offered to sit down with me, I couldn't say no. And when she asked, You been thinking about me as much as I've been thinking about you lately? ... I was pretty sure I couldn't breathe. I didn't tend to think of myself as the type of guy who would leave that good of an impression, so hearing her of all people say that sent my heart—and stomach—into a mess of flutters.

And though the confidence I had in my ability to flirt with women in any capacity was very slim, I must have done something right. Because when I picked up the phone later that night and heard a low, "Hey, Stranger," through the speaker, I couldn't stop smiling. "Or should I call you Doctor?"

***

"YN... I'm really glad you called."

Hearing him say my name for the first time did something to me I couldn't explain. The way he said it was innocent enough, but it still made me beam with excitement.

I was curled up on my couch, wrapped in a robe after my shower and having been contemplating whether or not to call all afternoon.

I didn't want to wait too long in case he ended up making other plans or something, but I was also apprehensive. Because as much as I wanted to keep seeing Spencer, I wasn't sure I could handle breaking his heart. That's what always happened, didn't it? I started seeing someone, things would be great for the first few months, and then as they fell more in love with me I fell more out of love with them. But even then I wasn't sure I could call it that, because I never fell in love with them in the first place. Not even gotten close to it.

Would... Spencer be different? It was hard to tell. He'd already made me feel things I'd never felt before, so maybe this time would be different.

Or maybe that would just make it hurt even more when I inevitably pushed him away.

But I didn't want to think about that. All I knew in the moment was that he intrigued me, and for the first time in my life I actually wanted to to be near him almost every second of the day. Even when I wasn't thinking about him, my body was buzzing with the aftermath of him. His entire being was so magnetic that I couldn't help but be drawn to him. Even if, ultimately, I knew it would end with one or both of us in shambles, I wanted it. I wanted him more than anything, to be with him, to see him smile, to hear him talk...

That little kid that was tugging on my pant leg earlier, warning me that it was time to go home, was screaming now. Scared for its life and begging for me to turn back.

And for some reason, against my better judgement, I ignored it.

"You really knew my name the whole time and didn't tell me?"

From the pause on the other end of the line, I could tell he must have been nervous. I could see him in my head, looking down at his twitching hands as he tried to find some explanation. "Um... Well, you said you didn't want to know names, so I... thought I'd keep quiet. I hope you're not mad about that..."

I smiled. "No, I'm not mad. It was nice of you." I paused a beat before changing the subject. "So, uh... Tomorrow night..."

"Oh... Yeah, I travel quite a bit for work, and I don't get many days off, but tomorrow night is the only time I'm free for a while. So I guess it was a good thing I ran into you when I did."

"Hmm... I guess you're right. In that case, I should probably take it easy on you. Wouldn't want to wear you out or anything."

He laughed a little, and warmth bloomed in my chest at the sound. I imagined seeing him smile, which made it fully blossom. "No need. You... You could wear me out any day."

"Careful what you wish for, Stranger. Time and place?"

"I can be by your place at 6? I'll even bring food if you want."

I paused, suddenly reminded of the screaming child again. This time it was yelling, "It's not safe! Don't let him in, please!"

But God damn it, I wanted to so bad...

"Uh, sure," I finally answered, playing with the hem of my robe anxiously. "You... remember where it is? As I recall, you were pretty nervous the last time you were here, and kind of occupied with... other things."

"Oh, I—I remember everything, pretty much. I know where to go, it's okay."

He didn't elaborate. I kind of wanted him to, but figured the less I knew about him the better. I was invested in him enough already, and knowing more would just plunge me in deeper than I was comfortable with. So, I told him, "Alright. If you need directions or anything though, let me know. Should I be... wearing anything in particular when you get here, Doctor?"

The line was silent, and I could picture that little shocked expression on his face, the one he got every time I said something suggestive that he wasn't expecting. It was cute. "A—Anything you want will be fine..."

I laughed and bit my lip, leaning back into the couch. "Okay... See you later then. Tomorrow night, 6PM."

"Tomorrow night. 6PM. Goodnight, Y/N."

My face felt warm and my stomach fluttered as I curled into myself and smiled into the phone. "Goodnight, Spencer."

What surprised me most about that night was that I didn't hang up right after. I waited. And waited, until he hung up, just in case he said anything else. And I think he was in the same mindset, because we sat in silence for a good fifteen seconds before I finally hung up, shaking my head and wondering if he thought that was weird.

As it turns out, he didn't.

About ten minutes later, as I was getting into bed, I got a text message that read: I hope you know that I always have your song stuck in my head. The one from the bar. I hope you'll sing to me again one day.

I promptly sent back: If you're a good boy for me tomorrow, I just might, and set my phone on my dresser, ignoring the way my heart swelled at his sentiment.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. And when I did finally drift off, my dreams were about Spencer.

***

Usually I was decently confident when it came to my 'date' outfits. I knew what looked good on me, and I knew what made other people go, "Holy shit," under their breath when they saw me, so it should have been easy. And to some degree it was, but with all these weird feelings I was having lately, I was second-guessing myself.

But no matter how badly I second-guessed my decision, I stuck with what I knew best, wearing a thin black long-sleeved shirt with a low neckline and form-fitting jeans that flared at the bottom. A necklace with a silver diamond that matched my belly-button ring sat nicely at my chest, right above my cleavage. I opted to leave my hair down in long, loose curls that curled away from my face, and framed my eyes with simple black eyeliner and mascara, leaving my lips alone with a peppermint chap stick. Remembering how Spencer had complimented and basically worshipped my hands, I accented them with a deep purple nail polish that almost looked black if there wasn't any light shining on them. I put on a few rings that matched my other body jewelry and wore a thin, braided rope bracelet that my sister made me for my thirteenth birthday. Since I didn't think we were going anywhere, I only wore black ankle-length socks, but kept a pair of simple black heeled boots by the door in case we did decide to leave.

As for my... undergarments, I chose a nice black lace set that I only brought out on rare occasions, and I felt like it fit. The material was sheer and lacy, and that was about it. It was simple, but sexy, and that's what I loved about it. And if I knew Spencer's taste as well as I thought I did, I was pretty sure he would love it, too.

And that fact alone was enough to snap me out of my worry.

Kind of. I mean, he was still coming to my apartment, and I was almost certain that he was going to look around and probably ask some questions about things. Which, normally wouldn't be a bad thing, and in a way it really wasn't, but it still made me nervous...

I just hoped that I could keep him occupied enough so that I wouldn't have to deal with it too much.

There was a knock at my door, and I was thankful, finally pulled out of my head and into the world around me. I got up and opened the door with a smile, leaning against it slightly and taking him in.

"Hey, Stranger," I drawled, giving him a wink as I stepped aside to let him in.

But he didn't come in. Not until he was done taking me in, of course. "You... Wow, uh, hi," he stammered, holding out a bag that had to be takeout. "You look great."

As he walked in, I shut the door behind him and looked at his backside before he turned around. "Speak for yourself."

He took off his shoes, which revealed one red striped sock and one purple and blue polkadotted one, which made me smile. He wore simple grey corduroy pants and a purple sweater that matched my nail polish almost perfectly. His hair was just as perfect as it was the last two times I saw him, rightfully messy and curly that made me want to skip dinner all together and get right to dessert.

I even told him as much.

"You're kinda making me want to skip dinner."

"Oh, we... We can eat after if you want to, I don't mind," he offered kindly. It was sweet.

I laughed and walked up to him, bringing my right hand up to run my fingers through his hair. Then I leaned up and kissed him hotly on the lips for a few seconds before pulling away and letting out a low 'hmmm'. "Probably a good idea, but I'm starving."

I turned and started to the kitchen, throwing back over my shoulder, "That okay with you?"

"Y—Yeah, of course."

I turned on the light above the table before pulling out a chair for him with a smile. "I didn't really eat much today, so takeout sounded really good. I hope you didn't have to go too far out of your way to grab it, otherwise I could have made something here."

He sat down and I went to the other side of the kitchen to grab forks and plates. "Oh! No, it was alright, it was on the way over. Plus, I guess I don't really mind the travel, since I already do so much of it."

"Right, you mentioned that," I confirmed, taking a seat across from him. My dining room table was small, since my apartment wasn't that big. Even sitting across from one another, if Spencer and I reached our arms out across the table, we would have been able to reach each other's shoulders.

"Hey, do you want anything to drink?" I asked. "I've got some white whine in the fridge, otherwise I also have water, milk, and I think some Sprite."

"Oh, uh... Water is fine, thank you."

As I got up to get it, he got out the food. "Not a drinker?" I wondered aloud, grabbing glasses and the pitcher of water from the fridge.

"Not really. I'll have one on occasion, but if I'm driving I like to steer clear."

So, he wasn't planning on staying the night, then... Ultimately that was a good thing, but a small part of me admittedly felt disappointed. Regardless, I didn't let it show. "Makes sense. I don't drink a lot either, but I've been known to have a good time occasionally. And I always need white wine in the house, that's a rule of mine."

I didn't see his smile, but I could feel it. Was that weird? Feeling a smile? I'd never been able to tell, never noticed that before, but right then I just knew it was there.

But maybe it was just the way he said, "Fair enough," that made me certain.

Whatever the case, I shook the feeling and made my way back to the table with full glasses of water.

We ate with few words between us, though occasionally Spencer would throw out a random fact about the origins of the food we ate, or we exchanged small stories of both of our inabilities to use chopsticks. It was nice, being able to eat with him and not have to talk about where I was from or what my family was like. I never liked sharing that much of myself with someone that soon, let alone at all, so I was thankful for the ease our conversation carried.

Though, at one point he asked, "So, you're a musician? Is it full-time?" And it stopped me in my tracks a little. I loved music, and I was definitely passionate about it, but again, it was so personal to me that for some reason my brain kept sending me signals to turn around and change the subject.

But it was an innocent question. And I used music to my advantage all the time, it wasn't a secret that I was good at it, so I could give him an answer. And I knew that I didn't have to tell him anything I didn't want to, so I just needed to get my shit together and stop worrying. I had to remind myself that not everyone was going to use the things I tell them to hurt me. Truthfully I don't know why I was so paranoid by that, because it never happened, but I chalked it up to just looking for any excuse to keep myself closed off.

I brushed off all the discomfort and doubt I had, and took a drink of water before answering truthfully. "It's not full-time, but I think I'd like it to be. I definitely love it enough, but whether I could handle the stress of being a full-time musician or not is... well, it has yet to be seen."

"Do you write your own songs?"

"Mhm. Have been since I could talk, really. But whenever I perform it's usually covers that everyone knows. Easier to get them excited, anyway."

Spencer smiled, leaning forward a little. "You know, actually I'd never heard the song you sang at the bar that night... That was a cover?"

"Yeah. You don't listen to the radio?"

"Not really. If it all sounds like that, I may have to start, though I'm pretty sure it's not."

I laughed a little. "You'd be right about that... Still, the radio has its merits. I'm a fan of more independent stuff myself, but I keep up to date with what's new. Kinda have to."

"Why's that?"

I chewed my lip for a moment before answering. "Well, I don't do it full-time since I have a day job, but on the side I've helped with writing and producing other peoples' stuff, and a lot of it is what you hear on the radio, so..."

"Oh, that's really cool," he mused, and his eyes gave away that he genuinely seemed impressed. I almost blushed at the sight. "Y'know, I'm sure if you did decide that you could handle the stress of being a full-time musician, everyone would love you."

I laughed again. "You've never even heard my stuff."

"I don't need to," he answered truthfully. "I've heard you sing, you're incredible. And you know how to produce and write music. And, if it's good enough to be on the radio, then I know you've got nothing to worry about."

He could have just been saying that to be nice, and if it wasn't so clearly written on his face that he really believed what he was telling me, I would have thought so. Heat crept up to my cheeks, and I smiled, telling him, "Thank you," before taking another drink of water to cool myself off.

We spent the rest of the meal talking about some of our favorite music, which was a nice way to end it. We had a decent discussion about classical music (He was surprised and I think a little turned on by the fact that I knew a lot of what he was talking about in that department), and as we cleaned up the dishes he happily told me about the story behind one of my favorite classical pieces (which I didn't know and was more than glad to learn).

And while we were on the subject of music, I took him over to my piano when we finished cleaning up, which sat under the only window in the main room of the apartment. The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow over the sleek black of the piano. Since it was a small apartment, I couldn't have a 'fancy' piano like I wanted, so it was an electric one with a few settings to change the sound. I never messed around with it though, unless I was working on something for someone else. But even then, I did that work with other people in the studio, and not at home.

"Here, sit next to me," I said, patting the small space on the bench.

We barely fit together, but it gave us an excuse to be close to each other, which I think he liked. I know I liked it, at least.

"Are you gonna play something?" he asked. "I mean, you don't have to of course, I don't want to make you or put pressure on you or anything, but..."

"I wouldn't have brought you here if I wasn't going to play you something, Stranger," I said with a laugh, turning the piano on and nudging him with my shoulder. "Though, if you don't want me to, I can think of a few other things I could do for you instead..."

I looked up at him to see his face in a flush, and I smiled, my stomach knotting in that unfamiliar way again.

"Um... Maybe when you're done playing," he said finally, reaching out to ghost over the keys with his fingers.

"Do you play?" I asked, suddenly very warm, and turned on at the idea of watching his hands work around a piano.

"A little. I... I don't know much, but I'm a fast learner."

With a small smile, I grabbed his hand and placed his fingers over certain keys to make a chord. "There. Press all of those together," I told him.

He did, and a smile broke out on his face.

"C Minor," I said. "My favorite chord."

"You have a favorite chord?"

"What, you don't?"

"I... never really thought about it."

We laughed together for a few seconds before he played the chord again, this time tapping the pedal underneath to make it ring out longer. I looked up at him with a smile, right as he looked down at me with an even bigger one. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say we got closer, even though that was impossible unless I'd sat on him. Which I didn't do. Not right then at least.

No, I cleared my throat and messed around with a few keys, trying to decide what to play. Spencer removed his hands from the keyboard as I did it, and I could feel his eyes watching my movements. The thought sent more warmth through me, and I decided to go with something familiar.

My fingers settled on the right keys and started playing the chords to Wildest Dreams. And when I started singing, I swear I felt him melt beside me. It was different from the guitar performance, because at the piano I made it sweeter. My vocals weren't as strong, and I slowed it down to make sure I got everything perfect, but made it a point to look over to him occasionally, winking as I sang some rather sultry lyrics.

When I was done, I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He looked down at me, his eyes studying my face like he was going to kiss me, but he leaned away from me, like he was deciding against it. Finally though, he spoke.

"While I appreciate the performance, it completely juxtaposes the text you sent me last night."

I really didn't know what to say, mostly because I was having a hard time remembering what I texted. I would have been able to remember any other time, but in the moment I was just too entranced by his presence and the way he was staring at me. "W—What did I say?"

My hand was still on the piano, but I felt his reach out and lightly brush over it, caressing the lengths of my fingers. "You said you might sing for me if I was good for you... We haven't done anything yet, and you still sang for me anyway."

Oh, that...

I smiled, sliding my hand out from under his and dragging my middle finger along his own, up and then back down, over and over again. "Didn't you know that I can see the future?"

He looked amused. "Oh, really?"

"Mhmm..." I kept drawing lines up his middle finger, but leaned in closer to him. "And just before you got here, I saw that you made me cum three times."

He took a moment before leaning in closer and responding, his voice barely above a whisper. "You and your ultimatums..."

"It wasn't an ultimatum. It was the future."

Our faces got closer...

"Oh, okay. I believe you."

...And closer...

"Good."

My eyes fluttered closed as he kissed me, gently and with a care that was practically butterfly-inducing. I leaned into him further, finally moving my hand up his arm and snaking up to grab his hair. As his lips parted and his tongue gently swiped over my bottom lip, I climbed up onto his lap, placing my hands around his head to anchor myself to him. He used his to grab the piano in front of him, pushing us forward a little so we wouldn't fall off the bench. The mess of notes rung out loudly in the air, much like they had the day before, right before I went to the café and ran into him.

The coincidence of it all almost made me laugh, but the humor quickly dissipated before I could, because Spencer brought one of his hands to my lower back and groaned softly into my mouth.

I moaned right back, shifting my hips slightly so that I was straddling one of his legs. He spread them wider to give me more room, and I settled nicely, grinding down and almost whining at how little friction there was between the corduroy that adorned his leg and the denim that adorned mine. That didn't stop me, though. I rode his thigh as well as I could, relishing in the way his hand pushed me further into him and his kisses got deeper and more desperate.

Eventually, though, I had enough. I pulled my mouth away from his and clumsily got off of him, standing up and unbuttoning my jeans. He turned around and reached out to help, but I put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. "Stay right there. I'm gonna finish what I started, but I need to get these damn pants off first."

He didn't argue. I held eye contact with him up until I slowly tugged my pants down and stepped out of them, lifting up my shirt a little so he could see the underwear I was wearing. As expected, his eyes wandered south, and I could have sworn I saw his pupils dilate.

But I didn't give him a lot of time to take them in. I made good on my promise and climbed up on his lap again, wrapping my arms around his neck and biting my lip as I started to ride his thigh once more. I started off slow, pressing my forehead to his and enjoying how it felt when his hands firmly grabbed onto my ass. Our lips met again, slowly and yet, also just as desperate as they had before. And with each antagonizing slow roll of my hips, his kisses got bolder, and his hands kneaded my ass, urging me to go faster.

Thankfully for him, I was feeling just as desperate as he was. So I quickened my movements on his thigh and kissed him harder, taking his bottom lip in between my teeth and tugging it before tilting my head to the other side and kissing him again. Meanwhile I could feel that burning in my lower stomach that signaled a fast-approaching orgasm. So I ground myself onto him even harder and whined in his mouth, just before pulling away to speak.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum already," I breathed, pressing small kisses to his jaw.

Spencer squeezed my ass and leaned into my touch. "Go ahead, Y/N..."

It wasn't like he was giving me permission, but just hearing him say my name regardless sent me over the edge, and in no time I was shaking around his leg, clenching my own around him and clinging to his neck for dear life.

Once I came down, I sighed and smiled into his neck, kissing it and moving up to his ear. "Two more to go."

What he said next threw me completely off guard.

"No."

It wasn't a command, or a threat. It was a matter-of-fact statement. I pulled away and looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

He only smirked. "You said I was going to make you cum three times... You did that one all on your own."

The sultry, cocky way he said it made me melt, and I knew then that I was in some serious trouble.

The first time he made me cum was right there on the piano bench. He insisted that I sit down while he eat me out, and I wasn't one to complain. However, he did drag it out so long that by the time I actually came, it felt like I'd done it a thousand times over.

So, to give myself a little break, I returned the favor, and we made it to the kitchen before I couldn't wait any longer and promptly decided to suck him off while he leaned back against the counter. I took the same courtesy he had in dragging it out, pulling off of him completely right as he was about to cum, and I absolutely melted into a pile of nothing upon hearing how he whined and panted while I did it.

I did that in about five long, excruciating cycles before he told me it was my turn and dragged me into my bedroom.

The second time I came, he fucked me against the door, one of my legs standing on the ground while the other lifted and rested on my dresser. He didn't waste any time, just pushing my panties aside and fucking me hard and fast. And fast it was. It only took about a minute before I was convulsing around him, every nerve I had set on fire.

He let me have one more break, laying me down on the bed and taking his time stripping off the rest of my clothes. He must have spent a solid half hour just licking, biting, and teasing my breasts, his hand occasionally reaching down to graze my clit for a few strokes before returning to touch the rest of me. All the while, he slowly rutted against my thigh, moaning into my skin when he got close and stopping his movements all together for about a minute before continuing.

But I was growing impatient and squirmy. So I grabbed his face, pulled him up to kiss me, and wrapped my legs around his waist.

"Fuck me, Spencer, please," I begged, kissing his jaw and shivering at the way he whimpered hearing his name fall from my lips.

He adjusted us for a moment before sliding into me slowly, and we both let out some of the most filthy sounds I'd ever heard. Every movement and sound we made from then on was frantic, desperate, and so full of need that I was almost positive I wasn't even alive anymore. Was I even ever alive at all? Did life exist?

"I can't... I'm go—gonna..."

Spencer suddenly coming to a halt and coming inside me was all I could feel, and it brought me back to my senses. I breathed out his name as he continued emptying everything he had into me, just like he'd admitted to me that he wanted back in the coffee shop. I was close myself, but with his halted movements, I didn't get there.

As I moved one of my hands down to rub my clit, he grabbed my wrist and pinned it above my head, pulling out and then plunging back into me, causing me to gasp.

"That's my job, angel," he murmured sweetly, just as he began slowly fucking his cum into me.

If I wasn't already in trouble, that would have destroyed me.

It didn't take long before I was crying out his name and orgasming for the fourth time that night. It was the most powerful one I'd had... well, ever, if I was being honest. My back gradually lifted off the bed and my eyes were screwed so tightly it felt like they were bruising.

But God be damned if I didn't want to experience that whole feeling over and over again for the rest of my life.

He stayed there for a moment, leaning over me and brushing the softest kisses to my temple as we caught our breaths. Eventually, though, and I wasn't sure how long exactly we'd been wrapped up in each other, he pulled out and laid beside me. And if it wasn't for his cum dripping out of me, I would have probably fallen asleep right there and been happy.

As if he was able to read my mind, Spencer sat up and brushed some of the hair from my face. "I'll go get something to clean you up real quick. Don't move."

I giggled, feeling light-headed and completely blissful as I caught him in our afterglow, taking in his beauty and basking in it like the sun. "I wouldn't go anywhere even if I could."

It wasn't until he came back and started cleaning between my legs with a warm washcloth that I realized what I said.

It took even longer for me to realize that he'd grabbed and put back on his underwear and pants.

As he tossed the washcloth into the laundry basket in the corner of my room, I sat up and reached for his sweater, slipping it on before he could say otherwise. It smelled like him and fit just right, which made me feel all warm and happy.

"Did you, um... want me to stay?" he asked softly not stepping any closer.

Yes.

"It, uh... would probably be better if you left. But... You can stay for an hour or two before you go home?"

Of course it was only a suggestion, because I couldn't make him do anything. But I asked it like a question, because I really wanted him to stay, just for a little bit longer if he couldn't stay the whole night.

