Okay, so since like a whopping 6 of you read this, and it's really a just-for-fun distraction kind of story, I'm playing with the writing style on this chapter. We are back to 3rd person past tense after the intro, forgive the switch up… it'll prob go back to 1st next chapter, but I have a vision of this chapter like a movie in my head and I think that this is the best way to make you see what I see. Story is divided by song lines so I recommend listening to Air Catcher by Twenty One Pilots beforehand so you have the tune in your head.

Still named the ch Grimmjow since he is the main focus of the ch at the beginning. Happy reading

Grimmjow

I don't even know why the fuck I came here; all I know is that when I didn't hear from Pixie (because I flat out fucking refuse to call her by that god damn stage name) my heart fucking sank into my gut in a way I'm not used to feeling. Hell, I'm not used to feeling period unless it's anger, let alone this weak-ass worry shit. I ditched my normal fear and destruction routine as I took out the cash room in the back of some laundromat across the river, opting instead for some quick bullets in the back of the heads of the cleaners and grabbing the cash to head back to my comfortable slice of hell on this side.

"Why are we here, boss?" Edard rumbles as we shut off our bikes and stride up to the door.

All I can do is growl at him. First off, don't question me. Second off, I don't want to answer that.

"I'm just sayin'," he continues, "Koufang's got this, and he's the best of us, so…"

"We have to put this in the safe," I finally answer, pulling out the keys to access the back door. Yeah, that's the reason. Let's stick with that.

"For 5 grand?" The lug just doesn't know when to stop. "You wipe your ass with 5 grand, boss."

I finally stop abruptly in the back hall and turn my fiercest glare on him over my shoulder, watching his big frame seem to crumple before me. I don't like my crew cowering around me like whipped fucking dogs. I want them wild, untamed, and a force in their own right, but the bastard needs to remember who's in fucking charge so I don't let up until I get distracted by the low sounds of NF's Turn the Music Up coming from the main room.

There she is.

"Guard the back," I order him gruffly, waiting for him to trudge off, tail between his legs, and go outside before I keep going forward.

I turn the corner to a sight that takes my breath away. There's Pixie, earning my name for her as she flits and spirals around the pole like damn wings are on her back. She moves to the music with her eyes closed and none of the pageantry I'm used to dealing with at her shows. In boy shorts and a sports bra, she is still undeniably sexy, but the way she moves is what is truly breathtaking.

From floor to pole, she allows herself to move and contort to the music in ways that are utterly unscripted and free. She's lost in it, and for a moment, I'm lost in her as I make my way to the edge of the stage- until movement in the corner catches me off guard.

Koufang gives me a brief nod as he catches a glimpse of me, before bowing his head respectfully and letting himself quietly out to guard the front door.

I owe that tight-ass fucker a bonus.

The sound of the door startles my girl out of her reverie, causing her foot to slip and she begins to fall the ten or so feet to the floor, but I'm there in under a second, sliding across the floor of the stage and cushioning her fall.

"Grimm?" she half screeches in surprise, pushing to raise herself from my chest but I trap her in my arms before she can go anywhere.

"Lookin' good, Pixie."

"Don't call me that," she grumbles, but her body relaxing and molding into mine says what that smart mouth leaves out.

"Suck it up," I tell her playfully as the tinny music from her phone dies out to be replaced by Ruelle's throaty voice beginning to belt out the opening strains of Up in Flames. Fuck but I love this woman's eclectic taste in music. "You were killing it," I tell her seriously as a raise us both up to sitting and perch her on my lap, "What happened?"

"Got distracted," she answers absently, rubbing her elbow that took quite a hit on my ribs.

Damn pointy ass elbows, I should be rubbing myself. She needs to eat more.

"Normally I use the DJ booth for music, and it drowns out everything, but I wanted to dance to something different so I went for the phone music and it isn't as loud."

I can't help but eye her incredulously. "You forget about Bluetooth in only a year?" I ask with a grim.

