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avatar-anna · 2 years

Text

The Professor

summary: you and harry are perfect strangers

words: 2.5k

tw: none

quick note: this takes place in the current world, but doesn't exactly follow the exact sequence of events as they happened!

PART I, PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART V Series Masterlist

March 2021

Nothing in your life was particularly meritorious, at least to the general public. All your life, you'd been praised for being exceptional, but you never asked to be. You just wanted to live your life in peace, doing what you loved and helping those in unique ways. One day one of your students just happened to get it on film.

You weren’t from England, but you moved there about three years ago to teach forensic, criminal, and behavioral psychology at the University of Cambridge. When students walked into your classroom on the first day of school, they would give you “the look.” It was one you received all your life, the one that said people thought you couldn’t be quite so young and be where you were—collegiate level lecture halls, research labs, touring apartments by yourself, buying wine at a grocery store—and yet, there you stood. You never let the look get to you, though. For you, learning was the top priority, whether students or colleagues underestimated you wasn’t your problem, it was theirs.

As time went on, though, you managed to establish something of a reputation at Cambridge. You were known among students as a favorite professor, one that was hard but fair, and someone who was able to explain the material to any student, no matter what their academic history or learning disabilities might have suggested. You became known for your well-taught and interactive classes, office hours that were worth attending, and a last few minutes of class where you let students ask you whatever they wanted—if they stumped you, you gave them extra credit, if they didn’t, no extra credit. The game was supposed to be a way for students to get to know you better, and to lighten up your classes a bit. You loved to learn, and you wanted your students to enjoy it as much as you did.

It became a popular facet of your classes, students raising their hands and asking questions about theoretical probabilities, quantum physics, what constellations you would find on the opposite hemisphere, or if you could quote a specific line from one of Shakespeare’s poems. You were hardly ever beat, but that just made your students try harder.

Soon enough, students started to film you and post the videos online. You didn’t know what app or what social media platform that was being used, seeing as you had no social media accounts of your own, but you were assured that no one was making fun of you. In fact, it was quite the opposite. People from all over started submitting questions to see if they could best you.

Losing this game was a very rare occurrence, so much so that you hung up a bell in your lecture hall and let the student who posed a question ring it when you couldn’t come up with an answer. If your class got to ring the bell ten times, you’d take the class out for drinks. The bell was hardly ever rung, though, until one day, you picked on a girl who asked one simple question.

“Can you name a Harry Styles song?”

You’d blinked, not at all expecting that question. Popular culture questions came up every now and then, but students mostly asked you about stuff relating to math or history or science, wanting to know just how deep your well of knowledge was. But this question left your mind utterly blank, something that was almost as rare as not getting a question right.

“I—I don’t know who that is,” you said, unable to come up with an answer.

The whole classroom cheered, the first win of the term, and you sent everyone home or off to their next class with the promise to the young woman that you would make sure to give her extra credit on her next assignment.

According to your students, you became known online as the professor who, "knew everything except who the most popular man on the planet was." That didn't really bother you, though, and when you were asked about it, you merely said, "I don't know everything, actually. Sometimes I wish I did, but I don't." That was the end of that, and celebrities were soon left behind.

Then the pandemic happened.

You still had to teach, but even you noticed that online learning in the middle of a global pandemic was less than fun. You tried your best to keep your students engaged, still agreeing to your question and answer game, and ringing a bell for them whenever they got it right.

That’s when students convinced you to get social media. Before lockdown, all you had was your school email address and an old Facebook profile you rarely used, but one of your students claimed that a portion of the Internet liked learning from you, and that after your answer about Harry Styles, your “fanbase,” the student called it, only doubled.

You told your students you’d think about it, but ultimately decided that you weren’t going to. While you appreciated all the benefits of technology, it wasn't really for you. But one day you came across an article about how students of all ages felt like they weren’t actually learning while in quarantine, and you couldn’t shake the feeling you should do something about it, that you could do something about it. So you looked up all the proper equipment, ordered it online, and suddenly you were posting videos of yourself teaching multiple subjects on YouTube, enlisting the help of one of your former students to do the editing and the posting, not really sure what would be interesting or “cool” for viewers.

A following started to build as lockdown continued, and you came to love uploading your videos, if only because it made you happy that you could help more people learn. You were someone who constantly needed an activity to occupy your mind, and filming was a perfect addition to your stay-at-home schedule. You'd mastered entry-level coding, complex cross-stitching, and played multiple games of chess against your cat (who was an excellent opponent). Filming online educational videos seemed like the perfect pastime.

It wasn’t really about popularity or views or notoriety for you, you just wanted to teach, but apparently you had gained almost two million subscribers since your first video. When the world started to open up again and you were allowed back into the classroom with a mask mandate and a hybrid schedule of online and in-person classes, you thought about ending the videos, but the student who edited them for you—who you began to pay once you realized it was something of a full time job for them—convinced you to keep filming. “You could even record some of your lectures and post those,” they’d said, so you kept uploading.

Life had somewhat returned to normal, though now on top of teaching in your lecture hall, you were also still teaching online and filming videos about math and science and any other subjects you could think of. It was a lot of work. At least, it was a lot of work for the average person. But you drank coffee like it was water and had a minor case of insomnia, so there were more than enough hours in the day to get everything done.

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Free time wasn’t something you knew very well, but you always made time for rare first editions.

You had an acquaintance at an old bookstore close to Cambridge’s campus, and they emailed you saying they were being lent Shakespeare’s first folio and wanted to know if you wanted to see it before they had to put it in the glass display case for the other bookstore guests. You immediately jumped on the chance, buzzing with excitement during all of your lectures on the day you were meant to go.

You got to the bookstore early, so early that the shopkeeper told you it hadn’t arrived yet. So you browsed the shelves until you were called to the back, trying to find something that caught your eye. And you did, it just wasn’t on a bookshelf.

“‘The dawn is my Assyria; the sunset and moonrise my paphos, and unimaginable realms of faerie; broad noon shall be my England of the senses and the understanding; the night shall be my Germany of mystic philosophy and dreams.’”

The man holding the book of poems looked to where you were standing, a perplexed look on his face. “That’s—”

“Nature by Emerson. Chapter three,” you supplied, unable to help yourself. You never tried to come off as arrogant for knowing as much as you did. Knowledge just excited you so much that sometimes it came pouring out of you.

Sometimes people didn’t like being shown up. As a child, your teachers and classmates would find your intelligence and penchant for reciting material that should’ve been much too advanced for your age annoying. But this man didn’t seem to mind, though it was hard to tell with the mask covering half his face.

He flipped through the book before landing on a random page. “Chapter seven, page seventy-three. The line that comes after, ‘to pure spirit, it is fluid, it is volatile, it is obedient.’”

Grinning, you spoke without missing a beat. “‘Every spirit builds itself a house, and beyond its house, a world, and beyond its world a heaven. Know then, that the world exists for you, build, therefore, your own world.’”

His eyes crinkled, and you took that to mean he was smiling, which made something unfamiliar flutter in your stomach. He had nice eyes, you thought. A pretty shade of jade green framed by thick eyelashes.

“Impressive,” he said. “Do you have a photographic memory or something?”

“Or something,” you replied. You had an eidetic memory, a sky high IQ, and a brain that constantly wanted more knowledge. Mix that with ambitious parents and you had three PhDs and four degrees with a fifth one on the way. It was easier not to go into it, though, so you kept your career to yourself.

While your mind was stellar, your communication skills outside of the classroom were not. And once you realized you didn’t have anything else to contribute, you slowly backed away. “Well, happy reading.”

“Hold on,” the man said before you could get too far. “Do you have any recommendations? I’m trying to get back into reading.”

Get back into reading? You would never know what that was like. There was never a moment where you didn’t have at least one book on your person. Biographies, novels, essay collections, it didn’t matter. Reading was your first and only love. Well, except for your cat. Reading was your first and only inanimate love.

“Y/n, it’s here!” the shopkeeper called.

The man looked at you curiously, and you were stuck between leaving him behind and getting a book for him. That could take forever, though! You didn’t know what this person liked or what he was looking for. He had Emerson in his hands, but that didn’t really help you understand his taste. A classic? No, that would be too obvious. Maybe a play? It was a good option, and it would certainly be quicker than a novel.

Your mind sifted through titles and authors and genres, trying to find one that stuck out. It snagged on a title, and you were suddenly saying, “Uh…Wait here.”

Moving through the stacks, you went to the shelf you’d visited a month ago when you happened upon this book. You grabbed your copy and rushed back over to where the man was still waiting.

“I read this last month,” you said, handing the book over. It had all your notes and annotations in it, as you were the only person at this bookstore that got to rent books.

You came so frequently that the shopkeeper made a deal with you—a flat rate once a month for as many books as you wanted. Since your library at home was already quite extensive, you took him up on it, and you’d been renting ever since. Sometimes if you really liked a book, you’d purchase it, but most times you returned it, more often than not with your notes in the margins.

“On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous,” the man said, reading the title off the cover. “Alright, I’ll check it out.”

You didn’t wait around to see if he actually would. With a small wave, you were off, ready to get your hands—gloved, obviously—on a precious artifact.

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A few weeks later and you were running late to your lecture. In your short teaching career, you’d never been late before. You were almost always early, occasionally on time, but never late. But just as you were leaving, you received a phone call from the police department.

Since you had a doctorate in forensic and criminal psychology and a degree in behavioral psychology, you often offered assistance on certain cases. Nothing like what might be seen on television, but you did read through case files and pinpoint things that were inconsistent or odd, looked at letters and notes to break down linguistics in the hopes that it would give something away, and looked at crime scene photos and provided any kind of knowledge that was stored inside your brain. You didn’t have a badge, and you didn’t go out into the field, but you did what you could. Another thing to keep you busy.

You were asked to look at another case file, which gave you an idea. Honestly, you were shocked you’d never thought of it before.

“This week we’re solving a murder.”

Everyone in your classroom had been chatting quietly, some playfully teasing you for being late to your lecture, until then. Some eyes were wide like they’d just been told you were giving the final today, others looked eager to apply what they’d learned.

You passed out the copies of the old case you got permission from the police department to use, explaining the rules as everyone got a packet. “Starting today, everyone will be getting into groups of three. You will attempt to solve a case from the seventies, using evidence from the case as it was collected. Everything you need is in the file, but I’ve labeled them to designate which day you should open each file. If you pay close attention, you should be able to solve this case quicker than the police did back then. Please do not skip ahead or look up this case online, this assignment is not being graded as such, but it will be an assessment of how much you’ve learned so far and what areas I need to go over more. I will expect a report from your group by the end of the week that details your findings, your process for solving the case, and of course, who did it and why you think so. Sound good?”

“Will you be taking part in the assignment?” one of your students asked.

You considered his question. “I hadn’t thought about it, but sure. I’m ending class early today because I really want you to use this time to focus on the assignment. You can use the classroom if you’d like, but if you are leaving, please let me know your groups beforehand. Have a good day, y’all.”

Nearly everyone left after that, but some groups stayed to work in the lecture hall or ask questions. Once everyone was taken care of, you left the room while flipping through your own case file, but it wasn’t the one you assigned to your class. Your eyes quickly scanned the new file given to you by the lead detective on the case, turning page after page as you looked at preliminary findings, autopsy reports, and possible suspects. Reading at a rapid pace was both a gift and an asset to you, it was what got you so many degrees and such a full library at home.

Unfortunately, sometimes your reading consumed you, and as you were walking and turning to the next page, you bumped into someone.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” you said, trying to catch your papers before they could fly away. Not only were they important, but they weren’t supposed to be read by the general public.

So focused on trying to put your file back together, you didn’t even notice who you bumped into, or that they had crouched down next to you to help. But then a hand rested on your arm and you froze. “It’s alright. I wasn’t looking either, to be fair.”

Your ears perked. Your excellent memory stemmed mostly from sight, but you remembered sound quite well too. You knew that voice.

Looking up, you saw the man from the bookstore. His face was covered up again, but his eyes were now covered by a pair of large black sunglasses as well, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head, but not enough to cover a small tuft of hair that was clipped together. He didn’t seem to show any signs of remembering you, though, so you didn’t mention your previous encounter.

The man tried to offer you a hand to help you up, but you didn’t take it, for no other reason than restricting the spread of germs. You were always conscious of viral infections and catching things from strangers, but the pandemic made you more paranoid, and now you had a hard time just shaking hands with people.

“Woah,” he said, looking over one of the papers he helped you retrieve before handing it back to you. “This sounds serious.”

“It is,” you said matter of factly.

Some people didn’t like your bluntness, but he seemed to take it in stride. “Are you a detective or something?”

“...Or something.”

He took off his sunglasses to look you in the eye. “Or something,” he repeated. “You’re just full of mysteries, aren’t you?”

So he did remember you. “Not really. I just consult for the police department from time to time.”

“This is labeled as a series of murders. Possibly serial,” he said, perplexed by your casual tone.

“It probably is, that’s why I’m consulting,” you said. “But you’re not really supposed to see that, so if I could just get those back, please.”

You reached your hand out for the papers, but he held them just out of reach. “Hold on, now I’m really curious. Where are you headed?”

“Home. Why?”

“I want to know more about what you do. I promise I won’t look at these,” he said, waving the remaining papers in his hand. “And I want to discuss the book you recommended.”

“You read it?” you asked, completely forgetting about part of the case file that was being held hostage.

“Of course. Maybe we could get coffee somewhere? I understand if you don’t want to invite me into your home.”

“It would probably be safer,” you agreed.

His eyes were crinkling, which made you think he was smiling behind his mask. “Because I could be a suspect?”

“What? No, I know it’s not you.”

“I know I shouldn’t be offended, but you wrote me off so quickly,” he joked, but you could tell he wasn’t actually hurt. If he was, it definitely would’ve been a red flag.

You shrugged, reaching your hand out. “You don’t fit the profile.”

“Ah. Right,” he agreed, though you were pretty sure he had no idea what you were talking about. “So, what do you say? Coffee?”

“Well…” You really needed to get home and work on this case. You already had some thoughts about it that would be helpful, and you didn’t want to chance losing parts of the file like you’d nearly just done now. “This is kind of time sensitive.”

“I understand,” the man said, and did you detect a slight twinge of disappointment in his voice? “Can I at least walk you back to your place and we can talk as we go? I promise I’m not a stalker or a murderer or anything. I just really liked the book and need someone to discuss it with.”

Even if he was a stalker or a serial killer, which you didn’t think he was, you had a black belt in two forms of martial arts, so you’d be more than capable of getting away, or at least doing some damage, but you didn’t tell him that. “Sure. I guess that’s okay.”

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You ended up inviting him into your home. Both of you had so much to say about the book you read, and by the time you made it to your front door, you were only halfway through your recommendation list, so you asked if he wanted to come inside so you could write them all down. He took you up on the offer, holding the door open for you after you unlocked it. He kept his mask on, and didn’t question you when you asked him to wash his hands and slide surgical booties over his shoes. Though things were slowly, very slowly, going back to normal in Cambridge, the virus was still spreading, and you weren’t taking any chances.

“Sorry about the mess, I was in a bit of a rush this morning.”

“I’m not sure you would classify this as ‘mess,’” he replied, his green eyes wide as he took in the main room of your townhouse. There were books everywhere—on large bookshelves, stacked on top of each other next to the bookshelves, on your antique coffee table, and underneath lampstands. The shopkeeper’s deal to rent his books really came in handy, you were running out of space to put them.

While he browsed your bookshelf, you cleaned up your kitchen, putting aways the stray cup and plate you had to leave on your kitchen table this morning to rush to the police station. It wasn’t like you to leave dishes out like that, but you didn’t have the time to clean up after yourself. Now that everything was put away, you could rest a bit easier.

Once everything was cleaned up, you pulled your laptop out of your backpack and began drafting an email. When you invited him inside, you told him that you had to send it before you sat down to discuss anything else. Lives were literally at stake, that had to come first even when a cute stranger wanted to pick apart your brain about your favorite books.

Cute? Was he cute? You’d only seen the top half of his face, but your stomach fluttered more intensely anytime his eyes crinkled at something you said on the walk to your house, and he seemed to have a nice physique beneath his baggy sweatshirt. Objectively speaking, he was attractive, but looks were never something that attracted you to someone. You liked relationships of the mind. Someone who at least tried to be interested in the things that you were. It didn’t happen often, but this stranger seemed to hang on your every word, and that made your heart beat faster more than anything else.

Shaking your head, you focused on the email you had to send. Once it was drafted, edited, and looked over twice, you sent it, hoping that you’d done your part to better society.

The stranger looked your way when you joined him in the main room. His hands were behind his back and his shoulders slightly hunched as he inspected a shelf that was somewhat shorter than him.

“You have a pretty diverse collection,” he said.

“Thank you. I like to hunt for rare first editions and signed copies when I can,” you said, joining him by one of your bookshelves. “You can take one off the shelf if you’d like.”

Never had anyone been so interested in your collection before, and it made you want to share with him even more. Not once had he judged you for having so many books or for your tastes or what was clearly an obsession. He just wanted to know more, and you could never turn down an opportunity to share knowledge.

“Not a lot of poetry,” he said absentmindedly, his eyes still scanning the shelves.

“It’s not my favorite. Why? Do you like poetry?”

He shrugged. “As much as the next person, I suppose.”

Before you could reply or show him your beloved American classics, your cat softly padded across the floor and twirled himself around the stranger’s legs.

“And who might you be?” he asked, eyes wide, but not repulsed. It occurred to you then that you probably should’ve warned him about your cat in case he had allergies, but by the way he reached down to pet him, you didn’t think there were any sprouting problems.

“That’s the Emperor,” you said, picking up your cat.

“The Emperor? Like in Star Wars?”

“No, his full name is Emperor Trajan, my favorite of the Roman Emperors. But I usually just call him the Emperor so that people can associate him with whomever they want.”

He tilted his head at you. “You have a favorite Roman Emperor?”

“Mmhm. I went through a Roman antiquity phase last year.”

You were worried that you shared too much, revealed too much. Your students knew how much knowledge you had about almost everything, but there was a barrier between you and them. This person in front of you willingly came into your home to see your collection of books and to talk to you more, but what if you weren’t what he was expecting?

“Sorry, that probably sounded weird,” you blurted, hugging your cat a little tighter to your chest.