Spencer nodded, smiling, and looking a little relieved if I was reading him right. "You should try to go to the bathroom first. Urination after sex is essential to prevent UTIs."

Smiling, I got up from the bed and kissed him on the cheek before grabbing a pair of clean underwear from my drawer and walking to the bathroom.

When I came back with a freshly washed face, my jewelry discarded, and feeling refreshed and ready to fall asleep, he was laying on my bed with his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his bare chest. Thinking better of it, I took off his sweater and threw it at him before rummaging through my drawers for a night shirt of my own.

"You could have kept it on," he said quietly, even as he put the shirt back on himself.

I shrugged, slipping on a large brown tee-shirt and climbing into bed under the covers. "You can't go home without a shirt."

"Right..." He sounded a little sad, but maybe I was just imagining it.

I rolled over on my side and looked at him, already feeling myself start to drift off. But I forced my eyes open and reached out to brush my fingertips through his hair. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

"Of course," was all he said, a small smile adorning his lips.

I hummed and nestled in closer to him, and his hand came down to rub the inside of my arm.

And as much as I tried to stay awake, just so he would stay longer, inevitably I fell asleep, hearing Spencer humming the melody to my favorite classical piece.

***

My arms stretched out, seeking his warmth even though I knew it wouldn't be there. I told him, made it a point to make sure he knew he had to leave after I fell asleep.

So why did I feel saddened by his disappearance?

I groaned into my pillow and stretched my body, already feeling it ache from all that... strenuous activity from the night before. When I opened my eyes and turned my head, I saw just a glimpse of the sun peeking through the curtains in my bedroom, illuminating what looked like a piece of paper on the other pillow next to me.

I slowly sat up and grabbed it, rubbing my eyes to will myself to read it. I already figured it would be another note from Spencer, but my hear fluttered when I read it nonetheless.

Not sure when I'll be free to meet again, but I'd like to keep in touch— As much as I love when you call me Stranger, I'd prefer to be anything but.

Sweet dreams, — Stranger Spencer

Yeah. I was definitely in trouble.

***

“All my pleasure choked by pain Since I let you get away. I should’ve tied you to the bed When I had you in the flesh. Now I’m chained to the memories.

How the music played loud. How my hair came down. How you kissed my mouth With a fire I can’t put out.

Why does it feel like torture Not to have your skin on mine?”

—Liz Longley, Torture

SERIES TAGLIST: @bluesunrise02 @meowiemari @teenwolfgirl90

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes

(Please let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist! Thank you!)

youtube

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid #songbird

139 notes · View notes

starcountesseevee · 3 years

Text

Who Needs a Suit?

"That is fantastic news!" You glanced up as you heard Willow’s excited voice, catching a glimpse of him as he spun around on his desk chair with his phone to his ear. It’s not that you were trying to listen in on Willow's conversation but your workspace was right next to the small room that was his office for the duration of this project. And his door was open, like usual. And he wasn't exactly talking quietly to whoever was on the phone, also like usual.

"Of course, of course!" He continued after a brief pause. "Yes, I will inform the team immediately. We are very honored." This caught your attention even more and you eyed him discreetly over your papers, something you had become quite good at since this project started. “You have a good day as well and thank you again!”

You quickly looked back down as Willow ended the phone call, hoping to Mythics that he didn’t see you eavesdropping. A few moments later he emerged from his office, giving you a quick smile as you glanced up again before addressing the room.

"If everyone could pause for a moment, I have an announcement!" The main lab area wasn’t large at all, but it suited the needs of the current project, and it only took a moment for the three other workers to stop their work and turn towards the professor. “I have just received a phone call from the chairman of this year’s research committee and…” Willow paused here for dramatic effect, “our project is being recognized at this year’s award dinner!”

At this the room burst into cheers, everyone congratulating each other on the good news. Once the din settled Willow explained that the invites would be sent shortly and that everyone should be proud. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged all around and the mood in the lab was certainly more exciting than it had been a few minutes prior. You were about to sit back down when Willow caught your attention.

“Oh, (Y/N)?”

You turned towards him but before you had a chance to respond Suzie - your friend, fellow lab colleague, and roommate - threw her arm around your shoulder. “Isn’t this exciting? All our hard work is finally being recognized!”

“Yes, it’s wonderful.” You agreed, looking back at Willow apologetically. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“Oh, just...good work (Y/N).” He said with a smile before turning back to his office.

“Oooh!” Suzie teased quietly as a blush crept across your cheeks.

“Shush!” You shooed your friend away from your desk. “Don’t you have work to be doing?” It was no secret between you two that you fancied Willow and Suzie had, on more than one occasion, gotten frightfully close to disclosing that in front of the professor even after you had made it abundantly clear that if that happened you would lock her in a room with a hungry Arcanine and throw away the key. This time she did relent and went back to her work station as you returned to your desk to continue the morning’s paperwork.

A few days later the formal invitations arrived and it was like rehearing the news for the first time again. You slid the beautifully written card out of the envelope gently, flipping it over to read the details but almost immediately your stomach dropped as you spotted your name with “+ one” written in perfect calligraphy at the top of the page. A plus one was not something you had, which was fine! you reassured yourself, it just meant that everyone else would be bringing one making your lack of one stand out.

“So who are you bringing?” Suzie startled you as she took a seat on the edge of your desk. “My Jane will be so thrilled to finally get to go to one of my work events.”

“You know I don’t have anyone.” You chuckled, trying to play it off.

“You so sure about that?” She smiled coyly at you. “I know a certain profess-”

“Will you hush!” Casting a quick glance towards Willow’s office you were relieved to see he was still absorbed in the papers on his desk. “We’ve talked about that. Besides, he has his own invite. No need for me to ask him to go. Probably has his own plus one already anyway.”

“You won’t know for sure unless you ask.” Suzie gives you a knowing look that you ignore.

“Come on, he’s my boss. I can’t, it isn’t allowed.”

“Well now that this project is wrapping up maybe he won’t be! You could ask for a reassignment, then what’s your excuse?”

You were saved from answering by the loud crash of glass hitting the floor. Suzie hopped off your desk to go help clean up but not before telling you to think about it, like you hadn't already a million times. But maybe she did have a point. With the project being pretty much over maybe you would have a shot at asking him out. You looked over to where he still sat at his desk and frowned. He probably has a someone special already, you thought but Suzie's words 'you won't know till you ask' echoed in your mind. You had two weeks until the award ceremony, maybe you should just ask.

In those two weeks you found every excuse you could not to talk to Willow, your nerves getting the better of you. The closest you had gotten was first thing one morning as he settled into his office for the day but you had chickened out and just said good morning instead. It was probably for the best, you found yourself thinking, not noticing you were staring at him while he was working at his desk until he looked up and made direct eye contact. You were certain you turned as red as a Charmeleon as you quickly looked away, missing the warm smile he gave you.

The day of the event everyone was allowed to go home early to get ready and Suzie insisted on dolling you up in one of her dresses and makeup.

"If that doesn't get Willow's attention, I don't know what will." Suzie smirked, surveying her work as you blushed, fidgeting with the hem of the dress. It was a bit shorter than you were used to but after seeing yourself in the full length mirror you had to admit Suzie had done a great job.

Walking into the venue you felt a bit out of place, even though everyone was laughing and dressed up you were never quite comfortable in formal wear. You had been the first to find your table and take a seat, avoiding the small talk over cocktails, but soon enough the others slowly trickled over to join you. Checking your phone you frowned, it was only a few minutes before the ceremony was about to start and everyone had shown up except the professor. Which is odd seeing as he was in charge of this research project, you would have thought he would be the first to arrive.

Right as the lights were dimming a series of low snickers started echoing through the hall and Suzie startled you by gripping your arm and whispering 'oh my Mythics'. You turned to see Willow snaking through the tables and to your amusement, and seemingly everyone else's horror, he was still in his lab coat and work attire. Taking the last seat at your group's table he didn't seem to notice or care how out of place he looked or that everyone was staring. You couldn't help but grin, half wishing yourself that you had worn something more comfortable than a dress and heels. He caught your eye from across the table and you were thankful the lights had dimmed so he didn't see your blush as he gave you one of his charming smiles but you swear he held your gaze for just a bit longer than needed before turning his attention to the stage.

The recognition ceremony went pretty much how you would have expected, groups getting called up, speeches made. When your group was called out Willow went up for the speech and thanked everyone on the team, prompting you all to stand as the room clapped. As you glanced around at the room you caught Willow's eye again, why did he seem to be watching you directly? It was probably just your imagination though, you thought as you took your seat. Or was it?

After the last group was recognized the lights became brighter and a band appeared, it was time for the after party. You followed Suzie to the bar but soon found yourself alone as Jane whisked her off to the dancefloor. Sipping at your drink as you watched the crowds you didn't realize Willow had come up beside you until he spoke.

"I hope you're having a good time?" He startled you but you recovered quickly.

"Oh I am!" You took another sip of your drink to hopefully calm your nerves. "It's a very lovely place, although I wish I had worn something more comfortable like you did." As soon as you said it you regretted it, worry flashing across your face as you wondered if he would be offended. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with your attire! It's just that-" you stopped short as he began laughing.

“Ah yes, I must say, formal attire and I don't get along so well. I find it too constricting, besides you never know what you’ll come across in the field! That's actually the reason I was late, a trainer brought in an injured Psyduck and it took a little longer to get the little guy back up to good health than I had anticipated." Willow paused, smiling sheepishly. "It would seem I am rambling. May I get you another drink?"

"You mean another free drink from the open bar?" You teased, the few drinks you already had seemed to have loosened you up a bit.

"Ah, yes, one of those."

"Thank you but I think I'm okay for right now." You set your now empty glass on the counter as Willow rubbed the back of his neck.

"You'll have to forgive me, I don't seem to be very good at this." He laughed nervously as the song changed to something a little more slow paced. "Can I interest you in a dance instead?"

"A dance?" It comes out as more of a question as you were still wondering what he meant he wasn't good at. But Willow was watching you expectantly, holding out his hand as an offer and as if in a trance you took it. This couldn't really be happening, could it? He led you the few steps to the dance floor and your heart pounded in your chest, suddenly finding yourself unsure of how to act as he stepped closer and placed a hand on your waist.

"You look lovely by the way." Willow's words brought you back to reality as you two stepped in a slow circle to the music.

"Thank you." Was it warm in here or was it just you?

"I'm glad we got to-" Before he could continue he was cut off by Suzie's sharp voice from behind you.

"(Y/N!) There you are, oh!" Suzie's eyes widened in shock as she spotted you, or more precisely who you were with. "Oh, I'm so sorry to interrupt! It's just…" She looked like she didn't want to continue, especially as you shot her a look that said this better be worth it. "It's just that Jane tripped and I think she sprained ankle, we're going to have to take her to a hospital just to be sure and I know we're your ride but…"

"What? That's terrible!" You instinctively pulled away from Willow, rushing the few steps over to Suzie as worry washed over you. Quickly realizing what you had done you spun back to Willow with an apology on your lips only to see he had followed.

"Is everything okay, do you need any assistance?"

Suzie glanced between the two of you, clearly judging her next words but concern for her girlfriend won out. "Actually I could use another set of hands getting her to the car, she can barely walk."

"Of course." Willow nodded. "Lead the way."

After the three of you had packed Jane in the car Suzie ran over to the driver's side but hesitated before getting in.

"Are you coming, (Y/N)? I know we're you're ride home but I don't want to make you wait at the hospital with us for Mythics knows how long…"

"Perhaps I can take you home?" Willow offered before you had a chance to respond.

"Perfect!" Suzie grinned, hopping into the car. "Love you girl! I'll text you with an update when we get there!" Winking at you she slammed the car door and took off, leaving you there rather baffled as to what just happened. You turned back to Willow wide eyed and mouth agape, probably looking for all the world like a Magikarp out of water.

"I...what...I'm so sorry...you shouldn't have to...I can call a cab."

"Nonsense!" He grinned. "Besides I offered. Now I'm not sure about you but I don't know that I'm up for more mingling. Unless of course, you want to-"

"No, it's fine. Getting out of these shoes sounds lovely."

Willow led the way to where his Jeep was parked, trailer and all still attached. After helping you into the passenger seat, not the easiest feat in your somewhat tight dress, he took off, following your directions back home. Since your building was on a main road and his vehicle didn't exactly fit in the parking lot around back he wound up finding a side street a few blocks away to park and absolutely insisted on walking you to your door, adamant it was the gentlemanly thing to do and he would be crushed if something happened to you.

"Thank you again, I'm sorry if this cut your night short."

"I'm actually rather pleased it did. I'm glad I got to see you outside of working hours."

"So am I." You blushed, fidgeting with your keys as you two approached the door.

"Listen, (Y/N)..." Willow started, meeting your gaze as he searched for the right words. "I've really enjoyed working with you on this project."

"I have too, I'm sad it's coming to an end."

"I must say I'm not." He must have seen the puzzled look on your face and quickly backpedaled. "I mean, I am but also not...ahh. I told you I'm not good at this." He chuckled nervously before continuing. "What I'm trying to say is that I'd like to see you outside of work again and since dating colleagues is frowned upon-"

Your mind was racing just as fast as your heart was and it only took you a moment to understand what he was trying to say. You cut him off by bringing a hand up to his cheek, a look of surprise crossing his face. "Yes, I would like that. I would like that a lot." He grinned back at you and surprised you in return by leaning in to press his lips to yours. It only took you a moment to return the kiss, sliding your hand around his neck as he circled an arm around your waist to pull you closer. He might not have been so good at flirting but you couldn't say the same about his kissing, it was just as good -if not better- than you had daydreamed. After a few moments you broke apart, touching foreheads as you both caught your breath.

"Well, great, then it's settled. Thank you (Y/N), it was a lovely night and I guess I will see you at work-" He began awkwardly, stepping back from you, but you cut him off.

"Would you like to come upstairs?" You blurted out, not quite as smooth as you had hoped for but he grinned nonetheless. You didn't wait for an answer, instead turning to open the front door. After all, you did want to get out of these shoes.

Just a little (okay not so little) idea I had after Eevee community day when Willow said he didn't have any formal attire. Hope you enjoyed! (Sorry, I just can't seem to write anything short!)

#professor willow #pokemon go willow #willow pokemon go #pokemon go fanfiction #pokemon go

20 notes · View notes

ourloveisforthelovely · 3 years

Text

Angel (one shot)

Harry Potter Marauders Era

Request helloooo can i ask for like a quick regulus x reader oneshot where the reader sings and regulus hears her voice and basically falls in love with it but he didnt see her face so he just comes back everyday to the same place in the hope of listening to her singing and seeing her face this time? this sounds specific i know but i feel like some soft reggie is all i need now 😭

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: M- mention of self harm

________

Suffocating… that was the best word that Regulus could use to describe his life. After joining up with the death eaters at the lovely age of 16, Regulus had quickly grown to regret his decision. Anytime that the dark mark began to burn in the slightest, Regulus found himself dying for an excuse not to go. There was, however, not one...at least nothing in Lord Voldemort’s eyes that would be “good enough.”

On the outside, Regulus had to keep his smooth and reserved demeanor. It didn’t matter on the inside how much he was screaming. No one cared. The people that did know what he was doing continued to go on and on about how he was doing “the right thing, the noble thing.”

It was 7:00pm and Regulus found himself running down a quiet hallway. He had to get out of the Slytherin common room. He had to get away from Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. They had been so gleeful over a muggle that had been murdered the night before. Neither seemed to care about this person nor the family that they left behind. Regulus, when the deed was taking place, didn’t care. He stood stony faced as the man begged for his life. The moment Voldemort uttered his “favorite” spell, Regulus had to swallow back the feeling of nausea as he watched the light leave the man’s eyes.

Regulus had done well not thinking about the “deed” all day. It wasn’t until he returned to the common room and overheard Evan’s conversation did Regulus find himself regretting the day that he was born.

No one asked a question when Regulus walked out of the common room. Why would they? People would be dumb to question Regulus on something. People knew not to question Regulus on his doing unless they wanted to be jumped.

Regulus stopped the moment that his hands hit the balcony. Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes mentally begging for the memory to leave his mind.

Just stop...I fucking hate this!

Regulus thought miserably. He was half tempted to throw himself off of the balcony. It looked like a good distance and if he was lucky wouldn’t survive the fall. Death would be better than living the way that he was at the moment!

The brooding stopped the moment that a soft voice caught Regulus’ attention. He knew a lot of the “choir kids” would come up to this particular area of the castle to practice at points. Before today, however, Regulus had never paid any of them any attention. Today, it was different. This voice was soft, gentle...everything that Regulus needed.

Right away he recognized the French folk song that he had heard numerous times as a child. Leaning his head back against the stone wall, all of the anxiety and tension slowly left. Regulus took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. They were no longer shaking.

I should leave...but I don’t want to. She, whomever she is, has to have the most beautiful voice. She sounds like an angel.

Regulus thought with a tiny smile. Although he had no belief in heaven, hell, angels, or demons hearing this voice had to be what an angel would sound like if there were one. This soft voice was everything that Regulus needed to hear when he needed to be told “that everything would be alright.”

Over the following days, Regulus found himself in the same place at the same time. It didn’t matter what kind of hell that he had going on. The moment that soft voice would sing all of the bad would vanish. Even if it was just one song, Regulus was feeling a million times better when he had to return to the Slytherin common room.

The question plaguing Regulus’ mind now was who did the voice belong to? He had been trying to put an angelic voice with a face nonstop and was coming up with nothing. None of the girls in Slytherin house fit the idea that Regulus had in his mind.

I have to find out.

He muttered as the signing stopped. Standing up, he quickly walked into the room not having any idea what he was about to say. Regulus knew that whatever girl this was would probably think that he was a creep for spying on her night after night. What kind of girl would want that?

“I know you’re there.”

The singing had stopped and was replaced with a soft comment on Regulus’ appearance. Regulus turned around to see Y/n Lupin sitting by the window. You were the girl...the voice...it all fit! Regulus blinked a few times as he took everything in. Of course, it was you. It all made sense.

“Um...hi.”

Regulus muttered. He wasn’t for sure if he had ever spoken to you before. The two of you were in the same year but your paths didn’t cross much. You were in Hufflepuff and often kept to your little group of friends or with your older brother.

You, meanwhile, smiled noticing Regulus’ awkward silence.

“You’ve been up here the past few nights.”

You commented. Regulus’ face blushed as you patted the seat beside you. Regulus slowly sat down and kept his eyes straight ahead.

He had to be a blithering idiot. There would be no way in hell that anything between the two of you would ever work. You were Remus Lupin’s sister. Regulus didn’t foresee Remus being too onboard with his sister dating a Slytherin (even if Slytherins and Hufflepuffs made great matches).

“You were upset that first night. Are you better now?”

You asked. You knew the question was probably intrusive but it came out before you really thought better of it. That night, a few nights ago, you had been up doing what relaxed you the most...singing. When you heard the angry footsteps you considered stopping but thought about how your singing seemed to comfort your own brother when he was upset. Maybe this person needed a little comforting too (even if you didn’t know them).

When you realized that it was Regulus Black the feeling of overwhelming sympathy washed over you. You didn’t know much about Regulus other than the fact that he was Sirius’ younger brother. Over the years that you were in school, you couldn’t help but notice how sad Regulus looked most of the time. You could see those sad dark eyes from your seat at the Hufflepuff table and wanted nothing more than to give him something to smile about. He reminded you of a puppy that had been kicked one too many times. If he was anything like Sirius then you knew that was exactly how Regulus was.

It was no secret that Walburga Black was cruel to her children. You knew first hand of the abuse. You had heard about it from Sirius himself. If that was what was plaguing Regulus’ mind every night that he came to the balcony, maybe you could give him something to feel better about?

“There really isn’t getting any better.”

Regulus commented as you scooted closer. You had a feelin what that vague comment was leading toward.

“About being a death eater?”

Regulus’ face went pale as he turned to look at you with wide eyes.

“How do you know? Did my brother tell you?”

You shook your head at the raised tone of his voice.

“Ssh now. We don’t need god and everyone to hear. I saw your arm doing potions one day.”

Regulus sneered in your direction. He didn’t know how to react. Maybe just be cold like normal? What the hell was he supposed to say?

“Let me guess, you are going to tell me that I am a horrible person and that I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing...no matter if it's what my family expected of me.”

Your momentary silence was driving Regulus nutty. After a few moments, you finally spoke.

“No. I was actually going to say I can’t imagine what you are going through. Sometimes our families are our own worst enemies.”

Regulus sighed.

“You’ve got that right. Look, I wasn’t spying on you. I want to just throw that out there.”

You smiled.

“It's alright. Your aura doesn’t seem as tense after you’re here for a bit.”

It was Regulus’ turn to be silent. He was trying to decide if he wanted to give you a compliment. If he messed things up, there was a good chance that he would never hear your angelic voice again...and that wasn’t something that he wanted to risk losing.

“Your voice is nice….its soothing.”

“Thank you.”

You replied as Regulus turned back to face you. His face this time was different. He had gone from death eater to the sad puppy that needed love.

“That first night...I was actually considering pitching myself off of that balcony. Hearing you...that was the first time I heard the most beautiful voice. It was like gravity.”

You reached out and gently took your hand in his. Were you overstepping your boundaries with a boy that you knew nothing about and who in turn knew nothing about you? Possibly. Did you care? Not really.

“I’m glad that you didn’t do that. You know, believe it or not, I realize how hard things can be with family. My family isn't normal…”

“Your brother is a werewolf.”

Regulus commented and instantly regretted his choice of words when your face went pale.

“Not that it matters though. It's just who Remus is.”

Regulus quickly added, hoping to save what hope of a friendship that he had with you. You, to his relief, smiled.

“Yes, it is who he is. I feel no guilt in telling you this now. With his condition, I tend to be second in the family. My parents don’t mean to put me on the back burner but it happens. It's hard...so I know now you must feel. How did you figure it out, if you don’t mind me asking. He literally tells no one.”

Regulus shrugged.

“Just put the puzzle pieces together.”

You continued to rub slow circles over Regulus’ palm hoping to relax him further. This was the first time (other than James and Sirius) someone had figured out Remus “furry little problem.”

“You’re really intelligent and perceptive then. If you want...you know...we could do this every evening when you're free. We don’t have to tell anyone that we are meeting up. Sometimes it's nice just to have someone outside of your friend circles.”

