#another one tonight folks……what damage will they do

[andoutofharm]

latest on streams for tonight!

[thekidsralright]

a love worth fighting for.

pairing: abby anderson x f!reader

synopsis: anderson is the name on everybody's lips when it comes to discussing the newest up-and-coming boxers of the season. with the help of her coach and you by her side, she's going for the world title. but what will she have to sacrifice to get there?

an: so, it's finally here. this is a big one for me folks - i'd go as far as to say the biggest fic i've ever worked on. ever. i'd love for this to be multi chapter, but that depends on the reception part 1 receives. if you like it, please reblog and let me know your thoughts. i'm proud of this, so be kind with your comments x

warnings: 18+ mdni. violence, swearing, references to smut (despite this chap not having any super explicit content, if i decide to continue this fic there will defo be heavy smut in the next upload - so don't even bother reading the first part if you're not of age).

The MC’s voice reverberates throughout the stadium, drowning out the cacophony of cheers, boos, and overarching buzz from the crowd. You could never predict who they would back until the night, usually finding that boxing fans are easily swayed depending on who gets the first punch in. You were hoping all support would be directed at her tonight, god she needed it. Trying to maintain a positive attitude is hard when your girlfriend's opponent is making his way into the ring, his impressive height and wide, muscular shoulders towering leagues above his teams; arms raised, working the crowd and hyping them up in anticipation for the fight to come. They’re already eating out of his hands, the bastards.

“Ladieeees and Gentlemaaan! Welcome to the main event. In the blue corner, weighing in at 188 pounds, undefeated in 48 fights; he needs no introduction folks - it’s the man, the beast, Zach ‘Thunderstorm’ Norriiiiiis!”

The crowd roars in excitement, slapping their hands together and pumping their fists in the air. Zach is one of the nation's favourites, as any undefeated boxer would be. The nickname ‘Thunderstorm’ came from the sound his opponent’s bodies would make when they hit the canvas, like the crack of lightning. You look ahead with a neutral expression, keeping your eyes focused on the empty archway ahead of you - trying not to zero in on just how big his arms were. How they could crush someone's airways, smash apart their ribs, do irreplaceable damage.

You inherently hated what your girl did as a profession, hated the way she put herself in harm's way time after time after time. But there was also a part of you that admired her for it, for the unbreakable determination that radiated from her - if she got beaten down, she would get right back up and come at you even harder. It’s what kept forcing you to show up. That, and also the tiny factor of being absolutely in love with the woman. But when she got hurt, which seemed to be every other day lately, you really wanted to grab a hold of her fucking head and shake the-

“Aaaaand coming into the red corner, Thunderstorm’s opponent, weighing in at 175 pounds. She hails from Salt Lake City, and is rising through the ranks quickly. With 30 wins, 24 of them coming by way of knockout, give it up for the new kid on the block -  it’s Abbyyyyyy Andersooooon!”

And here she comes, bowling out of that archway with Coach right on her tails; the hood of her red robe covering her plaited hair, matching red gloves already fastened and ready. Even from where you were waiting by the stalls, you could see the all-too-familiar expression that befalls her face before every fight. Eyes so dark they look black, focused, unwavering; brimming with unshed aggression that are preparing for the violence that is about to ensue. 

Frightening. Arousing. Another reason you’re still with her.

Abby ducks under the ropes of the ring, bouncing on her feet as she grounds herself on the canvas before moving over to her corner where Coach is now waiting. As you rush up to them, Coach gives you the look he always does before a fight - the type that screams, ‘you shouldn’t be here, girl.’ He thinks you’re a distraction, an irritating fly he’d rather swat away so he can make sure his prized money maker has the best chance at winning. You weren’t giving in that easily. Coach could go to hell for all you cared; you knew his real motivations when it came to all of this. Abby may regard him like a father, but you saw him for what he really was. A leech.

Coach shouts up into Abby’s ear, her head bent in concentration - “He’s a fucking showman. That, and a bit of muscle. You know you got the upper hand tactically; he has no fucking clue what’s about to hit him. Just stay focused Anderson, and this bout is yours.”

Abby nods resolutely, eyes trained on the canvas as she rolls her shoulders back and cracks her neck. Coach’s hands come up to grip the ropes between them.

“You gotta win this champ, you can win this. Just don’t. get. distracted.”

Both Coach’s and Abby’s eyes turn to you at the same time as you offer up a reassuring smile to your girlfriend, also now clutching at the ropes that separate you.

“You got this babe.”

She nods quickly and gives a tight smile, but you can tell from the tense line of her shoulders that she’s stressing out. Yes she’s fought before, but it was never on this big of a scale. Never against opponents like him. It was what Coach insisted was the next step –

“You wanna face off a load of wimps Anderson? Or do you wanna make it to champion status?... Yeah? Of course you fucking do. Then you gotta get in front of the crowds and beat the shit out of the favourites.” 

Easy for him to say, he’s not the one going up against an undefeated fighter. But you had faith in your girl. That was never going to change. You move closer to the ring as she crouches down into the corner, Coach double checking he has all the supplies that she would need between rounds. You take her face in your hands through the division of the ropes and pull her in for a quick kiss - before she can move away, you hold her there and take her chin in your grip, eyes lingering on hers.

“Win this…like I know you can, and then come home and fuck me like a champion.”

You don’t give her time to respond as you let her face go and back away, moving into the crowd as you cheer her name. That posture of stress has eased slightly, and a smug smile is planted on her face instead. Coach, of course, comes and wipes that smirk away as he puts her mouthguard in, holding her head still as he most likely shouts some type of bull at her once again. But of course, she’s listening to him like it’s gospel. Amped up and ready to fight, Abby raises herself to full height, bouncing on her feet and swinging her arms to the side. The crowd aren’t sure what to make of her, most of them never even hearing her name before. But there is the occasional cheer for “Anderson!” amongst the rally of support for Norris. After all, people do love an underdog.

The announcer calls Abby and Norris into the middle of the ring, a hand on both of their chests as he explains, “Now I want a nice, clean game. Nothing below the belt. Are we clear?”