"I can connect them?" she asks hopefully, wiggling temptingly on top of my lap before climbing back to her feet. She's gonna fucking kill me.

Leaning over, I grab her phone from her pile of clothes, flipping to the setting and starting the Bluetooth before rising and loping over to fire up the sound system. Immediately, the space is flooded by Ruelle all around. Pausing the music, I see more notifications coming in from the group chat but not actually ringing.

"Yo!" I yell across at her angrily, causing her to almost choke on the water she's chugging, "Did you silence the texts?"

Looking me dead in the eye, she calmly takes another sip of water. "Yeah."

Yup, either she's gonna kill me or I'm gonna kill her. "This. Is. How. I. Keep. You. Safe." I spell it out as slowly and calmly as I can, "How the fuck am I supposed to do this if you silence me."

The last sentence is a bare hiss. Does she have a motherfucking death wish that I need to be aware of?

A bare grin just tips the corner of her lush lips that could just as easily be luring me in to slash my throat as it could be to suck my dick and I wonder what the pint-sized hellion could be gearing up for.

"I silenced them, not you," she croons as she winds around the corner of the stage.

Well, be still my fucking heart. It's pounding in my chest like I'm a teenage boy about touch his first tit even though I could have sworn I'd killed that fucker years ago with sheer amounts of hate.

"What song you want?" I ask gruffly, clearing my throat and tearing my eyes from her. Distance. Need distance.

"Doesn't matter," She answers lightly, giving me a reprieve from those warm brown eyes that, I have found, make me want to fall into them, and gracing me with a view of her tight, pert ass instead, "It'll work as long as it's music."

"Wait," I can't help but pause in my scrolling, "You really think you can dance to anything?"

"Anyone can dance to anything," she answers, beginning to seem to zone out herself as she holds the poll to stretch her quad and knee, "It's just about feeling the beat. Just pick a song."

That's the distance we need. I started it. She's continuing it. But God fucking help this lowly sinner, I don't want it.

"Bull shit."

There's that spark! Her eyes yank back to mine, first in confusion and then in challenge.

"Not everyone can dance."

"Everyone can to dance," she shoots back, "I didn't say it had to be pretty, but they can dance."

"On top of that," I continue as if she hasn't spoken, "You definitely can't dance to 'anything'."

"Wanna bet?" she asks, eyes flaming into mine so good it hurts.

I'm addicted to the heat in them as they warm up everything dead and cold in me. I'm fucking addicted to her; she is the only one I've met than seems to be able to make me feel alive.

"Any song?" I clarify, already scrolling to one I know she'll like but that has so many different tempos and styles that I know it will be a challenge. It's not that I want her to lose, but, I mean, she did say bet.

"Any. Song."

In an instant, the room is flooded with the sound of a gentle piano melody.

Pixie's laugh rings out as she steps further into the stage. "Do I look like a fucking ballerina to you?"

"You said any song," I grin as I approach the edge of the stage, arms crossed across my chest. My cocky smile falls a little as she raises an eyebrow and executes a perfect double pirouette, landing right as a quick bass line kicks in.

Her eyes shoot wide and she bolts back upright, taking in the new pace. "You ass."

"I thought you liked Twenty One Pilots," I comment lightly.

But there's that damn little twitch of her mouth again. "Love," she comments back surely before jumping sideways onto the pole

"I don't fall slow like I used to

I fall straight down

You've stolen my Air Catcher

That kept me safe and sound"

With a flick of her legs and a quick release, his Pixie rolls down the pole to land in a crouch on the floor. Arching her back up and leaving her hand planted, she turns herself in an arch back toward the pole, eyes meeting Grimmjow's with a quick wink. Righting herself and executing a quick two step side to side with a smile, pantomiming twirling a cane, Ema bounces quickly back to the pole.

As his eyes roam her body where she kicks up, latching around the pole by her ankles to swing in a slow circle, Grimmjow has to resist yanking her right back off the stage. She has sure as shit stolen something of his, maybe his sanity, maybe his…

Fucking Freudian slip of a song, he can't help but grimace.