Regulus looked up and was clearly surprised.

“You would want to see me again?”

You nodded.

“If you want to see me that is...no pressure.”

Regulus quickly nodded, cutting you off.

“I would love to see you again...maybe around 7 tomorrow?”

You gave his hand a squeeze.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

_________

@amelie-black @realgaytrash @truly-insatiable @fandomsxxregulus @lucasfilms77 @exhsle @spiderxalmighty @jessyballet @knreidy1 @bennyberry @quuenofblacks @hazncalsgal @criminalyetminimal @whymyparentscheckmyphone @acciosiriusblack @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @fandom-trash-worth-it @summer-novak @hankypranky @stuckinsaudi1 @emiwrites3reads @shaylybaby2032 @li0nh34rt @tas898 @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @knight-of-gleefulness @shitfaceddaniel @untoldshortsofthefandoms @deanwherescas @sprnaturallover @wontlookaway @mycuddlycorner

91 notes · View notes

schrijverr · 3 years

Text

And finally see what it means to be living

Eliot’s life, from his teen years to the disillusionment of the military through the soulless wetwork all the way to his team, seen through his connection to the song Fast Carby Tracy Chapman.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none, but tell me if I missed any

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

Eliot remembered being a teen, lying on the grass in the middle of the night, having snuck out with a radio with as excuse to his father that he was with a lady friend. That was if he even cared to ask, which was never the case, but just to be safe.

He remembered one night in particular, the one that made him come back out there with the radio each night, hoping they would play the song he wished to hear most as he lay under the galaxy, wishing he was far away, among the stars.

It had been a bright night with clear skies, a full moon and a million stars in the sky. He was lying on his blanket, some radio station played that he tuned out most of the time. Then the radio announcer had said: “Next up is Fast Carby Tracy Chapman, gotta warn y’all it’s one for the heart.” And somehow it had gotten his attention and he’d listened.

He’d listened, yet somehow he’d felt heard.

Right there on the radio had been someone, who was stuck in a town as well, with a shit father, who wanted nothing more than to live and get out.

While he had nobody but himself to get him out of there, the song gave him hope. He hadn’t heard the full lyrics, but enough to hit home. The radio announcer had been right when he’d said it was one for the heart.

You got a fast car And I got a plan to get us out of here I been working at the convenience store Managed to save just a little bit of money We won't have to drive too far Just 'cross the border and into the city You and I can both get jobs And finally see what it means to be living

He found himself humming the song, singing the second verse under his breath the next day, letting the feeling of the song build up in his chest and carry him through the day as plans of getting away swirled in his mind.

Even now he knew that his best out was either a sports scholarship or the military and he wasn’t a college man. He also knew that his father would never let him join, so he’d have to wait until he was eighteen before flying away.

While he might not have a fast car, he and a few of his buddies had boosted one often enough that he could find one when the time came, he just had to get there first. Just until he was eighteen, then he was out of there and far away, for now he would just work at the hardware store and save the money to get out of here.

Anxiously, he had waited until he could sneak out again after that night, tuning into the same radio station, hoping it would be played again.

They didn’t play the song the first night, nor the one after that, but the third night they did. He was sitting next to the radio, armed with a tape recorder that he smashed on the moment the announcer introduced the song.

Afterwards, he played the song so often on his Walkman that the tape wore down until he had to record it onto a new one.

The late nights under the stars, alone with his dreams, stayed. He still played the radio on the same station that had first played Fast Car, but he often found himself listening to the tape, repeating it until he had enough peace to rest.

His mind got stuck on the first part of the song after a while:

You got a fast car I want a ticket to anywhere Maybe we make a deal Maybe together we can get somewhere Any place is better Starting from zero got nothing to lose Maybe we'll make something But me myself I got nothing to prove

He repeated the words to himself, alone in his room or in the safety in his mind whenever the world got too much. Well, his dad got too much.

Then he would just grit his teeth and tell himself that he had nothing to prove and that any place would be better, he just had to go somewhere. Didn’t matter that he started at zero, just like her, he would live.

Just a year more then he’d be eighteen.

Eliot had never belonged in that small stuffy town, no matter how well he played his part. He was never that into football or the girls at the school. He went through the motions, but wasn’t built for settling down, for taking over the store and staying there forever.

For a while he thought that Aimee got that, that she got him and that they would achieve the dream together and get away from the town where everyone knew everyone and the only good thing were the horses.

She was also done with some of the people at school, though she went to church and she loved the horses and maybe he should have thought more about it when he mentioned leaving and she stayed quiet, but he wanted to get out so bad that he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to stay.

So, slowly he started to picture them, in a car – maybe even one he’d bought – driving on the highway, the town disappearing the rear view mirror as they went off to see what it meant to be living.

It was a dream that got crushed.

Aimee wanted him to stay, tried to talk of the horses and what they could built and he’d just listened dumbly and nodded.

Faintly he heard himself making her a promise about coming back then and giving her the ring he’d bought for her birthday, hoping to make it real in a church that was not run by the same Father he’d been forced to confess his sins to since he was a boy.

And he wondered how he had ended up there when he had always told her about his dream of being far away.

But then again, maybe he hadn’t told her. Maybe to her, he was complaining about the town just like she did, like everyone did. Maybe in her mind she had built a future like he had, just on a different set, cast in different rolls. Maybe neither had said enough.

He snuck out again that night and laid in the field, his field. He lay on the wet grass and stared at the constellations he knew so well, wondering why the endless sky suddenly seemed less a place of escape and just another facet of his stupid town where everyone but him seemed to want to stay.

His mind was just not comprehending how anyone couldn't see there was so much more than what was around them. That there was more than church on Sunday, the footballs games, the potlucks or the gossip that had been recycled a thousand times.

On the tape Tracy Chapman sang:

You got a fast car But is it fast enough so we can fly away We gotta make a decision We leave tonight or live and die this way

He’d heard the lyrics a million times, but that night it was those lyrics that hit him in the heart, more than it usually did.

Aimee was a fool. He had a fast car, he could get out, fly away, just a few more days and he’d be gone. If she didn’t want to come that was her decision and that was fine, but it didn’t have to be Eliot’s. He wouldn’t remain here.

He would not.

‘Weleave tonight or live and die this way’ that’s what Tracy sung and he’d already known on that night when he’d first heard the song that he would be driving off alone. He had tricked himself into thinking Aimee would come, but there had never been a we. Not for Eliot.

So on the night of his eighteenth birthday, he told his dad he was enlisting and fought with him, trying not to think of the lyrics ‘somebody’s got to take care of him,’ because even Tracy had seen she’d deserved better.

Still, even after he packed the last of his stuff, he swung by Aimee, asking her again, more urgent, more permanent, before promising he’d back for her. In case she needed him or if she’d changed her mind.

Then he was gone, off into the sunset. And as he tore down the highway, a tune blasted out of the radio.

I remember we were driving driving in your car The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk City lights lay out before us And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder And I had a feeling that I belonged And I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone

And his foot on the gas peddle was intoxicating. He was going so fast that it was dangerous, but he didn’t care. He was riding to his future, to far off places and adventures. He was going to be someone.

That idea lasted approximately the ten weeks it took to train them, before shipping them out to an active war zone.

Though it had been chipped at relentlessly before already. Quite hard to be a someone in a cohesive unit. Not that it mattered to Eliot, he had a place to belong now, while his dream hadn’t matched Tracy’s, he was glad she had gotten him to this, with his brother’s in arms, even through all the horrors.

Yet, despite all she’d done for him, he forgot her and Fast Car.

There was not much room to listen to your own music and he was already a country hick, so he didn’t really need to amplify that more with a country music station.

He was fine fitting in the way he did. He wrote to Aimee, even if it was less and less, letters filled with empty promises made out of a sense of obligation to her and home. He didn’t speak to his father, nor his siblings. He stayed far away from everyone as his hands colored a dark red on foreign soil.

His bright and promising military career soon turned into a promotion to black ops where he didn’t exist to the government unless he came back.

The color of his hands didn’t change, it just got more pigmented as it dripped until wetwork was just a step to a better future. He had already killed so many people, getting paid almost nothing for a government that didn’t care. Why not do it for more money?

So, he had emptied his soul, filled it with money he didn’t truly need and more enemies around him, hoping it would be enough.

He had disappeared completely.

Eliot Spencer was no more, not really.

The man might still walk the earth, but anyone who met him didn’t live to tell the tale, so friendship was hard to come by. Maybe that’s why Moreau was such a welcome change in his life. There was a man, who might be powerful, but who would never have enough security against Eliot, smiling at him and offering him friendship – with money and a bit of violence thrown in – like Eliot was just another being he could own.

And by god did Eliot want to be owned. He once more longed to belong like he had done in the army, but he no longer was innocent enough for the army, which was an ironic sentiment that was true enough to hurt.

He had walked through pools of blood he had made, hoping no one would follow the bloody footsteps he left behind, but here there were others, who had walked through the same red sea as he had and who found each other under Moreau.

It was brutal work, soulless too. It was nothing more than destruction in exchange for power that was a fire with no ash left behind, just bare rock where nothing grew.

And Eliot was home.

Later, in a future he didn’t know he could have, when feeling returned to his limbs and he saw how his pools of blood had turned into seas had turned into floods and it was too late to turn back. Only then would he look back and hate himself, but not now.

Now Eliot was on top of the world. Sitting at the side of the most feared and most powerful of the underbelly of the underbelly, while remaining in an bright spotlight was the best place to be. He was untouchable and unfeeling.

He had always been weak for belonging, for seeing the world and making someone of himself and Moreau was the best salesman there was. He sold Eliot a unfulfilled dream with labor for Moreau as payment without the hitter every realizing.

So he went through the motions. He got more skills, he learned new things. He stopped enjoying life, though he would only later come to know that.

Eliot Spencer had disappeared under Moreau and not just from the records. He was no longer the boythat had driven out of a small town in Oklahoma to sign up for the army in the hope of being more than his neighbor.

Though, he supposed he had his dream. In a way. Here he was, more traveled than he could have ever hoped for with experiences so far from the norm that no one from his class could have ever matched his tales.

He had become what he had always dreamed to be, so why did he feel so hollow?

The answer came to him in the most horrific way he could imagine. He’d just pulled the trigger, he kept on doing it like he was supposed to but oh god- he’d done that. He killed them and he hadn’t even given them the time to beg, to spark humanity in his heart, because his heart had died long ago.

He needed to get out.

He needed to get far away from there.

From Moreau.

Why it had to be so extreme before he could finally see, he didn’t know. But it had. It had to get terrible, unforgivable. He had to see that the man he had been and wanted to be, was dead and that he was a devil with no chance at salvation.

As a hollow shell he’d ran. For a long time he had wondered if it was worth it to keep running, but slowly the people who chased him dwindled as less and less returned, until he knew he had been given a second chance. A chance to make it right.

It was Toby, who hammered in that lesson. The man might not have knownEliot’s complete tale, but he was familiar with the haunted look in his eyes, so he took Eliot under his wing and showed him how his hands were made for more than violence.

Eliot laid his guns down there and took up a knife, vowing to only fight where he could get hit in return, level the playing field. He’d never liked the power that came with a gun and now he wouldn't pick one up again to be tempted by that voice.

He wouldn't be that man anymore. He refused. He would stay in Toby’s kitchen for now, figure out a plan that would carry him forwards as a better person. Not good, just better.

So it came to be that, one night, when he was alone in the kitchen, slicing up some onions for the prep for the next day, while tune played on the radio.

At first he hadn’t even recognized it, but still he listenedclosely, now scoffing at some of the lyrics, until one of the last verses played.

You got a fast car And I got a job that pays all our bills You stay out drinking late at the bar See more of your friends than you do of your kids I'd always hoped for better Thought maybe together you and me would find it I got no plans I ain't going nowhere So take your fast car and keep on driving

How ironic, he thought. He had always been so focused on the start of the song, on the getting out and leaving everything behind that he had never fully listened to the ending. To the fact that Tracy never got the ending she’d wanted.

He’d been stupid to think he’d ever get a happy ending. He’d been far less deserving off it and fate was never kind. He always prided himself on knowing better, but he’d been more foolish than anyone in his class.

‘I’d always hoped for better.’

And by god, he had. He had wanted so much, dreamed so big and set goals so unobtainable that he would always have keep on climbing.

So maybe he had never been Tracy, maybe he’d been the dick that had promised her the world and then never delivered. He thought of Aimee and how he had never been a settler, but someone that kept on disappointing and leaving.

The far car had not always been a car in his life, but he had always been on the road, always had been going somewhere, or maybe he’d just been running away.

Maybe now he had stopped running? Though, if he hadn’t been running, he’d been hiding. Here in Toby’s kitchen he had made a little haven away from everyone that had hurt him and that he had hurt. And he didn’t deserve that. Not after what he did.

Eliot made a vow to himself that night, listening to Fast Carin the back of a restaurant, both reminiscent and nothing like when he had first heard it. He would leave there and face the world, never kill again, just survive and try to do better.

He could at least try to do better.

So, he said goodbye to Toby and went off into the world. Toby wouldn’t go anywhere, but Eliot had to. He would remember Toby, however, carry him with him whenever he ate a new dish or went on a grift as a cook. It was a good time, one of the best he’d had since the army, maybe even since Aimee.

Still, he didn’t look back, not to her or Toby. He had things to do, people to help, as well as himself a bit. All of his funds from working from Moreau had disappeared and he needed to survive if he wanted to repent.

Somehow that road led him to a prick named Nate Ford and a job to get the plans of a plane back. It led him to Hardison, a nerd he liked more than he wanted to admit, and Parker, who made him smile with her antics as well as give him heart problems. It led him to Sophie, who had so many masks that he could relate to her and feel safe in his nobody-ness.

It led him to a team, more than a team really. After a while it reminded him of the army with all his brothers, family was closer, but he had no reference for family, except them.

Even Aimee told him they were, because he’d come back to help her when she needed him and part of him felt lighter on that promise fulfilled. It felt like a start. Not a new start, because it would never be fair to everyone he’d hurt to erase those sins like that, but it felt like he had a bucket and soap and the color of his hands might fade to a light pink one day.

And Eliot worked.

He pushed himself into more grifting, learned a bit of hacking, scaled building hanging from a tiny rope and learned to think of more than just strategic exits and weaknesses in physique. He completed the jobs they were hired to do and he helped people.

What he had dreamed off when he had first joined the army, he found at Leverage. He found family, a home, a sense of duty and belonging. He was changing the world for the better.

It was amazing and more than he had ever hoped for himself, even on those nights alone with the radio, he couldn't have hoped it would end like this. He was someone. He practically had his own brewpub and a recent memory he could be proud off.

And he was proud as he reminisced alone in the kitchen of their office/apartment, where he was preparing some stuff for dinner for the next day. It was late and once this was done and in the fridge, he was done for today, but it would take a few more minutes.

Impulsively he put on the song on the speakers like Hardison had showed him. He hadn’t listen again since Toby, when he blamed himself and found himself on the other end of the song, but maybe now it would be different.

You got a fast car And we go cruising to entertain ourselves You still ain't got a job And I work in a market as a checkout girl I know things will get better You'll find work and I'll get promoted We'll move out of the shelter Buy a big house and live in the suburbs

Before he had never related to her dreams, just her drive to get away and make something of herself, but he could understand now. If he ever got too old for his job, then he wouldn't mind living the way he was now, with Hardison and Parker in the brewpub, making his own menu’s, serving people food.

He knew that for Tracy, she had to tell someone to leave, before she could make a move to get there. Still, he liked the verse now more than before. It spoke of a hope, of a view of the future and a certainty about the destination.

The lyrics he had scoffed at when he had just left Moreau, were dear to him now. ‘I know things will get better,’ it was stupid, but maybe- maybe Eliot could believe in that too now.

Without thinking, he put the song on repeat, before gathering the supplies for his marinade as he danced a bit around in the kitchen. It wasn’t as if there was anyone to catch him.

So, he remembered the stupid boy he had been, the heartless man who had forgotten and guy he was becoming now. Until the end of the song:

You got a fast car But is it fast enough so you can fly away You gotta make a decision You leave tonight or live and die this way

And it wasn’t the way the lyric was intended to land and Eliot’s life had went down a way different road than Tracy’s, but those lyrics where him.

He had a thousand ways to leave and had left a thousand more. He could fly away if he wanted, but it was in the fact that he had run that he had found strength. He was no longer a faceless soldier in the army or Moreau’s attack dog. He was Eliot Spencer and he was alive.

There had been a million moments when he could have made a different decision, but he hadn’t and even when it seemed he had been running away all his life, maybe he’d just been running towards this instead.

‘Leave tonight or live and die this way.’

Huh, he wouldn't mind dying for these people, he wouldn't mind living for these people. He was content to be and never leave. All those times he’d snuck out and dreamed, he had never dreamed here, but he was someone and he had found a place to belong.

So he made the decision and stayed. Till his dying day and all that.

A/N:

I love Christian Kane’s cover of Fast Car so much and I played in on repeat while writing this. The original version of the song also still has a soft place in my heart though.

((the song is not in order and some parts are missing, but you know, you don’t always learn a song in the right order and other parts speak to you at different times))

#RR writing #Eliot Spencer #Fast Car #Leverage #Fast Car by Tracy Chapman #leverage tv

9 notes · View notes

silvercharict · 3 years

Text

So I have this OC I have been working on for about an year now. She’s my pt 5 oc and I based her heavy off of Britney Spears and a combination of female child singer and actresses.

Lucia “Lucky” Garcia (her namesake is after the song Lucky by Britney) and she is an international pop teen sensation who blew up in the late 90s with her breakout album and single both by the same name It’s Lucky (1998). She quickly rose to fame and instant stardom with its multi platinum status within the first two months of its release. Seventeen-year-old Lucky wasn’t new to being around the spotlight though, she has been in movies, commercials, TV shows and has been in assembled groups before she made it huge as a solo artist. Her debut was followed by a massively successful tour and subsequent second album, Your Charm (1999) and a couple of movie roles that just cemented her as a triple threat when paired with her talent in the dance floor. Around the beginning of the year 2000 Lucky, released her third album, Forever In The Stars. Proving to be a massive hit once again. Unfortunately, this would be the last in her catalog. On May 3, 2000, during her tour stop in Italy, Lucky was involved in a tragic car accident that resulted in the death of the starlet, her manager and driver having survived the fall of the cliff to the ocean. Lucia’s body was never recovered. Her untimely death shocked the music industry and her millions of adoring fans. She is regarded as pop royalty and a sort of deity to her biggest fans.

What people don’t know is that Lucky planned her death and how it would play out without anyone suspecting it. Why would she do this? The lies everyone she trusted have told her. Growing up she lived in a very poor community and her home was one of nightmares if anyone really took the time to look into it. Her biggest supporter were her parents, her mother was always asking her to sing when she cooked. Her father only saw money, and Lucky was his ticket out of the hellhole they all lived in. Lucky had to endure his violent, drunken outbursts when he had a bad day at work or when he ran out of beer. Always yelling at his wife and at her. Demanding her to sing, and she did so to try to make the yelling and throwing of items around the house stop. Some days the opposite happened he didn’t want them to make a damn noise and Lucia soon developed a habit of not talking at all unless she had to and even then she struggled to do that, except sing. The one thing she could do well. When she was spotted at the mall by a talent recruiter her father took the chance and forced his wife to use her savings and to sell anything of value so along with his own they could at least use their daughter and put her to good use as he put it.

This well ended up working, as her career was steadily growing, but in the way they were hoping for. It didn’t really take off until Lucia’s mother became ill, and a few months later she succumbed to said illness. She was now fourteen, in the cusp of gaining a slot in a small girl group, and was in said group for about a year before they were disbanded as the project didn’t take off as they all hoped. Stuck with her father, who was now pushing her to change her image to attract bigger music executives into signing her to their labels. Lucia felt uncomfortable with it all, but she had not choice, but have to provide for her family or what was left of it. When she made it big and was now the famous star her father said she would be she didn’t feel any better, her smile was forced, her outfits were sexualizing and her forced relationships with other famous artists to help promote a movie or products were all too much for her once the rumors and paparazzi were following her everywhere. It was suffocating and she couldn’t find escape. Being labeled a spoiled diva when she refused interviews or to smile for cameras only caused her more harm as she couldn’t air out her traumas.

It wasn’t until one day she visited her aunt back home and was given a box with her baby photos that she made a discovery, her birth certificate, the date on it. It was off by two years. Furthermore, it said she was older than she thought she was. She asked her aunt if she had a photo of her birth with a date on it. After confirming it herself that she wasn’t the age she thought she was. Later that day, she decided to sneak around her father’s legal paperwork and contracts and discovered that her father has been planning on taking full control of her assets and was working on finding ways to bind her to rigorous tours and album contracts. Shocked at all this, Lucia made up her mind, Lucky had to die. She needed an escape, but where to and how would she do this?

When she was in Paris, Lucky was in a club where she ended up meeting some shady person who she felt could help her when the bartender warned her about them being gangsters from Italy here. Something in her heart told her to take the chance. One thing led to another, and she ended up making a contract with Passione and when her tour bus stopped in Italy, Lucky knew this show would be her last one, the day before she went to the location where she was told she would meet the men to help her out carry her death. The night of May 3, 2000, Lucky had finished her Italy show, and it was the talk among fans and show biz. Having gone inside the car that would transport her to a short shopping trip to a seaside town that the plan was carried out as both parties agreed to. In a flash, the car had fallen off the road and into the ocean. Rescue efforts recovered only two bodies, her manager and the driver. Both of which had zero recollection of what had occurred before the crash. Lucky nowhere to be found, not days, week or months later. Her body was gone.

What happened after was tough for Lucky as she now had to pay her end of the deal. She had sold her voice to the gang and would for now on sing for their secret clubs. It was a simple request of them as long as that is all she did, sing and sing the music she truly wanted to sing. Living in the shadow of her former life. One might think of it as being trapped, but for her, she was finally free.

#✣ — messi speaks ❨ ooc. ❩#heres the thing i promised a while back #please let me know what you think

13 notes · View notes

of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog · 4 years

Text

Nanny

Commission for the ever-wonderful @depressedstressedlemonzest ! I hope you enjoy this, my love! Even though it got away from me a bit, eh heh heh. *sweats* Commission info is in my about page!