Both nod, pressing against the MC’s outstretched hands in an act of intimidation towards the other. Abby’s face is like stone, never breaking eye contact and standing strong. Norris on the other hand, his smirk was the show of pure arrogance. She better fuck this dickhead up. Both back away from each other, getting into a southpaw stance as the MC’s voice rings out for the last time. 

“Are we readyyyyy…FIGHT!”

You forget about everything else when that bell rings; the crowd getting louder, Coach’s bellows erupting from her corner, the look on Norris’ face as he circles his prey. The toll of that bell ringing in your ears sounds like a death sentence, also signalling the start of round 1. 

____________

By round 4, the feeling of uneasiness settles in your stomach and your eyes continue to follow her quick-shifting form, matching her movements so that when she ducked or flinched back, so did you. Both fighters have been pretty level with one another so far, both sending out jabs and uppercuts - only for them to be warded off before any real damage could be inflicted. It’s not enough to win though, she needs a clear hit.

Abby goes in for a right hook, ever so slightly clipping Norris’ chin and the crowd ripples in response, hoping for the real fight to begin soon. Norris responds with a clinch to stop her from advancing too quickly, wrapping his arms around and over her. You hated seeing him touch her like that, your own fists clenching at your sides in response.

The bell tolls again signalling the end of the round, both fighters making their way to their respective posts - but not before you see Norris saying something in Abby’s ear. She doesn’t move for a second, eyes unwavering on Norris as he turns his back. For a second you think she might go for him, but she’s worked too hard to let her temper win now. With a shake of her head, she goes over to Coach and plunks down on the ground - tearing off her gloves with her teeth and ripping out her mouthpiece. Her focus is still sharply on Norris across the ring, most likely getting strategy tips and a pep talk in her ear from Coach, reminding her to channel all that anger back into the task at hand. 

You don’t move from your seat in the crowd, wanting to give her the space to fully zone in. She knows you’re here for her and only her, and you provided enough motivation at the beginning of the night to last the duration. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy the view at the moment either, and that those feelings of uneasiness were also coupled with an overwhelming tide of arousal.

The way sweat is dripping down her face and neck, trickling down her chest and onto her arms. How she runs her hands over the top of her head, dousing it in water and brushing through the roots with her fingers to cool off. Yeah… you really hoped she did win tonight, not just because she deserves it from how hard she’s been training, but selfishly a part of you really wants to get fucked good tonight. Especially after the show she’s putting on for you right now. And you know for a fact it’s only for you.

Abby’s let you know multiple times how much she loves you watching her fight, seeing her crush opponents to a pulp and looking absolutely glorious doing so. It’s upsetting that tonight, she isn’t doing so well. But this is what she and Coach wanted, to start moving up the leagues and facing off against better fighters - solidifying her name among the real competition. You try to stop the negative thoughts from creeping in, try to stay positive for your girl.

The rounds keep stacking up, neither Abby or Norris winning the upper hand for long. It’s evident that both fighters are getting aggravated by round 9, their punches falling on the side of reckless, their expressions displeased and downright pissed. You shout as loud as you can, “Come on baby, you can do this!” in the hopes that Abby can hear you over everyone else. And she must have done, as her head slightly turns in your direction on instinct, and Norris’ gloved fist takes the opportunity to make contact with the side of her face in response.

The crowd screams with excitement, satisfied with the fact that something is finally happening. But all you see is red as the blood sprays from Abby’s mouth on impact, her body crashing into the ropes that barely keep her form upright. You take a step forward as does Coach, you both now waiting for the bell to ring so you can meet her at the post. 12 seconds.

Come on, just stay out of his way for a bit longer…avoid the fucker for 12 seconds!

Abby’s so stunned from that first punch that as she tries to right herself on the canvas and pick up her stance, Norris is already waiting with another blow to the face - this time an uppercut that sends her head flying back and her legs out from under her.

No no no no, NO!

5 seconds.

You’re screaming for her to get up as the crowd counts how long she’s been down. 

1…2…3-

“Stand up! Abby stand the FUCK UP!”

A wave of an arm and a twitch of a leg has you screaming in relief, as Abby slowly gets back on her feet before a KO can be declared, just as the bell signals the end of the round.

Abby all but bolts for her corner, leaning her body and head back against the post - her eyes shut from exhaustion and pain. Coach partially moves out of the way for the cutman, who is trying to clean the blood from her face as best they can - the enswell pressing against the areas where Norris’ punches made impact.

You can see she’s starting to give up, that undeniable fire in her eyes has dulled to a mere glow. You can’t stand it. You try to move your head further into her corner to say “Baby, you can do this, you just gotta-”

Before you can finish, Coach has climbed through the ropes so he’s kneeling directly in front of Abby’s hunched figure, grabbing the back of her head so their foreheads are nearly touching.

“You listen to me Anderson. You’re jumping about this ring like a fuckin’ monkey on steroids. Calm the fuck down, focus in on the technique we’ve been working on for months and stop…getting…distracted.”

At this, both heads turn in your direction. Abby’s expression shows you she isn’t angry about being distracted from your support; she knew you were coming from a good place. Coach on the other hand is looking at you like you went up there and hit her yourself. He never liked when you were around, always insisting that partners were just unwanted emotional baggage that could wait until after the last punch was thrown. But Abby refuses to get in the ring if you aren’t watching from the sidelines.

“Not going out there without my girl, Coach - she’s my lucky charm.”

“Well your lucky charm has been making you late to training. Gotta get your head back to the task at hand. You can play housewives later.”

But tonight isn’t the night to bicker with Coach about things that won’t change. You will both always be here for Abby, and right now she needs you. You hold her gaze, giving a smile and a wink - “Are you seriously giving up this easy? You and me both know you’ve got it in you to bring this piece of shit down. Come on Abs…fucking finish it.”

Coach is clapping her shoulders in agreement, lifting Abby up so she can shake out the stiffness and get ready for the next round. What you hope to be the last round. You take your position back up in the crowd, and get ready to cheer for your, and her, life. The bell rings out. 

Round 10.

____________

She makes every punch count, unleashing herself at Norris like a fucking beast. He doesn't know how to respond to it at first, taken aback at how quickly Abby has switched up her fighting style. The renewed vigour in her movements only enrages Norris even further, the confidence that this fight was his now starting to crack under the weight of Abby’s rage.