"My parachutes will guide me

Safely to ground

But now, the cord's not workin'

And I can see you starin' me down"

And Christ on a cracker but was he staring. Ema could feel his eyes burning into her as she slowly lowered herself down the pole in a spin with her ankles before she reached up to grab the pole and spiralled into a simple chair spin before releasing herself to the ground again and walking sinuously around the pole on her toes.

She knew she was playing with fire, but couldn't seem to care as the lyrics of the songs echoed her feelings.

"I won't fall in

Love with falling

I will try to

Avoid those eyes

Oh-ohh"

But she couldn't do anything to avoid them, could she? As if he was gravity itself, she spun right back to face the glorious beast of a man in front of her. She could feel the heat of him tracing her body and flooding her core just in the trace of his eyes on her curves as she gripped the pole behind her and shimmied in slow circles down to the floor and back up.

The newly rapid beat spurred her back on to execute a rapid flip, aided by the pole in her hand, to land directly in front of him before the timing changed again into the jaunty beat of the first verse.

"I think you would beat the moon in a

Pretty contest

And the moon just happened to be the

Very first thing

That I missed"

"Dance with me?" she whispered holding her hand out to the stoic Espada whose arms remained crossed over his chest, though his eyebrows now rose incredulously.

"No," he deadpanned.

"Oh, come on," she cajoled him, eyes alight with mischief that made Grimmjow's mouth tick up in a hidden smirk despite his best attempts to fight it.

"Absolutely not."

With a smirk of her own, Ema backed away from the edge, spinning away from him to two-step jauntily back toward the pole, ass bouncing enticingly. "Your loss."

"I was doing fine on my own and there

Wasn't much I lacked

But you've stolen my air catcher and

I don't know if

I want it back"

Ema's eyes, which had closed in an attempt to drown out all but the music flew open as large hands settled gently on her hips and foot steps flawlessly followed her own.

"You-"

Her words were cut off as she was pushed into a spin that put her chest to chest with the man she could swear she had simply dreamed up.

Grimmjow fought and lost to the grin that spread across his face, secrets in it that she couldn't begin to puzzle as those god damn eyes locked on hers. Tipping her back in time to the verse, he tried to ignore the message in the lyrics.

"You don't know everything about me, Pix," he rumbled against her exposed throat before pulling her back up, locked in his arms, flush against his body.

"I won't fall in

Love with falling

I will try to

Avoid those eyes"

As the tempo increased again, Ema struggled out of the daze his very presence induced in her. He was a drug and it would be so easy to slip away in his high and stop worrying.

"Throw me," she said quickly, stepping back and pointing at the top of the pole. Space. God, she needed some separation. Now.

"What?" he asked incredulously, eyeing her failure at recovering from his touch.

"Throw me!" she practically screeched, bouncing from foot to foot as he slowly bent with his fingers interlaced.

"'Cause, I'm not sure

I want to give

You tools that can

Destroy my heart"

Way to play it, Pix, Grimmjow thought ruefully, following her track as she ascended like a damn angel above him, only to be caught off guard as she snagged the pole and immediately arched into a full backbend on the pole above him in time with the damning lyrics.

If he had thought her face was expressive, it paled in comparison to what she expressed so effortlessly with her body. And as she slowly turned at the top of the pole, heart exposed to the sky, Grimmjow struggled to even understand what it could mean before she started moving again.

"And judges don't say

What you want to hear

So I'll write my fears"

Eyes closed again to the reality around her and the unknowns it held, Ema let the music carry her into a sinuous upside down spin that wound her around the pole. Everything in her life was all danger, all the time, but the security in those arms, those strong hands so capable of destroying everything, seemed to pull her back toward them like a magnet.

"And I don't believe

In talking just to breathe

And falling selfishly"

Grimmjow could only watch in something akin to awe as this tiny woman wrapped the frayed strands of himself around those small hands with every wrap of herself around the pole.