CW: ableism

Geralt did not know what to expect regarding the nanny he had contacted. He had been open to it being anyone, as long as they weren’t a creep.

He would never in a million years have expected his one-night-stand for two days ago to end up on his doorstep.

Geralt and Jaskier stared at each other, equally stunned. Finally, Jaskier cleared his throat and said lamely, “So you’re the Mr. Rivia who emailed me?”

“Yes,” Geralt got out stiffly.

“Daa-ddyyyy!” Ciri wailed from the living room. “Hungry!”

Geralt grimaced and rubbed his forehead. “Please come in,” he said with no enthusiasm. “I have to get Ciri her lunch.”

Jaskier nodded and followed him inside the small townhouse.

Ciri was stomping inside her pen, making frustrated noises. As soon as Geralt lifted her out, she beamed and threw her arms around his neck. “Hungry!” she yelled again, right in his ear.

“Of course, love,” Geralt agreed, rubbing her back soothingly as he took her to the kitchen. “What would you like for lunch today?”

“Ramen!” Ciri squealed, bouncing in his arms and tugging his hair. Geralt didn’t even flinch. He was used to it by now.

So he put Ciri in the high chair, started the ramen, and only remembered Jaskier when Ciri asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m Julian,” Jaskier replied. “And you are?”

“Ciri. That’s my daddy!”

“I noticed!”

Geralt’s mouth tightened as Jaskier and Ciri chatted. They were already on their way to being friends. Not good. If he decided not to hire Jaskier, Ciri would be upset and cry. But it would be better to not hire him. Right?

It had been a very good night when he shared Jaskier’s bed. He’d especially liked how Jaskier had--

Geralt swallowed hard and poured in the ramen noodles. They had both decided to end it there. It was a bad idea to let Jaskier stick around. He was too… bright, and loud, and frankly annoying. It didn’t matter that his terrible flirting was entertaining, or that he was a great singer, or that he obviously knew how to befriend children. Geralt would probably get pissed enough to throw him out in a week.

Ciri crowed with laughter and Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. She hadn’t laughed like that for anyone other than Geralt since Yennefer left.

With his heart sufficiently aching from Ciri’s excitement, Geralt turned away from the stove and walked to the table. Jaskier was already teaching her that stupid song about the spider and the water spout, and how to move her hands to the words. They were both grinning, as Ciri tried to sing along. Geralt wanted to say something, but she was happy, so he got a juicebox from the fridge and set it in reach for her, then retreated to the counter to watch them.

“Do you like ramen?” Ciri asked Jaskier, her green eyes wide with fascination.

“I do,” Jaskier replied, still smiling. “It’s one of my favorite foods.”

“It’s mine too!” Ciri said gleefully, waving her arms and knocking over the juicebox. Geralt lunged and caught it, and set it on the tray of the highchair again. “I like chicken ramen best! Daddy makes the best chicken ramen!”

Jaskier glanced over to Geralt, looking thoroughly amused. Geralt reddened in embarrassment. “That’s wonderful, wee,” Jaskier told Ciri. “Do you eat it often?”

“Every day!” Ciri crowed proudly.

Jaskier’s smile faded a little, but then he brightened it again. “Wow, it must be really good.”

“It is!”

Geralt looked down at the floor to hide his shamed expression. It was a good thing Ciri liked ramen, cold cereal, and canned soup; Geralt hadn’t had the money to buy fresh food since the lawyers stripped Geralt of his income from Vesemir’s estate. Unemployment payments were barely enough to pay the mortgage, the utilities, and Ciri’s diapers. Anything extra came from odd jobs around the city.

But he simply could not afford to leave Ciri alone, not when he needed to find a full-time job, and none of the daycare centers would accept a child of a Witcher. So--a nanny.

Ciri and Jaskier kept talking, and Geralt kept feeling more and more horrible, as Ciri told Jaskier all about her and Geralt’s playing every day except the days after he drank too much, and visiting Lambert and Eskel for dinner (they had insisted on at least feeding them, though Geralt refused their financial help), and her mommy sending her presents in the mail. At least, Daddy said they were from her mommy.

Geralt turned away at that point. The presents were not from Yennefer. They were what he could buy with scraped-up savings. He didn’t want Ciri to think Yenn had abandoned her, and to never remember her fondly.

The ramen was done. He drained it, put half a packet of seasoning in, and brought it to Ciri, along with her favorite spork. She squealed in delight and immediately began eating. Geralt’s stomach ached. Fuck, had she been hungry all morning? Was that day’s breakfast not enough? They didn’t have much cereal left, and he wasn’t sure he could afford more when the next check came in, oh fuck, he was going to have another panic attack--

“Please slow down, love,” Geralt managed to say, stroking Ciri’s hair gently. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Ciri grumbled, but slowed. Geralt sat at the table across from Jaskier, and waited for the reprimands. Everyone reprimanded him when they got to know how he was raising Ciri. It was why he never told anyone about her unless pressed.

He was shaking. His chest hurt, especially his lungs. Why did he feel so light-headed?

“So,” Jaskier said, breaking through Geralt’s fearful thoughts. “I’m assuming the interview can happen now?”

No, absolutely not. Jaskier should leave, and swear not to report Geralt for neglect. Instead of saying that, Geralt nodded mutely.

“Innervu?” Ciri asked with her mouth full.

“An interview is where a person asks another questions, usually about their work,” Jaskier told her.

“But Daddy doesn’t work,” Ciri replied, confused.

Jaskier’s face flickered sadness before he shut that emotion away. “No, he’s going to ask me questions.”

“Ohhh.” Ciri nodded wisely and continued eating.

Geralt swallowed hard. Questions. He’d had a list of questions, hadn’t he? On his phone? He pulled his phone out of his pocket and navigated through his various note and writing apps until he found the one where he kept questions for professionals like doctors and lawyers. There, the list for the nanny. He opened it and slid it across the table to Jaskier.

Jaskier picked it up and read the first question out loud. “Do you have education related to caring for children? Actually, yes, my major in college was childcare. I’ve kept up to date on research and techniques, especially for younger children. How long have you been a nanny? About eight years, now; the first child was about ten and was sent to boarding school a year later, and the second child was a pair of twins. They were delightful, but I have very little training for special needs children, so I pointed their parents towards one of my colleagues who is trained. Do you know sign language? A little. I can converse in it, but I’m not an expert.”

Geralt listened hard as Jaskier worked down the list of questions, and grudgingly decided that Jaskier was a good enough fit. There were probably better nannies, but Geralt would never be able to afford them. So, when Jaskier handed the phone back, Geralt nodded and forced himself to say, “Good.”

“Daddy,” Ciri said suddenly, putting her spork down and reaching for him. “Breathe-hugs.”

Geralt obediently stood and picked her up, and hugged her tightly, facing away from Jaskier a little. Breathe-hugs. He kept forgetting his breathing exercises, but hugging Ciri helped him remember to calm down. This was only the fourth time that she had offered breathe-hugs before he thought of them. It made him feel terrible, that he leaned on her so much. But she was also the only thing still holding him to this shitty world.

He shouldn’t use his daughter as an anchor. He really shouldn’t.

After several deep breaths, he was calm enough to put her down again, and sit. He swallowed hard and said, “Thank you for answering my questions.”

Jaskier was frowning slightly. “You’re very welcome,” he replied. “Are you alright?”

Geralt nodded. “Do you have questions?” he asked, hands tightening on his elbows.

“Ah, yes, a few. Do you have any kind of steady income?”

“Yes,” Geralt said. “I get my unemployment check every month.”

Jaskier pursed his lips and frowned more. Then he asked cautiously, “How much will you be out of the house?”

“I… don’t know,” Geralt confessed. “I’m starting an internship on Monday, but I’m still not sure if I have a schedule yet.” That pained him worse than knowing the position was given to him out of pity.

“Paid internship?”

“...No.”

“Oh.” Jaskier tapped his finger on the table and bit his lip, then nodded firmly. “Well! I think we’ll suit well enough. What do you think, sir?”

Geralt blinked, then blurted, “I do too.”

“Excellent.” Jaskier beamed at him. “I’ll be by tomorrow morning to start.”

It was three weeks later and Geralt was a wreck.

Jaskier had started right out with telling Geralt that penning Ciri for most of the day was a terrible idea, and then showed him how to childproof the house.

“Pens are fine if you’re trying to train a puppy,” Jaskier explained, “But children aren’t puppies. She needs room. She needs to explore the house.”

“My father put me in a pen,” Geralt said hesitantly. “I turned out fine.”

Jaskier gave him an unimpressed look. “Nevertheless, Ciri isn’t you. Give her space to play.”

Ciri hadn’t known what to do without her pen, until Jaskier convinced her to play hide-and-seek. Then they had both run all over the house, hiding and laughing and exploring. Geralt’s heart was in his mouth the whole time, as he tried to make sure Ciri was safe and unhurt. The pen had been as much to keep her safe as it was meant to keep her where Geralt could find her.

After that, Jaskier went through the kitchen and declared that he was going to buy some frozen food and fresh veggies.

“Those are expensive,” Geralt blurted, alarmed.

Jaskier shook his head. “Not all of them. Bring Ciri, and I’ll show you the good deals.”

Geralt did not have a car safe enough to drive Ciri in. The one he used to drive was on its last legs, and so he usually either begged a ride from Eskel or took the bus with her. Jaskier frowned a little, and asked, “How long have you had that car?”

Geralt shrugged. “About twenty years,” he said.

So they took the bus, and Jaskier let Ciri sit in his lap and play with his necklace, which held a silver pendant shaped like a lute, with gold designs inlaid on it. They talked about animals, and Geralt kept his head down. The shame from being stared at like he was some sort of creep for having a daughter still roiled in his gut and made him nauseous.

Grocery shopping was strange, because Jaskier kept pointing out things that were cheap and Geralt had to tell him, over and over, in front of other people, “I only have fifty crowns, I can’t afford to spend it on only one week of food.”

Jaskier somehow negotiated him into buying some potatoes, and wretchedness settled on Geralt when he realized he wouldn’t have enough money to buy Ciri a present for two or three months. She had plenty of toys, though, surely she wouldn’t mind?

“Daddy, why are you sad?”

Geralt hugged Ciri closer and kissed her forehead. “I’m not sad, love.”

The internship was more draining than any other job he’d ever had. Everything was too loud, too fast, too hot, too much--but he had to do this. He had to be hired. Because he needed money for Ciri.

Jaskier kept Ciri company, and taught her songs, and bought her workbooks with her favorite cartoon characters. Most evenings, Geralt showered, changed clothes, and then slumped wherever they were and watched. It hurt, honestly, that she was so much happier with Jaskier. But, well, Jaskier was a better person in general.

And then on the third week of everything, Geralt completely broke down.

It was while he was making dinner. His nerveless fingers dropped the butter and the spoon, his knees buckled, and when he was crouched on the floor, rocking on his toes, he let himself whimper a little. He could not cry; he would not cry in front of Ciri. She didn’t deserve to see him be weak like this. But gods, he wanted to sleep, sleep forever, vanish from this planet and become nothing, so he would never feel or hurt or cry or disappoint or scare again.

A large, warm hand settled gently on his back. “You can go lay down,” Jaskier said gently beside him. “I can finish dinner. Go lay down, Geralt. It’s okay.”

So Geralt went to his room, and shut the door and laid down and let himself sob. Worthless, useless, couldn’t even keep a fucking internship long enough to be hired--

He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes it was late at night. He sniffed, wiped his scratchy eyes, and got out of bed. Maybe there were some leftovers in the fridge. Probably not. Ciri had been eating so much lately, and her energy had gone through the roof. Geralt had to keep cutting down on his own portion so she would have enough. Was that why he was so exhausted and achey lately?

When he reached the kitchen, he blinked.

Jaskier was at the table with a laptop, looking grim. He had papers all over the table, and a thick notepad that he wrote in every few seconds. He looked up at Geralt in the doorway, and managed a tired smile. “Hey,” he whispered. “There’s food in the fridge. Ciri wanted to leave everything, but I convinced her to eat some.”

Geralt nodded and got the leftover soup and fried potatoes out of the fridge, not even bothering to heat them up before spooning some into a bowl and sitting down at the other side of the table to eat. He hurt. But because he wanted noise, any noise, to keep his thoughts away from the evil place in his head, he looked up at Jaskier and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Researching unemployment laws,” Jaskier answered, tapping a few keys and then scribbling on his notepad. “It’s illegal to pay you so little when you have a child. Did you know you’re supposed to get two thousand crowns a month?”

Geralt gaped at him. “Whuh… the lawyers told me I could only have eight hundred,” he replied, feeling another surge of confusion and self-hate boil up in his chest. “Because my brothers have jobs.”

Jaskier looked up sharply, and he looked livid. “They were basing their calculations on your brothers’ incomes?” he demanded.

Geralt flinched, and nodded. “They--they have custody of me,” he explained. “Because a judge ordered when I was nineteen that I have to have a guardian.”

It was Jaskier’s turn to gape. Then he asked, much more gently, “If they are your guardians, why don’t you live with them?”

“Because…” Geralt frowned, trying to remember. “Because the homeowner’s association forbade my brothers from taking me in. So they gave me money to buy this house, and moved to a new apartment. But when I bought the house, some attorneys came by and claimed I was violating court orders, so they took my inheritance.”

“That’s illegal!” Jaskier burst out, aghast. “Why would they do that?”

Geralt’s head was pounding and his breath was getting shorter. He didn’t like thinking about that year. He didn’t like it all. It was a clusterfuck of despair and confusion and terror and he didn’t want to think of it. “I don’t know,” he said, and his voice shook. “I don’t know.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to say something else, then thought better of it, and sighed. “I’m sorry, Geralt,” he said. “I shouldn’t have pried. But now we have some idea of what to do.”

“Huh?”

“Well, you’re being discriminated against, mistreated, and refused the help you need. So.” Jaskier steepled his fingers and grinned, eyes glinting fiercely. “We’re going to tear these fuckers apart.”

A year later, Geralt hated the memories of the confusion and rage of dealing with laws and lawyers and people casually threatening to take Ciri away from him if he didn’t shut up and go away. He hated them with the fury of the planet’s molten core.

But outcomes had been good.

His payments were raised to the legal amount. He was allowed to go to therapy and job training without being threatened. Ciri had new clothes and a new bed and new favorite foods. And Jaskier was not annoying anymore. On the contrary, he had become something much, much better.

Jaskier was still only the nanny. But Geralt had a plan, and it involved the engagement ring he bought on the one-year anniversary of hiring Jaskier.

#Geraskier #Geralt x Jaskier #The Witcher #OOF I could be convinced to expand on this

104 notes · View notes

thelittlestcheshire · 3 years

Photo

even if you have to cry, don't let your crown fall

a love letter to luxor’s ches elswood

Well, it’s finally time that I feel ready to post this, and while I’m aware it may be bittersweet with my upcoming departure, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Today I present to you a three hour Ches playlist, divided into sections and covering her entire time at Luxor, from when I first picked her up in June of 2019 all the way to now. There’s quite a few plot references, and small (and not as small) references to other muses throughout, especially when it comes to Elliot, so keep an eye out for those as well!

I’d like to thank Lex for giving me the idea to make these, and her support throughout the process because without her, these playlists wouldn’t even exist. And thank you to everyone who has gone on this journey with us, while I’m sorry I need to dip out early after this event to focus on my health, I love y’all so much.

The standard Ches tws apply (poor mental health, alcoholism, etc etc), and anything I think may be a bit abnormal / section exclusive is noted on the sections.

twist me like a key, then you open the lock | pre-luxor:

the section of time before I played Ches at Luxor, very James heavy. additional tws: Death (Sign of the Times), Toxic relationships (nothing explicit tho)

Sign of the Times (Jasmine Thompson) [ Remember everything will be alright. We can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here. ] // Sweet Ophelia (Zella Day) [ Singing like it's a full moon, careless now that he has you. Turns you on to the right songs, promises that you're hooked on. ] // Couple of Kids (Maggie Lindemann) [ Now I'm fallin' heavily, recklessly, trying not to lose my sensibility; but gravity, it pulls me into you. ] // Glowstick (Sofia Karlberg) [ You play me like a line-up; long con, you make me wise up. ] // Crying in the Club (Camila Cabello) [ Ain't no crying in the club, hey, hey, let the beat carry away, your tears as they fall, baby. Ain't no crying in the club, hey, hey, with a little faith, your tears turn to ecstasy. ] // Ember (Katherine McNamara) [ Reignite; you lost your grip on me, and now I blaze wild and free. ]

nobody shows up unless i'm paying, have a drink on me cheers to the failing | summer & fall 2019:

the first time I was at Luxor playing ches, from June - October 2019

7 rings (Ariana Grande) [ Been through some bad shit, I should be a sad bitch. Who woulda thought it'd turn me to a savage? ] // I'm a Mess (Bebe Rexha) [ “It's gonna be a good, good life;” that's what my therapists say. ] // OMG (Little Mix) [ Oh my gosh, I did it again. He said I broke his heart, it keeps happening. ] // Only Angel (Harry Styles) [ Couldn't take you home to mother in a skirt that short, but I think that's what I like about it. ] // LA Devotee (Panic! At The Disco) [ Drinking white wine in the blushing light, just another LA Devotee. ] // Woman Like Me (Little Mix feat. Nicki Minaj) [ I made a few mistakes, I regret it nightly. I broke a couple hearts that I wear on my sleeve. ]

all of this emptiness i've been sharing, it never comes when i want it to | winter 2019:

the period of time Ches went home to be with her family and was away from luxor additional tws: vomiting (Habits (Stay High))

Carmen (Lana Del Rey) [ Darlin’, darlin’, doesn't have a problem lyin’ to herself ‘cause her liquor’s top shelf ] // How You Remind Me (Avril Lavigne) [ And I've been wrong, I've been down, been to the bottom of every bottle. These five words in my head scream, "Are we havin' fun yet?" ] // Playing God (Paramore) [ This is the last second chance (I'll point you to the mirror). I'm half as good as it gets (I'll point you to the mirror). I'm on both sides of the fence (I'll point you to the mirror). Without a hint of regret, I'll hold you to it ] // Habits {Stay High} (Tove Lo) [ Staying in my play pretend, where the fun ain't got no end. Oh, can't go home alone again, need someone to numb the pain. ] // Bedroom Window (The Pretty Reckless) [ As I look out of my bedroom window; is it all real or just fantasy? I have lost touch with what makes me human, I have lost touch with reality. ] // Impossible Year (Panic! At The Disco) [ There's no sunshine, this impossible year; only black days and sky grey and clouds full of fear. ]

i wouldn't say you got the best of me, i'd say you got me somewhere in between | spring 2020:

Ches’s return to Luxor, and the months following leading up to her mass text about Leo’s dad following the Lake Bash

3 O'Clock Things (AJR) [ Would you go running if you saw the real me? Maybe you'd love 'em, yeah, maybe you'd feel me. ] // Wild Heart (Bleachers) [ Well, everything has changed and now I can't tell what matters. I will find any way to your wild heart. ] // Rise (Katy Perry) [ When the fire's at my feet again and the vultures all start circling. They're whispering, “you're out of time.” But still, I rise. ] // Don't Stop Me Now (Queen) [ I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars on a collision course. I am a satellite, I'm out of control. ] // Princesses Don't Cry (CARYS) [ Girls, so pretty and poised and soft to the touch, but God made me rough. Girls, so heavy the crown, they carry it tall, but it's weighing me down. ] // Save Rock And Roll (Fall Out Boy feat. Elton John) [ You are what you love, not who loves you. In a world full of the word 'yes', I'm here to scream... no, no (no, no). ] // Making a Monster out of Me (Katherine McNamara) [ And I don't know how to recollect the morals that I always did possess. Don't know where its leading me. ] // We Don't Have To Dance (Andy Black) [ You're never gonna get it, I'm a hazard to myself. I'll break it to you easy. This is hell, this is hell. ]

tonight it's alright, i can see the tunnel at the end of these lights | summer 2020:

summer camp and the months leading up to a new school year

Night Owls Early Birds (Foxes) [ A wild fire inside me burns. Why do I look like I'm wear for worse? Save me, save me, go underneath the ground. ] // Too Much (Carly Rae Jepsen) [ When I party, then I party too much. When I feel it, then I feel it too much. When I'm thinking, then I'm thinking too much. When I'm drinking, then I'm drinking too much. ] // Royal Blue (Alberto Rosende) [ My regrets are a shade around my neck I know. It's torturous, and there's a burden that I can't let go. ] // Who You Selling For (The Pretty Reckless) [ And when Roger showed me I was building a wall. I've been waiting a long time, waiting a long time, waiting a long time, waiting for it to fall. ] // Heavy (Linkin Park feat. Kiiara) [ You say that I'm paranoid, but I’m pretty sure the world is out to get me. It’s not like I make the choice to let my mind stay so fucking messy. ] // The Archer (Taylor Swift) [ I've been the archer, I've been the prey; screaming, “who could ever leave me,” darling. But who could stay? ] // Everybody Lost Somebody (Bleachers) [ And there's a reason I wake up alone in strange places, a reason I see myself in a million faces, a reason I can't stop it all from changing. So come on, motherfucker, you survive, you gotta give yourself a break. ]

no cameras catch my muffled cries. i counted days, i counted miles | fall and winter 2020(/21):

a new school year, from the start of the semester right until the aftermath of the kings’ party