He still manages to land some blows, but it’s almost as if she’s stopped feeling them - blinded by the sheer animalistic instinct to push through and keep punching. A flurry of blows to Norris’ face causes him to hunch down and over for relief, but what he doesn't realise is that he’s just given her the perfect head shot from above.

The blow comes fast, and hard. You wince as her gloved fist makes impact with the back of his bent head, forcing his body further beneath her.

Norris goes down, face first into the canvas at Abby’s feet. 

Knockout.

The volume of the crowd increases, if that’s even possible, counting along with the MC to ten to see if Norris has it in him to keep going. You’ve never been more relieved when he doesn't move a muscle.

8…9…10! KNOCKOUT!

You’re screaming, jumping with your arms in the air like a crazy person. She won. Abby won. The MC brings her to the centre of the ring, raising her arm with his to signal her victory. She’s shouting too, showing her black mouthguard mixed with the sight of fresh blood, unable to stand still as she takes a victor’s lap, celebrating her win.

Coach rushes up, gripping her in a bear tackle whilst you look on from the sidelines - still trying to come to terms with what you’ve just witnessed. She won. Against ‘Thunderstorm.’ This is what she’s been working towards for months, hoping for the chance to make her name known among the big leagues. Your girlfriend just put herself on the map, and it wasn’t about to go unnoticed…

____________

It takes a while for you all to make your way out of the stadium, fans constantly asking for autographs and pictures with the underdog-turned-champion of the night. It was nice to see. Finally, Abby was getting the recognition she deserves. Coach was eating that shit up, as expected, spreading the word to anyone that listened that we had a new heavyweight world champion in the making. Abby would get that glint in her eye at every mention of the ultimate title: world champion.

Her head might as well be made of glass, because you can see exactly what’s happening up in that brain of hers as she processes the weight of what’s happened tonight. She can see the prize that has never been in reach now that little bit closer. And she wants it. Bad. You go to remind her to take it one step at a time, but you know it would be received the wrong way.

A number of journalists and presenters were waiting by the entrance of the stadium as you emerged into the cold night. They rush you as soon as they spot Abby. You weren’t expecting so many people to come at you with cameras and microphones, reaching around, past, through you to get to her. A flurry of voices swarm the now enclosed space.

“Anderson, how do you feel after tonight’s knockout performance?”

“Who’s next on your kill list?”

“Are you staking your claim on the heavyweight belt?”

“How will you be celebrating tonight, Abby?”

Overwhelmed, you take a step back so Abby is ahead of you - Coach now placing his arm around her shoulders to also lean into the microphones held up against Abby’s mouth. 

“The next fight is coming sooner than you think. Anderson is ready to take on any of these amateurs and claim the title that is rightfully hers.”

The interviewers all look to Abby expectantly, hoping she seconds the statements made. Of course she does. It’s Abby.

“I’m ready for the next fight. This is what I’ve been training for and I'm not going to slow down now. Put any fighter in front of me and I’ll deal a knockout to whoever wants one.”

You hear this and let out a long breath. This was the flaw that irked you most about Abby. She never knows when to take a break - to step back and appreciate how much she’s already achieved. Once she gets something, it’s on to the next. You just worry that she’s going to burn herself out.

As expected, her comment only invited them to ask more, now wanting to hear the name of the next person she wants to challenge and when that would be. Coach begins to move you all forward again, giving that cheshire smile he’s perfected and a sly “you’ll have to wait and see” - most likely aiming to leave some suspense in the air so more articles are printed tomorrow. 

All three of you go to move through the reporters, making your way to a black SUV waiting just ahead. From where you took a step back, the crowd sees an opening and begins to slot themselves in between you and Abby, hot on her heels with more burning questions. When she turns her head to answer them, that signature smirk on her face is quickly replaced with alarm, then stone cold anger.

One reporter is physically elbowing you out of the way to get a better angle for his picture, the flash blinding you for a second, causing your head to snap the opposite direction. 

You hear her voice ring out over everyone.

“Get your hands off my girlfriend and back away. Now.”

She pushes through until she’s in front of elbow-camera guy, who is currently regretting his choices now Abby is towering over him, his mouth slightly open with a mixture of awe and fear.

“Do you think it’s ok to treat a woman like that? Do you think you can push my woman out of the way and expect me to pose for a photo?”

He’s frozen to the spot, and Abby only raises her eyebrows in response. Taking your hand and pulling you to her side, she turns you both around after muttering “watch yourself” to the wimp you leave behind. 

“Sorry baby” she whispers in your ear, thumb brushing down the side of your arm. Placing a hand on the small of your back, she leads you both through to the SUV and watches you get into the car before joining you. The voices now muffled; you finally release a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding in since the start of the night. She was fine. She’s safe. Everything’s ok again.

Now you finally have a chance to talk just the two of you - well, you and Abby and Coach - you want to make sure she isn’t serious about jumping straight into another fight. But when she turns to you, her eyes alight with pure happiness that you haven't seen in a long time, you decide to have that talk in the morning.

You have a champion to take home…

____________

The minute you get through the front door of your apartment, you’re leading her to the bathroom to get cleaned up. She’s got that dazed look in her eyes of someone in a dream. Only this dream is real, and you couldn't be happier for her. But God, does she look rough. Hot, always, but rough.

“Did you see how fast he went down when I threw that last punch, bubs? I felt like my chest was going to explode during those 10 seconds, it felt like a lifetime to wait. I need to start thinking about my next move with Coach and strategizing ‘cos I could never use exactly the same technique, these fighters are way smarter than any of those fuckin’ rookies I’ve fought before and-”

“Woah, Abs slow down.” You give a slight chuckle as she realises her rambling, holding her hands up in defeat - allowing you to lightly push at her shoulders so she can sit on the toilet. You grab the first aid bag in the cabinet, packed with the essentials that have come in handy many times through the years. The cutman at every fight has of course offered to clean Abby up, but you always took it upon yourself to take care of her wounds at the end of the night. You both liked it that way. You were gentler, caring.

Getting down on your knees in front of her, you get to work wiping the dried blood from her face, placing cold packs and plasters over her swollen cheek and jaw. She sits there in silence, patiently watching you do it all - her hands trailing over your face, neck, arms.