“Don’t be sorry. No one should have to apologize for their interests,” he said, and though your first thought was to not believe him, you felt he was being sincere.

“Well, I think the guy who murdered a bunch of people should apologize for his interests,” you said, referring to your case file. He blinked at you, and your eyes widened. “That was a joke!”

You were afraid that your dry sense of humor was going to be the thing to really send him packing. Perhaps it wasn’t funny to joke about those things, but you found it necessary sometimes in order to deal with reading and looking at some of the horrible crimes people committed.

And then he did the strangest thing. He laughed. You were so surprised, that you let out a small laugh of your own.

Reaching out, he scratched the Emperor behind his ears. “So, tell me more about this Emperor Trajan, and why he should be my favorite too.”

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notyour-valentine · 8 months

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Welcome to Downton, Mr Shelby 11 ~ Tommy Shelby x Crawley!OC (Series)

[Masterlist] [Taglist] [Series Masterlist]

Summary: Necessity and Retaliation

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption.I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Wordcount: 5400 words

Part 11

It was a peculiar thing, Charlotte thought, that someone whose eyes were so cold could have hands that seemed to burn with warmth whenever they touched her, whether that was the small of her back, her elbow or, even if just for a moment, her hand.

She could even feel the warmth seep in beneath her gloves.

How can some things that were meant to be so simple, be so complicated at the same time?

Could be made so complicated by people?

It shouldn’t make her so angry, but it did. One could only be frustrated for so long, and even her patience, the patience of a well-brought-up Yorkshirewoman, only went for only so far.

“Charlotte?”

Her head snapped up and she turned, facing Mary, who was standing in front her bed, still presiding over different hat choices to go with her new overcoat.

“Sorry.”, she said, clearing her throat. “What were you saying?”

Slowly, Mary put the hat, a dark green one, down.

“Nevermind that. What were you thinking?”, she asked, tilting her head the way only Mary tilted her head, smelling a secret.

Charlotte huffed and shook her head, but Mary’s eyes grew ever more piercing. “It’s nothing.”, she tried, but Mary wouldn’t have it.

“You must tell me now!”, she insisted, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

With a sigh, Charlotte turned to the window. If it was Sybil, it would be easier for her, but she could never put things like these in writing. The proper words always seemed to escape her, and those she could grasp were never quite precise enough to convey what she wished.

“Someone’s caught your eye.”, Mary said, surprised and intrigued at the same time.

No, she thought. No, no, none of that.

“Who’s there for my eye to catch?”, she asked with a scoff. “You said yourself, the gentlemen this season were few and far between.”

Mary, who always loved being right so very much, smirked so clearly, Charlotte saw it in the mirror.

“What then?”

Charlotte wrung her hands as she battled for words.

Finally she broke, turning away from the window and sitting down on her vanity’s chair to face her sister.

“Just how do you get someone to like you, Mary?”, she wanted to know.

Her sister gasped and then she lifted her head, Mary the sister and Mary the enchantress of Downton merging into one.

“So there is someone you like! Who is he?”, she demanded to know.

“He is a she and I don’t like her, I just have to be cooperative with her while she proves to be most…irritating.”

“Oh.”, Mary said, looking rather disappointed.

“The situation is rather complicated and I don’t know how to approach it.”

“How could you? You have been allergic to any kind of conflict since you were born.”, Mary said, almost rolling her eyes in her dismissal. In the absence of a gentleman caller this matter had lost most of the interest it held.

“Well I am up to my neck in it now and I would very much like to get out again. It’s becoming rather problematic.”

Mary’s expecting look urged her on.

“You know the work I do, building that foundation up.”

“Yes, with May’s Mr. Shelby.”

The fact that Mary always called him May’s Mr. Shelby didn’t sit with her all too well, but she nodded all the same. “It’s going quite well. We’ve picked up a few causes to support and are starting one of our own - a hospital, and we have a meeting with the Birmingham General Hospital next week about-”, when she saw Mary’s face, she decided to cut it short. “Anyways, it’s going very well, but…his secretary is not exactly fond of me.”

“His secretary?”, Mary asked. “What on earth does his secretary have to do with your charity work?”

“We do have meetings in his office, you know. But the main problem is that she is very close to his family, apparently they have known each other since forever, and well,” Charlotte shuddered slightly. “She has a habit of not exactly speaking kindly of me, and I fear it may complicate matters in the long run.”

Mary didn’t look convinced.

“If I want this family foundation to succeed, which I very much do, I have to have the support of the family, or at least their trust. But she already has their trust and support, and if she dislikes me so…” She had been polite as much as she could, had said her good morning’s and her good nights, had waited while Miss Stark had been too busy to notice her, had never even asked her for tea or coffee or water so as not to bother her. When trying not to be a bother didn’t work, she had tried flattery, but complimenting her on her dress had gone so poorly, she had decided never to do that again. Mr. Shelby could tell her not to mind it all he wanted to -Charlotte did mind. In fact, she minded a lot and it was only getting worse.

“I want this to work but I’m not sure I can make it work with her against me”, Charlotte said with a resigned sigh.

“She must be jealous.”, Mary said curtly. “She can’t help but feel threatened by you. Anyone with half a brain would know that someone like us would ever even consider becoming a secretary, so it has to be jealousy.”

Charlotte huffed. “Of what?”

Mary put a hand on her arm. “It’s simple. People always get jealous because of things they cannot have and one thing they can never have is your birth. You are a Lady, Charlotte, something people like her know full well they can never achieve. One cannot change their birth.”

“I don’t think anyone is really jealous of that nowadays.”, she said softly.

“I would be!”, Mary said, sounding outraged at her suggestion of the contrary.

“You sound like Granny.”, Charlotte sighed.

“Then Granny is right.”

She put her hand on her arm. “Don’t let her bother her. And remember - you were born and will always be a Lady while she is a grubby little secretary.”

“I don’t think that really matters.”, she argued.

“It matters a great deal!”, Mary argued.

“Not to them.”

Not unless it is talking to little girls about castles and knights.

“Then they are delusional.”, Mary said, getting up from the bed and continuing on with her assessment of her hats and which gloves to wear with them.

Charlotte shifted on the bed, watching her elder sister.

Mary had always been so proud, so steadfast and noble - a true lady from the time she was born. A constant example to her and Sybil, someone to orient herself to when she was unsure in her behaviour.

But something changed as she watched Mary. She would make a fine great lady one day, but did the world really still need great ladies, the way they used to be before the war?

Perhaps Sybil is right, she thought, we are living in the past.

At least compared to the Shelbys and Miss Stark.

Tommy’s feet were taking one step after the other, smaller strides, so she could keep up, but his mind was racing, racing ever and ever faster.

There was a fondness for her that he couldn’t deny, and an appreciation for how she had more than exceeded his expectations in regards to the charity, something that had begun as a mere coverup for bringing her into his proximity, but was now taking shape. Still, he refused to allow his fondness for her to overshadow the realisation of her usefulness. That was the reason behind all this. Her usefulness.

He liked her and she did good work but she was also useful.

It was like a wave crashing against a rock on a stormy winter night- again and again it came in contact. She could be useful. She could be useful. She could be useful.

But again and again, the rock stood, one of doubt and guilt. Stone that considered her too young, too innocent, too blind for the reality of the world.

It made him resent her, no not her but her kind, for living lives in such privilege that they could go about their lives untouched by grief and pain and tragedy to the point where they could hardly recognise it, even if she attempted it.

Then again, her blindness to the harsh reality did not erase it from the world, nor diminish the consequences his family would face if he failed.

She was nice enough, Tommy thought, too nice even for him to continue without the sting of doubt, but she wasn’t family. She wasn’t Arthur and John in jail, Michael being ripped from Polly’s arms again, John’s children left parentless nor Finn taken away to adult prisons.

That was the consequences he was facing, the threats Campbell hung over him like a guillotine.

But when Campbell had decided to pull rank, getting under his skin again during their latest meeting he had to retaliate. He just had to, even if to show him that he wasn’t as defenceless against his insults and attacks as he thought him to be. Campbell showed him the blade, so he would show him the rifle.

Which was why he took her here. “If you’re in Birmingham, I thought you might want to see a bit of it, eh?”, he asked, as they walked up the white stairs towards the museum.

It was one of the few in Birmingham, with white stone steps and pillars, walls painted in pastel colours to help the paintings and sculptures shine. He had no taste nor mind for art. But he hadn’t brought her here for himself.

“I suppose so.”, she admitted. She looked so sweet again, in a white lace blouse, with a pale blue skirt and a matching open coat. Of course, her hat matched. It always matched.

She looked like she had stepped right out of a Brighton postcard, from head to toe. But he couldn’t let that deter him.

Tommy made sure of it to keep his hand on her from time to time, light touches to guide her, sometimes on the small of her back, on her elbow, on her arm. He even considered getting her to take his arm, but that might be taking it a little far. He knew girls like her, those posh girls in their palaces, were kept like expensive wares, protected from anything and anyone until they were ready to be packaged and shipped off to their husbands. Only now, after the war, did things begin to change for her folk. But the old rules still stood, at least for her, sweet thing.

It wasn’t difficult to tell.

She even went to a separate room once to take her hat off so as not to be improper.

Would be against the rules to undress in front of a man, even if it was just taking off her hat.

It was laughable, really, her trying to stick to the rules so as not to upset her dear darling Papa, even if he was miles away. But beyond all the ridiculous folly was a core he could appreciate, even with an amused smile. If Ada had only been half as demure, he would’ve been spared a good dozen headaches.

He walked her through the exhibit and watched her take in the pictures and sculptures, things he hadn’t really paid attention to before, and now he was watching her look at them.

Getting almost lost in her appreciation of the art, whispers of technique and light, he was almost surprised to see the man standing in the corner.

But just almost.

After all, he had called the meeting.

Tommy smirked over Charlotte’s shoulder at the man who was glaring at them with his small piglet eyes, his hand clutching the wolf head cane.

His hand found the small of her back again, asking her opinion about one of the paintings on the other side of the room, only so he could walk her over to it, knowing he was watching.

Let's give him something to watch.

As they stood in front of it, he made sure to keep his hand there, standing closely behind her, feeling the warmth that radiated from her body.

“I don’t know. I liked the other one better.”, she admitted, arching her neck to look back at him. He hummed, wanting to stretch this out a little more, letting his hand linger even though they were standing. “I like the lighting. The other one was too dark.”, he said.

It wasn’t even half a lie, but it didn’t matter what he thought of the painting. The only thing that mattered was what their audience thought and Tommy had intended to give that audience quite a show. “I agree.", Charlotte said. "Some paintings can make a room seem so very glum."

With a side glance, he could see Campbell pacing around, the cain disrupting the calming silence of the museum. It made the itch burn even stronger.

“I’ll be right back.”, he whispered into her ear, clasping both shoulders with both hands.

She looked up at him surprised. Even when he turned, he kept one hand on her back.

“Alright?”, she asked uncertainly.

“Yeah, I need to say hello to someone, but I’ll be right back.”, he promised, leaning a little closer than he normally would have.

“Shan’t I come with you?”, she asked, but Tommy shook his head, making sure to smile at her. “No, no, go ahead into the next room and I’ll catch up.”

“If you say so.”, she said. He could see she was getting unsure again, and he hated that, but at the same time, he needed her to go now.

Tommy watched until she had walked through the columns. But by then he didn’t need to turn.

Campbell had already come closer, given away by the agitating clanking of his cane.

“You seen her?”, Tommy wanted to know, unable to hide the glee in his eyes. “Do you know who she is?”

“Why should I care about your whores?”, he sneered.

Tommy scoffed and clicked his tongue as if he was scolding a child. “She’s not one of my whores, Mr. Campbell.”, he said.

A snarl went through the man beside him more likened to the head of his cane than the body of a police officer.

“Do you really not know who she is?”, he repeated.

“No.”, Campbell forced out through clenched teeth.

“Then you need to read more society pages.”, Tommy said, burying his hands in his pockets. “Cause that girl I came in with, that girl I will leave with, is Lady Charlotte Crawley.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see his jaw tense.

“See, her father is the Earl of Grantham, a Lord Lieutenant. Her maternal uncle is one of the richest men in New York. And she counts among her godparents not only the Duchess of Marlborough but also the Marquess of Flintshire."

He let that sink in for a moment, as Campbell's face turned to stone.

“Yep.”, Tommy said, revelling in the tense, harsh silence, as Campbell’s knuckles turned white. "Consuelo Vanderbilt Spencer-Churchill and The Marquess of Flintshire, one of his Majesty's most trusted officials."

The Irishman's jaw twitched beside him. “You’ve seen her. She’s a sweet thing. Very gentle, very forthcoming.” He turned to Campbell, unable to hide his smirk. “Always willing to help and desperately eager to please. And her family is so fond of her.”

“Have you no shame?”, Campbell snarled like a dog testing his leash.

“No, not much.”, Tommy admitted. It felt good to see him this agitated. “So you see, Mr. Campbell, when you go running back to the home secretary, just remember who I can reach - where I can reach - with one phone call by a very dear and very close friend.”

Campbell growled, but Tommy had already begun to walk away.

But with every step, his glee faded, replaced by an icy cold feeling in his stomach. It was like a bottomless pit that grew ever deeper.

I shouldn't have brought her here.

Using her to help him with the foundation was one thing, hell, even using that foundation to funnel money wasn't too bad.

Despite this having been his intention all along, an uneasiness spread inside Tommy. This was a mess he himself didn’t know how to get out of, and now he had brought her right into it.

The satisfaction he felt at Campbell's white rage turned to burning nagging guilt.

It only got worse when they returned to the office and she presented him with her new idea, the one she had yet had to investigate when last they met.

She looked so excited as she retold the story of how her sister helped one of the housemaids get a job, of how she herself stood guard at the entrance of the library during her interview, and now that housemaid was helping run an educational centre for the underprivileged- a in her mind marvellous institute.

Her plans were good, even though a little clumsy at times, but they came from an honest, truthful place, which made the taste in his mouth grow even more bitter as he thought back on the interaction with Campbell. He had wanted to knock him down a peg and it had worked, but the price to pay was hers.

She had a reputation to lose, a good name and prospects. That was why one was a debutante, wasn’t it? To find a good match and marry… and if any word got out there would be hell to pay. For her.

He couldn't play innocent; for the very same reasons he had decided to break things off with May. Their situation was similar- a good girl from a good family with a reputation to lose.

And May's reaction had only fermented his belief, but simultaneously had made him feel even more guilty.

Think your people are ruthless, try mine!

The look on her face had made his blood run cold. And May was an adult woman, with a position and security, a business, money, a name and even a dead husband who could protect her at least some way.

Charlotte had none of that security. Tommy knew he was playing with fire, and that if he slipped up, it would be her future that burned, ignited by the mistakes of his past.

He was well aware of the damage he could cause, to her and her reputation. Every single fibre of his being told him that he should drop it, drop her, while she still could get away with it.

But he couldn't. Not any longer. As soon as he had named her to Campbell, he had tied her fate to his.

That is because you are a selfish bastard, Thomas Shelby, he told himself one night, with only a drink to nurse his thoughts.

If he were any less selfish, any more good, he would back off. He would let her go back to her castle, back to her Earl father and her arrogant Lady sister. There she could continue to ride side saddle and go upstairs to take her hat off, wear silk gloves to dinner and one day she would make some other Lordling a pretty wife, taking her rightful place as the Queen of a County somewhere, presiding over high teas and garden fairs.

But he was selfish, and greedy too.

There was no way he could let her go, not when she was such an advantage to him, security for his family. Not since she had infiltrated his mind day and night.

He found himself thinking of her even when he was doing something entirely unrelated to her, obsessing over the consequences of his deed, but even when there was no relation.

When he was talking to Ada and she reacted in her typical Ada way, his mind would remind him that Charlotte would have reacted in a different way. When Lizzie, after being made aware of something, answered with an “Oh” he noticed that she pronounced it differently. He saw Polly’s new hat and the colour reminded him of the coat she had worn last week, saw a horse at Uncle Charlie’s gallops and realised he was imagining her atop of it. He was thinking about the sound of her voice, the melody of her words, the way her hands always betrayed her when her face never did. He was thinking about her dark eyes, and the hint of red in her auburn hair when the sun hit it just right, was wondering if she would enjoy a certain sweet or food, was reminded of her scent when he passed a woman on the street that happened to wear the very same. Like a disease, she had wormed her way into his daily routine, morning, noon and night. Especially at night. He wondered what her bedroom would look like - large and lavish like that of a Princess or rather simple. What pictures would she have on her bedside table? Her sisters, surely, and her parents- especially her darling Papa. Each night, he was painting a picture, wondering what she was doing, what she had been doing before going to bed. Then he began to wonder what kind of nightgown she might wear - matching with a robe and slippers of course, he thought with a shy smile. She would probably brush her hair out before going to bed - would it fall past her shoulder blades or almost to her waist? How would it look once it was released from the updos. He thought about how the curls would look once brushed out, how they would feel. Maybe she braided her hair before going to sleep but maybe she would leave them open.

All these questions he couldn’t find the answers to.

When waking up in the morning, he felt almost ashamed - as if he had been prying into a part of her life that he had no business invading, but every night he went through these questions again. After all, if it was her he was thinking about before he himself drifted off to sleep, he didn’t dream of France.

That realisation didn’t exactly help him make up his mind to get rid of her.

"Matthew Crawley?", A thick, Irish voice called.

It made him turn to find an old man with grey hair and a white moustache standing behind him. He was wearing a long black coat, his hand resting on a black cane with a silver wolf's head. Dark eyes peaked up at him from under a black hat, making him look almost like something out of a caricature.

"Yes.", He said, turning fully to face him head on. "I am sorry, do we know each other?"

"No.", Came the curt response. "I am Major Campbell.", He introduced himself, offering him his hand.

Matthew took it. .

It wasn't unusual for a lawyer to be approached by a police officer, but it was rarer for someone in corporate law, and especially uncommon for that to happen in the middle of the street.

"How can I help you?", He wanted to know.

"It's not about how you can help me, but how I can help you."

The man had a thick Irish accent, and a voice as soft as sandpaper. At once, Matthew felt a sense of uneasiness creep over him, like a fog over an early morning lake.