So It Goes (Guards) [ I don't know who I am but I do know who I'm not. I'm just looking for a friend, I'm still searching for the plot. ] // Wasabi (Little Mix) [ Love to hate me, praise me, shame me; either way, you talk about me. ] // Think Before I Talk (Astrid S) [ Maybe I should think before I talk; I get emotional and words come out all wrong. Sometimes I'm more honest than I want. ] // Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince (Taylor Swift) [ No cameras catch my muffled cries. I counted days, I counted miles to see you there, to see you there. And now the storm is coming, but... ] // Sober Up (AJR feat. Rivers Cuomo) [ Won't you help me sober up? Growin' up, it made me numb, and I wanna feel somethin' again. ] // The Show Must Go On (Queen) [ Empty spaces, what are we living for? Abandoned places, I guess we know the score, on and on. Does anybody know what we are looking for? ] // Waiting For A Friend (The Pretty Reckless) [ My head is like a prison cell, I'm all by myself. I'm waiting for my friend to come and break me out. ] // Sober (Demi Lovato) [ I'm sorry that I'm here again, I promise I'll get help. It wasn't my intention, I'm sorry to myself. ] // Eight (Sleeping At Last) [ I'm just a kid who grew up scared enough to hold the door shut, and bury my innocence. But here's a map, here's a shovel, here's my Achilles' heel. ]

i got this handled, i don't need rescuing | spring and early summer 2021:

ches’s progress from the end of march until now

The Man (Taylor Swift) [ I’m so sick of running as fast as I can, wondering if I'd get there quicker if I was a man. And I'm so sick of them coming at me again, 'cause if I was a man, then I'd be the man. ] // Princess (FLETCHER) [ But we're all going through it, so why do we do it? Why do we hide? ] // Humpty Dumpty (AJR) [ If I can't breathe, then you can't see, but aren't you excited that I'm giving you the best me? ] // My Mistake (Gabrielle Aplin) [ Am I jaded? Am I meant to feel this way? I'm a loser, getting beat by my own game. But if I falter, well, at least it was my mistake. ] // The Climb (Miley Cyrus) [ The struggles I'm facing, the chances I'm taking; sometimes might knock me down, but no, I'm not breaking. ] // breathin (Ariana Grande) [ Some days, things just take way too much of my energy. I look up and the whole room's spinning. You take my cares away. ] // Clean (Taylor Swift) [ Ten months sober, I must admit just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it. Ten months older, I won't give in, now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it. ] // Not a Pop Song (Little Mix) [ A hamster on a wheel that's how it feels tryna be real. These unrealistic expectations said we'll make it if we fake it. ] // Queen (Loren Gray) [ Eyes on me like I'm a prize but you better recognize I'm not your angel 'cause I belong to me. ] // The Cure (Little Mix) [ This happiness was always inside me but Lord, it took a minute to find me. ]

#musings ( playlists )#all of my heroes died all alone ( musings )#death tw #abuse tw #alcoholism tw #alcohol tw #vomit tw #vomiting tw #vomit mention tw

5 notes · View notes

phantom-curve · 3 years

Text

find the strength, find the melody pt. 7

lmfao I love how I posted an update 2 days ago like “this fic will have sporadic posts! idk when they’re coming!” and then I spent the last two days writing this. when that insomnia inspiration hits ya gotta just go with it!

this chapter went in a completely different direction than I had planned on soooo yeah...honestly not sure where this is gonna end up! the characters from my OC novel that I’m loosely basing this story around didn’t have a connection before they ran into each other so when Julie gave me this I almost cut it because I genuinely wasn’t sure where it was going. I think I’ve almost figured it out and I’m pretty sure I know how this will end. and now we all get to laugh at me together because it’s definitely gonna be more than 3-4 chapters. it might even be more than 6. Luke’s POV will have roughly the same amount of chapters I think, possibly longer because boy oh boy does he have A LOT to say (most of it about Julie). fair warning: this one has an awkward cut off because of the way I need to set up the next chapter. sorry about that.

and now something I probably should be embarrassed to admit: I don’t remember writing the part where I managed to sneak an “I’ve Got The Music” reference in so now we know for sure this show has infiltrated my brain. it’s fine, I’m fine, at least I WILL BE WHEN WE GET A S2!!!! KENNY!!!! SAVE ME HERE!!! MAKE MY UNHINGED OBSESSIONS WORTH IT!!!!!

taglist: @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles, @bluefyoto94, @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder, @kat-maybe-not, @lukewearingbeanies, @imastrugglingartist

It was no small miracle that Julie made it through the afternoon without Ray asking for details about her supposed ‘plan’ to play with the Sunset Curve boys. She didn’t think she would have been able to pull off spinning a story quite as well as Luke had earlier. She had expected at least a small amount of interrogating about when she had started playing again, but apparently the news that she was playing at all, let alone with other people in front of an audience, was enough for Ray to ignore all of the other plot holes involved in this scheme. He seemed to have almost forgotten the meeting with Principal Lessa entirely, humming on the drive home, kissing her forehead and turning her loose to freak out alone in her room while he sat down to work on his computer in the dining room. Julie took full advantage of the time alone to restlessly pace her room and send Flynn a 911 text. Her bestie’s contact photo lit up the phone screen 30 seconds later.

“Okay, I’m hiding in the basement girl’s bathroom, so you’ve got exactly 5 minutes before I get too grossed out to stay here.”

Julie’s chest loosened at the sound of Flynn’s comforting voice. There wasn’t anyone else in the world that loved her the way Flynn did. It was reassuring and made it easy for Julie to let loose.

“Lessa told Dad about the music program and then You-Know-Who ambushed us outside of her office and basically forced me to agree to perform with them.”

“Voldemort was at Los Feliz?!”

Flynn’s gasp was overflowing with sarcasm.

“Flynn!” Julie whined. “Be serious! Luke showed up out of nowhere again! And he did the thing again! The charming his way into getting what he wants thing! And now I have to play with his freaking band! What the hell am I supposed to do?”

There was silence for a moment. When Flynn spoke again her voice was softer, more serious.

“You don’t have to play with them, Jules. You can tell them no, and they’ll have no choice but to respect that. The only person who can make you do anything is you. But...I kinda think you might want to play with them.”

“What?! No!”

Julie’s exclamation was a second late. Flynn didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Julie sighed.

“Okay fine. There’s something about Luke that makes me want to play again. Are you happy? He gave mom’s song back to me when I thought it was lost forever. He’s the only person who’s heard me perform it, and he...no one else has ever made me feel that good about my music before.”

Julie thanked her lucky stars Flynn wasn’t in the room to see her blush. There was a long moment of contemplative silence on the other end of the line. When she spoke again, there was that extra note of take-no-shit in Flynn’s voice that made Julie sit up and really listen.

“I think you should give it a chance. Who knows, maybe this is some sort of sign from your mom. You said it was a miracle he would have even found that song in the first place. You said it felt like she was there with you when you were playing. Maybe she made sure it would find its way back to you when you were ready for it.”

Julie didn’t say anything, just worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Her heart beat a little faster in her chest. It had felt a little too perfect to be just a coincidence. The way Luke kept appearing in her life at the exact moments she needed him someone or something to help her keep moving forward. Flynn sighed.

“Look, I’m not saying it is your mom. But I’m not saying there’s not some kind of greater power out there that keeps pushing the two of you together. I think you should give it a chance. If nothing else, you can get back in the music program and we can bring Double Trouble to life in time for our Junior Showcase!”

Julie couldn’t help laughing. Her eyes felt misty, love for her best friend welling up in her heart.

“I never agreed to that name you know. But thanks, Flynn. I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Now. I gotta get the fuck out of this grimy ass bathroom. Love you, bye!”

Flynn waited for her to return the sentiment before hanging up. Julie flopped back on her bed, letting her breath out in a loud whoosh as she hit the comforter. A glance at her phone told her she only had a couple hours until Luke and the other boys would be out of school and on their way to her house. She tried her best to ignore the way that thought made her stomach roll with a type of nervousness she would rather not name. It was easier to blame it on nerves over playing with new people rather than nerves over playing with Luke. Except...now that she actually thought about it, she had played with Luke before. Her head spun, eyes fluttering shut as she remembered the one music class she had shared with Luke last year.

She had only been a freshman, stuck in a lowly Introduction to Composition class. It was supposed to be for new songwriters. Julie had a little more experience than the rest of the class, after all she’d been kind of composing with her mom for a few years now, so when it had been time to write a duet for their final big project she had gotten paired up with the classmate whose skill level most matched hers. It was supposed to be a way for them to challenge each other and grow as writers instead of one person doing most of the work. Julie had been paired with Luke.

He’d been a grumbly sophomore, held back for failing his last semester of Intro to Comp the year before. He had been stuck there only for the second semester, forced to double up between their class and his second year Composition class. Julie hadn’t been all that excited about partnering with him. He hadn’t really seemed to care about the class at all, and even though Julie also sometimes felt like it was holding her back a little bit, she never once voiced that thought. It was a privileged mindset, and Julie was well aware that she had an advantage over her classmates since her mother was a professional songwriter. Luke, on the other hand, had made it well known that he felt like he was wasting his time just waiting to get through the semester so he could move up to the Advanced Composition class that he felt he truly belonged in. Julie could usually do no more than roll her eyes in those moments.

It was true that Luke was talented. His guitar playing was impressive, his lyrics were heartfelt and sometimes even downright poetic. Julie just didn’t think anyone deserved specific things in life because they happened to be naturally talented at something. Their songwriting experience had been...interesting to say the least. And short. It had ended abruptly when Julie’s mother had died 5 days later. In the end, they’d only worked together for two 40-minute class periods before she had been lost in the fog of grief that consumed her in the weeks following the loss of her mom.

Julie shot up in bed, eyes wide. She didn’t even fully remember what had happened with the half-finished song they had been working on. Errant notes echoed in her head, like a song that had only existed in dreams until now. She absently wondered if Luke had held onto that as well. It was no wonder she had kept that particular memory suppressed all this time. That time in her life had been particularly painful. Luke had been gentle with her though. Almost all traces of his typical arrogance gone in the two short class periods they’d had to work together. He had kept things light, steering their songwriting in the direction of a rock ballad more than a true duet. Julie hadn’t minded. She had been floating through classes by then anyway, on edge every second she was away from her mom’s bedside. It had been easier to work on something that didn’t have as many sappy emotions attached to it.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. No wonder Luke had been so sweet with her. He must have had a front row seat to her breakdown throughout the last year. She hadn’t even realized it. Had never before seen the way he watched her from a distance, checked in on her during class. She should have. Now that she was thinking about it, trying to identify every instance, she could name a million. How had she missed it for so long? How had he gone so long without saying anything? The Luke she remembered was terrible at keeping his mouth shut. He had always been ready to speak his mind, never afraid to start a discourse. It didn’t track that he had been holding himself back. Unless...it was more about her musical ability than anything else. She remembered now; Luke had been thrilled to partner with her for the duet. He had made some remark about how her sound was the perfect complement to his. Maybe he only cared about the ways they would mesh as songwriters. She could only hope that’s what his words had meant.

She felt more secure in her footing as a musician when it came to dealing with Luke than she ever had as a simple teenaged girl. If it was just about the music she could compartmentalize better, keep herself from getting too emotionally invested. Music had always been a safe zone, neutral. She breathed in and out deeply, remembering the technique Dr. Turner had taught her to slow her breathing and recenter her mind. She could do this. It was just about the music. They would play a song together, Julie would get back into the music program, and life would move forward much in the way it had before. Except Julie would actually participate in class this time. She had the music back in her soul, she wasn’t ever going to let it go again. On her next exhale, she heard the doorbell ring. Showtime. Julie zipped down the stairs, ripping open the door before her dad had a chance to get more than three feet away from his computer. Luke, Alex and Reggie all stumbled back a step as she tumbled outside, pulling the front door shut behind her. The three teenaged boys shared a look.

“Studio. Now.”

Julie raced down the path to her mom’s studio before they could react, not even waiting to see if they followed her. If they were smart, if they truly wanted to do this, they would. She hauled the garage doors open, only turning around when she had the piano at her back. The wood felt warm and solid, almost like she had her mom as a support behind her instead of an instrument. The boys appeared seconds later, Luke leading the way. He stopped a couple feet inside of the studio, studying her with wide open earnest eyes. She let out a deep breath. Reggie spoke up before she could get a word out.

“Woah, Julie, this studio is so cool! It’s like a tiny home! A musical tiny home in a botanical garden!!”

His green eyes were wide, expression awed as he spun to take in the space that Julie and her mom had spent countless hours turning into theirs.

“How did you get chairs on the ceiling?! Are you, like, a witch and a siren?!! Man, you and your mom must have made some serious magic in here.”

Luke’s arm shot out faster than lightening to backhand Reggie’s bicep. Reggie cringed away, a soft owww! just barely audible over the loud sigh Alex let out as he buried his face in his hands. Reggie shrugged, looking back and forth between his bandmates before giving Julie a confused yet apologetic glance. What had he said wrong this time? The giggle that bubbled out of her was as unexpected as it was welcomed. Warmth blazed in her heart, memories of the time she had spent in here with her mom washing over her with a kind of hazy bliss she hadn’t ever experienced before. She gazed at Reggie, letting that same feeling of motherly love from the night before fill her up. It was all she could do not to react to Luke’s jaw dropping when she gave Reggie a soft smile.

“We did. We made so much magic in here.”

The words were gentle and filled with a kind of genuine love that overshadowed all other feelings of awkward nervousness. Alex and Luke relaxed instantly, Reggie’s face losing all traces of uncertainty as he beamed at her with a smile so large it almost looked painful. Julie couldn’t help but let herself return it, just a little bit. The silence that settled between them was more comfortable, the tense moment from earlier broken. Julie studied the boys in front of her. She hadn’t ever thought of them as friends per se. They knew each other, would say hi if they encountered one another outside the walls of the high school, but at the same time, they didn’t actually know each other. Julie’s little run in with Luke the night before had made that painfully obvious. She wasn’t really sure what to make of them.

“Are you guys actually serious about this whole Showcase scheme? Did Luke even tell you about his dumb plan?”

“Hey! That plan is genius. Even your dad agreed. He seems pretty cool.”

Julie couldn’t help the fond way she rolled her eyes. Alex was quick to reassure her that they did, in fact, know about the plan.

“Not that I actually think it’s a particularly well thought out plan.” He stated with a lingering glare at Luke’s back.

The planner in question did his best to ignore the skeptical look on Julie’s face.

“Julie, you really don’t deserve to be out of the music program.” Reggie’s voice was soft and sincere. “You have the voice of an angel. If we can help convinced Ms. Harrison and Principal Lessa to give you your spot back it will be so worth it. And even if we don’t, it’ll be worth the looks on their faces when we rock the pants off that crowd!”

Julie laughed in spite of herself, slightly reassured even as she chewed nervously on her lip. Luke took a few bouncy steps forward, pulling her attention to him completely. His eyes locked on hers and she was sure she was drowning, throat tightening at the look he was giving her.

“You got this. I wouldn’t have come up with this idea if I didn’t believe it 100%.”

Honestly, that was what scared her the most about it.

“We don’t even have anything prepared.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, unsteady and wavering. Luke took a few more steps towards her, Reggie and Alex ghosting along silently a few feet behind him. Julie didn’t even notice, so laser focused on the brunette boy in the cut-up tank top in front of her. She watched his muscles flex as he reached into his back pocket, flicking out a piece of folded up paper in a move scarily reminiscent of when he had given her mom’s song back to her. He bit his lip, head ducking a little to be closer to hers as he unfolded the worn sheets of scrappy notebook paper. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, focusing on the messy handwriting in front of her.

“I thought you would say that.”

The smile on his face was so soft and sweet it should have been illegal.

“It’s called ‘Bright’. It’s a Sunset Curve song that we never performed because it’s missing something. Look,” his bare shoulder brushed hers as he shifted to point at the notes, warmth seeping through the thin material of her t-shirt, “it’s perfect for your range. I was thinking, if we add a little bit of piano here and here,” fire blazed a path up her arm as his fingers traced along the opening notes and chorus, forearm flexing against her own, bare skin brushing in teasing licks, “it’ll be perfect.”

Julie forced herself to focus on what he was saying, eyes roving across the paper. She hummed a little under her breath, hearing what he described in her head. His eyes lit up when he saw her get it, feet springing up and down as he dipped even closer towards her and started to sing.

We will rise, through the night

You and I

We will fight to shine together

Bright forever

His voice vibrated in her chest, the sound filling her with an emotion she couldn’t fully identify. Alex and Reggie bobbed along behind him, Reggie’s fingers plucking out the baseline on an invisible guitar while Alex nodded along to an unseen beat. Julie could envision the way the song would sound with a complete band, could practically see herself fitting seamlessly into the mix with her piano and vocals. She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips as she joined in, reading the lyrics off of the page.

And rise through the night,

You and I

We will fight to shine together

“Go up high.”

Luke cut in, fingers twirling towards the ceiling. Julie automatically made the adjustment in notes to harmonize her voice with his for the last line, holding the final syllable for a beat longer than him.

Bright forever

“Yes!”

Luke’s arm pumped up and down, bicep flexing and distracting Julie momentarily. She dropped her head shyly, trying to hide her blush. When her cheeks cooled a moment later she looked back up at the boy in front of her. His eyes were glowing, smile stretched a mile wide as he stared at her. Unconditional belief in her was practically oozing from his pores. She felt her face soften as their eyes locked, giving him her own sweet smile that was meant just for the two of them. She thanked him with a gentle murmur, heart melting as he simply bit his lower lip and nodded.

A throat cleared in the background, and Julie was snapped out of their private bubble by the sound. Her entire face felt engulfed in flames as she looked over Luke’s shoulder to see Alex and Reggie still standing a few paces behind him. Reggie’s face was bright, his sunshine temperament back in full force. Alex was a little more guarded, but he was giving her an encouraging smile and there was cautious optimism swimming in his sage green eyes as he fiddled with one of his drumsticks. She inhaled deeply and let her breath out in one smooth exhale. The same sort of peacefulness from the night before settled over her.

“Okay. Okay, so we’re doing this.”

Luke’s whoop was so loud both her and Alex jumped. Reggie raced forward with a cheer to sling one arm around Luke’s shoulders and the other around Julie’s, pulling them so close to his chest that their noses nearly touched. Julie saw the blush staining Luke’s cheeks and felt her own warm to match. Alex coughed again.

“Reg, c’mon. Let it settle for just a sec before you go all human octopus on the poor girl.”

“Oh, right! Sorry, Jules!!”

Reggie released both of them quickly. Julie flicked her gaze between the three boys, enjoying the glimpses at their band dynamic. Alex’s words had sounded a bit exasperated, but there was a fondness running through them as well. He gave a half-hearted roll of his eyes at Reggie’s abrupt movements and reached his own long arm out to pull the dark-haired boy close.

“Help me unload the van? I still don’t trust our little Lukey boy with my kit.”

“Hey! That was one time!”

Luke sounded downright offended. The dark look Alex leveled at him in response had Julie choking back a laugh with a badly disguised cough. Clearly once of whatever he did was enough. Luke pouted, arms flexing as they crossed over his chest.

“You put your foot through my bass drum, and you think that isn’t reason enough not to trust you with it ever again?”

Luke sputtered, eyes flicking to Julie and back to Alex as his ears reddened.

“I told you I didn’t see it!”

“It’s the biggest part of the kit, dumbass. Literally the hardest thing to miss.”

Alex’s voice was as unimpressed as it was dismissive. Luke threw his hands in the air as the other boys headed out of the studio, laughing amongst themselves. It was clear this was a regular argument between the two, no heat or anger left in it, only a loving sort of tease. Like the way Carlos still brought up that time she accidentally gave him a concussion double-bouncing him off of their neighbor’s trampoline when he wanted something from her. Or the way her Tía would still laugh as she remembered the time her mom had almost gotten them both arrested for a bar fight on her 21st birthday, Ray affectionately filling in the parts that she tried to leave out. Warmth bloomed in her chest. This wasn’t just a band, wasn’t just a ragtag trio of friends. These guys were brothers. This was a family. And they were letting her into that intimate circle.

The thought was both humbling and nerve-wracking. This Showcase was a big deal. It wasn’t just some school assignment. This could impact their future as a band career-wise. They were all trusting her with this, fully believing in her, or at least, fully believing in Luke’s faith in her abilities. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever believed in her like that. Not anyone that hadn’t known her since she was in diapers. Her head swam, knees feeling a bit weak. She stumbled her way over to the couch, collapsing onto it with a barely audible huff. Luke was in front of her instantly, crouched down so they were face to face. His hands twitched in his lap, but he didn’t reach for her.

“Hey. Julie. Breathe.”

She sucked in a breath, zeroing in on nothing more than his face. After a few seconds she realized he was breathing in and out slowly, just loud enough for her to hear over the jumble of thoughts running amok in her brain. She matched her own inhales and exhales to his, the room slowly coming back into focus as her head cleared. He gave her one of those soft smiles she was starting to think of as hers.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But I wouldn’t have stopped you in school if I didn’t think you were gonna rock it. I heard you last night. I listened to you for years before last night.”

His chin dropped in embarrassment for just a second before he pulled his gaze back up to hers. Julie felt like she was on the edge of a cliff. Not for the first time she wished she knew how long this version of Luke had been lurking under the surface. It took everything in her not to let herself step off that ledge and fall.

“Music is in your soul. It’s a part of you. Not everyone is like that, but you are. Your life without music...”

He tapered off like the thought was physically painful to him, eyebrows furrowing in a slight wince.

“Living without music would be like living in a world without stars: dark and empty and uninspired. You deserve galaxies, Julie. You deserve the chance to shine exactly like the star you are, and the world deserves the chance to hear you. Please, just...have a little faith?”

She saw it then. As he gazed at her with those bottomless ocean eyes, with that special smile on his lips and sincerity bleeding through every word, she knew. Luke was like her. Luke got it. In a way that no one else except her mom ever had. That’s what this was. They were kindred spirits, two sides of the same coin. And that feeling? The wind rushing through her hair and stealing her breath away while her limbs all turned to jelly feeling? That was definitely her falling head over heels off of the cliff and into Luke Patterson completely.

“Okay.”

She breathed out, and his answering smile set off the butterflies she thought had finally left her stomach. He stood up and held a hand out to her, easily pulling her to her feet in one smooth movement.

“You know,” his smile turned rueful, “eventually you’re gonna have to answer one of my questions with something other than ‘okay’. That’s a pretty passive word, and I’m not really a passive type of person. I wanna start hearing some ‘hell yeah’s and ‘awesome’s pretty soon.”

Julie rolled her eyes, moving away from Luke to set up her keyboard. He gave her a bouncy little shrug of his shoulders, and she let the levity of his joke wash over her, releasing the last bit of nerves. She could do this. Luke believed in her. Her mom believed in her. Hell, Alex and Reggie believed in her and she barely even knew them. She could do this, just like her mom had said.