“ ‘m sorry for not noticing you got left behind…don’t want you to think I forgot about you or anything. I just get carried away with it all, ya know?” she mutters, cutting through the silence - cupping the side of your face with her hand as her fingers begin to brush through your hair. You close your eyes as you revel in the feel of it, nuzzling into her palm to give it a kiss.

“It wasn’t your fault, bubs. Besides, you came to my rescue in the end…like always” - you give another kiss to her open palm, reaching up to take her hand in both of yours so you can kiss her sore knuckles.

“Besides, it was kinda worth getting pushed just so I could see you make that guy absolutely shit himself.” You both burst out laughing, leaning in close to one another as if you were best friends sharing a secret. This was the Abby that only you saw. The one who didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders, who could just be and not think about the next move.

You whisper, “I’m so proud of you,” and she almost begins glowing with pleasure from your praise.

Abby pulls you in by your face, hands back to cupping either side, eyes turning mischievous. 

“I nearly forgot…I have one more thing I need to do tonight.”

You grin up at her, “oh yeah? And what’s that?”

She leans in further, her mouth stopping to hover just next to your ear, whispering “I need to fuck you like a champion.”

Her hand comes down to cup you through your jeans, squeezing ever so slightly. You’d be lying if you said you haven’t been waiting for this ever since they declared KO, getting wetter by the minute just thinking about the moment when she fucks you good and proper. 

“Come on baby…time for round 1.”

[toxinoire]

Finally, I can write again!