"Help me how?"

The police officer nodded towards a pub a little further down the street.

"Let's go somewhere more quiet,'' he offered.

Although the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, he decided to follow him.

Seeing the cane, Matthew didn't expect him to be a fast walker, but he didn't expect a walk like this. Every step seemed strained and filled with rage, as he practically slammed his cane down each time, making more noise with each step than Bates did in a week.

It was as if bile filled him with every contact his cane made with the floor, causing his already angry face to seem even angrier.

"Will you be so good as to enlighten me now?", Matthew asked, once they were seated in the corner of the room.

With all the time in the world, Campbell reached into his pocket, and pulled out a photograph, sliding it over to him, accompanied by an animalistic rumble in his chest, like the growl of a hungry dog.

What a delightful chap.

"Are you familiar with this man?", He wanted to know.

It showed a young man in uniform, the standard soldier's portrait before they went off, not unlike the one he himself had taken. He had dark hair and pale eyes and was looking off into the distance, his hands, like all other soldiers, placed behind his back.

Matthew raked his brain. The fact that he seemed to have forgotten one of his soldiers made his stomach turn. He had been their Captain. He should know his men!

That shame made his face burn.

But it was no good. HE was an honest man and would have to bear the shame if he forgot one of his men’s faces.

"I am afraid, I can't recall him, Sir.", He admitted, clearing his tightened throat, while staring at the man's face. It was a memorable face- a sharp jaw and prominent cheekbones with full lips and these piercing pale eyes.

It didn't seem like a face one would forget.

"That is Thomas Shelby."

The name didn't ring a bell, but he noticed how the other man spat the name out like a curse.

"Was he with me, in France, I mean?", Matthew wanted to know.

"I doubt it, Mr. Crawley.", He said. "Shelby was a tunneler with the 179th."

Matthew's mouth went dry.

Of all the horrid horrid things to do in France, that was the worst. Rarely a week passed where there were no accidents below, no collapsing tunnels, no men buried under layers and layers of dirt, losing their life in the darkness removed from any trace of air and light. Especially at the Somme, they had made a difference, but especially there, many lost their lives.

But at least that explained as to why he did not know him. He had no tunellers under his command. Matthew felt almost ashamed by the relief he felt.

"Then might I ask what I have to do with this man?", Matthew asked. If he had never met him, he didn't know why he was being questioned.

"Are you not the heir to the Earl of Grantham?"

Robert.

His head snapped up. Perhaps this was about Bates.

"I am, yes.", He said.

"And you live with them in their home?", The man said, continuing his interrogation.

"I live close by, in the village, but I don't understand why-"

"Are you fond of them? Of Lord Grantham and his family?"

Matthew stumbled for words, shocked at the brashness of the man.

"Are you?", He demanded to know.

"They are my family!", Matthew insisted.

He tried to keep his cool, but at the same time the man was getting under his skin with that tone and that brashness. And his talk of his family.

"So you care for their well-being?", Campbell asked.

Matthew felt his back straighten as his jaw clenched. Was he threatening him? Was he threatening them?

"They are all very dear to me.", He spat.

The older man hummed and nodded.

"Then I would listen very carefully if I was you.", He said.

One thick leather gloved finger tapped the photograph.

"This man is a criminal of the worst kind.", He told him without gracing the picture with a glance, as every word that passed his lips was dripping with venom.

"He is the head of a Birmingham criminal organisation that calls themselves the Peaky Blinders."

That sounds like something off of a novel., he thought.

"Why are you telling me this?", Matthew asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

And what does it have to do with my cousins?

"Shelby lives under the pretence of legality now, hiding behind the disguise of an honourable businessman but make no mistake, his hands are stained with blood of hundreds. He runs illegal betting shops, gambling dens and brothels."

Matthew shifted in his seat. This was not a conversation he expected to have ever in his life. He had studied law, but criminal law was always something he had tried to avoid. Fellow students might have reveled in the so-called excitement of it, but Matthew wanted no part of that in his life.

"Just a few months ago, his gang were responsible for the violent takeover of a nightclub in London, leaving four dead and nearly two dozen injured."

The Eden club, Matthew thought. He had read about it in the papers. It had been described as yet another, but a particularly violent instance between drunkards.

"He hides it and he hides it well.", Campbell sneered.

"What has that to do with me?"

The police officer shifted in his chair.

"I have fought against Shelby for years, I know how he acts, how he works, how he thinks."

The man spat the words as if they tasted bitter on his tongue, his cheek twitching slightly.

"He keeps his darkness well hidden. I doubt if you met him, you would even suspect a thing, especially now with him given access to society by a certain Mrs. May Carleton."

That name rang a bell. Mary's old rival. And wasn't there just a few weeks ago a weekend she had spent there?

Campbell leaned forward slightly.

"I come to you, because I carry fear in my heart for the safety of your cousin."

An icy hand gripped his heart and squeezed tighter.

"She wouldn't be involved with someone like that.", He said at once.

"I do not put a charge on her.", Campbell said in almost a soothing manner.

Matthew stared at him, trying to keep as calm as possible while the world inside him raged and burned.

"On the contrary.", The Irishman spoke. "He has been successful at fooling the people around him, especially women."

Matthew glanced at the picture.

Objectively, he was handsome, which never hurt in that department, but still, he didn't seem Mary's type. Especially with Sir Richard.

"He lures his victims in and they only realise the danger they are in when it is too late."

"Danger?", Matthew asked. And the fact that he called them his victims made his stomach turn as ice ran through his veins.

Campbell nodded, his hand closing into a first above the picture as if he wanted to strangle the man.

"He is not afraid of using those around him in his criminal operations, often without their knowing. Even operatives, female operatives, of ours were lured into several situations which saw them in fear of their honour, virtue and even their lives while being forced to witness unspeakable atrocities, leaving them emotionally scarred for life. One time he lured an operative into a business arrangement with a rival gangster, offering her to him as a prostitute without her knowledge. It was only by her own wit that she managed to escape his most unwanted advances.”

Matthew flinched at the last word, sending a shudder through him.

He glanced at the photograph once more. It looked just like any other man, like any soldier. He did not look evil, but then again, it would be a much better world, if one could tell at a glance.

"Make no mistake,", Campbell reminded him, "this man is the devil. He is incapable of compassion and care, keen only to use those people around him for his own benefit until he casts them aside, gets them hurt or worse."

Matthew's mouth had run completely dry.

But Campbell exhaled and seemed to relax somewhat.

"I am telling you this gentleman to gentleman,", he assured him, "so you can ensure that no harm comes to your cousin by Shelby's hand."

Matthew nodded, mumbling a quiet thank you.

"I would blame myself if like so many before her, Lady Charlotte would become yet another one of his victims"

Thank you for reading - I'd love to hear your thoughts

Taglist

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Tommy

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merlyn-bane · 4 months

Note

BABE!

re: foelu prompts

i would looovveeee to see some spice with cody, obi-wan, and rex sometime after kai 🥺 kind of waxer and boil-esque (you know that scene of the three of them when obi is pregnant lives rent-free in my head) or whatever you come up with <3 you know i am eating it up

just a uh. big fan of those three 🤭

Your wish is my command, beloved 😘😘

Be advised I have not beta’d this at All, lmao.