Noise from the other boys making their way up the driveway had her rushing to pull both doors to the studio open so they could haul in Alex’s drum kit. The three of them left together to grab amps and guitars, Julie finishing the rest of the set up in the garage. Before she had time to overthink things or freak out again, they were all settled into their spots and Alex was counting down for their first run through. Fingers against the keys, Julie breathed out, opened her mouth, and began to play.

26 notes · View notes

unearthcd · 3 years

Text

kristine froseth, cis woman + she/her | you know august james pettersen, right? they’re 25, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, eighteen years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to all these things i’ve done by the killers like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole handwritten notes, messy ponytails, spontaneous midnight excursions thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is january 1, so they’re a capricorn, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( tessa, 24, pst, she/her )

hey, babes! i’m tessa (24, pst, she/her) and i’ve been rp’ing on this blue website for way too many years. i’m stuck in this wonderful gossamer and wouldn’t have it any other way. anyway, below is august’s bio—she’s a newish muse, so i’m running with the vibe (for lack of a better word) and we’ll see how this goes! always feel free to message me to plot or chat here or on discord (swamp rabbit#1745). okay, let’s do the damn thing!

name: august james pettersen nicknames: aj, aug, a, james, etc. age, birth date: 25; january 1, 1996 hometown: irving, north carolina occupation: model sexuality: pansexual

growing up in irving

august james petterson is the daughter and only child of jameson and erik petterson. she’s the product of surrogacy, the men having sought out and found a lovely woman to help them have a child back in massachusetts where they previously lived. the hoops they went through to have their daughter and both legally be considered her parents were plenty, but with successful careers in architecture and publishing (think founder and editor and chief of something architectural digest-esque) they were able to commit the time and money to make it happen.

not a year after her birth, the three of them relocated to irving, north carolina to be with two of her grandparents whose health was rapidly deteriorating. having packed up their things and taken the short flight, they piled into the elderly couple’s sprawling home on aquila drive. ah, old money. sadly, they’d end up passing a few short years later, just before august started school. the family inherited great wealth and was left the house.

always a fairly quiet kid, august wasn’t the most social student in school. in fact, she spent much of her time with a small group of friends and, after branching out a small bit in high school, in the theatre department. long story short, she wasn’t a very popular person. in fact, with her apparent wealth and quiet demeanor, it wouldn’t surprise me if she was considered aloof, stuck up, or strange by her peers (but i’ll leave that UTY if they attended school together!). in earnest, she was just an observer and never enjoyed talking just to make noise. she liked having an intimate group and just doing what she enjoyed.

at the same time, the lack of a bursting social life and hijinks à la grease and clueless fed her early onset senioritis. she dreamed of and planned for getting out of irving. and when the time for college came, she did!

leaving home

we’d like to congratulate the senior class of 2014! that fall august moved to—drumroll please—new york city for college. what can i say, she’s an east coast babe. she got into NYU and studied english, thinking maybe she’d get into publishing down the line, because she’d always loved reading. truth be told, she wasn’t married to the idea. in fact, she wasn’t married to her education in the slightest. she’d chosen NYU purely based on location and, honestly, who can blame her (’:

her sophomore year of university one of her friends got it in her head to attend a modeling agency open call and, not wanting to go alone, convinced august to go along. while they weren’t interested in the friend, they did take an interest in her. and you know what? it made her feel special and wanted and admired. so she went with it and, with practice, became pretty damn good. her jobs, however, started interfering with her studies. so, without much convincing, she dropped out of school. she was making enough money to rent an apartment with a couple roommates in the village and made modeling her full-time gig. over the next few years her career began to take off a bit, with clients like for love & lemons and victoria’s secret pink (bc we have the real content, so why not use it?). probably a beauty campaign here and there. you know, commercial work etc. etc.

cue “dorothea,” you'rе a queen sellin' dreams, sellin' makeup and magazines

quiet, small town girl is on her way to making it big! whoo! right? well, there came a point where she became a total workhorse. august wanted to please—she wanted to find her place, her people—and, convinced this was it, she did everything in her power to keep moving up. she was a stray cat, she was looking to be taken in by anyone, praised and cared for for anything.

but that isn’t sustainable, and after a while she cracked a bit. ended up letting off steam by partying with so-called friends, picked up a small smoking habit she’s since been trying to kick since. befriended a band at some point (shout out to beau) and groupied the east coast leg of their tour for a couple weeks, because the front man asked and was charming and looked at her like she was exceptional. then the magic faded and she left to go back to her little apartment and next booked job. really, she was just going where she felt people wanted her and everyone kept telling her it was great! everything’s fine!

coming back // present

she realized after that that she’d fallen into this entire thing and, while she was grateful for much of it, she had to wonder if she even liked it. it really hit her one day smack in the middle of a job. that evening she went home, once again packed up her things, and flew home. a special kind of subtle chaos. a not-at-all-adventurous eat, pray, love.

i want to say her agents aren’t the worst people in the world and, while angered by her abrupt departure, realized she needed a break. like, a month-long visit home. it was the holidays and her birthday, after all! lol, oh, no. bets on when they start calling her like, ‘hey, where the hell are you, what’s the deal’?

now, after dropping out of school and putting her career on pause (?), she’s back living with her parents, probably looking at her savings account and wondering if she has enough $$$$ to rent an apartment or room [potential connection idea?] until she decides wtf she’s doing. she’s stuck between feeling like she’s backsliding and feeling like she needs to take the time to figure out what she wants.

personality // fun facts

+ lively, spontaneous, passionate, humorous (or so she likes to think)

- lost, impulsive, insecure in many ways

tiktoks for the vibe: 1, 2, 3

being an adult is a scam

*calls u dude and babe in the same sentence*

she wasn’t bored, she was just restless between adventures

the first person to laugh at herself.

let’s-screw-around-and-talk-about-nothing-for-hours-until-it-inevitably-turns-into-something-deep.

“i always feel like, when i meet people, they have a bigger impact on me than i maybe do on them.”

very honest. the girl isn’t messing around (unless she totally is)!! will ask you out as soon as the thought occurs to her, like, “hey, uh, we should go out sometime. (:” :slight_smile:

very, very dreamy, but head not empty, head filled with the same bit of film dialogue on repeat over and over for, like, a week. head still processing the end of a book she finished two weeks ago. head making up prose about the faint freckles on the bridge of your nose and the way your hand’s moving about.

big music person, be it modern, classical, live, vinyl. attaches a lot of emotions and memories to songs. 98% chance you’ll find her at the nearest bar hosting live music, right up front.

her penmanship is beautiful, thanks to a love of the written word. she’d rather stick a post-it note on your door than shoot you a text. loves letters, postcards, etc.

does want to whisk you away on fun, spontaneous adventures, but will go by herself if for whatever reason you’re not available or up for it.

#did i proofread this? no #irvingintro

20 notes · View notes

heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter One): I'll let you in if you say it's okay

Notes: So, I’m taking inspiration from more than one lifepath start for my V and overall, I’m not sure how I feel about this first chapter. I’m not as confident in it as I have been in some of my other works and it’s undergone some heavy rewrites. But I’m officially sick of looking at it, so lets go. Still getting a feel for writing the cyberpunk characters too, tbh.

Word Count: 13083

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Internal Feels and struggles, (Aidan/V is very conflicted and struggling), Morning after sex

If you haven’t yet, please read the prologue: link here

Four years, a million miles, and a new alias later, not Aidan but V is standing in a motel bathroom, fresh from the shower. There’s a bruise forming on her chin from what she can’t remember. She touches up the two shaved slits in her left eyebrow, a pointless aesthetic choice given she wears a mask, she knows. But, she likes it and that’s what matters most. She pulls her bleached blonde hair back into a little ponytail, before brushing her teeth and changing.

She fastens her mask, a repurposed scav mask that she uses, not only to hide from her former family but to help her function in this world. No longer the green with red and pink faces the scavs use, it’s now black with white x-d out eyes and a wicked toothy grin. Vaguely cartoony and ominous, not her choice, but she’s far too nostalgic to ever change it.

Data and logistics flash across her vision, optic tech coming to life now that the mask is on. Finally, she puts in her hearing aids, the noise of the world coming back to her, the hum of a broken AC, the beat of a song coming from the radio, and a woman’s snoring drifting through the paper-thin walls. V pulls up her hood before she leaves the bathroom, ready to begin, her throat tight as she thinks of what the day holds.

I saw in you what life was missing

You lit a flame that consumed my hate

I'm not one for reminiscing but

I'd trade it all for your sweet embrace

The radio plays an old song from Ava’s favorite band, V knows the heavy drone of them anywhere, though she never can quite recall their name or song titles, only reminded of the days she pretended to give a shit about them in hopes it’d earn her at least a pity kiss. Why the hell the radio still plays music that old is beyond her. She turns her hearing aids volume down a little lower.

Music brought down to a hum, V’s attention turns to the bed, a woman who’s name she can’t remember is tangled in the sheets. Sun streaming through the window to shine on a bare freckled shoulder, the woman is around V’s age, maybe a year or two older with a pixie cut of dyed lilac hair. She fits in well with V’s track record of bedmates; unable or unwilling to give even half of what she got, leaving the nomad to take care of herself. But, as much as she’d appreciate an orgasm from something other than her own hand, she gets what she wants from them in the end; a glorified body pillow that helps her sleep.

“Mmm, you up?” The woman asks, stirring from under the blankets, she pushes a hand into her hair. She blinks her eyes a few times, before taking in V’s outfit, “you’re leaving already?”

V’s mask optics quickly reads lips, giving the world subtitles, essential when she wants to forgo hearing aids. The tech is far more advanced than the human eye when it comes to lip reading. The only downside is the mask requires someone to be facing her as they speak. So, the hearing aids are still necessary unless people are kind enough to accommodate her; which they never are.

“Gotta get back on the road,” V signs, a modulator translator in her mask speaks it in a monotone AI voice.

“You don’t wanna get breakfast or…?”

“No time,” V crouches down beside the bed, so she can properly meet the woman’s eyes and, “you remember what I told you, don’t you?”

“About not telling anyone what you look like or whatever…?”

“No whatever’s to it, if anyone comes around asking about me, you keep your mouth shut. Got it?”

“Yeah yeah, crystal clear, asshole.” The woman groans, not liking the aggressive tone V’s picked up, but it’s a serious matter. Most people get it, everyone nowadays seems to have enemies, but apparently not everyone understands. More flies with honey as they say.

“I’m sorry,” she signs, “it’s just important to me, life or death. I’ll order some room service for you before I go, sound good?”

“Hmm…I like pancakes.”

“Alright, I’ll put the order in then head out.”

“Okay…I won’t tell anyone, about you, promise.”

“I appreciate that,” V signs, putting in the room service order on the tablet provided.

Thankfully, pancakes are enough to earn the woman’s silence on the matter. The less people who have a bone to pick with her, the better. Though, she still hopes The Herd can’t follow her where she’s going anyway. Dufflebag thrown over her shoulder, V leaves the motel, stepping out into the dry heat of California. Even in the early months of 2077, the desert is burning hot, though it will be freezing by nightfall. The joys of the Badlands.

Yucca is a little nothing town south of Night City, surrounded by long agonizing stretches of desert. Not a place she’d give another thought to if not for her vehicle breaking down. The cargo in the trunk, locked up so the mechanic can’t get nosy, is meant for a client in Night City. The job came with forms and docs that’ll get her past the border.

She rolls up the metal garage door to the shop, seeing the older man in a trucker hat and flannel working over her car. The old Thorton Galena “Rattler”, bought off a Bakker nomad, who thankfully had no idea who her birth family is. It’s put together with rust, duct tape, and luck, bought for fifty eddies because it’s a walking tetanus trap; but it’s hers.

“Hey…drifter…” He greets her with a weary expression.

There’s two kinds of folks in these small towns that are scattered across the country like stars. Those who are weary of outsiders, know the dangers that lurk across the Badlands and have their guard up the moment someone they don’t know shows up. And for them, her refusal to show her face or speak with her own voice only adds to the suspicion.

And then there’s the other ones, the ones like that lilac haired girl still curled up in dusty sheets, eating shitty motel pancakes. The ones who see her, the people like her, the nomads, the drifters who travel the country and they see someone who can bring a moment of excitement to their dull little lives. The ones bored to tears with watching tumbleweeds all day and will climb in bed with V and their own preconceived notions of who she is just to have a night of excitement.

Each sees danger when they look at her, chaos in human form, someone who may just disrupt the status quo of their piss-pot of a town. An idea that terrifies or excites them. Then the realization hits that she’s just breezing through, a ghost without a trace. And for a moment they’ll be relieved or disappointed, then they’ll forget she was ever there.

“You got my car fixed?” she signs before she rolls the garage door down a foot or two shy of the ground.

“Not quite, electric coupling module is shot to shit.”

“You said it was an easy fix.”

“Guess I was wrong,” he turns to face her, arm crossed over his chest, “you could always find a new shop, find someone else who won’t question some scav lookin’ nomad why she’s hugging the border.”

“I’m not a fuckin’ scav, move,” she signs before shoving him away from her car engine, if he can’t get this thing up and running, she’ll do it her god damn self. She needs to get to Night City, yesterday, she’s already frustrated and him acting like he’s doing her a favor by staring at her engine for an hour isn’t helping.

“Got any idea what you’re doing?” Condescension drips from the mechanic’s words.

“Gonna, rig a hotwire, bypass the coupling.” She switches out some plugs, trying to find something, anything that will save her heap.

“Compressor will run on and on, could seize up.”

“Better than standing around scratching my head.”

She walks around her Rattler, pulling open the driver side door and climbing in. Please, any god listening right now, don’t fuck this up for her. V presses down the ignition and tries to rev the engine; sputters but doesn’t start.

“It’s like I was telling you,” the mechanic grumbles, so she tries again and another sputter.

“Fuck off,” she signs, wishing the tone of the AI voice would better convey her frustration as she begs her car, her baby, to start.

Come on baby, she thinks and her hands twitch to sign, her voice catching. Her desperation nearly making her verbal. Her rattler, her baby, her beautiful heap of rust and luck has carried her through three years in the Badlands. Just a little further, into the city, and V will find her a decent mechanic to give her vehicular child the treatment she deserves. She presses the ignition and revs the gas.

And that engine roars to life and it’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard, her baby lives, she fucking lives! V can’t contain her smile, thankfully hidden behind the cover of her mask, she could scream. She’s starting the next chapter of her life with her baby by her side.

“Not too shabby, question is how long will it last you,” the mechanic rains on her parade as he shuts the hood.

“Better than whatever you were trying.”

V rolls her eyes and gets her walkie talkie radio out, hooking it to a jack in her car to try to boost a signal; she needs to let her client know she’s coming into the city, so they can prepare to pick up the cargo.

“Antennae on this heap don’t look like it packs much of a punch, doubt you’ll hear much.”

There was a broadcasting comms tower outside of the town, she saw it as she made her way in, she’ll get in and boost her signal with it. Should be fairly easy. She just wants to make it into the city, her chance at a new life. Seventeen years with The Herd, under her father’s thumb. Three years running, never able to settle down, never knowing when her family would find her when she’d be put down. Years wasted, she’s ready to live, to really live on her own fucking terms.

A flash of khaki fabric, visible through the opened gap in the garage door catches her eye and a chill runs down her spine. Trouble. Black cybernetic hands catch the bottom of the metal door and roll it up; an older man in a sheriff’s uniform with a cowboy hat comes strolling in.

“Hey, Mike, didn’t know you had a customer…” He draws out, looking over V as if she was carrying the plague.

“Just rolled in a few hours ago, I, uh, thought she would have told you.”

“Now, don’t you worry, we’re gonna hash this out,” the sheriff says, strolling over to her, he puts an arm up on her car roof, leaning against her open car door and looming over her, “Don'tcha know you owe the sheriff a word when you pay his town a visit? To tell him what brought you here, maybe even over a cup of coffee.”

“You that hard up for dates?” She signs in return, catching a muscle twitch of annoyance, and she smirks behind her mask. Five seconds in and she’s getting under his skin.

“Names Andrew Jones, you probably heard of me.”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Served in special ops in the last war, silver shoguns, ring any bells?”

“Can’t say that it does.”

“Hmm,” he grumbles, “don’t like to get along, do you?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

He scowls at her as he shifts his weight off her door and moves to walk in front of her vehicle, looking it over. His foot raises up, dirty boot now on the grill of her car and she wishes nothing more than to just drive forward and run his dumbass over. She doesn’t have fucking time for this; her client is waiting. She doesn’t even want to be in his dumbass little town; she already fucked the only good thing here and found nothing but disappointment.

“That a nomad vehicle? I might have figured. Scav mask, nomad car; what that make you?”

“You got a problem?”

“I’ll tell you what my problem is, nothing boils my blood like a fuckin’ stray. Where your clan pitch camp?”

“No camp, no clan, just little ole me, aren’t you lucky?”

“Don’t buy it, nomads always stick with their pack.”

“Got no pack, they don’t suit me much.”

“Makes you an outcast among outcasts.” He sneers at her, looking down his nose at her, like he’s something special and she’s gum stuck on his shoe.

“Let me guess, you’re the type of guy who believes every line of shit the corps feed you, that nomads are the world’s greatest evil.”

“No, I’m a man who respects order, corps brought us that order-”

“The corps pay you and have you on a leash like a dog, you know that?”

“And you don’t wanna see me bare my fangs.”

“Try and I’ll put you down,” V’s fingers move before she can give another though, no interest in making peace with this asshole.

“You threatening me, girl?”

“No more than you are me, stay out of my way and I’ll get out of yours.”

“Big talk coming from a misfit.”

She lets out a short laugh, the sound layered with her modulator, making it louder and doubled.

“Look, I’m not scared of some shithole town’s sheriff who thinks a badge is a crown,” she signs, hands moving so quick and hurried that the sound of skin hitting skin rings out, “I want to leave your town, you want me gone, move your ass and I’ll make us both happy.”

“Get going,” he moves out from in front of her car, “I got no mind to see you drifting around these parts.”

“What part of this conversation made you think I want to?” She finishes signing before slamming her car door shut.

“What was that drifter?” His voice fades away as she guns it out of the repair shop, rolling her eyes behind her mask.

Though, maybe breaking into the communications tower is technically drifting, but she needs to radio her client. Sinclaire will need to know she’s coming into the city, so they can meet up, exchange eddies for cargo, and she can figure life out from there. She takes a road that goes north and cuts through the desert, her Rattler practically born for off roading as she takes the heavy bumps of the sand dunes and drives through cacti, pulling up to graffiti covered bumpers just outside the fenced in tower.

It's an amalgamation of latticed rusted metal with satellites on top, graffiti decorating the buildings and chunks of the tower itself. It clearly hasn’t been used or maintained in years, but it should still boost her signal. V climbs out of her vehicle, trying to open the door to the fencing. It doesn’t budge at all and she pouts, then kicks it as hard as she can. Her steel toed boot works as well as a key, making it swing open.

It’s a quick little journey, two little flights of stairs she jogs up with ease. Then it’s a ladder, the peeling yellow paint sticking to her palms. And then she’s as high as she can reach, transmitter box in view. But with the view around her, wind whipping through, she takes a moment to peel off her mask and breathe. Sun beating down and warming her face, the breeze cools her skin under it’s rays, wicking away sweat that sticks to her brow.

A deep inhale of air before she forces herself to move again, the rusted front of the transmitter box breaks at the hinges when she opens it, she pays no mind and throws it aside then jacks in her walkie-talkie radio. V leans against the tower railing, radio in hand, but not ready to let go of the quiet.

The smell of rust and paint surrounds her as she takes everything in. She’ll miss this, she realizes, the open road and the Badlands have always been her home. But it’s not safe, not really. The Herd has shown no signs of letting this go. For four years, she’s dodged her sister and Ava; the two tasked with being her trackers, repeated close calls over all this time. They’ve interrogated and demanded answers from the folks in these sleepy little towns she breezes through. The mask has helped, but every day the feeling of them nipping at her heels gets worse. Her stomach churns at the lengths they’ve gone to. V’s father wasted no time in turning her sister against her, turning Eira into a weapon to do his bidding, to put down the defected child who never should have made it past nine.

He’ll kill her for not falling in that same line, for refusing to be his soldier. Forced to choose between death or conformity, practically one in the same, she tries to seek a third option.

Night City has its own rules, laws, restrictions; a city completely controlled by corps. It’s disgusting in its own right. But The Herd isn’t allowed in the city, border control of Night City has strict orders to keep all known or identifiable members of the Raffen Shiv clan out. Corps hate Nomads, as a general rule, but they really hate The Herd. A Nomad family with no respect for anyone else’s laws, a strong anti-consumerism, anti-cyberware, and anti-corp attitude; The Herd might as well send a personal fuck you to Night City. Its not perfect, not even good, a crime infested corp run cesspool, but it’s the safest option. More security, more boundaries, more faces so V can blend in. Even if Eira and Ava make it into Night City, which she’s not naïve enough to believe impossible, they’ll have six million folks to work their way through. Nomads stay in pack because groups provide safety; a sea of city faces is just an extension of that.

But that safety comes at a cost. It means no more open spaces, no more serenity, no more campfires with burnt marshmallows, or driving down dirt roads as fast as she can with her windows down, and screaming out in excitement as she takes on every bump and turn with reckless abandon.

There’s no perfect choice, every decision carries a sacrifice, but if the cost of staying in the Badlands could mean her life, her freedom, her identity… the city is the better option… she thinks…

A pessimistic or perhaps realistic part of her can’t help but feel like he’ll get his way, her father will have her head on a pike, will slaughter his own daughter like cattle. And his power over The Herd will only grow. After all, if he’d go this far to put down his own child for an act of betrayal, how could anyone else ever think to be spared his wrath. The already loyal army of followers will be further forced into submission by fear.

Maybe this is all a waste of time, she wonders, often does. Maybe it’s just dragging out the inevitable. Hell, a part of her wonders if she’d be better off begging for mercy, if he’d offer it just to maintain control. Would she be safer if she just gave in? Is she really the kind of person who needs to be half of a whole to function, to feel safe?

But, is it wrong to want something more? To be able to look back at her life, no matter how long or short it may be, and know she lived, that she gave it all she had. That she stayed true to herself, whoever that is. To prove that she doesn’t need them, that she isn’t a burden depending on others to carry her weight. She can make something of herself in Night City, can live on her own terms, even if only until the inevitable comes knocking at her door. It will be a bit of breathing room, a chance to just be, instead of constantly looking over her shoulder.