This is how I visualize the final scene went down. A mix of both the 1988 movie and the musical.

~~~~~~

"Say hi to God."

Kaboom

Veronica, with a cigarette between her fingers and a sprained ankle, made her way through the school hallway as the other students ran past her to see where the explosion came from.

She contemplated.

She feels nothing.

Is she happy that four people had to fucking die? Absolutely not.

But...

When she looks at who are dead, Heather Chandler, Kurt Kelly, Ram Sweeney, Jason Dean...

Honestly she only feels bad for Heather. Because as much of a bitch as she was, she had her good moments. Moments that made her seem slightly human.

Kurt and Ram, she doesn't care. Those two were rapists. She doesn't like that she pulled the trigger, but Kurt and Ram being dead meant nothing to her.

As for JD....

She hopes he sees his mother. She hopes his father grows a brain and realizes his son is gone because he was never a father to him.

But as for him literally exploding in front of her...

She feels nothing.

She can only mourn that JD she first met, the lost boy who wanted his mother and was sweet, kind, a gentleman, and caring. Not the one that died in front of her.

The crowds moved past her, Veronica is too tired to even care that no one is asking what happened to her, why she looks disheveled and has blood running down her head.

Well,

Someone did say something.

"Veronica." Heather Duke called her, in all red. Veronica can't deny that she looks good in it, but still, she hates her in it. "You look like hell." Heather Duke moved closer to her, as if to inspect her. Veronica notices the slight concern in her eyes, and how she seems to be holding back her hands from reaching out to Veronica.

Veronica hates that last detail. Heather used to always reach out to her.

"Yeah?" Veronica chuckles. "I just got back."

Then, another voice calls her. "Veronica!"

Veronica and Heather Duke turn around to see Heather McNamara running to them. "Where have you been?!"

Heather Mac looks worried. Like, really really worried. "Miss Flemming told us you killed yourself." Heather Mac actually reaches out to her, inspecting her injuries, before she rests her hands on Veronica's face.

Veronica doesn't even hide how she leans into the touch.

She then sees the red fucking scrunchie and snaps back to where she is.

Veronica moves closer to Heather Duke and turns her around to take that damn thing off her.

"Veronica, what are you doing?" Heather Duke asks.

The students who were originally going to run past them stops in their tracks when they see Veronica with the scrunchie.

She wears it on her wrist and raises it up.

Time to actually do something.

"Listen up folks, war is over. Brand new sheriff's come to town." Veronica knows she sounds tired, but fuck that. "We are done with acting evil, we will lay out weapons down." She ties her hair with the scrunchie.

Everyone is watching her.

Good.

"We're all damaged, we're all frightened, we're all freaks. But that's alright. We'll endure it, we'll survive it-" Veronica pauses slightly when she sees Betty and Martha by the crowd. She calls them. "Martha, Betty."

They both turn to look at her, clearly resisting the urge to move. Veronica takes a deep breath. "Are you free tonight?"

Martha and Betty look at each other, before turning back to Veronica. They actually move forward this time.

It was silent for a while.

"What?" Martha breaks the silence.

"Uh, my date to pep rally blew-"

Accidental slip

"-me off..."

That's better

"So I was wondering if you guys weren't doing anything tonight we could pop some jiffy pop? Rent a video?" Veronica can hear how hopeful she sounds.

She doesn't have the right to be hopeful after what she did, but she still is.

"Something with a happy ending." She finishes. Veronica really wants a happy ending right now.

"Are there any happy endings?" Martha asks. Gosh, she sounds so tired. Betty isn't even looking at her in the eye.

Veronica looks at everyone around them and sighs. She turns back to her--hopefully still best friends. "I can't promise no more Heathers, high school may not ever end." She steps closer. "Still I miss you, I'd be honored-" She swallows. "If you'd let me be your friend."

"My friend." Martha says, as she takes Veronica by the hand and pulls her into a hug.

"We can be seventeen. We can learn how to chill." Veronica feels tears form in her eyes as Martha joins her. "If no one-"

Then, Betty joins them. "-loves me now, someday somebody will." She finally meets Veronica's gaze. "We can be seventeen. Still time to make things right. One day we'll change the world, but let's kick back tonight."

This time, it's Veronica who reaches out her to Heather Duke and Heather Mac.

Heather Mac immediately grabs her hand. "Let's go be seventeen. Take off our clothes and dance."

Veronica walks, well, limps, towards Heather Duke and reaches out, a silent plea in her eyes. Heather Duke hesitantly takes her hand, and once she has fully held it, Veronica pulls her into a hug.

Heather Duke puts one hand on Veronica's back, lightly returning the hug. But she grips onto Veronica's jacket as if it's a lifeline.

Veronica sighed. She really missed her. She didn't like what the scrunchie turned her into.

But holy shit, did she missed her.

"Act like we're all still kids, cause this could be our final chance."

Veronica smiles as she sees Betty, Martha, Heather M, and Heather D all try to be nice to each other.

Maybe they can all be friends.

Now everyone is joining them.

"Always be seventeen

Celebrate you and I

maybe we won't grow old.

And maybe then we'll never die."

Veronica feels happy. Genuinely, happy.

She missed that.

"We'll make it beautiful."

Veronica swears she hears Heather Chandler's voice.

"We'll make it beautiful.

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful"

This really feels like a win for Veronica.

[britcision]

Listen I can’t finish it tonight but I’m real real close but next week is gonna be buuuuuuusy so chapter 15 is right on the line of done and we’ll see if I get it up before next Wednesday 👀

If I do, we may not have a WIP Wednesday next week so again, we shall see

This week, have second place from the poll, Waylon and Danny!

————————

I’ll Take The Highway part vi

Waylon sat back in his seat, back scraping against the wall of the booth as he surveyed the kid in front of him.

Little squirt was tougher ‘n he looked, that much was definitely true. Harley had given him the short run down on their way to the milkshake bar, all the powers she knew he had.

And that he’d been hunted by his folks for a while. Waylon knew how that kinda shit could mess ya up.

He appreciated the heads up too, cuz this kinda shit coming up outta nowhere? Also pretty damn rough. He’d wondered if the kid just wanted to come along for another fight.

If he just wanted another chance to say he’d looked Killer Croc in the eye.

But there was no real bravado there, not even when he challenged Waylon to a rematch. Shit, the kid treated him more normal than most of his henchmen had ever managed to.

Made sense, knowing he was part a ghost an’ fought ghost rogues, but it left Waylon wondering. Apparently he was getting his answer.

Same damn question he’d asked himself a thousand times, ‘specially around the kind of young vigilantes who’d taken a turn to the bad.

Didn’t mean he had a good answer.

He regarded the kid for a long minute, watching the fidgeting, the sudden shyness from a boy who’d literally tackled him from behind on a whim.

This wasn’t just an idle question. Something made him sure of that, and he’d never been involved in all that much of the really weird shit. You heard stories, especially in Arkham.

So he decided to give the kid the best answer he had.