Sure, she was literally sex on a stick but that wasn't it. He wanted nothing more than for those eyes, those honey brown eyes that were now unobscured by the show she put on for the rest of the world to look at him like they had a moment ago. He watched as she scissored her legs to effortlessly right herself directly in front of him, lids raising as she adjusted her feet on the pole.

"I won't fall in

Love with fallin'

I will try to

Avoid those eyes,"

Bracing one foot on the pole and one ankle behind it, Ema raised herself horizontally to stand on the pole itself, eye to eye with Grimmjow. The success of the difficult maneuver didn't even phase her as she reached out a hand to trace the structured brow of the face that haunted her dreams.

His soft hair gave way to her gentle touch, revealing eyes that pierced into her like a needle, and a visage as full of question as she was sure her own must be.

"But, now, I'm here

To give you words

As tools that can"

Unable to resist her temptation anymore, Grimmjow wound one strong arm under her own, the other gripping her hip to pull her from the pole. He didn't want her there, he wanted her on him.

She didn't disappoint as her strong legs came up to circle his waist, hands having travelled to cup his jaw as he twirled in a slow circle.

"Destroy my heart."

Mine. It echoed in Grimmjow's mind. If he could have trapped this moment in a bottle it would have become his most sacred position. They could have the money, the drugs, even the bikes. He only wanted…

"Grimm," she whispered, a bare breath against his lips as they drew closer.

"What is your name?" he asked carefully, gently.

"I-"

Her name, Ema's mind scrambled. There was so much in a name. That no one knew was the crux of her safety and theirs.

"It's-"

Fuck, was she really going to do this? This wouldn't just destroy her heart, It could destroy her.

"Pixie…"

Oh, but how she wanted to tell him. What would it be to hear her name pass his lips, to have him groan it when buried deep inside her or laugh it out when she was silly.

"My name- my name is-"

They had completely missed the change in music as Trapdoor, the next song on the album, had begun but the sound of Travis Scott's voice knocked Grimmjow from his stupor with a growl.

"Forget I asked," he grumbled, quickly setting Ema on her feet and hopping off the edge of the stage.

"Grimmjow?" she questioned as he whistled loudly, signally to Koufang that he could enter again.

"I said, forget it, Pix," he ordered, "and turn off this fucking song."

And he was gone. Just like that.

Sliding down the menu from the top of the phone, Ema quickly disabled the Bluetooth, leaving the room eerily quiet, filled only with the song still playing through the tinny cellphone speaker.

"What the hell was that?" she asked Koufang in confusion, still eyeing the opening to the back hallway with trepidation and no small amount of sadness.

Her guardian simply raised a brow and looked back at her with a bored expression. "All your emphasis on lyrics and meaning and you can't figure that one out?" he answered with a snort before turning back to resolutely face the door.

Getting out of iTunes, Ema quickly pulled up the internet instead.

[Lyrics trapdoor 21 pilots]

Before she could hit enter for the search her phone pinged with another text.

King: And turn back on your fucking notifications

Ignoring the tone of the message was an act of will, but she quickly panned back to her search, reading quickly. Words that could destroy indeed, she thought sadly.

King: Don't ignore my fucking messages either

King: Do I have to spell everything out for your ass?

Pixie: Couldn't ignore you if I tried

King: WTF is that supposed to mean?

This was not going how she wanted it to. How did she even want it to go?

And how did he? His Indian was eating up the road at a ferocious pace, but Grimmjow barely even glanced at it, knowing these desert trail better than he knew himself. Instead, his sole focus was on the 3 blinking dots that showed she was still typing.

What had he been thinking being that soft? Who the fuck cared what her name was? It was just another level of attachment that he didn't-

Pixie: Just that I didn't want you to go.

Well shit. Shit and double shit. What was with this woman and trying to dig for his soft spots? And the worst part- the worst fucking part- was that she seemed to be stumbling across some that he didn't even think he had. This was unacceptable.

King: alien emoji

So, why couldn't he help himself?