Family was meant to be her security, her safety, but were they ever really? V shakes her head, if she goes down every thought pattern, every reason, every doubt, every feeling; she’ll be here forever.

She pulls her mask back down and radios her client after another moment of soaking in the breeze, it's odd they didn’t go through a fixer, but frankly she doesn’t care. A middleman who takes part of the cut isn’t ideal for her either. She’s looking for the past possible new start and the more eddies in her pocket, the better that’ll be.

“V?” Sinclaire speaks her alias once she gets through.

“Speaking,” she signs, as always thankful her mask spares her voice in moments like this.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Hit a snag, but I’m on my way into the city now.”

“That’s what I like to hear, once you’re through the border radio me and we’ll talk meet up.”

“The docs you sent,” she signs, thinking to the falsified passport docs he had sent out her way, “they should get me through border check.”

“Absolutely, border control barely checks ID on customs, but that little pamphlet will breeze you through.”

“Okay, just checking.”

“Don’t worry V, this is a piece of cake. You’re gonna love Night City, I’m telling you.”

“Yeah? That so?”

“Mmhmm, once we finish the trade off, I’ll show you around. There’s a place in Wellsprings with synth steak to die for, I’ll treat you.”

“Sounds like a plan, I’m heading out now.” She agrees easily, it’ll be better to have more connections in the city, people she gets along with well enough and know the place better than her.

“See ya soon.”

Her client doesn’t know her exact clan, just knows she needs papers to get into the city. There’s more than one group of Raffen Shiv that aren’t allowed in city limits; hell she’s pretty sure Wraith’s aren’t. Though, corps make special deals to let them in when they need work done. As shitty as they are, The Herd has yet to whore themselves out to that degree, one thing she can still respect about her father. She fiddles with the leather cuff bracelet around her wrist, that hides the small crown shaped brand that he placed on her skin as a child, his way of marking his blood family. She’s considered taking a knife to it, but some part of her isn’t ready to.

V’s steps are hurried as she leaves the comms tower, heavy boots stomping over metal as she makes the quick journey back to her Rattler, the red beast of a car waiting where she left it. She climbs into the vehicle and twists the vehicle around. She follows the dirt road back out to the highway, headed out to the city.

She races back through the little town, picking up as much speed as she can, wind whipping through the open windows. Yucca is a blink and its gone, V having cruises right through the nothing town and continuing down the highway. Empty stretches of desert decorated with cacti as she races down the expanse of roadway.

Then the signs warn her of border crossing, nearing the city, her heart rate picking up as she grows closer to changing her life. A border checkpoint, enclosures and offices with an overpass above the divided lanes of the highway. Each lane leads to a border control officer with holograms labeling what each lane is for based on why someone is coming into the city; whether or not they have cargo to check. She slows down, so she can pull off her mask, the less suspicious she looks the better. Border guards aren’t going to stand for being questioned by The Herd, so its minimal risk.

She switches over to the lane for customs check, pulling up to the raised blockade, beyond it another car coming through is scanned. An armed border guard not far away and she waits as the vehicle is giving the go ahead to leave; blockade coming down and guard ushering her to drive forward. V drives that little bit forward; cement yellow blockades raise before and behind her vehicle. Locking her into place makes her uncomfortable, like she can’t escape.

“Stay in the security check area,” a guard tells her over the intercom, like she would have tried to drive through the blockade without his warning. A beat i silence, a minute or two passes as the scanners run along her car.

“Would the owner of the vehicle please report for further questioning.”

V grabs the falsified passport, manifest marked LOA, and the bribe chip for good measure. She keeps her head down as she gets out of the vehicle, makes her body language small as she walks into the office building. Maintaining a non-threatening demeanor in order to ease any friction that may come her way. The door automatically opens, a waiting room of people and a desk behind bulletproof glass where a worker stands. A map of the New United States across one of the walls.

“If you’re armed, leave your weapon here.” The worker behind the desk calls out and V unholsters her revolver, allowing him to check it and put it in a drawer, “report to room two.”

She nods, feeling naked without a weapon on her hip, but she knows this is the way of things. V turns the corner, finding the door with a two marked next to it. She opens the door and a lump forms in her throat. It's a small cramped little excuse of a room, a guard already at the rinky dink desk and a chair in front of it. She takes small timid steps to the chair, discolored with either dried blood or rust, she can’t be certain. The man is dressed in a neon vest; some sort of either goggles or optic implants over his eyes that scan her over as she sits down. He wastes not a second in lighting a cigarette and her nose wrinkles as smoke billows to fill the small room. She can already feel the stench of it clinging to her clothes and wishes she could snatch it from his hand.

“Papers?” he asks.

She hands over the manifest, her falsified passport, and the credit chip without a word. Metallic implant augmented fingers put the cred chip aside to look over the little blue document, then he places the paper over the cred chip, hiding it from prying eyes that may peek into the office. Meanwhile, V tries to maintain her most innocent of expression, puppy dog eyes primed if any issue arrives. Small and adorable has few benefits in this world; but she plans to take advantage where she can. Being underestimated, assumed to be weak or docile, as much as it hurts does have perks.

“What are you transporting?”

“It’s all in there,” she signs in response, because frankly she has no idea what she’s transporting. Some corp crap.

“Hmmm, tell me, who do you ride with?”

“Bakkers,” she lies through her teeth, her car was bought off one, so it seems like an easy enough excuse.

“They stop installing personal links?” He asks, puffing out a plume of smoke, his gaze on her linkless palm.

“Religious reasons, most of the clan has them, but my mom raised us to stay ‘ganic, god given, ya know?” She signs, a practiced excuse for when she’s asked about her lack of implants. Same as the excuse laid out in the passport.

“Is that so…” he takes a deep drag off his cigarette and V bites her lip not to say anything she’s hit with another face full of smoke, “you know, times like this I’m so glad not to be on the other side of that table.”

“Feelings mutual,” she signs before she can even consider stopping, aggravated by this man’s entire existence at this point. She gave him all the documents, this should be done with by now.

“Go on now.”

She jumps at the chance to be excused, taking in a deep fresher breath of air when she’s released from the smoke box of an interrogation room. V runs a hand through her hair as she turns the corner. There’s another armored guard standing beside the desk now, his eyes doing a lazy look down of V’s frame.

“Don’t forget to collect your personal items.” The worker behind the desk tells her and she stops there, giving him a raised eyebrow before he goes to collect her gun, “be careful with that toy and welcome to Night City.”

As much as she’d like to gripe about the toy comment; as if she’s a child, she can’t help but find herself smiling at the greeting. She’s finally here, finally getting into the city. A life on her terms; a little breathing room between her and the clan. V holsters her gun, grin playing on her lips.

“Those little shits all imagine Night City to be some sort of paradise,” the armored guard comments about her, but not to her, looking over her to the worker behind the desk.

“What are you gonna do they’re all young, naïve, which is just another word for ignorant.” The worker replies and V’s grin has died, maybe that’s the case for others, but Night City is exactly what she needs. Her situation isn’t the same. She doubts those young ignorant kids they’re talking about were running from their own death.

She shakes her head, not worth the effort it’d take to respond, V leaves the building. Her Rattler a short distance away, she’s nearly bouncing as she rushes towards it, climbing into the driver’s seat. Even the overpass above her has words welcoming her to the city, she’s sure she won’t find paradise, but there...she’ll make this life her own.

There’s barely a blip of distance between her and the border check when she sees them. Black corporate vans coming towards her, her heart jolts into her throat and sweat edges along her skin.

“Fuck!” V curses out loud, border fucker tipped off the corp.

“Stop the vehicle! You are transporting corporate property!” A voice rings out from the vans and V takes a sharp turn off the road, her baby is meant for off roading after all.

“I repeat, stop the vehicle!” The corporate voice yells out again.

“Stop the vehicle,” she murmurs in a whiny voice to herself, mocking the corpo, “give us back our stuff, stop committing crimes, wah, wah, wah.”

She rolls her eyes, amused by her own bullshit as she punches in the keypad of her Rattler, starting up the automated turret attached to the roof. It’s not the most high tech system, but it has a lock on function and should get the job done. The sounds of bullets pinging off metal creates a cacophony around her as she careens through an abandoned rural area, taking sharp turns to try to shake them. V takes out her hearing aids to stop her forming headache and focus on what she’s doing. The rumble of her turret shakes the car as it fires, letting her know its still working fine. Glass break out of the back of her car, a bullet piercing through, her back sprayed with the shards. She’ll be digging a bullet out of her dashboard later, she’s sure.

A bright flash of orange, flames enveloping a van as her turret hits a gas tank the right way. One down, two to go. She keeps the pedal to the floor, speed topping out as she races away from the approaching vans. Another sharp turn and she watches as a van crashes into a wall, one last stubborn fucker.

There’s a slight tense to the vibration of her turret overhead, bullets hitting the top of it, aiming to disarm it, as she goes through another turn. A shot bursts through her side mirror, assholes, do they have any idea how much it’s going to cost her to repair this heap. More than it’s probably worth.

The vibration that shakes her car settles down over her head, turret no longer firing, but the van is still chasing her. It fucking jammed, her turret fucking jammed again, of course it did. V hauls off and punches the roof of her Rattler, right beneath where the turret is, used to this issue at this point. As always, the hard punch manages to spur it back on and it fires up again, blasting at the last van at full speed.

A bullet hits the corpo van’s front tire, knocking it off path; final one down.

“Suck my dick, Arasaka!” She screams out for no one else to hear.

She’s grinning as she finds a collection of abandoned trailers and garages, pulling into one, she’ll need to call her client, figure out a meeting place. They may want her to lay low for a bit until Arasaka calms their tits about this. But she’s in Night City, finally, what could go wrong from here. Cut out a nice living for herself, solo work or maybe something else, who knows. Get herself a place and do whatever the fuck she wants from there. She slides on her mask, puts her hearing aids back in, and rings her client.

“Sinclaire?”

“V, you make it over the border yet?”

“Yep, out just south of Pacifica according to the GPS, little run in with the corps but I shook them. When and where you wanna meet?”

“Little China, you know where the old Club Atlantis is?”

“Not remotely, but ping me the coordinates and I’ll find it.”

“Sending it to you now, think you can get there by three am?”

“Yeah, no problem, prefer to do this under cover of darkness?”

“Much prefer, see you soon, V.”

V hangs up the call and punches in the coordinates he sent, GPS map firing up to tell her where to go. She pulls out of the abandoned garage and gets herself back out on the road, driving further into the city.

She doesn’t like driving in the city. V determines about a minute into being into the actual bulk of the city. There’s neon signs and adverts everywhere she looks; most displaying someones ass or tits. She wouldn’t consider herself a prude, far from it given just how many people she’s spread her own legs for, but she does appreciate some decorum… These are sleazy, dirty…

And there’s traffic. Even at the late hour, people are on the roads, and they’re slow. So, fucking slow. Move, your asses. A motorcycle might be a good investment, she’d be able to just ride between traffic or weave through the other cars.

She manages to reach the spot before three am, though she wants to scream by the time she arrives. The building blends in easily, just another large shuttered up structure with graffiti covering its outside; symbols for the Tyger Claws, because correct spelling is a bad look for a gang, apparently.

V lets out a huff of air as she gets out of her car to wait; examining the little bloody scratches on her shoulders and arms where the glass hit her. Nothing serious, a splash of rubbing alcohol to disinfect and she’ll be fine. But there is a slight sting to the injuries that make moving her arms and shoulders uncomfortable. Corpo fucks. V leans against her car, taking in her new city.

And she shouldn’t be amazed, she knows that. The traffic drove her nuts and she’s been in landfills that smelled nicer. But despite it all, she finds herself impressed at the buildings that stretch on into the heavens. The bright lights and neon against a dark sky is gorgeous; a high vantage point and she’s sure it’d look like something out of a movie. She finds herself in awe as hope nestles its way into her chest.

Not perfect, nothing ever is, but she can work with it. She can build something here.

A sharp honk gets her attention, disrupting her moment of reverie. The street and road have been abandoned mostly; only her and the limousine coming to a stop next to her. She gives a slight wave to the driver, then forms a V with her fingers, as if they needed any more indication of who she is.

The driver is not her client, instead a big bulk of a man with gorilla arms implants, black metal for fingers, he gets out of the driver’s seat and a similarly sized man steps out of the back seat. Her client’s got muscle around him it seems, maybe he just wants to make sure she doesn’t get squirrely and try to pull something.

Both guards out, they open the backseat door close to the street and her client finally emerges. He’s not a particularly tall man, though as with most adults, he is taller than her. Sandy slicked back hair and unnaturally bright green eyes; likely optics.

“V, darling, nice to see you in the flesh, you got the goods?”

“Right here,” she signs before moving behind her car, opening the trunk so he can see the Arasaka cargo crate.

“Fantastic, load it up, boys.”

“Woah, woah,” V signs and sits on the crate before the two bodyguards can grab it, “eddies first, then you take the cargo.”

“Oh, V, honey…” His voice drips with condescension and a chill reverberates down her spine, “you did good work, only a shame you’re so naive.”

“The fuck do-”

Pain cracks through her skull, knocking V off the cargo crate and onto the ground. Another sharp thwack of pain across her head and back; something blunt striking her before she can get up. She groans out as she rolls over onto her back, looking up at the bodyguard who’s holding a baseball bat, what looks like blood staining it. Her head and back hurt; her head spinning and she’s unable to get her bearings.

“Load the cargo into the car.”

“What do you want us to do with her?” One of the guards asks Sinclaire and he looks down at her, like a cockroach.

“Eh, no one will come looking for her. Might as well throw her away with the trash,” he kicks her side, sneering when she grunts in pain, “give her another hit for good measure.”

“Got it,” the guard nods and starts to raise the baseball again, high above his head for a hard swing and she instinctively twists to give him the back of her head again.

“We’ll scrap the car, ge-”

And then the bat comes down on her, a rush of pain before consciousness slips from her grasp.

Time loses all meaning when the world is blacked out, but eventually the light filters back in and her senses return. She can feel her hearing aids still in and its reaffirmed by the sounds she hears, the faint murmur of people. The smell around her is awful, disgusting, and she can feel stuff around her. Plastic bags scratching at her skin, something wet touching her arm. Her mask shifted and she forces herself to move, she pulls it back in place, blinking.

Garbage bags, some intact and others shredded. He actually had her thrown into the trash, that son of a bitch. V pushes the trash bags off of her, city lights starting to glimmer through, neon against a black sky. She finds a metal edge of the dumpster and pulls herself up, body still aching in protest as she emerges from her would be grave. Cold air hits her bare arms, the city far colder in the early months than the Badlands. She’s in an alleyway dumpster and she hears gasps of shocks, turning to see civilians shocked to see someone climbing out of the trash. She’s be ashamed if she weren’t so furious.

V punches the side of the dumper, feeling it reverberate with the force, this was supposed to be her shot at a new life and now she’s in a god damn dumpster.

She’s going to kill Sinclaire, she’s going to fucking kill him, son of a bitchfucked her over and he’s going to pay with blood. But how the hell does she even reach him? He never gave her details of where he spends his time or let alone where he lives. Hell, she doesn’t even know where she is. She needs her car back and her luggage from it, she doesn’t even have a change of fucking clothes as it stands right now.

“What time is it? Where am I?” she signs at the civilians, still straddling the edge of the dumpster, maybe they can be some help.

“Uhhh, like 10pm? And Heywood…?”

So, he dragged her away quite a bit, so...maybe he frequents the area. Still doesn’t tell her much, she needs to find him. And she needs to find her car, but how the fuck does she accomplish that?

“Don’t suppose you have any idea where I could find Luke Sinclaire, do you?”

“Uh, no,” the stranger kind of raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the whole situation, “but uh, you could always talk to Padre. He’s the local fixer.”

Of course, she’d have to get a fixer involved, not using one is probably what got her in this mess in the first place. Sinclaire knew she had no ties to her Nomad family, new to the city, and no fixer involved. He basically had license to do whatever he wanted without fearing someone would come for him or come looking for her. V touches the back of her head, fingers coming back red, dried blood matting her hair. He meant for her to die, she’s sure, but the blunt trauma wasn’t enough to do her in.

“Where’s Padre?” she signs, she doesn’t have money to pay a fixer but maybe they can work something out. She doesn’t want to lone wolf it and end up in a dumpster again.

“He has his own parish, but he’s usually at the El Coyote Cojo right about now, might be able to catch him if you hurry.”

“El Coyote Cojo, which would be…where?”

“Bar a little north of here, you really aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Thanks for your help and stunning observational skills; I’m off.”

She pulls her hood back up over her head, hiding her bloody matted hair as she leaves the alley way and goes vaguely north. New chapter of her life, she’s injured, alone, broke, and smells like garbage.

Honestly, sounds about right for her luck. But, she’s far from given up. She navigates the Night City streets, stopping to ask a stranger where the bar is again before she finally finds it. She keeps expecting to get weird looks, like the ones that were usually sent her way in the small towns she’d visit on the road. But even with her mask, no one pays her much mind. And why would they?

V passes at least four more outrageous looking strangers along her way to the bar. People’s who’s entire body is made of gold cyberware, a woman with skin that looks like plastic, a cowboy with cybernetic arms and legs, and a girl with what looks like cat ear implants on top of her head. Things that make her stop and give a second glance, but no one here even minds. Night City has its own weirdness limit and her mask doesn’t even come close to hitting it. There's an anonymity she’s never known before and its kind of nice. Even bloody, mask on, trash covered; she’s just one face in a sea of millions.

El Coyote Cujo is a lowlit bar with traditional Mexican decorations across it and as expected in the evening, it has a fair number of patrons bustling around. People shooting pool, downing tequila, and chatting amongst themselves. And for the first time, she finds eyes landing on her. Not necessarily weirded out by her masked appearance, but more so wary of a stranger. She pays them no mind, employees here should know where Padre frequents or if he’s still here. There’s two she’s able to find right away; the bartender and a busboy. She starts with the bartender, walking herself over to a stool, he’s an older man with dark hair and a golden arm. He walks over to her once she’s sat, a smile bringing out the crows feet at the corners of his eyes.

“A new face, what can I get for you?”

“I’m actually trying to find someone,” she signs, “someone told me the local fixer, Padre, is a regular here.”

“Ah, he’s probably at his usual table upstairs, not sure he’s interested in taking on any new clients though.”

“I’ll see if we can figure something out.” She steps away from the bar and heads upstairs, its mostly vacant, making her task just a little bit easier.

Her gaze is drawn to an older man with sparsely any hair and age spots along his skin, a gold cross around his neck. A few men in tacky gold jewelry around him.

“Padre?” The AI modulator voice calls out and she sees the older man’s eyes land on her. His guards around him seem to tense, prepared for if she sends up being a threat.

“I’m not sure, I know you,” Padre comments, looking over her disheveled appearance. Being beaten and thrown in a dumpster doesn’t do much for your looks.

“You don’t, but I’m looking for a fixer, need help if you’re interested in hearing me out.”

“Come, sit.”

“Thank you, sir,” she signs before sliding into the booth seat across the table from him.

“How can I assist you, child?”

“So, a guy named Luke Sinclaire contracted me to smuggle corp cargo into the city, I go to meet up with him and he tricks me. Stole the cargo, sent my car to be scrapped, and had his gangoons drop me. I need help finding him so I can get the cargo, my car, and my dignity back. Maybe kill him too, depending on how I feel, but we’ll see.”

“You didn’t use a fixer, I take it?” He raises an eyebrow with the energy of a dad chiding a child for making a stupid mistake.

“No, I was desperate and it bit me in the ass, so I’m doing what I should have done in the first place.”

“And I’m to assume, you have no money with which to do this either?” He says, having read her like a book.

“I’m sorry to be asking favors the first time we meet and I don’t expect you to do this for nothing, of course, but I was wondering if we could work out an arrangement instead.”

“And what sort of arrangement would that be?”

“I’ll do a merc job for you, your choosing, I’ll take no cut of the profit; a completely free job in exchange for you helping me with this.”

��And how can I trust you to do this job well, I do not know you or your work.”

“Well, I’d do the job for you first, so if its crap you could not help me. I fully expect to get back what I put in, if I do quality work, you do it in return, I’m desperate here.”

“Come with me, Marcus, get the car,” he tells one of the bulky men who walks off.

Padre stands and follows behind Marcus, V follows suit as they leave down the stairs and out of the bar towards a dark little alleyway. Marcus pulls up a car and parks it for them. Once parked Marcus gets out and comes back to one of the backseat doors, Padre gets into the back on his own, Marcus opens the door for her. He silently beckons her in and she does what she’s asked, sliding onto the leather seat. Marcus shuts her door before going back around to the driver’s seat,

“Embers, pull up to the back where the ramp is,” Padre instructs Marcus of where to go.

And then the car pulls out onto the road. V fiddles with a curl of hair, fidgety and unsure of what to do, why they’re driving out away from the bar. Padre has a far away look in his eye.

“You’re new to Night City, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…”

“And what is your name, I’m afraid I didn’t catch it earlier.”

“V.”

“V, I’ve lived in Heywood all my life, it’s roots are strong and watered by blood. Family is what pulls us through, no one is purely independent. The city is ecosystem, each individual playing a vital role that impacts those around them. The relationship between fixers and our mercenaries is an important one, not only is it mutual beneficial, but we keep each other safe. A lesson you’ve had to learn the hard way.”

“Can’t really argue with that…”

“People who-“

Padre pauses in his words looking out of the window and through it, V can see a car coming up alongside them. The car begins honking furiously at them. Nerves alight and chills slinking up her spine; she has a bad feeling about this. It has to be someone with a bone to pick with Padre.

“Shit!” Marcus curses, the first word she’s heard him say.

“Stop the car,” Padre says, with a calming hand on Marcus’s shoulder.

“What’s this?” V signs, worrying speeding up her hands.

“Business, you carrying?”

“Yeah….” V checks her waistband and her revolver is gone because why did she think Sinclaire wouldn’t take her gun, “No.”