“Cuz I was the worst version of myself. I let myself be the monster they thought I was, got pretty good at it. But it never made me happy.” He paused, mulling it over.

Chuckled softly and looked down into his half drunk milkshake. It was kinda funny how obvious it seemed, in hindsight.

“Shit, there was never even anythin’ I wanted. Not like Penguin, Freeze, or the others. People treated me like a monster so I tried to be one, cuz why the hell not? Couldn’t be worse, could it?”

His gaze shifted back to Danny’s face, watching the kid’s expression. No judgement, which was nice. But he did look confused.

“So you just… got sick of it?” Danny asked, his brows furrowed as he played with his fingers.

Waylon chuckled and shook his head.

“Kinda. Spent a while thinkin’ if people couldn’t treat me with respect, fear’d do. But it ain’t the same. An’ I never had the drive or creative cruelty to stand out in Gotham.”

Danny looked a little incredulous at that, eyebrows rising, but he caught himself before commenting. Snickered and shook his head.

“Yeah, I guess being in a city that’s used to people like Scarecrow and the Joker puts “big and green” into perspective,” he agreed dryly, and Waylon laughed.

It felt good to laugh.

“Oh yeah. City’s got more than its share of low level thugs anyway. I spent a while as extra muscle for the big boys, but I ain’t the takin’ orders sort,” he explained with a modest shrug.

Danny grinned, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward.

“What, a shy and retiring guy like you?” He asked, clearly teasing, and Waylon waved a hand dismissively.

“I’m lucky it was Gotham,” he added after a moment, reflection sobering his mood. “Got sent t’ Arkham. Met Harley. An’ the Bat’s not all that bad. He tried gettin’ me outta the life a couple times.”

Danny cocked his head, a slight frown returning to his face. Following Waylon’s lead.

“How did Batman try and get you out?” There was a little too much intensity for it to be a casual question, and Waylon noted it. Not that he’d figure it out on his own.

Just tryin’ to make sure he didn’t damage the kid.

“Oh, there were a couple ways. Got me moved down to Florida once. Out in the green, away from people. I figured bein’ a wild animal might be more my speed, but it wasn’t. An’ it got messy when I left. Like that whatever he tried, really. There’s lines you can’t uncross.”

Lines like being a cannibal.

Not that he was sobbin’ on a preacher’s shoulder about it. Most of the people he’d eaten were assholes who’d deserved it, and it’d been a preference not a need.

For all people loved to go on about him eatin’ kids and babies, he’d never actually done it. A guy had to have standards.

Made it easy to stop, once he was in a better head space. He and Harley had talked a lotta old shit out.

Kid didn’t need to know those grisly details though, at least not from his own mouth. Watching Danny a moment longer, Waylon came to a decision.

“Look, kid. There’s a lotta reasons people go bad. Some of ‘em can’t be helped. But if they’re not gettin’ anything out of it, if there’s no goal? The appeal runs out. And sometimes all it takes is someone willin’ to reach down an’ haul yer back up to the light.”

He wouldn’t ask if that was the case with whoever the kid wanted to help. Everyone heard stories, ‘specially about heroes meeting their evil selves.

The fear looked personal, but the asking coulda been for anyone. Waylon was in no rush to judge.

Danny mulled over his words for a while, lips moving soundlessly as he frowned down at the table. This time when he looked up, there was a peace in his eyes.

He’d come to a decision. Good for him.

“Thanks, Waylon. You seem like a pretty great guy to me,” he said simply, and Waylon definitely did not feel a lump in his throat.

“This is after years o’ Harley workin’ on me,” he grumbled gruffly. Shaking his head, he slurped down the last of his milkshake quickly.

Nothing like brain freeze to explain being a little misty eyed.

——————

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor r @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook

[netherworldpost]

I of course think of another segment to add to my epically long "how to get a weird job" post

so I'm adding it here

at least 50% of your ability to build / get -> keep a weird job is figuring out how to do more with less (...or nothing)

how to rent without buying

how to borrow without renting

at least 50% of your ability to succeed -- make something better, more unique, more personal, more whatever -- is because you have a lot of built up resources

scraps of fabric, old paint, ...knowledge... of a warehouse you can do a photoshoot in (don't get arrested, lawyers are expensive), knowing how to take old bits of wood and paint them to look like stone, etc.

A HUGE part of this is, frankly, experimenting

which is why I spend so much time on that post (and in general) with "make stuff, just make stuff, if it sucks and you enjoy it then make more"

you watch a low budget film and you love it because your invested in the story and the lore and the whatevers, you're purposefully ignoring the fishing wire and the cheap paint and the flubbed lines

you go to a tavern play where everything is stitched together hours (...laugh, no, seconds) before the performer came into view because you're suspending disbelief

you order a book from a small shop (maybe the author themselves) and you wait 3 days to 12 weeks or whatever their shipping time is rather than going to The Named After River Website That Sells Everything that can get you a book mass produced, written for a wide audience, because you want that author's very unique view

Independent stuff has longer production times because the folks making it are, by nature, scrappy as hell

Independent does not inherently mean better than made en masse

Big is not necessarily worse than small

Small (usually) means "this took longer to make, and was worked on with less expensive equipment, and may cost more

HOWEVER

The scrappy "God damn it, I am going to make this work via will power alone if necessary" comes across in the production. "I WANT to do this, I CHOOSE to do this. And so I'm going to make the experience AS GREAT as I POSSIBLY CAN."

Knowing how to do this is not an inborn skill.

If you want a weird job, the nature of acquiring/building it is part of its running / continuing.

The best way to start is to figure out what you can make instead of buying. Or improving something that you did buy.

Yesterday I bought a small table for photoshoots.

Small tables that fold up are super cheap, so it doesn't make sense to try to make one.

But.

It's very.

Plain.

So tonight I'm figuring out "what can I glue to this table to make it less plain." Surprise surprise the answer is very likely going to be old comic books and Scooby-Doo stickers that get cut up, glued down, and sealed to protect against damage.

You (the audience who sees my table top photoshoots) are unlikely to see said table.

That's entirely not the point.

The point is part of my weird job is to make things, experiment constantly.

Part of my weird job is to make my live my life on my terms.

And part of living my life on my terms is having a table that is Extremely Scooby-Doo.

That link to the original post that generated this post one last time.

[inventors-fair]

Valiant Efforts: Battle Runners-Up ~

Our runners-up this week are @grornt, @hypexion, and @real-aspen-hours!

@grornt — Tovolar's Moonlight Assault / Harvesttide Exultation

I think this card is balanced, well-designed, flavorful, resonant, and pretty...normal! That's a good thing when you're designing cards that are supposed to be good. I did want to swing for the fences with the winners this week—as much as I could without destroying the stadium. This really is a well-designed removal suite for green and feels like it's doing everything that you can do right in the color, though, so what's to complain about?