[Requests for Foelu missing scenes, future snippets, and extra vignettes are STILL OPEN. Please submit any requests you might have to my ask box. They will all eventually be cross posted on AO3 as well 🥰🥰]

~~~

Date nights often include everybody—in the interest of fairness and because Obi-Wan does very much enjoy spending time with all of his partners at once—but of course that isn’t always the case. Sometimes not everyone can make it, and sometimes it’s nice to go as a smaller group or even one-on-one; and of course they take turns enjoying Obi-Wans’ more focused attention.

Tonight was Rex and Cody’s turn. The three of them had decided to go out dancing—Rex had been a few times with Ahsoka and thought it might be a good way to get all of their minds off of their six-month-old and other responsibilities, and was correct—and Obi-Wan is enjoying a very pleasant buzz between the one glass of booze he’s had and the general atmosphere rubbing off on him in the Force, particularly from his partners.

He’s currently laughing against Rex’s mouth as the former troopers attempt to hustle him off of the dance floor and—presumably—to somewhere more private, not bothering to assist with the navigation in the slightest when he could concern himself with kissing instead. Besides, he trusts them to get them where they need to go. Unquestionably so.

He hears a door shut behind them at some point and finds himself in a dark room but really could not care less where, especially with Cody pressing up against his back now and starting to trail kisses along the side of his throat—hands already seeking the waistband of the civilian trousers he’d chosen to wear.

“This is gonna have to be quick,” Cody pants against his skin, the hot air making him shiver.

“And dirty, I presume,” Obi-Wan grins, and is summarily nipped in the earlobe by a former captain for his cheek. He lets out another breathy laugh and helps his partners to divest them all of their clothes—only the bottoms, unfortunately, as they are more or less still in public—and lets himself take a moment to mourn that the lighting is too low to really see them. The two of them are both quite fetching in their outfits for tonight; Rex in a rather tight pair of jeans and an even tighter black t-shirt with his blond hair starting to grow out of the buzzcut he’d kept in the war and Cody in a nice pair of slacks and a metallic gold halter top that made his shoulders look impossibly broader—and rocking his new mustache, which he insists that he’s only ‘trying’ but Obi-Wan suspects is here to stay if for no other reason than that most of his brothers hate it.

Obi-Wan knows the exact moment that Cody has found the plug that’s been nestled securely in Obi-Wan’s ass since his shower that evening, his posture going still as his fingers brush against the gem decorating the base of it when he goes to grab a handful of Obi-Wan’s ass.

“You alright, Codes?” Rex asks between stealing kisses, noticing the pause, and at first the only response is a strangled sound but then Cody is tugging Obi-Wan’s pants the rest of the way down and off with renewed vigor and nudging his legs further apart.

“Someone,” Cody growls, “apparently planned for this tonight.”

“Aren’t you the one always saying that it’s better to be over-prepared than under—“ Obi-Wan cuts off with an undignified yelp as Rex suddenly spins him around and pushes him up against Cody’s chest, fingers trailing down to check for themselves—

“Kriff,” Rex swears roughly. “Did you want one of us to fuck your ass tonight, sweetheart?”

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to swear, this time, as Rex starts toying with the plug. “Well, I had rather hoped to make use of both holes, seeing as there are two of you.”

“And how’s your pretty cunt, cyare?” Cody croons, reaching down to run fingers through the lips of his pussy and grinning when he moans and grabs onto Cody’s biceps for support under the dual assault. “Hmm, well, you’re definitely getting there,” he says, “but I think we can do better.”

Obi-Wan chokes on a gasp as two fingers abruptly slide in and immediately start pumping, aided by the slick that’s already started leaking out of him. Behind him, Rex keeps playing with the plug, always threatening to pull it free but never quite doing so as he starts licking and nipping across Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“Hey, didn’t Helix say Obi-Wan was going to have to pump and dump if he wanted to drink tonight?”

“Yeah?”

“I have a better idea.” Without further ado, Rex finally, mercifully releases the plug—only to take hold of both sides of Obi-Wan’s wrap top and pull them apart until his breasts spill out into the cool air.

Only for one of them to be suddenly engulfed in the searing we heat of Cody’s mouth before Obi-Wan fully has a chance to process what’s happening, one of Rex’s hands shifting up to cover his mouth to muffle the cries as Cody starts suckling, taking long pulls and moaning.

“Bet that pussy is nice and ready for him now, sweetheart,” Rex grins, as though they cannot both hear the squelching of Cody’s fingers fucking into him, “but I think we should let Cody have his fill first, don’t you?” Obi-Wan nods almost on autopilot, and Rex drags a kiss across his shoulder in reward. “There you go.”

It could be thirty seconds or thirty minutes later when Cody finally releases his other tit from his mouth with a wet pop, but then the former commander is stooping down to grab Obi-Wan around the thighs and lifting him up—

Ohhhhhh, Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the way it feels when his partners first slide into his cunt.

Cody mercifully gives him a few moments to adjust, licking across his bottom lip before letting himself in to explore his mouth—still tasting of Obi-Wan’s milk, fuck—but then Obi-Wan realizes that it’s all a ploy to distract him and Rex is carefully pulling the plug out, not playing this time, and Cody is guiding Obi-Wan to wrap his legs around his waist and Rex’s cock is at his hole—

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Rex murmurs, taking the tender skin of Obi-Wan’s throat into his mouth and sucking a bruise there, and he draws in a deep inhale from Cody’s lungs and then Rex is pushing in—

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Obi-Wan is not going to last.

They must exchange some sort of signal over Obi-Wan’s shoulder because both of them pick up an easy rhythm at the same time, in tandem rather than in sync, and it is all Obi-Wan can do just to hold on. Force, but he forgot how good it felt to be split open like this, mounted on two of his partners’ cocks at the same time.

They seem to agree, if the way both of them are panting harshly is any indication. He’s not sure what he and Cody are doing now could really be construed as kissing so much as breathing and moaning into each other’s mouths, but it lights his blood on fire just the same.

“So tight, Obi-Wan, fuck,” Rex hisses, bringing both hands up to rub and squeeze at Obi-Wan’s breath as though he needs more stimulation. He’s telling Obi-Wan, Force, he swears he can feel them in his fucking throat. Perhaps he should have used another finger when he was working himself open earlier, but he has no regrets.

Over and over and over both of them keep thrusting, one withdrawing just as the other pushes in so that Obi-Wan cannot even chase the rhythm, just has to let them hold him up and take it. Cody suddenly picks up the pace, then, like he’s getting close himself, and Rex follows, and it only takes minutes more until Obi-Wan gives it up with a silent scream that is echoed by shivery grunts as they both finish inside him.

#Foelu #Foelu snippets #Foelu snippet requests #Writing #my writing

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dolletro · 1 year

Text

Exhaustion

Hello DMC tumblr! This is my first ever post on tumblr!

My native language is not english, plus I am not really sure how to write Vergils character, so he might be a little bit OOC. Despite that I did try my absolute best! Please of you have any suggestions how to polish my skills and create aesthetically more pleasing works, don’t hesitate to DM me! Constructive critisism is always welcomed!

I was debating wether I should post it or not, since I wasn’t sure if it’s good enough, then I though what if this is exactly the thing someone needs?

Anyways, please enjoy!

Word count: 1.5+K

He never meant to stay for this long in your room, all he wanted was to notify you about the training schedule change for the upcoming two days, but somehow your warm smell mixed with the vanilla scented air freshener pulled an unfamiliar kind of exhaustion out of him, so he sat down on your bed and welcomed your voice in. You talked a lot, he made a mental note in himself, about an hour into you talking about the game you were now playing, the frantic button smashing, the frustrated grunts from time to time and your cats nestled on his chest purring away, lulled him to sleep even more.

"...And that's why I like him so much! OH, that reminds me, he is also wielding a katana just like you-..." you turned around with an excited smile, the dim, pink tinted LED strips and your TV's light illuminating your features. Eyes filled with joy looking down at him, taking in his reaction. When did he lie down on your fluffy pillows?

"You know, if you are too tired to move you can always just sleep here, I don't mind it." with that the weight from the end of your bed disappeared signaling that you stood up. Now humming the same tune as the music that was coming from the game, you began to search for something in your closet, checking an item out for whatever reason and then putting it back. Vergil averted his gaze to the bright screen, that now burned his eyes out, he certainly now missed the way you blocked a good part of it. There stood the character with a katana in his hand, body covered from head to toe in what seemed to be metal, hair similar shade to his. He had a faint idea what you might have called this warrior, but to be fair Vergil hardly paid any attention to your rambling, yet some of those tiny details that stuck made the blue devil wonder, if you liked him mainly because he reminded you of some of your favorite game characters, or if you like those characters because they looked similar to him.

'How foolish...' Vergil blinked once, twice then he moved his arm up to cover his eyes to block out any light. Why would that be the reason? You two had known each other for just a few months now, if not a year. The age gap too was quite wide in anyone's opinion, maybe twenty years give or take, and you, as if you had known eachother since forever, talk to him about everything from anything mundane to more serious or even exciting topics. Even when he used to push you away you kept on trying to befriend and create a connection with him. Maybe your unwavering determination is what led to this moment, him allowing his guard to be down around you.

When was the last time he was this...content? Both before and after destroying the Qliphoth nightmares often plagued his consciousness whenever he tried to sleep, often about the atrocities he had done not only to RedGrave but to the world in general, so he never really bothered to try to rest up in years. Yet now, he felt like he was in a drunken daze, everything felt surreal, like life cannot be this peaceful.

"Vergil..." a gentle hand on his shoulder pulled out of his train of thoughts. There you stood,a black sweater and a pair of gray sweatpants in hands, offering them to him. "...I don't really know if these will fit you, but hopefully they will. You can use my bathroom if you want more privacy." and with that the warmth disappeared as you sat back down in front of your TV and continued to play your game.

Vergil slowly lifted himself up from your bed, trying to shoo the cats off of himself. While he knew you had seen him half naked once before due to an incident, he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

"It's okay to change here too. No need to push yourself too hard." The blue devil could have sworn you were reading his mind just now if he didn't know any better. You have to be some sort of witch to know this much about his way of thinking and to occupy his mind for this long. Reluctantly he took off his coat and vest, and laid them down on your night stand. He was in the middle of unbuckling his belt when he heard rustling beside him, then once again your frame was right in front of him near the closet. You had taken his clothes and put them on a hanger.

"You sleep with socks on? I have some really fluffy pairs that will warm your feet up since this room can get quite chilly."

"There's no need for you to lend me such unnecessary items."

"Hm? You wear your boots without socks?"

"That is not what I said nor implied."

"Mhm, sure boss man." your giggles were nice, it could melt off any tension that was ever in his body. "So...no socks?"

"No need..." he sighed as he slipped off his boots, then pants in haste. The material of the sweater was soft against his rougher fingers. There was no way that it belonged to you, it must have been gifted or something because it would've been far too big on you.

"I once bought that for Dante, then I realized it would go to waste since he just doesn't wear things like that, so I kept it for myself, but you can have it if you'd like!" you chimed, once again smashing away on your buttons. The music in the game picked up as a bossfight began. Vergil tried to climb back in your bed after he put on every article of clothing without disturbing you, yet when he was almost settled you groaned loudly and put your controller down beside you.

Silence began to set in. The only things that could be heard were the title screen of the game and your cats soft purrings as they inched closer to Vergil. The atmosphere was once again calming like the first time he sat down, but now he has a fresh set of clothes on and was buried under your two toned gray comforter, yet now somehow he felt an itch in his mind. When will you head to bed? He has only ever seen you in your pajamas when you showed up that one time in the kitchen at noon for a cup of coffee. Even then he just saw you briefly as he strolled by. Do you usually head to bed later into the earliest time of the day? Or do you ever sleep?

"Does the noise bother you?"

"No."

"Can I start a stream on youtube then? I can only sleep with some noise." Vergil stayed silent while he inspected as you scrolled through your YouTube recommendations to find an appropriate video. He was contemplating on what to say or rather ask you. He alway had been a man who spoke with well chosen words, and right now he didn't know if he thought he didn't care enough for your emotions to question you about the matter or if he didn't want to put you into an even more sour mood.

" Has something upset you?" he ultimately decided to ask, resulting in a surprised expression on your face when you faced him.

"It’s kinda-, Well…I died in the bossfight, and I really don't feel like playing anymore." setting down the remote, you stretched.

"I see." he began to pet your lighter cat, Tofu, who fell asleep on his chest. Distant water splashed and the warm bathroom light now seeped into the room from underneath your door, then you emerged. Vergil looked at your digital clock on your wall in the same sleepy daze as he was in before, noticing that you were gone for exactly ten minutes. His eyes followed your every movement taking in your elegant gestures. Your face now appeared to be glowing, and you smelled slightly different than you usually do. You sat down in front of your mirror checking out your own skin on your cheeks and chin, before you pulled a bottle of lotion out of your vanity cupboard. The scent alone was enough for the blue devil to realize this is what made you smell the way you always did. Vergil was no expert in these kinds of things, but for him it matched your personality perfectly. It had a slightly spicy base, but some sweet undertones. You massaged the substance on your arms and legs, giving extra attention to your knees and elbows.

Your voice traveled in his ears and stayed in his mind. He recognised this tune, you hummed every once in a while when you were in a peaceful place, this meant you were no longer upset about your loss in the videogame. This melody pushed and pushed the bad thought right out of his head and filled him with an unfamiliar warmth he never felt. Vergil knew he was just right about to succumb to the sleep he oh-so desperately needed, yet he took one more glance at your calm form, he wished he could feel this content once he woke up in your room.

Just about one and a half hours after arriving at your room to give you a heads up, the older son of Sprada welcomed the sweet slumber in.

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multiversal-madness · 11 months

Text

Marcy and Simon Au - General Info

I’ve had many thoughts about this au so here’s a collection of some of those ideas.

Simon’s Kingdom is known as the Lost Kingdom, or Kingdom of Lost Things. It’s located in the same place the Ice Kingdom is in canon and is the oldest Kingdom in Ooo

It had started out as a museum of sorts where Simon, as an archeologist and antiquarian, began collecting things from before the war to preserve them. As time passed his collection grew and so did his ‘museum’, then he started letting people with nowhere else to go stay/work there and one thing led to another and the Lost Kingdom was founded

Unlike most kingdoms where the citizens tend to fit the element (fire, candy or slime people) or ‘theme’ (berry, hotdog, glass, etc people) of their respective kingdom, the lost Kingdom’s population is made up of a vast array of different species from all over Ooo

A few notable citizens include Gunter, Rattleballs, Tiny Manticore and Magic Man (I have an idea for how he changes in this au, but I’ll get to that in another post)

There’s also quite a few Ice/Snow people who live there since there isn’t an ice kingdom for them to live in (since the ice elemental wasn’t around for Ooo coming to be and Frostbite Queen not making a fully fledged kingdom)

Speaking of the Frostbite Queen herself, similar to Ice King, she doesn’t remember who she once was. The only thing she knows about ‘Marceline’ is that it’s what Lost King calls her, and she isn’t very fond of him

She doesn’t have her own kingdom, rather she tends to travel around Ooo and settle somewhere for a bit before moving again over the thousand years from when the crown fully took over her mind to the time the show takes place

Frostbite Queen had lived in the treehouse for a while before going elsewhere and eventually ending up in her cave

She doesn’t have an obsession with kidnapping princesses like this Ice King, instead she has the strong urge to protect what she thinks needs protecting and destroying any perceived threats to what she’s protecting

But she does tend to go overboard and see things in a very black and white way, you either need her protection, you’re a threat, or she doesn’t care/know about you

That’s it for now but I’ll probably post more info and art about this au sometime in the future. I’ve admittedly worked out Simon’s side of things more so than Marceline’s so things may change on her end of things. Feel free to send in asks about this au!

#Marcy and Simon Au #Adventure Time #Adventure Time Au #Simon Petrikov #marceline abadeer #marceline the vampire queen

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bippot · 5 months

Note

Hiiii I read on here that there are more chapters to savage

I'd love to read them here

I don't use AO3 but I will to finish this lol

Tumblr is my primary

I will post them as soon as 5 of them have been rewritten! There are quite a few chapters but I am getting through them. Here is the next batch.

Summary: A crime writer moves to Evergreen and Vigilante is more than willing to help her settle in. He's not sure why. Maybe it's because she's nice to him. Her family, on the other hand, aren't at all what they seem.

Entire Story Tags: Autism Spectrum, Dungeons & Dragons References, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gun Violence, Idiots in Love, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Family Drama, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Children, Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Marriage Proposal, Married Life, Hospitals, Injury, Blood, Gore, Animal Attack, DC Comics References, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Bisexual Christopher Smith | Peacemaker, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Organized Crime, Crime Fighting, Crime Scenes, Kidnapping, Mommy Issues

Peacemaker, Adrian Chase Masterlist - here

Previous Chapters 1-5

6. Little Baby Boy Bitch

Peacemaker had over-exaggerated the severity of the mission. It was a drug bust. They'd done a countless amount of those. Like, so many. And there obviously was going to be more in the future. If Vigilante had to guess, he'd guess over a hundred. Whether that was an exaggeration (it was), didn't matter cause Adrian was very annoyed and pouty that he'd rushed away from Y/N for... this?

Chris could've handled it by himself. He chose not to. He was bored and wanted to hang out with his buddy. Adebayo was busy, so not his best buddy. But Adrian was definitely a buddy.

And it was fucking raining, too! That was the cherry on top.

Multiple shots rang out in the laundromat as Adrian tried to get this shit done as fast as possible by shooting as many of these guys in the head as he could in the shortest time he could.

These criminals had committed a crime! As most criminals do. Drug laundering is seriously fucked. Imagine all the fallout just because some guys decided that they'd like some more money. That's why, in Vigilante's mind, these dealers deserved what they were going to get from him.

Yanking a washing machine open so the criminal would run full speed at the plastic and hit their head, Chris twirled his pistol on his pointer finger as he whistled a tune to himself.

A bullet slammed into the wall above Chris' head as he spun around to face the direction of his buddy because why the fuck did Adrian Chase just shoot in the general direction of his BFF. Obviously, it was far enough away that it never in a million years would've hit Peacemaker in any way shape or form, but the principle was there.

"You fucking prick!" Chris yelled, sounding the most offended he'd ever sounded. All focus on the mission had gone, had fully left his body. "What was that for, dickhead?!"

"Just shoot them."

"What's wrong with you today? Have some fucking fun!"

The criminal on the floor groaned and made an attempt to scramble away. "I'm unarmed! See? No gun! Don't shoo-'' they began but were interrupted when Vigilante, without a single ounce of mercy, placed the barrel of his gun against the back of the criminal's head and pulled the trigger. It was an execution, for lack of a better word.

"You could've done this by yourself

"I thought you'd enjoy this! What the fuck is wrong with you!"

Thanks to his most recent kill, Vigilante was covered in the contents of that guy's head. He tried to wipe away some grey matter from the pane of his visor but it just spread it around even more. It was a disgusting sight, or lack of it since the brain juice was smeared so much that he couldn't see through it, but Adrian wasn't phased. He even kneeled down and shoved his face into the dead guy's shirt, essentially motorboating the grime from the glass.

As soon as he was back up on his feet, Vigilante was complaining, "This seriously was a one man job, dude."

"Fuck you, Vee," Peacemaker shouted back, "Are we even sure that you can be considered a man? You're a boy. A little baby boy bitch."

Like a child, Vigilante's eyes narrowed at Peacemaker's words and he threw his arms up. "I'm thirty! I'm a man!"

Scoffing, Peacemaker let out a cruel chuckle. "Are you? Cause all I hear coming out of your mouth is 'Wa wa, I'm a little bitch! Look at how much of a little bitch I am!' It's pathetic, really."

"Am not."

"You are."

"I am not!"

"It's not my fault you're still prepubescent!"

They squabbled for far too long as if they'd completely forgotten that they were in a crime scene of their own making. Their departure was literally at the last possible moment. A cop, who - lucky for them - was rather heavy footed, was five seconds away from solving this case before the perpetrators left out the back entrance.

Wet, tired and covered in human remains, the duo got to Peacemaker's car without being caught by the pigs. And although it would make them stink even more like rotting meat, the car's heater was turned up to full blast so they were no longer freezing their balls off.

Glam rock filled their ears at volume that was way above what was comfortable as Chris drove Adrian home. Adrian forgot that Chris often came over to hang out when they were younger so he definitely knew where his house was, but always insisted that he was dropped off a street or two away.