Padre blinks, surprised she’s sure, because who the fuck would be unarmed in Night City. Marcus pulls to a stop, the car once beside them pulls around to park in front of them and a man comes out. He’s dressed in what appear to be green fatigues with a bullet proof vest. As he comes close to V’s window, she sees his gold implants catching the neon lights.

“Sebastian Ibarra,” the man says in a low voice, as V’s window is rolled down by Marcus, “looks like it’s my lucky day.”

The stranger leans into the window, his left hand is carrying a gun and he casually puts it into the window. Both arms are metal in nature, but they look far from top shelf, at least from her glance.

“What do you want?” Padre asks him.

“To settle our biz, once and for all. Got an offer for you, Paddy, so listen up. Get the fuck out of Vista, pull your boys off the street! I’ll give you the Glenn, done deal. No more restless nights, see how generous I can be?”

A beat of silence and V gives a glance at Padre, he seems far from amused with the man’s bullshit.

“Well, Paddy?!”

V lurches at his impatient yell, she doesn’t need this wannabe soldier turned gangbanger fucking up her deal. Her right hand grabs the back of his neck, below the base of his skull and her left grabs the gun. She slams his head against the car roof, his forehead gushing blood at the impact, the shock and pain makes his grip loosen and allows her to steal his pistol before letting him go.

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses as he stumbles back, seeing stars and touching at his forehead. She aimed for the soft flesh just before his golden mohawked implant began, blood now steadily streaming from the wound, “you’ll fucking pay for that.”

She points his own pistol at him, cocking the gun, asking the silent question of if he intends to be shot today.

“It seems our conversation has come to a close,” Padre speaks calmly, but when she turns she can see the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Careful Padre, never know who’s got a barrel at your six,” he threatens with blood coating his face like paint, “you neither shitbucket!”

“Now, I’m armed,” V signs to Padre, as she watches the man climb back into his car, defeated for the moemnt.

“Marcus, please.”

The driver pulls out and away, getting them back on the road, as if the exchange had never happened. There’s a moment or two of silence, as V tucks her new gun into her waistband. If Padre takes her up on her offer, she may need it, plus you can generally never have enough firepower.

“Many people come through the city,” Padre speaks after a beat of silence, “little shits who’s spines go soft the moment they’re looking down the barrel of a gun. And sometimes you get the odd soul, one who can truly hold their own.”

“Who was that?” She asks, unable to help but smirk behind her mask at the compliment. That she’s one of the odd souls, different from those little shits, that she can hold her own. V is far from incompetent, even if some shitbird got the jump on her.

“No one important, he’ll be gone in a week’s time. Another will take his place.”

“The ecosystem will take him out?”

“People who don’t know their place, soon find themselves without one. He’ll pay for what he’s done. You… paid for your misdeeds, for your misstep, but you’re finding your place now and within it you may thrive.”

“You got my place in the ecosystem all figured out?”

“Here,” he hands her a screamsheet, a magazine with an animated ad for a car, high-end The Legend of Aerondight, “only four in Night City.”

“That so?” It looks slick, she guesses, though certainly not her aesthetic. Its that weird rich person sort of design where it’s oddly shaped and proportioned, perhaps to be aerodynamic. All sleek silver and black, no character to it. She’d take her Rattler over it any day.

“First belongs to the Rayfield regional direction, second belongs to mayor Rhyne, third to a rental service. And my client aims to be the fourth.”

“Klep the car and you’ll help me?”

“Yes, I have a contact who works inside the parking structure near Embers, a club the current owner likes to frequent. He’s there tonight as well. My contact will cut the security camera feed and open the security gate for you.”

“Current owner, anyone I need to worry about?”

“An Arasaka corpo,” Padre informs her, because apparently, she hasn’t fucked with Arasaka enough in the past day or so.

“So, just hotwire it or?” It wouldn’t be the first time she’s hotwired a car, but fancy ones like this usually have a more complicated security system. Usually takes more than a knife and luck, which is her usual method.

“Not quite,” Padre pulls a little gadget, a silver and black device that he hands to her, “this should work like a key for the car, matches the ones used by Rayfield tech. Should open the lock and bypass identity authorization.”

“That sounds convenient…” Too fucking convenient, she resists adding.

“Kabuki has some excellent tech workers, but I won’t lie, it is a risk. I assume one you’re willing to take?”

“Got it, I’ll get the car.”

“Marcus, pull up here,” Padre tells the driver and they come to a stop, “you can jump down below, and before you go, take this V.”

He hands her a card, marked with his name and phone number, golden in color with a sword surrounded by roses. She rubs her thumb over the embossment, glad for her first contact within the city. Connections help.

“Your number?” She points out the obvious, not sure what else to say.

“Bring the car back to El Coyote Cujo and call me when you arrive, if all goes well, I’ll have your intel by then. And, I may just call on you for work down the line.”

“Understood, I’m off then.”

“Go with God, V.”

The guardrail drags along the side of the highway but there’s a breakage where it allows her enough space to easily jump over. Peering over it leads to an alley way, a closed dumpster just below. She hops over, dropping down onto the dumpster, she intends on last night being her last trash nap, so she’s more than a little thankful for it being closed. She hears a civilian let out a little exclamation but pays no mind as she jumps down onto the pavement. A quick walk down a graffitied alleway leads her to yellow road signs cutting across an open structure. Glowing vending machines beckon her to spend ennies she doesn’t have on energy drinks and burritos, a turn past them brings her to an elevator.

Slick glinting silver encompasses her as she steps into the alleyway; impressively clean compared to the absolute grime of the city. Likely to impress any corpos who come this way to get their cars. A quick tap of a button and the doors shut, elevator rattling as it descends down to the garage.

A beat of silence and the elevator opens up to a hallway; black, gunmetal gray, and teal accents. The wall declares which sector she’s in and an arrow on the far wall tells her where to turn, as if there were anywhere else to go. The turn around the corner puts her directly in front of two large black double doors; PARKING over them in clear bold lettering.

They slide open when she gets close and open up to the large parking garage, lights coming on as she sees all the slick fancy corpo cars. Sleek blacks and eye popping reds, none with any taste for design if you ask her. But nomads and corpos have...different aesthetics.

“Eh, something I can help you with?” A male voice rings out, bringing her attention to the little station next to the blocked off exit for cars. The contact, she presumes. She comes over to his open window, the man dressed in uniform.

“Padre sent me…” she signs, keeping things vague just in case this person has no idea why she’s here.

“Gotcha,” he hits a button, “cameras are blind, you got twenty minutes.”

She nods and goes looking through the cars, it’s the glow of neon that brings her to it. A parking spot marked off in the vivid blue glowing lights, they frame the Rayfield, and spell VIP on the wall behind it.

Time to test the tech, she holds the device next to the door and presses its button, a blue light flashing. And then the Rayfield’s door opens, sliding back and up in one fluid motion, exposing the deep burgundy leather seats. Shit may actually be going right for once.

She climbs into the driver’s seat, feeling wholly out of place in the plush designed car. The seat automatically adjusts to accommodate her, no doubt shorter than the owner, and the blacked-out windshield and window turn to crystalline clear glass. All that’s left is bringing the baby back to the bar and then she can get her intel on Sinclaire.

A red caution symbol flashes in the windshield and her body tenses; a bad feeling creeping in. No, her luck can’t be running out already.

Then the door opens and there’s a gun in her face.

“Get the fuck out!” A Mexican accented voice yells out.

If there is a god, he personally hates her, there is no other explanation, and she will fist fight him for his shenanigans. She looks up at the man standing before her, barrel at her forehead. He’s leaning down against the car, not unlike how the sheriff did to intimidate her back in Yucca. However, unlike the sheriff, this guy has the build to pull it off. He’s easily over a foot taller than her and wider than most doorway, all pure muscle with dark hair in a top knot, gold cybernetics adoring his face. She puts her hands up in mock surrender for a moment.

“Nothing personal, jaina, just biz.”

V goes to gun it, to stomp her foot down on the gas, but before she can the man has the back of her hoodie and is unceremoniously ripping her out of the vehicle.

“You fuckin’ deaf, chica, fuck out of the car, now!” He’s able to manhandle and pack her around like it’s nothing, like carrying a housecat.

She grabs the hand on her hood and digs her fingernails in, swinging her foot out to kick him while her other hand goes for her gun.

Then there’s a steady rev of engines, tires squealing and growing ever closer. Confusion coloring her assailant’s face and he drops her, looking around.

“The fuck…”

He starts to say and then there’s two police cars rushing into the parking lot, skidding to stops in front of them. And its fucking overkill, if she rang 911 because she was shot, they’d maybe send an officer out in three weeks. One fucking corpo has someone break into his car and it’s the end of the universe, need a full brigade.

The headlights of the cruises are blindingly bright and she struggles to adjust; putting her hands up as police officers come out with guns at the ready. It’s a car for fucks sake.

“Don’t move!”

Her attacker carefully slides his gun across the cement, to show he’s not a threat and maybe she’d consider doing the same if she cared; but she doesn’t.

“You’re under arrest!”

“Stay where you are!”

The police continue barking orders, as if the two hadn’t piece together what was happening or what was being asked of them. They’re not stupid.

“Hands where I can see them, nice and slow!”

He can already see them, why must they go through the rigamarole. She doesn’t have time for this shit.

“On the ground motherfuckers, right now!”

V is able to watch for a second, as a female cop cuffs and pushes the big guy onto the ground. Then in the next second she’s down there too, but they don’t cuff her like they do him. The officer only holds her hands down to the pavement, maybe they think because she’s smaller they don’t need the cuffs, at least not yet.

“Jackie Welles, my old pal from the hood,” a voice rings out, “See you haven’t grown an ounce wiser.”

“Hey,” big guy, apparently Jackie, responds and she shifts her head against the pavement to see him being held down in addition to the cuffs, “argh, Detective Stints, been a while, huh?”

“Inspector Stints,” the man responds now stepping out where he can be seen in front of the bright lights, he picks up the gun Jackie put down.

“Same shit,” Jackie says with a laugh.

“But you, you’re new,” Stints comments as he walks over and crouches down in front of her, looking over her face.

He waits, anticipating her to say something, but she talks with her hands and they’re currently pinned behind her back. And sure she possesses the technical ability to speak, her vocal chords do function. But she doesn’t, unless she’s alone or highly emotional. She used to talk to her mom, sister, and Ava…but those days are gone.

“Spit it out? Cat got your tongue?” Stints taunts and she still remains silent.

“Think her voicebox might be broken, Stints,” Jackie comments, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Pfft, probably just another piece of Heywood trash, another termite who’ll live and die here. Just like you Welles.”

“Fuck off, just tell us what you got planned,” Jackie grumbles.

“Gonna be booked, gonna do a stint, heh, get it?” He says with a grin.

“C’mon Stints, cut us a break, huh? You lock us up, we’ll just jerk off till trial and then what?”

She has no intention on jerking off anywhere, but alright.

“Worst case,” Jackie continues, “we get a few months, standing room only nowadays. In el bote. Hell, we’ll probably be out early.”

“These the thieves? Ordinary street trash,” a heavily accented voice comments, a Japanese man in a shimmery golden colored vest comes walking over.

“Shit, he’s here,” Inspector Stints groans before standing, “got them in custody Mr. Fujioka. We’ll be taking them, now.”

“It’s a waste of effort, I have no time to testify or play at an investigation.”

“Suggesting we let ‘em go, sir?”

“I’m suggesting you throw them in the sea; cuffed, legs broken, so this trash doesn’t float.”

And with that the man starts to walk away, making his way back to the club, she’s sure, continuing his night of debauchery as if he hadn’t ordered the murder of two strangers just because he could, because he didn’t have time for a trial. And god, she knows she probably has no room to judge anyone else’s morals, but just fuck corpos.

“You heard him,” the inspector says, because corpo cash pays his salary, she’s sure.

“Fuuuuck….” Jackie curses as they start to drag him up on his feet by the cuffed hands and she her own arms are wrenched back and cuffed.

V gets her feet back under her, moving with the pull as they manhandle her off the ground, she kicks back at the officer behind her. Her foot connects with their calf, causing them grunt out in pain as they’re knocked off balance loosing their grip on her wrists. She jumps as high as she can and brings her cuffed hands under her feet to her front.

Jackie follows suit, kicking the officer off of him, but with his size it knocks them flat on their ass. He shoulder checks another pig as V makes a dive for the Rayfield, it’s door still open amongst this chaos. She lands herself in the drivers seat and hits the ignition.

“Stop resisting!” Officers yell, fingers on the trigger, and no, that’s not happening.

“Wait up, chica!” Jackie yells out and she hits the button to open the passenger side door; he’s an asshole, but she’s not leaving him to be thrown in the fucking ocean.

He throws himself down in the passenger side and she guns it, doors shutting on each side as she takes the turn out the parking exit. She watches from the corner of her eye as Jackie, who’s barely able to fit in the bougie car, brings his cuffed hands down as low as he can. He grunts and curses, not quite as flexible as she is. With effort and twisting, he’s able to get the chain of the cuffs under his foot and then he stomps down while yanking his hands up. The little chain doesn’t stand a chance, breaking into pieces and pinging about the interior as it does so.

“Much better,” Jackie comments, looking at his wrists which now just have the manacles of the cuffs.

She rolls her eyes, bringing her attention back on the road and she expects to see sirens chasing after them, but it never happens. Are the cops not chasing them? They should be chasing them? Is she not getting in her second high speed chase since coming here?

“Honestly,” Jackie starts to talk again, he talks a lot, “I was just gonna let Stints free us, but I like the way you think, this way we get the Rayfield too.”

“What?” She takes a hand off the wheel to sign.

“Oh shit, you’re actually….my bad…” He awkwardly apologizes for asking if she was deaf earlier because, yes, yes she is.

“What do you mean, free us?”

“Stints is a softie as far as pigs go, got Heywood in his blood, would never throw us in the fuckin’ ocean cause some corpo said. And, you can slow down, he won’t chase us, chica.”

“Oh…okay,” she signs, pulling up to a curb, something else to take care of.

“We stopping here?”

“You are,” she signs before pulling her gun out and pointing it at him, signing with her other hand, “get out of the car.”

“Really, chica?” He rolls his eyes, like he didn’t pull this shit on her five minutes ago.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if I knew Stints was a softie, I got a job to finish, get out.”

“A fixer line this up for you?”

“Yeah…”

“Padre?”

“Yeah…are you gonna get out of the car or…?”

“Listen, I was gonna klep the car and then find a fixer to sell it for me, but if you already got Padre involved, we’ll go halfsies.”

“You pointed a gun at me!”

“You’re pointing a gun at me, right now!”

“You did it first!”

And he laughs and she does too, because they sound like children bickering over who pushed who on the playground. Its dumb and ridiculous and why does she like him? His smile is warm and kind, something about him, welcoming. She drops the gun, tucking it back in her waistband. She press her hand under her mask, trying to suppress her giggles. The tension that’s been clinging to her has snapped. Her body feels lighter, like she can breathe a bit better. She closes the passenger side door, he may be chill, or she’s just easily charmed. But, she’s still going to fuck with him, just a little.

“Okay, fine, we’ll go halfsies.”

“See, now you’re making sense,” he grins as they pull out back onto the road, “Jackie Welles.”

“V…it’s…nice to meet you? I think?”

“Heh, not from around here, right?”

“Nah, but, from the sounds of it you’re a local.”

“Heywood in my veins, chica, where we meeting Padre?”

“El Coyote Cujo.”

“Of course.”

“You know the place?”

“I’ve heard of it,” he says, grinning wide, a joke she’s clearly not in on, “Ah, I got a good feeling about this.”

“About what?”

“Us, you and me got chemistry.”

“Do we now?”

“Oh, don’t give me that, you feel it too, heard that laugh.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” she teases as she pulls into the El Coyote Cujo parking lot, pulling the slick corpo car into a spot, “got a phone on you?”

“You don’t?”

“I literally have lost everything I own, alright? Call Padre and put it on speaker.”

“Fine, fine,” Jackie gets out his phone and calls Padre, phone in one hand and the other stretched across the back of the seats.

“Jackie? To what do I owe the pleasure.”

“Here with your newest find, V, we got the Rayfield.”

“You helped her out?”

“Well…”

“He pointed a gun at me and nearly had me thrown in the ocean.”

“Seems like I have a car and a story waiting on me, I’ll be there shortly.”

A pain aches in V’s head, migraine spreading across her temple as Jackie hangs up. She rolls the car window down, allowing the chill of the winter night seep in, hoping the fresh air will ease her pain. V wants a shower, there’s still blood in her hair and she’s sure she still smells like trash. Though, no one’s been cruel enough to point it out. But, she has no idea where she could grab a shower. Why the fuck does her head hurt so much? The pain a steady throb across her entire head. She pinches the bridge of her nose, it didn’t even ache this much when she first came too in the dumpster.

“You alright V?”

“Head hurts,” she signs, before turning off her hearing aids, hoping that shutting out the city sounds will help.

“When’s the last time you ate, chica?” Jackie says, making sure to stay in her eye line as he leans over the middle console, though his biceps nearly touch her even when he isn’t. Her mask reading his lips to give him subtitles. .

When was the last time she ate? She didn’t eat all day because she was in a dumpster passed out. The day before was the smuggle run and she didn’t eat before she left Yucca.

“Two days ago.”

“Fuckin’ for real, no wonder your head’s wonky, once we finish the deal we’ll get some grub.”

“What made you think that was why?”

“Ah, my mama gets those migraines when she stops eating from stress, Vik and me keep telling her to take care of herself, but she’s too busy taking care of everyone else.”

“You and your mom close?” V can’t help but ask, thinking about her own mother for a moment.

“Oh yeah, family’s important, gotta have people you can turn to out here.”

“Yeah…”

“What-”

Headlights shine in through the back glass of the Rayfield, bring their attention to Padre pulling into the parking lot. His arrival ending whatever question Jackie was about to ask, which may be for the best. She’s not ready to answer questions about family. Not when her head is throbbing, she’s filthy, and her stomach is empty. Padre’s driver comes to a stop and they see Padre gets out of the back. V turns her hearing aids back on, knowing it will make the conversation flow easier as her and Jackie get out of the Rayfield. Her arms collecting goosebumps from the air.

“Jackie, it’s nice to see you again, how have you been?” He greets Jackie warmly

“Ehhh, can’t complain, same old same old, making new friends,” he says with a grin, nodding his head towards V.

“Never can have too many of those. It’s always nice to chat once business is done.”

One of Padre’s bodyguards has already climbed into the driver’s seat of the Rayfield. Enging revving up and then fading off into the night as he leaves. Officially finishing up their business.

“Uh,” Jackie raises an eyebrow, “you getting senile on me, Padre, this is usually the part where eddies change hands.”

V’s smirking and trying not to laugh behind her mask. Padre gives a look at V’s direction and she looks down at the ground, pursing her lips so she doesn’t laugh.

“I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

“Ah,” Jackie nods, like he gets it, “no worries, V agreed to go halfsie with me on the Rayfield gig.”

“Halfsies?” Padre raises an eyebrow, smiling at V, he seems to find her joke at least a little funny. V can’t help the giggle that spills out.

“Am I missing the joke here?”

“Well, I’m afraid, this was an unpaid job for V here.”

“What?” Jackie shoots her a sharp look, disbelief coloring his expression.

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” she taunts.

“Fuck you!”

She bursts out laughing, holding her stomach as she cackles behind her mask, the sound echoing strangely through it. But, she can’t stop.

“You stole a million eddie car for free!? The fuck is wrong with you!?”

“No, no,” she furiously signs, “I needed info.”

“Speaking of which, I have your intel here,” Padre says, handing her a shard.

“Give me a moment, my lungs hurt.”

“I’m glad you're entertained, that info better make you a billionaire.”

“Nah, personal shit,” she collects herself, “thanks, Padre, it means a lot.”

“You’re a good kid, make him pay, V.”

“Oh, I will,” V confirms, slotting the shard into a little opening on her mask, info displaying across it.

The name of a chopshop that rumors say had a nomad vehicle come in, her Rattler no doubt. Sinclaire’s address and regular hang outs, exactly what she needs. Hopefully, he hasn’t had time to sell the cargo yet. If so, she’ll axe him and klep all his shit.

“What happened?” Jackie asks.

“Well,” she signs, before taking the shard out, “Sinclaire contracted me to transport some cargo, no fixer, so he fucked me over the second he got a chance. Bashed me over the head, threw me in a dumpster, scrapped all my shit, and took off with the cargo.”

“So, that’s what that smell is?”

“I will throw you,” she threatens, but she’s rolling her eyes and smiling.

“I’d love to see you try, chica.”

“The chop shop won’t be open until morning and it’s late. It’s up to you, but I’d recommend resting for the night.”

“Yeah…” She signs, but she can’t help the slight pout. She has no money, no clothes, no food, no shelter. She’ll be sleeping on a bench or something tonight, not much rest.

“You did good work V,” Padre pats her shoulder as he leaves,” I’m sure I’ll have more jobs for you in the future, paying ones, of course.”

“Thanks again, Padre.”

She rubs a hand down her face, migraine still thumping around in her head. Between not eating and having her hearing aids in all day, her head feels on the verge of exploding.

“So, what’s the plan, jaina?”

“My plan, why do you wanna know my plan?”

“Because, you and I both know you’re up shit creek without a paddle here, V. No home, no family, no one to turn to. Night City ain’t a place that will let you get by on your own. Need people you can turn to, if you wanna survive.”

“And what, you wanna be my friend?” She raises an eyebrow, taken aback by just how kind and friendly he’s really been.

“Told you already, we got chemistry,” he grins again and it makes her smile, “be a crying shame to waste it.”

“Okay, friend, what do we do now?”

“You like chili?

“As a concept, sure.”

“Settled then, get you a hot meal, change of clothes, a shower ‘cause you fuckin’ need it, and crash with me tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

“And tomorrow, we teach that pendejo a lesson, sound good?”

“Sounds good to me.”

They’re all grins and smiles as they leave the parking lot, knocking shoulders together as they go, walking side by side down the neon lit streets. And she can feel it returning, that little buzz of hope she had in her chest when she first came here, the one she thought was beaten out of her by Sinclaire’s goons, it’s back and brighter than ever. Though not half as bright as Jackie’s smile as they turn a corner towards his mother’s house.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #c2077 #female v #fem v #aidan v becker #aidan becker #can you feel the sun

11 notes · View notes