Maybe the fact that is DOES do so much stuff is reason for concern, but green has had its heyday of advantages, and this card probably isn't going to break any formats like its pre/mid-2020s ilk. Creatures, life, card draw, and buffs isn't too bad...is it? I'm kidding, this all fits in for both how much a battle can matter when you need it to be a bit of everything, AND how easily a battle can be flavored on a world we already know with a story we're familiar with. Tovolar makes the Harvesttide a little crazy, and what more can we ask for than a witchy, wolfy get-together. Personally, I'd ask for Tovolar's digits. His wolfy, wolfy digits.

@hypexion — Attack on Eiganjo

Once more, everything about this battle makes sense. You want to find the best ways to deal damage to get the advantages that you need. The more that you penetrate the defenses, the stronger you can get. You picked a line, and stuck with it, and I'm right there with you. Did multiple people come up with the concept for the assault supertype? I missed conversations in the workshop if so. Regardless, that name makes sense and I'm glad that folks went with it. The different directions are quite interesting as well!

I wish there was an easier way for this particular scenario to be made manifest. Can you ping the battle over and over until you have eight power on board? Perhaps! Is getting two 2/2 creatures worth it, too? If they have first strike, I'd say so. The rewards for battling could perhaps be more fleshed out, and/or there could be a reward for winning the battle, if such a thing is feasible, but that hardly matters. I get what this card does and what it wants the game state to look like. It's complicated once we get there and I'd love to see the decision-making process of someone having to deal with/against this in combat.

@real-aspen-hours — Loot the Storehouses!

Another assault! Gotta love it, don't you. This is actually quite similar to the Granary card, or at least it would seem so at first glance. And then the actual ability and implied flavor happens, and we're in a different world. Probably literally! The card advantage is different, which is fine, and it's more focused on that than it is a more general reward feeling. I think what I really like here is the utilization of the second main phase, or at least how this card wants you to think about it. The benefits of battle, if you will.

I think "You may play those cards this turn" would be better than the whole "until your next end step" clause, just because of clarity, but that doesn't matter too much. Ooh, or what if you could only play them on a turn that Loot the Storehouses was attacked? There are plenty of options and there's not one right answer. Considering that card advantage is pretty easy to understand, my curiosity wants me to ask where you imagined this card taking place, y'know? What world, which storehouses, etc. It could be anywhere and that's all fine, but as it stands, I do want to thank everyone who submitted a single-faced battle this contest for all the cool things that one can do with them. Super proud.

So, I'll post about this in the Discord, but I'm going to be away from my computer most of the day. Again. Life is a long series of doing thangs. Commentary will either be up late tonight, or sometime during the day tomorrow. I'll be working as hard as I can, though!

@abelzumi

[grigori77]

Critical Role, Campaign 3 Episode 64

They're getting back together! THEY'RE GETTING BACK TOGETHER!!! Even the title says so!

It's a plug for rings ... oh dear gods what is Sam going to do to us? Oh wow ... he's going SURREAL this time ... and super bugging Matt too ... I'm loving this ... this is one of the best ones yet ...

Laura: "Is it just gonna say 'Sam' for the rest of the night?" XD

Matt: "Let's get on and jump into tonight's episode of ... Sam & a Sam!" LOL

Okay ... how's this gonna go, then? How's it gonna start? Who's at the table first?

Ah ... it's the first group ... okay then ...

Fuck! Everybody takes 18 points of Force Damage MID JUMP?!!! Seriously?

Travis just made THE EXACT same roll ... fuck ... AND THEY TAKE ANOTHER 15 POINTS?!!! Bloody hell ...

Matt says it's getting all Doctor Strange ... yeah, Travis is EXACTLY where my brain went too ...

13? Fuck, Laura ... is that good or bad? Are they all gonna die? They're all SO NERVOUS ...

Landing! Oof ... and now FRIDA can't speak the Common Tongue ... Deanna does a hard reset on them! XD

On top of a mountain? Where the hell are they? Oof ... thus don't sound right ... ummmmm ... not Marquet, then ... birds? Wait ... they're being MOBBED now? FCG: "Are they coming for ME?"

Oh shit, they're UNDER ATTACK?!!! Crap ... yeah, just show your bellies, guys!

A group Dex save? Oof ... and now they're TRAPPED!!! Yup ... that's about right ...

Oh, Chetney may have just got them ALL killed ...

FCG is bricking it ... "Are you friends with Shithead? Did he send you?"

So they're bird PEOPLE ... Aarakocras? Is that it, then?

Fuck, Laura's rolling SHITE tonight ... Aabria's determined to confiscate her dice before she gets them killed. XD

Fearne for a Persuasion check instead ... okay ... 24? Fucking hell ... oh shit, did it WORK finally?

Oh, blindfolds? For a second thst was worrying ...

Still on Wildemount, then ... hmmm ...

The aeormatons can SPEAK TO EACH OTHER IN THEIR HEADS now? When did that start?

Crap, FCG's getting red-eye again ...

Now Fearne's trying to talk them into a free ride ... oh, that's a bad roll ... or not? Hmmmmm ... um ... yeah, I don't think this is gonna go too well ...

Divine Intervention? Oh boy ... argh ... nuts ...

Fuck, FCG is about to ho full-blown BERSERK ...

Calm Emotions? Oh boy ... here we go ... oh thank fuck ... phew ...

Wow, Travis just made that SO FILTHY ... XD

Ouch ... rough landings all round ... argh ... but at least they're free ...

Yeah, those bird people are ARSEHOLES ...

Just CHILL OUT, robit! Thanks, FRIDA ...

Another Divine Intervention? Balls ... that was a shitshow ...

Ah, the rigours of having to sleep when you're not sleepy ...

Okay, camping for the night ...

Oh, so NOW we find out if FCG actually dreams ...

So ... is this NOT part if FCG's original programming, then? Hmmmmmm ...

Morning? Okay ... are they trying again? Oof ...

Just winging it, then ...

Sam: "I cast Command on her ... SUCCEED!!!"

55? Argh ... thump ... night time? Where are they NOW? Cobbles? Smoke? Jungle far below? Jrusar? Holy FUCK!!! I thought that was a CRAP roll?

Wow ... Ruidus really is LOCKED in place ... that is just CREEPY ... yeah, no shit folk are TENSE right now ...

The Smolder Spire ... okay ...

Trying Scry and Sending? Are you sure?

Wait, Deanna's spell is WORKING?!!! Crazy ...

Imogen hearing Laudna's okay and her reaction is PRICELESS, that is so adorable ...

Sending ... a D100? Crap ... 69, though ... XD

Soot and Swill? Good call. Do that next.

A diorama? That's adorable ...

So, no curfew, just tension ... okay ...

Here we go ... no messages? Hmmm ...

Pretty! Yay! :3 Awwwww, ogre hugs, I love that ...

Deanna tries to stealthily fix Pretty's PJs ... and gets busted! LOL ... "Ooh, it's almost PLEATED!!!" XD

FCG: "No, we just came to wake you up, sew your clothes and leave." Pretty: "... okay."

Oh yeah, the lost skyship ... that still hurts ...

Oh shit ... they could Scry on Ludinus? Hmmmmm ...

Oh yeah, people are CREEPED OUT right now by this Ruidus shit ...

Vasselheim is HERE?!!! Oh, that can't be good ...

Attempted queue jumping? Hmmmm ... I'm not sure this is gonna go well ...