At some point, Adrian took off his mask as it was beginning to get stuffy. He noticed some brain still on the side and wiped it against his thigh. Chris took his eyes off the road and watched in silent disgust.

Mere seconds after the car stopped, Adrian was darting out of his seat, throwing a salute to his buddy over his shoulder. He tried to leave without saying goodbye. He never did that. Especially not when Eagly was in the backseat.

"Vee, what the fuck is up?" Peacemaker asked, causing Vigilante to stop in place and turn around to face him. Chris had a look of confusion and annoyance on his face, and for a moment, it looked like he was going to say something comforting to his friend, but then he got a hold of himself.

"Nothing is up."

"You usually don't shut up and I have to force you out of my car."

Vigilante leant down and placed his arm on the car window with a sigh. A sigh that sounded far too much like something was going on with him. That coupled with his behaviour the past hour meant that Chris didn't believe it when Adrian said, "I'm fine. I'm super fine. Just totally totally fine."

"You're fine? You're always fine."

"I'm fine," he repeated. "Now, can I go?"

Hardly anyone who has said they are fine is fine. Even Peacemaker knows that.

"Dude, don't lie to me. I'm your best friend."

"You said Eagly was your best friend, not me!" Adrian retorted sassily. The moment he heard his name, Eagly squawked and moved from the backseat to where Vigilante had just been sitting. "And I respect that. I respect you, Eagly."

Eagly allowed Vigilante to reach out and pet him. Not for too long, though. Once his petting threshold had been hit, Eagle clamped down on Vigilante's glove. It wasn't a painful bite, just a warning nip that would get more intense if the petting didn't stop.

"Eagly is my best friend. I said that I was yours, dumbass. Besides, Eagly wouldn't lie to me," Chris explained as he began searching for the packet of Lays he kept in his glove compartment to feed his eagle with.

"Yeah, cause he's an eagle."

Adrian's face reddened in annoyance. Why was he being interrogated? Did Chris need to know everything about his life? Couldn't there be parts that he wanted to keep just for himself a little longer? Was he allowed to?

Sharing the mere mention of her name to his friend, well, it was like when he was a kid and his mother got him a new dinosaur toy that was totally sick as fuck, the moment he told Gut about it, Gut stole it. And his older brother was bigger than him by a lot. And meaner than him. And more normal than him. And if he'd gone whining to either of his parents, the punch Gut would've given him would've really hurt.

"You're such a bad liar."

He placed his mask back over his face to hide his expression and his voice got higher as he lied, "I'm not lying."

"Like fuck you're not. A cunt like Kant could lie better than you!"

So what if Chris had been reading up on philosophy since he got out of prison? Most of it was fucking bullshit, but yeah, maybe there were some good points about morals in there. Eat a dick, nerd!

That dinosaur was a toy. Y/N was a human person. She would make her own mind up. Fuck it! Why not spill his secret.

"Oh, fuck," Adrian breathed, "I was at my girls' house, okay?"

"You have a girl? Yeah, I call bullshit."

Could he call her 'his girl'? Was that the correct terminology? Technically, they weren't dating. It's not that he didn't want to date her. He did. Desperately.

"Fuck you, man! Fuck this!"

Never in his entire life did Chris even think it was possible for Adrian to like someone on a deeper level. Superficially, yeah. Of course. They frequently had conversations about which celebrities they would bang.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"I think I might be in love," Adrian confessed, "And I don't want to discuss it anymore."

Chris couldn't believe what he was hearing. This wasn't a thing. This fucking psycho was 'in love'? Peacemaker turned his car's ignition off and questioned, "Is that even possible?"

"Is what possible?"

"I thought you said you didn't have any emotions. How could you be in love if you don't have any emotions, jackass?"

"Dude, I said I don't have emotions like people do. As in, I have them but not like other people," Adrian clarified, his voice very whiny and defensive. "I have them, okay? They're just different from yours."

If Adrian truly had no feelings or sense of attachment, then why did he nearly blow himself up when fighting the White Dragon? Why would he have started following the other 11th Street Kids around in the first place? Why would he replace John's doritos with healthier pea snaps instead? Why would he remind Leota that her wedding anniversary was coming up so she should really get Keeya a gift sooner rather than later so it arrives in time.

Or, why did he make a whole powerpoint about why Emilia should swap out her heeled boots for something more all terrain because, not only was it more comfortable, but it was going to seriously make her life harder when she got older. Although, with Harcourt still in a wheelchair thanks to her injuries at the butterfly's barn, that probably could've been something he waited to present to her.

Processing all of that was hard. It was a lot to take in. To suddenly realise the guy you've been using as an emotional punching bag for all of his life actually feels something when you take it out on him? That's fucked up. Chris had fully believed that it was fine to say shit like that to Adrian simply because he didn't react to it in the way other people did. Adrian sometimes sounded offended, but that couldn't be the case. Right?

Wordlessly, Vigilante bid his goodbyes to Eagly and Peacemaker and retreated into his home. His family home. His empty family home.

"Honey, I'm home," he called out into the dead air, not expecting an answer and definitely not getting one either. He wanted one, though. This house was far too empty. And Y/N would be asleep by now so he wouldn't want to wake her up since she can get grouchy in the mornings.

All those years ago when his dad left, his mother had taken the family photos down. He often thought about putting them back up. It never happened. The desire was never strong enough for him to actually bother, but maybe one day it would. He hoped it would. For now, he settled for the photo album his mother kept in the little compartment in the coffee table.

Nothing about the house had changed since they died. Adrian looked around his childhood home for a moment and, despite living there for all of his life, he felt so uncomfortable. This place wasn't his home. It wasn't safe - hell, his entire family had been murdered in the kitchen not ten feet from where he was sitting - and it wasn't comfy.

He thumbed through the first few pages of the album and wished that something would spark. A memory. A feeling. A chance to remember their faces and say 'hey, I know you.' Yet, he didn't know these people anymore. Their deaths were sad, yes, but they were so long ago. He'd accepted it. They weren't coming back and that's okay. They were dead and he wasn't. That is how the world works. The way the cookie crumbles.

Stopping on a page, Adrian was greeted by a snapshot of him and Gut. Both of them were in their Sunday best and had clearly been bribed to stand together. He must've been fourteen, maybe fifteen at a push. He looked ten. Maybe Peacemaker was right. Maybe he was a little boy bitch.

Out of the corner of his eye, Adrian noticed his phone screen lighting up. It wasn't anything important, just an email from a streaming service about their prices going up, but it allowed him a glimpse of his background photo. It was of Y/N sat in one of the booths in Fennel Fields with his work hat squished on her head as she showed off a wide and gummy smile that, if he was being honest, made her look manic. Her laugh lines were so deep. And her eyes were twinkling directly at him.

Yeah, maybe it wasn't the most photogenic she'd ever looked in her life, but it had captured her spirit. It was fun. It was goofy. It was bright. And she was rocking his stupid hat. There was no question, it was his favourite picture he'd ever taken. Plus, the memory that went along with it was great too so that's, like, a double kill.

"It looks better on you!" She squashed it back on his head, making him laugh and attempt to duck away from her assault. It was no use, she got it over the crown of his head and tugged it over his hair.

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is."

"Uh, no. It is not."

"Would I lie to you?"

Her finger came up to brush his curls out of his face and tuck them into the hat. Adrian felt a jolt of electricity as her touch brushed against the skin of his temples.

"Y-you could...if you wanted to."

Then, her hand gently dragged down the side of his face and cupped his jaw as she watched its path with an analytical stare. "I don't want to," Y/N said plainly. She'd said it with such conviction that there was doubt in his mind that she was telling the truth, and 100% of the truth.

"You could though? You could lie to me?"

"I could." Her eyes flicked to his. "Do you want me to?"

"No."

"Then I won't. I promise."

The memory ended with Philip coming over and interrupting their moment like he usually did. Adrian pushed the memory aside and turned his attention to putting the album back in its rightful place and settling down for the night.

He'd left his phone directly over his heart as he shifted to get comfortable in his bed, which was just tempting him to roll over and crush it during the night. His screen was already cracked from hero shit so it was delicate. Okay, okay, okay... it was broken because he drops it all the time when he's not paying attention. You happy?

With the thought of Y/N firmly in the forefront of his mind, Adrian fell asleep with a small smile on his lips. Their relationship had changed - one half of it - and he couldn't wait to reap the rewards of his boldness. As he drifted off into a peaceful slumber, he couldn't help but wonder what the future would hold for him and Y/N. Greatness? Yeah, that had to be it.

7. Cherry Shampoo

Within the confines of her home on the other side of town, Y/N was not having a great time. In Vigilante's, or Adrian's if she wanted to be accurate, absence, she was left to stew in her feelings. She was sitting in her living room, staring blankly at the television as the anchor droned on about the latest news. She stayed in that exact same seat for so long, only moving to use the bathroom and answer the door when she ordered food. As the days passed, Y/N found herself spiralling deeper into her own head, lost and unable to shake off the feeling of emptiness that had taken over her.

Because why did she always surround herself with people who were secretive and, to put it politely, morally questionable? Why did she always feel like she was missing something, and the moment she found another piece of the puzzle that is life, he turns out to be a different shape than she first expected? It was a constant struggle to balance her own moral compass with the actions of the people around her, and it was getting harder to tell what was right and what was wrong.

Ignoring Adrian was something she never intended to do. Processing things can take a while. She never expected to take an entire week. It was a lot to figure out.

And the main debate she kept going back and forth about was would she tell him that she'd figured it, figured him out? He clearly wasn't comfortable with her knowing yet, but Y/N couldn't help but wonder if her reluctance to reveal the truth would cause distance between them. As the days passed, Y/N found herself growing more and more restless, unable to stand the feeling of uncertainty that had settled into her bones.

Adrian called her so much. Y/N didn't pick up a single one and she felt so fucking guilty because every time her phone lit up and showed his contact picture, she was reminded of the moment she took it.

They'd been at the local park for a Halloween pumpkin picking event and a beautiful golden retriever had slipped its leash and came up to sniff Adrian's shoe. He fully got to his knees on the cold pavement to ruffle the dog's fur, and Y/N had watched with a mix of amusement and concern that he would brand the dog as his own, resulting in him bringing the animal into her home and getting hair everywhere, as he playfully cooed at it. She'd taken the cute picture with a smile and then they began their search for the dog's owner. They missed the cut off point for the pumpkin patch but at least that dog was returned to its family.

Looking back, she wished she never took it. It made him look too normal. Too innocent. And it was the entire reason why she finally answered one of his calls. Her voice was quiet and strained as she said, "Hi Ade."

"H-hi Y/N."

From her yard, Adrian was hidden in the overgrown bush right by the back door. It was trespassing, he knew that. He was fully aware of how much of a creep he was being. Only perverts and guys who were really worried about their girl would do this kind of thing. He didn't want to upset Y/N with his presence, but he couldn't stop himself from seeing her.

"I just wanted to make sure everything was okay," Adrian said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That you are okay?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment before answering, "Just had a lot on my mind lately." He noticed how he hadn't answered his question but let it go for now.

"Are you doing anything?"

"No."

"Can I come over?"

"No."

His heart sank as he heard Y/N's response, but he knew he couldn't force her to see him. Instead, he took a deep breath and tried to find the right words to say. He'd never been good at comforting people, but he knew he had to try. That's what a friend would do.

"Is there anything I can do? Anything I can get you? To make you feel better?"

Why was he so nice? A serial murderer shouldn't be this thoughtful. Adrian's brows furrowed as soon as he witnessed Y/N lowering her head to the edge of her coffee table and bumped her head against the wood. She didn't respond to his question, and he could tell that something was bothering her. And there was a sneaking suspicion that he was the one who caused this bother.

"I don't know what I can do to make you feel better," he said softly, "But I'll do anything. Just say the word and I'll do it - even if it's illegal. Please, Y/N, just tell me how to make you happy."

As Y/N sat there, head in her hands, Adrian could see the pain in her eyes and the strain in her body language disappear all of a sudden. He was surprised to see the weight of his words finally hit her, and she let out a shaky laugh.

"I'd like it if you came over," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think the Real Housewives is on soon, do you want to watch it with me?"

"Atlanta or Orange County?"

It flew from his mouth before he could stop it and his shoulders relaxed as he watched Y/N's face light up and laugh at him. It was a genuine question, sure, but if she'd interpreted it as a joke, it was now a joke

"I don't care, you can pick," Y/N said, her smile audible over the call. "Just come over."

"I'm on my way."

How long was it acceptable for him to wait in the bush pretending that he was not just spying on her? Adrian stood up from his hiding spot and, as quietly as he could, climbed over her fence so that he could wait in the alley and not in front of her windows. This would be a surveillance mission that he'd keep to himself. As he waited, he could feel his heart racing with excitement and nerves. He didn't know what he would do when he finally saw her again, but he knew that he had to find a way to make sure they never spent this much time apart ever again.

Like, this week had been fucking hell for him.

For ten whole minutes, Y/N sat with her head in her hands, no thoughts, just pure focus on breathing in and out. When she felt calm enough, she stood up, stretched, and realised that - holy shit - she was a little heavy on the BO. Rotting on the couch for seven days meant that she was definitely in need of a shower.

So, that's what she did. The warm water cascading down her body was like a soothing balm, and she let out a contented sigh as she washed away the dirt and sweat and stress that had plagued her. She closed her eyes, letting herself be engulfed in the feeling of being cleansed and refreshed, and let a song fall from her lips. It was a soft melody, one that she couldn't quite place, but it made her feel better just the same.

Adrian let himself into her home using the spare key kept in the butt of a garden gnome and stood awkwardly in the middle of her living room, doing nothing but just looking around and racking his brain for something to say. He had no idea what he'd done to upset her - well, he had one guess - and he was prepared to grovel, to plead, and to beg to get back in her good graces.

The tune coming from the bathroom was like a siren's song - a siren that was a little off-key - and Adrian was listening through the door as soon as he noticed it. His ear inched closer to the wood, but never pressed against it as she opened the door. She stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white towel and was immediately nose to nose with him.

"Sorry. I heard, uh... you sound great," he mumbled out, trying to sound casual.

"I'm going to put some clothes on," Y/N said, looking down at the floor.

As Y/N walked towards her room, Adrian followed her on instinct and found himself standing in front of her, his eyes fixed on her form, totally not understanding that she was trying to gesture to him to stay exactly where he was standing. After a quick shove so that he wasn't in the way when she closed the door behind her, she did just that.

It took her no time to put some clothes on and even less return to him. Whatever she thought she was going to do went out the window as soon as she saw him. He looked like shit. His clothes were rumpled and his hair was messy from not having been combed for a while. The bags underneath his eyes were dark and heavy, and his face was pale from lack of sleep. She could see the exhaustion etched on his features, and it only made her want to hold him even more.

She walked towards him, her steps slow and measured, and wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him into a hug. He stiffened at first, but then relaxed into her embrace, burying his face in her neck as she held him tightly. He had been trembling, she realised, and it was taking everything she had just to keep him steady. But as she held him, she felt his body gradually relax, and she could feel the tension draining away from him.

Once he had stopped, she pulled back slightly and looked into his eyes, seeing the fear and uncertainty that she had been feeling herself. But there was also something else there - something that she couldn't quite place. It was a mix of vulnerability and something else that she couldn't quite identify. She wanted to say something, to make it all better, but she couldn't find the right words.

"When did you last sleep?"

"How long have you been ignoring me?"

With a whimper, she buried her face into his chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart against her cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I just needed some time alone. Time to quiet my brain. "Adrian's arms tightened around her, and he pulled her closer to him.

"I don't hug often, but this is nice," he said softly, his breath warm against the top of her head. It was quiet for a few moments. There were no words that could be spoken. It was a moment of physical contact that neither of them expected but both enjoyed.

"Are you hungry?" Y/N asked, pulling away from Adrian's embrace and looking up at him with a small smile. "I can make us something to eat if you'd like."

"I'd like that."

Taking his hand, she led him to the kitchen, instructed, "Sit. I'll heat up some pizza," and he was on it like motherfucking Sonic. He jumped far too enthusiastically and when his butt hit the counter, it wobbled so much that a pot of utensils spilled over and onto the floor.

Adrian immediately looked up at Y/N with a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that," he said, jumping down, picking them up, then jumping back on the counter.

As their meal warmed up, Adrian held his hands out for Y/N to place her hands into. She did so without hesitation, and he guided her to stand between his man spreaded legs.

"I missed you," he said softly, his eyes locked onto hers.

"I know."

"Did you miss me?"

"I did."

A very wide smile overtook him that immediately changed into something far more dopey as one of her palms came to rest on his cheek. And since it felt so comforting to be cradled in such a way, he mirrored her and soon found out that the skin of cheek was incredibly soft.

Progressively, the distance between them got smaller and smaller until they were forehead to forehead, neither of them aware that they'd been unconsciously shifting forward until there was no space left to move into.

"Y/N?"

"Hmm...?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Instead of responding verbally, she pressed her lips against his, feeling the softness of his lips against hers. The kiss was soft and gentle and short, but it was also filled with a deep sense of longing. Sure, they'd kissed before. But this was different. It was more than just a kiss. It was a confession of feelings that neither of them had ever voiced out loud.

The second, no, the millisecond that Y/N had pulled back from their little peck, Adrian's free hand found the small of her back and was tugging her back in for another kiss. Their lips met again, and this time, it was a more intense and passionate one. It was as if they had been waiting for each other all this time, and they couldn't get enough.

Turns out that the only thing that stopped their make out session was the pizza alarm Y/N had set. Y/N broke away, wiping the trail saliva from the bottom of her lip as she cut the pizza and grabbed two plates. She handed one to Adrian, who eagerly accepted it and dug in as soon as possible.

He ate like a wild animal, tearing into the dough and toppings with reckless abandon. He ate like he hadn't in days, which was probably true. Y/N watched him with a smile, enjoying the way his hands were always in motion as he ate, as if he couldn't sit still despite the exhaustion he'd been swatting away at every turn was quickly rearing its head.

When the food was done, Y/N didn't bother loading the dishwasher because her one and only mission was to force him to get some rest. It wasn't a difficult task by any means. All Y/N had to do was offer to help him to his feet and coo, "Come on, pookie, let's get you to bed."

Who was he to refuse? She'd called him a sweet name and had offered to let him stay the night - frickin win win.

Within the confines of her room, he let himself be guided to undress as he lifted his arms, like a toddler, so she could take his shirt off. Even though he was almost falling asleep standing up, he flirted, "Like what you see?"

If you want the short answer, it's no. The long one was that his torso was littered with scars, most of which were jagged and clearly patched up unprofessionally. Not that they looked ugly, no part of him could. It was sad, really, to have physical evidence of how much he'd gone through and the toll it had taken on him.

They were badges of honour to him. To her, they were instances where she wasn't there to help him out, or at least comforted him afterwards. Presumably, he was alone when he stitched most of these up. With no one to help him. With no one to hold him. With no one to tell him that they were glad he was still alive.

She didn't answer his question, choosing to ask her own instead, "Do you want a sleep shirt?"

"I sleep naked."

"Not tonight." A huff came from his mouth as he dramatically let himself fall backwards onto her bed. "Do you need help with your jeans?"

Frankly, they both knew he didn't need help. Y/N was 100% when she offered that it would give him enough of an energy boost that he would make it through brushing his teeth without passing out. He was so smug as her fingers undid his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, the corners of her lips turning up in a grin because of the way he looked like he was on the verge of pouncing on her.

"Butt up please," she ordered, lightly tapping the top of his thigh so he'd lift it up and let her wiggle off his jeans.

Her hand pushed at his chest as he went to sit up and attack her with a smooch, but she stopped him, teasing, "Only after you brush your teeth," and laughing at how he whined. He rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the hint of a smile on his lips as he dragged her to the bathroom so they could brush their teeth side by side.

When everything was done and they were both under her duvet cover, Adrian inched his hand closer and closer and closer and closer until it finally rested on her forearm.

"Y/N?"

"Adrian?"

"Your arm feels cold, are you cold?"

"A little."

"I can warm you up." He leaned in and kissed her cheek sweetly. "Is that okay?"

Y/N guided his arm to wrap around her waist as she let herself melt into his chest. She let out a contented sigh, feeling his warmth, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, and the ridges and bumps of his scars beneath her fingertips. It was a moment of peace, a moment of quiet, a moment to just be.

He could smell her shampoo. It was cherry-scented. He closed his eyes, taking it all in, and came to the conclusion that he loved everything about her. Every single thing.

"Tell me something," he asked. "Like a bedtime story or some shit."

For some reason, she told him about how she wanted to be a squirrel when she was six and jumped out of an oak tree into a pile of deceptively cushy looking leaves, causing her land directly onto her arm and breaking it in three places. Her godfather had let out a squeal, which was quite funny because he was a very intimidating guy, and rushed to her aid. He tripped over a stray branch and ended up falling onto his face.

It was the first thing that came to mind. It was silly and stupid, but she found herself telling him anyway, her fingers drawing out certain moments across his chest as she spoke. Adrian tried to listen to the best of his ability, but it was so comforting and warm to be snuggled up to someone that he couldn't help but drift off to sleep.

8. Tweedledum and Tweedledumber

Whoever blessed Adrian Chase with the goddamned angel that he woke up with in his arms, he was ready to thank them profusely. Cause she looked so peaceful and serene and like she belonged all cuddled up to him. Every single part of him was prepared to do anything to keep her safe and warm and completely away from alien butterflies or well-trained karate homunculi or just random thugs on the street. Literally any threat, no matter how small or large, he was prepared to take on.

In her sleep, Y/N shifted even closer into Adrian's embrace, her chest rising and falling with each breath as she snuggled into him. It was as if he was dreaming. But a dream that he could actually feel and touch and hold.

He had intended to lightly brush his hand through her hair, yet in his barely contained excitement, he moved far too quickly and smacked her in the forehead. Her eyes flew open and her hands automatically went up to her face as if to rub away the sting of his accidental collision. "Whaaat?" she asked, her sleepy tone full of confusion.

"Shit! I didn't mean to."

With a gentle swipe, he moved her hand away so he could place kiss upon kiss upon kiss against the point of contact, apologising after each peck. Y/N's face scrunched up at the affectionate contact then relaxed into a contented smile.

"What were you even trying to do?" she asked with a sleepy murmur.

"You looked so peaceful and I wanted to, y'know, touch your hair - not in a creepy way but in a cute admiring you in your sleep way. I fucked up, okay?"

Her sleepy eyes blinked up at him. "I've never been assaulted awake before," she teased, and it was very clear in her voice that she was trying to get a reaction from him.

"I didn't mean to. Honest."

"Mm-hmm. That's what they all say."

"....Y/N," he whined, swaying them from side to side as if he were rocking her to sleep. "Don't say that. That's, like, not me. You know that's not me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I didn't."

They were so close he could feel her breath on his face, the warmth of her nose against his own. Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, her eyes less heavy lidded and sleepy than they had been a minute ago, but still considerably more than his. "I know, Adrian," she told him, and he breathed a sigh of relief that she didn't seem to be angry with him. "I was messing with you."

"You asshole!"

Almost manic with happiness, he laughed at the way she squealed when he flipped them over all of a sudden so he was the one on top, his body pressing hers down into the mattress. "Think messing with me is fun, baby?" His tone was so obviously flirty and confident that it surprised him. He'd never heard himself sound like that before. He kinda liked it. And he definitely liked how it made her giggle.

"It's so, so fun."

"Yeah?"

He leaned down to nudge his nose into hers to taunt her into trying to kiss him. The plan was to dodge the smooch to get back at her but as soon as the opportunity to kiss her appeared, that went out of the window and he was pressing his lips to hers. It wasn't some half-assed quick peck either. It was a proper slow, sweet, lingering kiss. His hands were in her hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands as he cupped the back of her head to deepen the kiss. Y/N responded by wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing herself closer to him, parting her lips slightly as if to invite more. He didn't want to break for air. Ever.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than a few brief minutes, he reluctantly retreated to regain his breath and sanity. "Jesus," he muttered, setting his palm over his pounding heart. Could she hear how loud it was? Honestly, he wouldn't really care all that much if she could because it would say all the things he wished he could.

"That was..." she began, her voice so soft he could barely hear her, but he chose to focus on her words rather than his own ragged breathing. "...good."

"Uh huh." He could barely form words. "Good. That was good."

A long silence stretched between them as Y/N continued to look up at him, a coy smile on her face. He didn't know what to say and ended up blurting out, "What's a pookie?" totally from nowhere.

"Huh?"

"Last night you called me pookie. What even is that? Some weird European insult?"

Despite not remembering calling him that, she believed him. She probably did and didn't realise that the pet name had slipped past her lips, which meant that - fuck - she was falling hard and so fuckin fast.

"It's like sweetheart, or darling, or my love," She attempted to brush it off like it was nothing, "The lesbians from RENT call each other it. That's probably where I got it from."

"L-Lesbians?" He echoed, "Are we lesbians?"

Was that his way of asking if they were dating? If he had to guess, she'd say it was.

"We can be lesbians, if you want."

"Nice. I get to be the male lesbian, though."

"Aw, I wanted to be the male lesbian," she joked, but he could tell by the serious glint in her eye that she wasn't joking about the status of their relationship. They were 100% clear on what was going on there.

It was official.

"I do think I would make a great girl lesbian. My friend, Adebayo, is one of those, and she’s, like, really cool," he gushed, and he felt a bit silly for being so giddy, but he couldn't help himself. He literally had the girlfriend of his dreams bracketed between his forearms and was practically giddy with joy.

They lay there, bodies entangled, talking and saying whatever dumb shit popped into their minds. They moved from topic to topic seamlessly. Quickly, too. It was like their brains had absorbed a bunch of random thoughts and stored them up exactly for this moment, because it was mind blowing just how much stream of consciousness crap erupted from their mouths and was fully understood by their partner.

That was until Y/N inquired, "Where did you put your glasses?" This was probably the first time she had seen him without them on for an extended period of time. He looked a little like a mole, squinting from a lack of clear sight. It was adorable.

"I put my..." He glanced in the direction of the bedside table and, all of a sudden, his little mole eyes got so wide. "Fuck! I'm supposed to be at work!"

He inhaled sharply through his nose, let out a strangled noise, and quickly scrambled to jump off the bed. He overestimated the amount of space he needed to move and soon ended up falling to the floor, ass first. "You okay?" Y/N asked, laughing as she peered over the side of the bed to get a better look at him sprawled on the floor.

"My butt hurts."

"Oh, you poor baby."

She kneeled closer to the edge and extended her hands to help him up. He took them into his and rose to his feet, giving her a quick peck on the lips before hurrying his clothes on and preparing himself to leave. Once he'd gotten himself ready, he stood in her doorway in order to send one last wink at her and rushed back to kiss her cheek, mumbling, "See you later?" against her skin.

"You bet." He punched the air. "Go get em', tiger."

"Fuck yeah!" She laughed, watching him rush out the door and shut it behind him.

After she heard the front door shut, she flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling with the most disgustingly lovesick expression on her face. She'd had crushes in the past, sure, but this was different. This was on a whole other level. She had never thought that she would ever be capable of falling this hard for someone, and she couldn't help it, she was powerless to it.

What was it about him that drove her crazy? It wasn't just that he was gorgeous and a total sweetheart. Although, to be honest, those things did help. No, it was something much deeper. He had a way of making her feel completely understood. As if no matter what she said or did, he would still get it. Like they were on the same wavelength, or something.

Ring ding ding daa baa

Baa aramba baa bom baa barooumba

Wh-wha-what's going on-on?

Ding, ding

This is the Crazy Frog

Hey, it's a catchy song. It's a banger. The distinctive sound of the Crazy Frog blared from her phone's speaker and she knew who it was without having to look. "Hey Pa."

"Hiya Moo!" Her father's cheerful voice responded. "How's my girl?"

"I'm good, real good. You?"

"I'm better now I'm talking to you, sweetie. I miss you, though. I really do. Don't get me wrong, I know you're out there living your life and being a big shot author, but I miss my little girl," he sighed, and she could hear just how true it was in his voice.

Although the road to adulthood had been a little rocky, her father was always there for her when she needed him. She knew that she'd not been the easiest of kids to parent, but he always gave her the space she needed and the support she needed, and for that, she loved him more than anything.

"I miss you, too, Pop."

"I know you do, sweetie. I also know that you're going to have mixed feelings about what I'm about to say," he began very carefully. He was not one to beat around the bush to her.

They'd learnt very early on that it was best to be blunt as possible around each other, and while it sometimes sounded a little harsh on the outside, in the end, it made things a lot easier. On the other end of the line, he took a deep breath and announced, "We've booked tickets to come and see you."

We've. Booked. Tickets. We've.

"Your mother and I are on our way to see you, Moo. We've made reservations to fly out in a few months. I made sure to call early to give you enough time to prepare."

Y/N closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headboard. She knew what was coming, and she was dreading it. "She's not busy?"

"She's retiring." Her father sighed. "I'm sorry, my lovely. I know it's a long time coming, but yeah, she's finally getting some time off."

Working as a police officer had often put roadblocks in the way of their mother-daughter relationship. Her mother being a workaholic, however, put far more. There was a reason Y/N had been so eager to leave home, to escape her family. She'd needed to be far away from them. She'd needed to have a fresh start. Yeah, there were multiple factors. Her mother being a neglectful asshole had been the main one.

"Are they discharging her?"

If Y/N had to guess, her mother's less than honourable extracurricular activities had finally caught up with her. She had been preoccupied with bribes and cover-ups rather than picking her children up from school or showing up to family game night.

"Nope, she chose to."

"...Right." The line went quiet as she took in the information and let it settle in. After a few minutes of internal freaking out, she spoke again. This time when she spoke, however, she completely changed the subject. "I have a boyfriend."

"Do you now?" he replied, his voice completely giving away the excitement he was trying to contain. "Is he nice? Does he make you laugh? Is it serious? How long have you been dating? How did you meet? Tell me everything!"

"Calm down, I haven't even told you his name yet."

"What's his name then?"

So, she answered his questions with an enthusiasm he'd never heard from her before. She told him about her new boyfriend, how they'd met, what he was like, everything - well, not everything. The more she talked, the better she felt, and once she was in the zone, she couldn't stop.

How in the hell was she going to explain that she was in love with a vigilante? The Vigilante, no less. And she had to do it without admitting that she knew he was Vigilante. Well, "When we play dungeons and dragons, he gets really into it. He's a paladin, Oath of Vengeance - " she started to explain but was promptly cut off.

"What the fuck is a paladin?"

"It's like a Knight that can do magic."

"Oh, that sounds cool."

Pretty good disguise. She felt very proud of her quick thinking. "Our PCs are together, but also not, and my character is a little confused about where she stands on all the bad things his character does," she said quickly, "It's in the name of justice. He's a hero and all, but he also, y'know, kind of got this reputation for doing some of the same things as the villains do."

"I don't know anything about this game," her dad said, knowing that she was using it as a basis for her real life problem, yet he was confused and concerned about how that problem would apply to her life.

Cause the implications that this new boyfriend of hers was anything other than a good guy was worrying her father. That was scary as hell.

"It's just a fantasy story," she said, sounding convincing even to herself. "It's for fun."

He thought about how to phrase his words for a beat. "Just because someone does bad things, it doesn't make them a bad guy. Hey, I often throw my rubbish bag over to the neighbour's drive so the bin men don't judge me for the amount of black bags we put out," he said. "It doesn't make me a bad person. Just a lazy one."

Y/N liked the sound of that. It made her feel a little better. Despite what Adrian might say, bad things might not always mean bad guy. There were a lot of grey areas in life. A lot.

"That's really smart."

"Yeah, I've wrestled with this before and I can’t wait to meet this Paladin boy," He told her, "I'll have to ask him all about this D&D shit that you always talk about."

"You could ask me?"

Frankly, her father's plan to connect with his daughter's new boyfriend was to talk about what he liked, and it would get the ball rolling. He hoped it would. Of course, he would never disclose this tactic.

"What's the fun in that?"

From the other line, she heard the door slam, which was a classic signifier that her mother was home. She could picture her, pissed as hell, brows furrowed and arms crossed in front of her chest. As soon as she spoke, her voice was always filled with such venom.

"I'll let you go now before she insists on speaking to you," he replied, knowing that any communication between the two without them being face to face was not ideal.

"Thank you. Love you."

"Love you more, Moo."

Oh shit. Her mother, who was a decorated member of the fuzz, was coming, and her boyfriend was a criminal. A criminal who is bad at lying. Like really bad.

9. Great Tits

Arriving 52 minutes late to work, Adrian burst through the Fennel Fields double doors. He avoided the patronising whoops and tuts of his coworkers and rushed to apologise to his manager, Julia, then immediately got to doing his job so he was as far under the radar as he possibly could be.

It had been a momentous day. His morning had been filled with so much excitement that the quiet and boring afternoon had seemed to go on and on for an eternity. Yet, nothing was going to dampen his mood. Not even when Chris arrived and started questioning him because Adrian (and Vigilante) had not been seen for around a week.

"Dude!" Chris yelled in his buddy's face. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I've been busy."

"Busy enough to not reply to the memes I sent you on Twitter?"

Adrian shrugged, pretending to be entirely nonchalant about the whole thing but he really wanted to tell Chris every detail. He wanted to be a little coy, to play with Chris's expectations and let him whine for a bit. Yet, he didn't want to bore him with six days of depression and one day of mushy heartfelt feeling, so he said nothing and kept cleaning the table with a small smirk that wasn't going away any time soon.

"No, no, no... you don't get to do that. You started saying shit about having feelings and then you fucking disappeared for an entire week," Chris said, getting more and more irritated with his friend.

Any restraint that Adrian had crumbled and he spilled his guts, explaining everything that had happened. He even confessed to trespassing, which he thought Peacemaker would chastise him for because it's illegal, but Chris didn't give a shit. Yeah, he thought it was creepy but, hey, they'd done worse together. Much worse.

Peacemaker attempted to sit in the booth nearest to him, but was nudged out of the way. "That's Y/N's booth. Sit somewhere else," Adrian urged, sounding strangely firm. Weird. He never sounded like that.

"Are you for real?"

"Yes."

Begrudgingly, Chris moved to the next available booth. "Dude, if she doesn't know that you and him are the same, then it's cheating on her part," Chris explained, eating all the mozzarella that Francis just threw down in front of him and immediately hurried off.

Francis had been named 'George Costanza' by Chris when they were younger since his penis apparently was small and weird. The less time he was around the guy who caused him to hate his favourite show and feel incredibly self conscious about his manhood, the better.

Like a kid, Adrian retorted, "Nu-uh."

"Yea-uh."

"Have you told her?"

"No. It's, uh, it's complicated."

"Are you sure you aren't gay?"

"Very fucking funny, Chris," he sighed. "No, I haven't told her."

"Then it's your fault for being a pussy."

Obviously, Adrian was not sure how to take that. So, he responded simply with, "Thanks, man," and got back to work so he didn't have to continue with this conversation any longer.

Around ten minutes later when Adrian happened to look over his shoulder while he was on dishwasher duty, he noticed a familiar laptop bag being plopped down on the dining table just outside the kitchens. Y/N had arrived!

A mixture of elation and nerves washed over him. Would they be affectionate in public? What were the rules? He didn't want to make her uncomfortable in any way. Like, it would suck so hard if he failed and made her hate him on the literal first day of their romance. He turned off the tap and wiped his hands on his apron, completely leaving his station to lean against the doorway. He admired her as she unpacked her things, practically drooling over the low-cut dress she'd chosen to wear, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree with mostly red lights.

"I can feel you staring at me."

"Sorry. You look so pretty," he breathed.

Fuck. He needed to seem cooler in Chris' presence, and being absolutely whipped was not going to help that. He needed to seem more confident. Chris always commented on people's appearances, maybe that would work.

"Your tits look great.”

The waitress at the table opposite overheard his compliment and very audibly scoffed. Penny had a tendency for bitchy comments and he knew for a fact that she was going to go to the kitchens and spin a tale about him saying an inappropriate comment to a customer, which wasn't entirely untrue. Penny had no clue that this customer was his girlfriend.

But Y/N didn't seem to care. She let out a laugh and gave Penny a look that women often give each other to say, 'it's okay, I'm not offended by what he just said'. Cause men, y'know?

"Thanks, so do yours," she joked, patting her boyfriend directly on the pectoral. "How late were you this morning?"

"52 minutes. It's my new record."

"Congrats."

Once he gave the room a quick scan to see if anyone was watching them, Adrian was very slow and careful as he pressed his lips to her forehead so he didn't spook her with PDA that was too affectionate. He didn't notice Peacemaker's jaw dropping since Chris had hidden himself behind his side of the booth partition as soon as he saw the girl approach and not push away Vigilante's advances.

If he was honest, most - if not all - of his thoughts about Peace faded into the background when Y/N was around.

"Julia is on her way, get back to work before you get in trouble." Y/N nudged him further into the kitchen, giving him responding peck on the cheek before heading to her seat.

"Yes ma'am."

Phillip approached her table and took her order like he did every time she was there. Couldn't anyone else do it for once? He already didn't like the guy but now he was making moves on his girl in front of him. That's just despicable. However, his jealousy faded when he noticed how bored she looked in Phillip's presence.

At that moment, he knew that Philly boy had no chance. None at all. She never looked at Adrian that way.

When she was finally alone, Chris quickly slipped into the seat opposite her in the booth to inquire, "Mentally, what is wrong with you?"

"A learning disability."

"Fuck. Really?"

Breaking news - famed hero Peacemaker makes fun of a handicapped hot chick and instantly insults his partner in crime's girlfriend.

"Shit. Fuck. Fuck! Can I start over?"

Watching from the sink, Adrian thought that his luck was shit. How come when his best friend and girlfriend were finally in the same place and could meet, he had to leave them be and mindlessly wipe grimy food off grimy plates? He could be experiencing the biggest moment of his life: his two favourite people in the entire world meeting. But no! This moment had been ripped from his soapy hands.

"Go for it."

What should he say? Tapping his thick fingers on the table and thinking of how to introduce himself, Chris eventually said, "I'm Chris. I'm one of Adrian's buddies. He's probably mentioned me a few times."

"He has." Y/N tilted her head ever so slightly to the side, studying Chris like a bug. "I'm Y/N. I don't know if he has mentioned me. I hope he has."

"Maybe once or twice," he replied coolly, "I didn't think you existed until now."

"Why?"

He shrugged, "I would've bet 100 bucks that Adrian was making up his girl so I would stop calling him gay. Not that being gay is bad, I just thought he was lying."

Before she could answer, Philip arrived with her coffee and Chris noticed how the waiter looked straight down her dress like a perv. This random guy was leering at his buddy's girl. He had to back up his bro! He warned, "Hey man, her eyes are up there."

Philip was a big guy yet Chris was bigger. The waiter's eyes were laser focused on the cup in his hand, China clinging against the wood as he hurriedly set it down on the table, almost dropping it.

"Oh, sorry. I'll get out of your way."

"Please walk away," Y/N urged. It would be an exciting fight, for sure, but it would be quick and predictable. Chris would win, no question.

The pair's first real conversation consisted of bitching about Philip and comparing stories about Adrian for good measure, which was to the delight of the busboy, who caught a glimpse whenever he was left alone in the kitchen and turned around to watch.

There was a nagging in the back of Adrian's head. What if she liked Chris more than him? He couldn't win that. Chris was more muscly. He could play the piano. He was one and a half inches taller. There was no competition. Chris wouldn't do that, would he? Adrian tried to shake that thought from his head.

Eventually, Chris had to leave. He looked down at his phone, then mumbled something about banging some dude named Evan's wife and hurried away. Y/N was left in peace from Peace for five whole minutes before Adrian's break arrived and he slumped into the seat beside her.

"Chris is cool."

"I know."

Whenever he had mentioned Chris in their previous conversations, Adrian had been far more enthusiastic to tell her more than she'd ever asked to know. Why was his reply so short? He should be rambling right now.

"You okay?" Her gaze shifted from her laptop to him. "Do you want some of my coffee?"

"No thanks. Me + coffee is a bad idea. I'll be zonked out of my mind for the rest of my shift."

Weirdly, he hadn't discreetly - it never actually was as discreet as he thought it was - slid his arm around the back of her chair. He always did that. Something was up with him. That was obvious.

So, Y/N completely focused on Adrian. Her elbow rested on the back of his chair instead, her finger curling the ends of his hair around the tip, her body pointing in his direction so there would be no question where her attention was. She watched his eyes flicker to her lips, then to her eyes, then back to her lips, then they landed on his fidgeting hands and stayed there.

"It's okay for me to call you 'my girl', right? Cause I said you were to Chris and he had all these questions that I didn't know how to answer. And I don't me mean 'my' like I own you or anything - cause I don't and that would be super fucked up - I mean, like, I'm... I'm yours, y'know, I'm ya boi. I'm ya boi - I'm trying to say it seriously but I literally can't. I swear I tried both times I said it but my mouth has a life of its own," he let out in one breath. He said it so fast that she had to take a few seconds to process all the words that had just been thrown at her.

A few long seconds passed.

"We're lesbians, aren't we?" She asked and all the distress fell from his face. "I thought we agreed this morning that we're together?"

"Oh, thank god." His forehead made gentle contact with her shoulder and he let out a sigh of relief. "Chris got into my head, yeah, sorry about that. Chris is so cool - the coolest - but he can be a dick sometimes," he explained, sitting up straighter and fixing his glasses.

"He is cool but he's not as cool as you."

Someone thought Adrian Chase, the perpetual loser, was cooler than Chris Smith, the guy who was voted 'Most Likely to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse' in his yearbook?Yeah, Chris was a shoe in for that one because he'd been trained for combat whereas his peers had more loving and traditional upbringings, but it's still cool!

Adrian's brain malfunctioned. She knew all the right things to say to make him feel better.

"Marry me?"

"Bit early for that, isn't it?" she retorted, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Time is all wibbly wobbly."

"Your brain is all wibbly wobbly."

That was accurate. She could tell just by the goofy look on his face that he hadn't thought it through. He was quick to extremes when he was dealing with emotions that he had no idea what to do with. Apparently, whenever he felt particularly soft or tender, he went from 0 to 100 and asked her to marry him. He'd done it a few times when they were platonic, but now that they were romantically together, it had a different connotation.

Brushing that thought away, he brought her knuckles to his lips and pressed a sloppy kiss to her skin. A very sloppy kiss. One that made her ask, "Why is your mouth so wet?"

"I've been drooling over you all day."

"That's so cheesy."

"I like cheesy," he confessed while kissing her knuckle once more. "All of the best movies are cheesy. Or bad. Like High School Musical. Or High School Musical 2. Or 3."

"What about Sharpay's Fabulous Adventure?"

The conversation continued smoothly, their hands still conjoined until his break was over and he was forced to leave her side. He frequently caught glimpses of her through the door and got distracted watching her type her novel. And whenever Philip would walk up to take her order, she would be as polite as possible but immediately shut him down as soon as he tried to prolong their conversation. That's his girl! Of course she would try not to talk to his high school bully.

When he passed her table on his way to fix the coffee machine, he slowed down and leaned in close. "Since I was late, I've got to stay until closing time. If you want to wait around, I can walk you home," he murmured like it was a secret but quickly and quite loudly added, "Only if you want me to, of course."

Maybe she would want Vigilante to walk her home like he usually did.

"I would like you to."

Fuck yeah! Adrian 1 vs. Vigilante 0.

With the promise of escorting her home dressed as himself - which was huge - the final stretch of Adrian's shift seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. She waited outside as the locks were locked and the till was cashed up, leaning against the cool brick of the building while she watched the other workers leave.

Francis and Philip came out first, instantly lit up their cigarettes, and once they saw her leaning there, offered one to Y/N. She shook her head and, although they had been polite, stepped away so she wasn't inhaling their smoke.

Penny was next out. She didn't spend any extra time just milling around and got the fuck out of there as soon as possible.

Julia and Adrian were last out. It was obvious it was a casual 'hey I'm your boss and I understand that life happens sometimes but please be on time' chat that wasn't exactly unpleasant, but Adrian did break away from the moment he saw Y/N out of the corner of his eye.

Why were his colleagues looking at the couple so strangely? Maybe they couldn't believe that the pair hung out after hours. If so, that was stupid of them. Adrian spent every single minute of his breaks with her (and more if he snuck away, which he often did), why wouldn't he try and spend the rest of his time with her?

"You ready?"

Y/N watched that over Adrian's shoulder, he saw Philip's smug sneer and how he looked as if he was going to make a snide remark about Adrian. All the bullies from her past had also had that look.

"Pookie?" Adrian hummed his response. "Kiss me?"

Your partner tells you to kiss them, what do you do? Decline? Absolutely not! There was no question, no debating. His mind was made up. He didn't need to be asked twice. Eager was the only word to describe how he surged forward to kiss her, his hands wrapping around her back to pull her in close, and in an instant, Philip got the message.

"You cold?" He was taking his jacket off before she had even responded and draping it over her shoulders. Y/N didn't have the heart to tell him that she was actually quite warm and let him have his gentlemanly moment.

They began strolling to her house like they had done so many times before. And like all those times, he was having an internal debate whether he should reach for her hand or not. To test the waters, he inched his fingertips over hers just lightly enough that he could claim it was an accident.

"Are you trying to hold my hand?"

If she didn't explicitly say it, did that mean she didn't want him to hold her hand? He didn't want to be presumptuous and just do it; that worried him that he would come off as clingy. And clingy is not sexy.

"What? No! I mean yes, I wasn't..."

"Pussy."

She interlocked her fingers with his. He was far too happy to care that she'd insulted him.

10. Whore Panties

Y/N and Adrian took their time to get back to her house, their conjoined hands swinging between them like a pendulum as they took the long way home, the light slowly retreating from the streets and making it seem emptier with every block they passed.

"It's getting dark out," Adrian remarked, looking up into the sky and stating the obvious. "Let's get our butts a-movin' before it starts to get all creepy."

"I'll protect you from all the creeps, don't worry," Y/N reassured playfully. He was a crime fighting vigilante. He didn't need protection. And she knew that.

"You'll let me hide behind you if we come across any ghosts or witches or shit like that?"

For a moment, the meek nerd act seemed real. Y/N was no fool but if she had to guess, he wasn't as fearless when it came to the supernatural side of life. Killing a rapist? Very doable. Checking out a bump in the night? He would be like a scared little kid.

"Of course, pookie."

They got to her street and were greeted by her next door neighbour's house lit up in a multicoloured array of LED lights, all flashing and blipping along with a very loud mumble rap track. The Davenport teenager must be having a party. She was pretty sure that Mr. Davenport had mentioned that he was going away on a business trip that day since he asked if she could keep an eye on his teenage son. Oh. She understood. Kids always do the opposite of what they're supposed to.

Always. As long as nobody died of alcohol poisoning, Y/N didn't really give a shit about what they did. Kids will be kids, and kids will be stupid.

"Not to be a prick but disturbing the peace is a misdemeanour, and those children are annoying shits." Adrian stated, jumping face first on the couch as soon as she got her front door open.

Everything he said was factually correct.

"Not to be a prick but you are showing your age, grandpa. So grumpy," she teased with a smile, dropping down to sit on the edge of the sofa and run her fingers through his hair. "You're an old man these days."

"I am not."

Adrian flopped himself onto his back and stretched out his legs, groaning like an old man when his joints clicked and popped.

"They do say 30 is the new 45."

"Who says that?"

Just as Y/N was about to brush some of his curls off his forehead, he noticed her shit eating grin, knew that "You're fucking with me," and got a hold of her wrist. He tugged at her arm so she'd fall into him with his one hand as the other wrapped itself around her waist until Y/N was firmly trapped against Adrian's chest. Laughter filled the living room for the next few seconds as they wrestled playfully, although it seemed that Y/N's tactic was burying her face in the crook in his neck and giggling like a schoolgirl rather than doing any defensive manoeuvres.

Eventually, Y/N managed to lift herself up and rested her palms against his chest. That meant that not only her knees were straddling his waist, but she was also looming over him and giving him a direct view of her boobs. "My dad called me this morning..."

So, yeah, he wasn't listening to a thing she was saying. He made 'uh-huh' and general affirmative sounds but not a single word was actually comprehended. Cause boobies! You know? It took a full 60 seconds of his dopey, wide eyed leering for Y/N to notice. Once she did, however, it was obvious where his focus was. Her forefinger poked his chin upwards so he'd move his gaze from her chest to her face.

"What was I talking about?"

Fuck. He had no idea.

"You were talking about the new season of Fargo?"

"Wrong answer. Totally wrong."

Shit.

"Was I close?"

"Not at all." She purposely pulled at the fabric at her hips to expose herself even more. "Are my boobs hypnotising you?"

Some incomprehensible horny sound came from his mouth and couldn't keep himself from looking up at her cleavage. That noise only got louder when she guided his hands to her boobs, squidging his hand so it would squidge her. And although he was having such a good time, he wasn't showing it. His touch was as if he was afraid of hurting her, so unsure and cautious that Y/N felt the need to reassure him.

"Adrian," she cooed, causing him to sit up. "If you don't want to do this, we-"

"I want to do this." He paused to get the words right. "It's overwhelming cause I've been thinking about this for so long and I don't want to disappoint you - I'm great at sex, don't get me wrong. My head game is elite, you wait and see - it's just... sex has never been meaningful to me, y'know? And I want it to mean something with you. I want us to... I don't know."

This feeling stuff bullshit and being in love thing was hard.

"I think that any time I spend with you means something to me. Breathing the same air as you do is meaningful to me," she explained, placing a hand on his cheek and staring into his eyes. "If you want to wait, then we'll wait. (I will have to go into my room to finger myself in order to calm down because you've got me horny and I will have to sort that out.) Just say the word and we can -"

Interrupting her by sticking his tongue in her mouth, he hadn't even registered that she'd brought up masturbation because he'd been hung up on her sweet words rather than the raunchy ones. Every moment that they shared was meaningful to him too. There was no conceivable way that it could have more meaning than what they were experiencing right now. The way that he was feeling, what had happened between them, all of it was so natural that it had to be right, even if he didn't fully understand it yet.

Even if he didn't feel like he deserved her, Adrian knew that Y/N was the love of his life. He knew it. He had no idea how he knew it, but he knew it. For a motherfucking fact.

Y/N backed Adrian down until he was perched against the arm of the couch and being smothered in her lips. She'd found a particularly sensitive patch of skin just below the angle of his jaw and was fully abusing this new knowledge to get him to moan and beg for more. Due to how much affection he was receiving, Adrian was becoming more and more aware of how tight his trousers were getting. Frankly, they'd begun to get uncomfortable when she first straddled him and it had only increased since then. They needed to come off, he decided.

"Baby, please, I need to..." His mind was so fuzzy he could barely form words. She'd found his malfunction button so it took a lot of effort to blurt out, "We should take our clothes off!"

"Great idea."

In one fluid motion, Y/N pulled her dress off as he kicked his jeans off, almost kicking her off his couch in his haste. And, due to his eagerness, Adrian got his shirt stuck halfway over his face and flailed around for a few seconds before she helped him out of it, revealing his very scarred and muscled body. She traced her finger down his torso.

"You don't like them?"

He could tell just by the look on her face.

"No. I don't." Was that too blunt?

Instantly, he was scrambling to find his shirt, reaching and waving his hand across her carpet to grip onto the fabric. He hurried to offer, "I can put my shirt back on if you -" Whatever he was going to say or do halted as she shimmied back a bit to press gentle and loving kisses to his scars. The way she lingered on one in particular, the one on his stomach that was weirdly shaped like a five pointed star, had him taking in a deep breath. He was a little nervous to let her look at him in this light, to let her see all he had to offer, but she was so eager and her eyes were so bright that he didn't have a choice.

"I wish you had lived a life where this wasn't done to you, that's the part I don't like," Y/N confessed, letting her hands drift along his thighs. "There's no part of you that I don't want to see, okay? Gimme it all. I want all of you all of the time."

Well, that was a lot to internalise. Not yet though. He'd give himself time when she fell asleep later to relive that and tuck it away in his memories for a rainy day. Maybe he'd let himself shed a tear or two, but no more than that cause that wouldn't be cool and badass of him.

"Are we going to fuck now or what?" That definitely was the right amount of bluntness.

"Only if you want to," Y/N teased and leant down to place a kiss on his cock through his boxers, making a loud 'mwah' sound as she did so.

"If I ever say no, shoot me in the head."

She let out a snort that was not sexy in the slightest but it was the sexiest thing ever to him. That paired with the slow caress of her palms against his thighs meant that he was very ready to rock.

"Do you want to have sex here on the couch or on an actual bed?"

His response was so quick and excited and straightforward that only a real dum dum wouldn't be able to pick up on how horny he was. "I'm going to try to fuck you literally everywhere you'll let me so it doesn't really matter to me," he said, hooking his finger under her bra strap and fiddling with the elastic. "Bed, couch, floor, bathroom, kitchen, the backyard, astride a dragon. I'd really like to do it on a dragon."

"Hot."

Then they got back to smooching and he brought his hand to the clasp of her bra and waited for the go-ahead, which she gave him with no reservations. He unhooked it and pinged it somewhere in the room.

"Hachi machi!"

Like a moth to a flame, his tongue was immediately drawn to lick and swirl around her nipple, taking it into his mouth while drifting his hand down to move her underwear out of the way. The way she moaned and shifted against him, urged him to press a finger against her clit and massage in slow swipes.

"Can you do figure eights instead cause it feels bett- oh fuck - thank you," she muttered, arching her back and pushing her chest further into his mouth as he followed her instructions.

When he sensed that she was ready, he gently started curling his fingers inside her. The tight, aroused feeling of her wetness was enough to make him gasp and he had to stop moving his fingers for a moment so that he could remind himself that this was real. It wasn't one of his dreams.

Or one of those fantasies that he'd think up when he was bored at work, or at home, or when he was on patrol, or any time really. He thought about her a lot. In a lot of different positions. This was real. She was real. They were here. Together. He could literally feel how attracted she was to him. This wasn't a joke or a setup or an act. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. It was a mutual desire. Mutual affection. Mutual attraction. Mutual everything.

And it was fucking glorious.

Her hips rocked into his hand as he worked his magic with one hand while the other found hers and he pressed it into the sofa cushion. She was close. So close. He could feel it. He could hear it. Her moans soon turned into whines, which was the reason why he boasted, "I'm glad you approve."

"Are you going to fuck me or are you going to continue congratulating yourself?"

"Gonna fuck you."

So that's what he did. The whimper she let out as he removed himself for a moment almost made him spill his load right there, but he managed to keep his cool to yank his boxers down and lift her thighs to rest on his hips, the tip of his cock nudging at her entrance.

Once she'd given him a nod of approval, he pushed inside of her, the friction of her wet heat and the tightness of her muscles causing him to grit his teeth, breathe out, "Ohh-a-hoo, you feel good!" and squeeze his eyes shut to keep the embrace going for more than 5 seconds.

He picked up the pace far too quickly, his hands gripping her hips to keep her steady as he pistoned into her. She opened her mouth and made a noise that sounded something like "Uhhnnh," which he took as the cue to go faster.

"Baby... chill out. We have all the time in the world, slow down," she pleaded, her hands gripping his bicep with all her might so he'd listen to the words coming out of her mouth - which she knew was difficult for him when he was so turned on based on how this conversation started.

Abruptly, he stopped mid thrust. "You don't want to get pounded?"

"Not today. I would like to have slow, romantic sex with my boyfriend."

"How would you cum from that, though?" He asked with a level of curiosity that made it very clear that sex had always been a very straightforward thing for him.

"You just jackhammer into people until they cum?"

As cringe as it sounds, she realised as she said that out loud that he'd banged people before but he'd never made love to them. He'd had sex but never been intimate.

"Oh pookie," she cooed, pressing a reassuring kiss to his cheek. "Can I take over to show you?"

"Uh...yeah, I guess...?"

Y/N leaned in and captured his lips in a kiss, deepening it so he was completely compliant as she manoeuvred on top of him. Y/N rocked her hips teasingly slow,making him gasp and buck his hips up on instinct. She kept pressing smooches on his cheek so tenderly as she rode him that he was a submissive puddle below her.

She was being gentle, taking her time, and he was going to enjoy every second of it. "You feel good?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Mmm...so good." It was a struggle to keep his eyes open. He was on autopilot, in love with the feel of her, the scent of her, and it was taking all his concentration to stay in this moment and not let it slip through his fingers.

"I'm glad," she whispered, her mouth finding his earlobe to bite at it. "That you approve."

"I approve! I really really fucking approve!" he hummed. His hands found her hips as he moved them to pull her down to take him deeper. She was tight and hot, and he had the most amazing feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with his orgasm - although the orgasm felt amazing too. He was getting a little dizzy with happiness.

Or maybe Goff had done some lasting damage to him during the whole torture moment they had. Whatever the case, it didn't matter.

In the heat of the moment, his glasses began to fog up, which was quite a funny sight - or lack of it in his case - so he took them off, wiped them against the cloth of the sofa, and placed them back on so he could still see her. "You're beautiful," Adrian breathed, his eyes moving over every inch of her. "You are so fuckin' pretty."

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, her nails raked over his back as she parroted his words back to him. Because he looked so hot with his chest heaving, his eyes a little glassy, and his gaze so intense and so full of desire that she couldn't help but match it.

"You're my pretty boy, aren't you, pookie?" she asked, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as she gradually increased the speed of her movements.

"U-huh!" he stuttered out, his eyes widening and his hands grabbing her hips harder as he fought to hold on. His voice cracked. "I'm your... I'm your... I'm your... I'm your pretty boy."

"Yes you are, baby."

He pushed himself up, his hips rolling upwards to meet hers, and she was right there with him. Their mouths met in a clash of tongues and teeth as they moved in perfect unison, him pushing into her and her rocking back to meet him. She rode his thrusts and grinds, her eyes fluttering shut as the friction caused a firestorm of sensation to race through her.

Her hand moved to circle her clit but was slapped away so he could take over, using the exact technique she'd told him to before. He was panting her name in between grunts and groans of pleasure, each sound driving her closer to the edge.

Then, as she was teetering on the edge of oblivion, she gripped onto his hair and gave a firm tug. He cried out with a bunch of very loud expletives and let go of his own climax, pulling her down to take him deep and hard, forcing her to come down with him. The intense orgasm made her hug him tightly, burying her face into his neck as it washed over her. He stayed inside her, twitching as he fought to recover.

"Hey, we should-" he started, but Y/N placed a finger to his lips.

"Sh, just hold me."

They stayed like that. He did as she asked, basking in the warm afterglow of their lovemaking. They were wrapped up in each other's arms until their breathing had slowed and their hearts had calmed. When she had caught her breath, she chuckled when she noticed that his specs were lopsided and filthy, and reached out to clean them for him. She asked, "Are you okay?" as her hand trailed up his spine.

"I'm good," he mumbled, his eyes barely open. "A bit dizzy. But, like, sooooo good."

"How dizzy? How many fingers am I holding up?" She placed her middle finger in front of his face and was rewarded with a bite to her shoulder. "Ow! You freak!"

Adrian rolled his eyes. He'd been called a freak so many times but never so lovingly before. He leaned in and gave Y/N a quick peck on the temple, murmuring, "I'm a freak? I'm not the one with my panties full of cum. You're a freak with a capital fuh. Those, babe, are what I call whore panties," right on her hairline.

"Gross!" Y/N's face was flushed. It was the most adorable sight in the world and Adrian's entire world, as he smiled from ear to ear. "And if you think about it, it would be easier for whore to not wear underwear. It is literally their job to be cooch out."

"You're weird."

"Yeah, so are you."

With a playful nip to his ear, Y/N stood up and helped Adrian to his feet. "Let's shower," she said, dragging him out towards the bathroom. They'd only taken three steps before he was picking her up by the waist and carrying her there. She didn't protest. If anything, she found it charming. Giggling in his arms just felt right.

Next Chapters: 11-15

#adrian chase #vigilante #vigilante x reader #adrian chase x female reader #peacemaker #adrian chase x reader

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thewayshedreamed · 1 year

Text

The Hereafter

Nessian one-shot [post-acowar, pre-acofas]

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A/N: Some post-war, pre-acosf Nessian angst/ longing— because that's what called to me, okay? We got hints of the strained relations during that Nessian era, but we didn't get the full visibility. This was an attempt at a glimpse into one of those interactions— where the pull is there, but the barriers are, too. Nesta doesn't quite understand everything that comes with her new existence and is still trying to find her place in it all. Cassian attempts to stay out of her way and give her space, but their draw to the other has a mind all its own. Nesta is also very unfamiliar with Fae norms and customs, and that only adds to the unresolved tension between the two of them.

This is an angsty one-shot written for my wonderful and patient friend who made zero complaints about getting her Secret Santa gift in March 😅

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For a species considered to be superior in every way— proclaimed largely by their own, unsurprisingly— the Fae left a lot to be desired in their romance literature.

Different preternatural ability, same load of bullshit.

Nesta scoffed internally. It wasn’t as if she held any notion that these fictitious relationships were meant for her, or anyone else, really. And if she truly abandoned what remained of her prim, high-collar upbringing, she could admit to reading them for the more physical connections as of late. She held higher hopes for those experiences than the more wholesome ones. The thought was so bleak that it should have depressed her, but she would have needed to be anything other than numb for that to happen.

It was ironic, this new existence. All her senses firing beyond any reasonable ability, yet complete and total apathy for anything else. An almost painful sensitivity paired with the need for extremes to evoke any care at all.

The forced choice between emptiness and the pain that accompanied experiencing anything to its fullest.

The war had changed Nesta in many ways. Her general perspective and approach to life had been challenged by the low odds of her survival, and they were changed altogether when she’d managed it. Of course, she hadn’t been alone in achieving it, but that was another road entirely to travel.

A booming laugh sounded down the hall, and the abrupt lapse of silence made Nesta flinch. She was seated in a bay window off the side of her sister’s home, tucked among a few plush pillows and with a blanket draped over her lap. The quiet had made it the perfect spot to sit and read, and she scowled in the general direction of the offending noise.

It was his laugh, and she cringed at the realization that she knew it so well. Their interactions had been minimal before, but since the war, they had been nearly nonexistent. It seemed that neither of them had managed to figure out how to broach any casual interaction after Cassian’s words had settled into her bones during, what they’d assumed was, their final moments.

I regret nothing in my life but this.

Nesta snapped her book shut and leaned her head against the window. The way his words haunted her jabbed at a long-dormant buzz beneath her skin, down to her bone marrow. The subtle warmth came first, only enough to attempt to seduce her into leaning into it. But Nesta wasn’t one to give in so easily.

Discipline and strategic distraction had been her allies in tamping down what she’d stolen. Anytime her vigilance dropped, even for a moment, that warmth escalated to a sharp, bone-melting heat that left her feeling like her only option was to erupt. The alternative was implosion, she imagined.

Her will kept her safe. Everyone hinted at trying to understand the power and learning to wield it so that it didn’t control her or drive her to madness. Her response was always the same— cold indifference, perhaps a quick retort to mind their own business depending on the day. Either one was preferable to the truth.

The potential, both positive and negative, terrified her.

Laughter sounded again. Nesta wished it would have served as kindling to a lighter version of herself, one where her chest didn’t feel so heavy and her shoulders weren’t perched so high. All it did was point out how she didn’t fit, how everyone had seemed to heal in immeasurable ways in the months since the war. Ways that eluded her time and time again.

Amren had offered plenty of unsolicited advice. Feyre probably would have done the same if Nesta had given a shred of hope that her sister’s help would have been well-received.

While their High Lady— gods, would that title ever feel commonplace?— was keen to allow Nesta to set her own pace, Amren hadn’t been. Tough love didn’t begin to describe her approach in supporting Nesta, and frankly, some days it felt less like support and more like a begrudged job.

Apparently, merely existing wasn’t an acceptable way to pass the infinite time. Amren had challenged her to do something with it, and since the days after the war held fewer opportunities for an emissary, Nesta had been left to figure out what the hell she cared to do with her days.

Elain had her gardening, and while Nesta appreciated the dedication and focus her sister poured into it, it wasn’t something she was interested in practicing herself. Feyre had whatever High Ladies were tasked with doing, although she guessed Feyre was setting the standards as the first in Prythian’s history.

Nesta rested her book on the bench nearby and began folding the blanket she’d used. More commotion came from down the hall, and as the voices grew louder, she realized she’d spent more time than she intended lost in her thoughts.

That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.

Her eyes squeezed shut against the intrusion of the memory. It was always unwelcome and particularly ill-timed. And wasn’t that the fatal flaw in all of it— time?

She fluffed the throw pillows and tucked her novel beneath her arm. On silent feet, she padded to the stairs nearby and followed them down through one of the house’s several living areas, smoothing her skirts and making her way to the kitchen. A relieved breath whooshed out of her at hearing those same voices descending the stairs, and she thanked the Cauldron that she’d managed to avoid them.

A scoff escaped her. Since when had she started thanking that glorified pot for anything?

Cynicism greeted her like an old friend, albeit not a very good one. The reprieves were always too brief and lackluster in contrast, but Nesta's very essence clung to them all the same. All for naught, usually.

Sitting idle was guaranteed to allow for rumination over the previous months and the infinite ones she’d yet to live. Something had to compete with her thoughts, lest she lean too heavily into them and stoke that aversive thrumming in her veins.

She hadn’t put much thought into heading toward the kitchen, especially since her appetite was nonexistent most of the time, and she had yet to allow herself to indulge in much of the Fae cuisine.

The inspiration didn’t reveal itself until she crossed the threshold of the spacious area. The merry group indulging in each others’ obnoxious company would likely carry their festivities into dinner, and one thing was for absolute certain.

Nesta would not be subjecting herself to that.

The invitations always came, usually from Feyre. Sometimes, Rhysand offered, but he seemed as enthusiastic about Nesta’s company as she felt about his.

It was a double-edged sword. Accepting the invitation came with a myriad of inevitable, uncomfortable moments. Declining it was a sin all its own, as evidenced by Feyre’s disappointment and compounded by Rhysand’s disapproval of the decision. All it did was perpetuate Nesta as the cold, callused bitch— no matter what she chose.

Preparing her own dinner seemed like a creative solution that was tolerable enough, and it allowed her to eat alone to avoid the questioning gazes as she picked at her meal. She had little interest in the task and even less interest in the product, but she would have an out for any invitations. Cooking was a small price.

Choosing what to make wasn’t difficult since Nesta cared for so few things. The only dish she’d managed to tolerate in recent memory was a chicken and bean stew she’d been gifted from a Fae vendor along the Sidra. She had taken a short stroll through Velaris in the middle of the day, and sheer curiosity had made her browse the vendor’s cart. Before she’d blinked, they had recognized her as their High Lady’s sister, and they’d insisted on sending Nesta away with lunch— their treat. A gesture of thanks, they’d said.

The stew had been rich and flavorful, and despite herself, Nesta had enjoyed it. And since her appetite had been pitiful in recent weeks, she was grateful that it hadn’t sat too heavily in her empty stomach. The bar was low with regard to what she considered a win in her new life, and the lack of nausea had made the list until some other facet of existence brought it upon her anyway.

Nesta shook her head against the thought and retrieved the handwritten recipe she’d tucked into a rarely used drawer. The vendor had been enthusiastic in sharing it with her, insisting it was “too simple” not to try herself, but they had clearly overestimated Nesta’s domestic abilities.

Looking back, she’d questioned the vendor’s business sense in offering one of his dishes to her so openly, so they hadn’t been the only one leaning into their bias. He had explained it away somehow; something about doubting Nesta would have much time to return and the fact that she would have no reason to start her own food cart as competition with her other duties.

If only she could have explained how undefined her role felt each day, how meaningless her presence seemed to the longevity of the Night Court. Maybe she could have shared how she remained in a perpetual, personal battle between relief that they didn’t need her and the sheer emptiness left where purpose should have been. Before the thought could discourage her, her reasons for cooking in the first place propelled her into action.

Her nose wrinkled against the smell of the raw chicken. Her movements had never been as efficient as in preparing it for boiling, nevermind her clumsiness along the way. She heaved a breath once she lowered it into the rolling water and turned her attention to chopping the onions and carrots, as well as the fresh herbs from Elain’s garden. Admittedly, the fresh thyme and rosemary offered a pleasant scent to combat the earlier one, and after some time, Nesta found temporary comfort in the redundancy of preparation.

The aroma came together beautifully once the various herbs, spices, and vegetables simmered with the chicken. Nesta allowed herself a moment to be pleased with her work and returned the lid to the large pot to allow everything time to cook together.

Voices travelled into the space from the other room— loud, although not entirely hostile— and resonated in the hollow area within her chest. Determined not to allow them to sour her satisfaction, Nesta settled into the nearby breakfast nook with her novel. She opened to her most recent page and lost herself in the space between the words, happy to immerse herself in some other life.

—

Fire.

Nesta smelled fire.

Her eyes leaped from the page to scan the immediate area. No smoke, no visible flames. The scent remained; however, and Nesta wondered about temporary madness until its source strode into the kitchen.

Cassian appeared— sauntered, as he usually did— around the corner, and the scent intensified. It hijacked Nesta’s senses, eclipsed all the other aromas she’d enjoyed earlier, until he was the object of her resolute focus. Against her will, to top it off.

He opened several cupboards in search of, only the gods knew what, until his eyes lit up at finding a package of dried meats in the pantry. Tucking it into the crook of his elbow, he opened another cupboard and pulled crackers, what looked like some kind of preserved fruit, and some nuts. Nesta fixed her features into indifference as she watched him move about the space, but it hardly mattered. Cassian didn’t seem aware of her presence in the slightest, but after several seconds, his voice traveled through the kitchen and clued her in to her naivety.

“Smells good in here,” he stated, his attention focused on which platter may have met his needs.

Nesta saw it for the olive branch it was, the attempt at casual and friendly conversation. The last thing she needed was his damned charity.

She hummed some semblance of a reply and turned to the next page with a soft snap. Cassian placed his haul on the countertop nearby and wisely withheld any type of retort at her dismissal. Well, he mostly withheld a reply if one ignored the unimpressed huff of a laugh he offered.

Cassian was a social creature in ways Nesta could never be, so ignoring him seemed the best way to have him stalking off to resume his grand time with the others. For the second time in mere minutes, though, he surprised her.

Without a word, he walked over to the large pot and lifted the heavy lid to peer inside. Nesta’s eyes bugged at his audacity to disturb her meal, doubling in size when he took things a step further and gave the stew a slow stir.

The book lay forgotten on the tabletop, and Nesta’s legs carried her over in a handful of long, purposeful strides. Cassian seemed unruffled by her proximity entirely, but Nesta’s bones thrummed in a delicate rhythm she wondered if she could ever understand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.

Cassian lowered the wooden spoon on the rest and looked sidelong at her. Half of his dark hair was pulled back into a haphazard bun, tendrils dancing around his face as if in step with the amusement in his gaze. Nesta’s breath caught, but she met his stare with equal intensity.

His mouth twitched at the corners, one side curling into a satisfied smirk. “I knew this smelled familiar. I’ve made it myself, more times than I can count.”

Nesta lifted the wooden spoon to stir the stew in some petty show of ownership. Doing so felt transparent, but Cassian needed reminding of boundaries, it seemed. He leaned his palms against the countertop and watched her without an ounce of offense in his posture.

They stood close enough to feel the other’s body heat, to hear the rhythm of the other’s breathing. Tension tickled every atom between them and permeated the space. The only saving graces were the erratic sounds of Nesta’s stirring and the occasional raised voice from the other room.

The silence within the kitchen wasn’t unwelcome or strained in its purest form, but the side effects of that silence became a beast all its own. Heightened pulse, the action-potential threaded through each cord of her muscles and the shallow breaths— they grew increasingly difficult to conceal with every passing second.

Cassian’s breath hitched, and since Nesta had already allowed herself the indulgence of his proximity, she lifted a small bit of stew to her mouth for taste testing. If her mouth was otherwise occupied, she didn’t have to be as concerned with it creating problems for her future self in a number of ways— ranging from scathing comment, all the way to something more physically indulgent.

The flavors flooded her tongue and filled her with an odd sense of pride at having produced something edible with no tools other than a slip of paper and social avoidance on her side. Before pure satisfaction could settle in, however, the glide over the back of her tongue fell flat, a little bland, and left her wanting. It was a test of her self-control that she lowered the spoon into the pot with a reasonable amount of force.

She cleared her throat. “So, you’ve made this before?”

The silence felt loaded with Cassian’s lack of response, but from the corner of her eye, she saw his head shake back and forth as if he’d been somewhere else entirely.

“Yeah,” he breathed, easing close enough that their shoulders overlapped. Nesta thought he would elaborate, saving her the awkwardness of fishing for information, but luck hadn’t been on her side in some time.

“How did I do?” she asked, more timid than she’d care to sound. Her goal had been teasing indifference.

Cassian’s hand shadowed hers on the spoon in permission, and Nesta nodded. The roughness of his skin ghosted over the back of her palm during the transfer, and usually, she would force herself to bristle. Too much time had passed with his body so close, and her commitment to the charade felt minimal at best.

“It smells great; looks right. Why?”

“Something isn’t right about it.”

He hummed in consideration. Nesta back arched imperceptibly before she righted herself. With her guard down, it was as though her body aimed to betray her in favor of pressing her shoulder blade against Cassian’s broad chest.

Cassian muttered a low curse and dropped the spoon against the side of the pot with a dull thud. Nesta’s gaze whipped over her shoulder, mouth poised around a reprimand or some scathing, rhetorical question, but the look on his face stopped the words short.

His wings flexed over his shoulders, and the effect the movement had on how light scattered through the membrane would have been dazzling if not for the way Cassian’s pupils seemed bottomless. They pulsed around the edges, seeming impossibly darker and devouring any hint of his eyes’ usual color. Nesta couldn’t look away, but in some distant corner of her mind, she wondered if she should have been more anxious overall.

Cassian’s hand gripped the edge of the counter, but he didn’t move away. That alone surprised her, and something like anticipation skittered up her spine and through her body like confetti.

That familiar, unwelcome warmth pulsed beneath the surface of her skin. Nesta had learned the signs so many times over, had developed numerous ways to cope and keep herself contained. None of them occurred to her, and for all she cared, they could incinerate her mercilessly.

His chin dipped, his eyes squeezing shut in an expression that looked similar to pain. Unbeknownst to Nesta, her head had leaned toward his shoulder by mere inches, but the way his body heat blazed the back of her neck felt like full, uninhibited contact. Cassian blinked, long and lazy, and the hazel of his eyes reappeared in a way that made Nesta wonder if she’d imagined the whole thing.

Cassian laid his free hand over the curve of her waist with a gentleness that seemed of someone else entirely, but the calluses that snagged the fine fabric of her gown identified him. It made no sense that she’d know that sensation anywhere, but somehow, it had been one permanently embedded in her memory from that final battle.

“Maybe it needs a little time for everything to come together,” he murmured, his thumb making a too-soft sweep over her waist.

That word again— time. Nesta had grown so exhausted with it, but she managed to keep that secret hidden.

She gave a curt nod and turned her attention back to the subpar meal, but Cassian’s hand held fast to its position. He occupied nearly all of her senses, and an impossible tightness gripped her ribs from the inside.

As if the shift in the air had thrown him off-kilter in a similar manner, a too-familiar drawl weaved its way into his next words. Their familiar ground, built on loaded silences and provocations, felt less like a foundation and more a slippery slope as of late.

“I wouldn’t be hard on yourself, Sweetheart.” His sweet, teasing tone choked her, like trying to breathe through syrup. “None of us got it on the first try.”

Her temper flared with an eerie sort of quickness, one that left her without balance and too vulnerable to what she spent most minutes of her days choking into submission. Her bones burned white hot, and she narrowly evaded her power’s proverbial claws. It would have been cause for celebration if the cost wasn’t her viper’s tongue and the annihilation of any peace they’d found.

“You try it, then,” she snapped, turning quickly enough for his hand to fall from her waist. “You could use your mouth for something useful rather than drone on as you do.” Without the pressure of his hand against her, perhaps her mental faculties would come back.

Cassian blinked a couple of times, and his gaze leaped from hers to the spoon in her hand. The other was poised beneath to catch any spill, and she held it toward him like something precious— anything to absorb some of the intensity flowing through her bloodstream, to keep her hands and focus at a safe distance.

“What?” he croaked. His eyes repeated their dance between her own and the spoon she held between them.

“Try it,” she ordered again, but her voice had lost some of its sharpness. “Tell me how to fix it, since you’ve got it all figured out.”

Cassian blinked again, and it could have been her imagination, but his chest seemed to heave with the effort of breathing. A chill was all that remained when he took two slow, small steps away from her. The change in him was as obvious as it was swift, but Nesta couldn’t fathom what had flipped the switch with such effectiveness.

“I— I can’t,” he scoffed. “The others are waiting for me.”

Nesta narrowly resisted a roll of her eyes at his sense of servitude. She watched as he snapped into action, locating a tray and piling his haul on top without taking even a moment to lay them out properly. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth, his brow furrowed, and his attention seemed to bounce all about the space while managing to miss Nesta’s general vicinity entirely. His movements were efficient in locating the last couple of items he needed from the cabinets and cooler nearby, and in seconds, he had the haul balanced in his arms once more.

Shaking her head against such a brutal shift in their conversation, Nesta turned toward her dinner and tapped the spoon lightly on the edge of the pot to return the contents. She tossed it into the trivet nearby with little grace and even less concern, and the loud clang seemed to echo in the too-silent room.

Cassian’s shoulders bunched under the weight of everything he carried; either that, or the abrupt change in their conversation felt uncharacteristically heavy to him, too. The thought that it might feel such a way gave Nesta some ill-placed sense of comfort, but considering she knew very little of it, she allowed the small bandage it applied to what felt like an ancient wound.

She made the way over to her book without any acknowledgement of Cassian’s existence. She had entertained it enough already, and if she settled back into where she’d left off in the story, she could finish two or more chapters by the time everything was finished. A much more productive use of her time, she thought.

Cassian paused at the threshold, and she hated that she even noticed. Her body— every sense it possessed— seemed bent on sabotage. Rather than look at him, she trailed her finger down the edge of the pages and turned to the next with delicate precision, but the words all ran together in a chaos she was trying so vehemently to keep private.

“Nesta,” he said, his voice low, “it’s sage.”

Her head snapped up before she thought better of it. “What?”

“What you’re missing, why your meal isn’t working. It needs sage.”

Nesta fixed him with an unimpressed glare. “Oh?” Her attention dropped to the page in front of her, the portrait of inconvenience. “I hate to offend your superior senses, but I added it already.”

She hadn’t. In fact, she cursed internally for the mistake. It was written plain as day in the recipe she followed, but she’d been so preoccupied with the other prep that it slipped her mind. Giving him the satisfaction, especially without his willingness to try the damned soup in the first place, didn’t appeal to Nesta.

Cassian cleared his throat. “I don’t think—”

“I’ll give it time,” she hissed, her eyes betraying her again by flying to his face. “All the time it needs.”

His dark eyebrows drew together in challenge, and Nesta could nearly see how his brain weighed the different strategies on how to proceed. His mouth opened, shut, and opened again. To her surprise, his lips ticked up at the corner, and she hated the hold that small movement had on her breathing.

“You can give it all you want,” he drawled, “but it won’t help.”

Her nostrils flared in irritation, and it was enough to tempt her to finally allow that boiling feeling to take over completely. To incinerate the moment, the two of them, and anything else in its wake, if only because she could. But mostly, it would have saved her the production of these conversations and the ever-present tug she felt toward Cassian, no matter how infuriating.

Nesta took a deep breath, warring with what to say, but he saved her the trouble.

“I helped Elain bring everything inside,” he murmured. The low volume did very little to disguise the satisfaction in his voice. “The bundle of sage in the cooler is untouched from this morning.”

Her heart leaped to her throat. Whether the rasp of his voice or the way he called her on the blatant lie was to blame, she wasn’t sure. She forced her gaze back to her open book and feigned the most casual tone she could conjure under the circumstances.

“The others are waiting.”

The very excuse he’d made for his intended departure was a safe dismissal. Cassian was many things, but clueless was not one of them. Nesta was confident he would see it for the clear signal it was that their conversation was officially over.

“Right,” he began, adjusting his haul in his arms. “I’ll see you around.”

Nesta catalogued each of his steps, annoyed that she knew the cadence so well. Her shoulders relaxed, and she blew out a long, heavy breath. She stared into the negative space of the room, a room that felt too large upon Cassian’s absence, yet too small when they had shared it.

Her gaze bounced from the pot perched over the small flame, to the cooler, and back to the novel in front of her. She was on her third attempt at reading the same paragraph when resolve abandoned her completely. Snapping the book shut, she huffed an undignified breath and stalked over to the cooler.

The sage wasn’t going to prep itself.

——————————————————————————

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#nessian #nessian angst #nessian tension #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #post-acowar #pre-acofas #pre-acosf #Nessian longing #nesta is prickly #cassian is cassian #twsd fics #twsd writes

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