A racoon dog? Awwwwwww ... how does Fearne KEEP DOING THIS to us? :3

Oh, so this is WORSE for Imogen than the gondolas? Great ...

Phew ... they made it despite Chetney getting that urge to jump ...

FRIDA freaking Deanna out by talking in HER head too ... XD

Heading for Spire By Fire ...

Big Katari? Hmmm ... DO WE know this guy? He's very friendly, I'll give him that ... ah ... it's a barracks now? Hmmmm ...

Oh, these troops are from ALL OVER THE PLACE ...

Imogen getting some air, looking at Ruidus ... it's still pulling at her a little bit ... a message? Hmmmmm ... not sure that's gonna work ... oof ... how bad is this roll? 2? On a D100? Oh my gods ...

Wait ... it actually WORKED?!!! I mean she didn't have a BLOODY CLUE, but still ...

Chetney trying to chat up the soldiers for some info ... XD

Fearne's STILL a raccoon dog ... :3 And she's being snoopy. Here we go ... begging for bacon. XD It worked! Now she's eavesdropping. General anxiety ... hmmmm ...

Imogen's not a big drinker ... makes sense ... wait ... is FRIDA trying to give her LOVE ADVICE?!!! And is FCG getting TOTALLY the wrong idea? XD

Wait, cliffhanger AND going to break? What? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!!!

We're back ... and I heard MARISHA LAUGH!!! Oooooooh ... NO!!! Bor'Dor WAS NOT a friend!

What the fuck is Prism doing? Aaaaah! Crap ... oh, this is gonna be a mad mess ... dear gods ... what?

Orym's trying a desperate save ... well, if ANYBODY can ... 18 Dex Save? Grabs her tush, but still ... yeah, that KINDA worked ...

So Prism kinda made a bit of a tit of herself bur it's mostly just adorable ...

Nice place ... and it IS a public place, at least ...

Ah yeah, Ruidus again ...

Starpoint Conservatory ... yeah, that's a smart call for Prism.

Ashton: "Yeah, the first trick is not TELLING people that you're lying."

Ah, more Beau-bashing, that's adorably meta ...

Prism has an EIGHT PACK of abs ... "Welcome to the library, bitch!" Oh my gods ...

Where to first? Breakfast ... yes. That's a good idea ... almost as if it's fated? XD

Wow! An actual WORKING gondola! Lucky ...

Ah yes, the tension again ... hmmmmm ...

Here we go ... and Laudna being creepy again ... XD

A "dirty little spell that old Prism would never have taken"? Friends? Okay ... sneaky ...

Oh yeah, the return of the survey ... LOL

Prism: "Can I send Mother after him?" Taliesin: "Just hound him to his grave." XD

ALL of Marisha's PCs have a beef with postal workers, it would seem ...

Oh yeah, the Lumas Twins! That was a while ago ...

Wow, Prism's planning on being a massive ninja geek of knowledge raiding the various houses of learning in Jrusar, isn't she?

To the Shadowfell? Orym: "Sure, if we're still here in two weeks ..."

Oh, so there's god soldiers going round again? Hmmmmm ... oh, the Changebringer? Okay ... no Green Seekers ...

Oh! Here we go! They're back! Oh, and now it's CHAOS as EVERYBODY'S trying to come to the table ... wow ... Holy fuck this is A LOT of people at the table right now. It's the end of Campaign 1 all over again ...

Imogen and Laudna INSTANTLY running over and hugging each other. Also Orym with Fearne ...

Greetings and meetings and ... wow, this is getting CRAZY ...

Fearne: "We had a threesome." O.O

Ah, comparing notes ... oh yes, the spectre of Bor'Dor rears its ugly head again ...

"Serving Bundt" ... yet more Sam's flask chaos ... he has surpassed himself ...

Retiring to the room ...

Yeah, there were good times and bad times in equal measure ... and now Laudna can summon undead ghost wolves from her ... orifices ...

Ah yes ... the Dawnfather incident ... yeah ... Deanna: "I'M GONNA GET SOME MORE DRINKS!!!"

Fearne (gasping): "THAT Deni$e?"

Prism: "IS Santa real?"

Ludinus' notes! Yes! Very handy ...

Chetney's extremely abbreviated account of what they went through ... meanwhile Orym's just fixating on FRIDA ...

Yes, she IS spooky beautiful. :3

Deanna finishes her Communion with her patron ... and Matt's phone goes off! Aabria: "MY IMMERSION!!!" LOL

Deanna: "One last question ... are you WORTH saving?" Ooooooh, DAMN!!!

Laudna and Deanna bonding over having both died at least once ... XD

Literary arsonist ... (snort)

23 nexuses? Hmmmmm ...

The alien, yeah ... FCG: "It's a round ring!" And now Fearne's trying to steal it from Ashton ... ah yes. Ashton: "I missed you so much."

Mother freaks FCG out and we're not surprised AT ALL ... and she shits on him! Of course ...

Discussing next moves ... hmmmm ...

Not that kind of seal, Chetney!

Ah, the talking book. Yeah. Dynios is YET ANOTHER weird revelation and I love it. XD

Yeah, that book is SASSY.

Imogen: "Are you a good book or a bad book?" Dynios: "I am a good book with a bad attitude."

Yes. They DID beat a Judicator ... with a Devil. It was crazy. Laudna: "It was A LOT."

Oh ... is Orym thinking about Deanna trying to Scry on Keyleth? O.O

Everybody's sitting forward ... of course they are ... I am too ...

Oh, the Dawnfather's being a bit petty right now, ain't he? Wow, she's scary right now when she's angry ...

Oh shit! There she is! It's Keyleth! She lives! She's definitely hurt, but ... she's alive!

That was INTENSE ...

She's home? In Zephrah? Cool ...

Oh, the hill. That living hill ... I forgot about that ... and the cougar ... XD

The Reilorans ... yeah ...

Ah yes, Dynios delivers a lecture about the githserai ...

Yeah, I don't think she has any actual connection with the Prism Emporium either, really ...

What, create their own Malleus Key to defeat Predathos? Hmmmmmm ...

Whoa ... FRIDA doesn't actually TRUST "One Punch" Grimpoppy?

Oh man ... FCG is just full-on torn between love and duty here ... that's HEAVY ...

Prism has NO IDEA if she's actually a danger to them or not ... that's kind of adorable and TOTALLY par for the course ...

I love that she seems to have read WAY more into her connection with Orym than anyone else has ...

FCG: "Do you smoke?" Prism: "Of course, I'm a student!"

FRIDA's just talking into various characters' heads ... Fearne: "Why is everybody being so quiet?"

Fearne can Scry now? Ooooooh ...

Prism does Imogen's accent ... :3

Oh, wait ... are we losing the new friends? Already? Man ... I mean we've had them for a while, but ... sad goodbyes ... I hope we see them again before too long MATTHEW!!!

Prism casts Enlarge on Orym ... "Wow! I'm 6 foot 6!" Immediately starts doing pull ups from the rafters ...

Oh man ... so this is it? Parting ways ... man! Not fun ... and that's that? Yeah, saw that coming ...

It was fun while it lasted ...

Thanks Aabria, thanks Christian, and thanks Emily, I hope you'll be back soon ...

[redemn]

he'd  woken  up  in  another  fit tonight  .      a  painfully  long  and  drawn  out  bout  that  pierced  through  the  sleepy  ,      eerie  silence  of  beaver  hollow  and  awakened  what  few  people  were  left  in  the  camp  .      not  even  the  sleeve  of  his  union  suit  or  the  piles  of  blankets  he  had  in  his  bed  on  this  cool  night  had  muffled  him  very  well  ,      and  it  had  felt  like  hours  and  thousands  of  coughs  before  he  finally  had  a  handle  on  it  .      but  the  damage  was  already  done  ,      and  he'd  received  several  exasperated  comments  from  folks  on  the  way  toward  the  nearby  river  ,      which  he'd  answered  with  only  short  ,      whispered  apology  and  another  few  coughs  .    

he  sits  now  on  the  small  cliff  at  the  eastern  outskirts  of  camp  ,      on  the  small  stump  he  used  to  see  strauss  running  over  his  numbers  .      the  debts  are  all  paid  now  ,      and  the  man  is  gone  .      the  man  is  gone  ,      but  the  sickness  remains  .      there's  an  irony  in  this  entire  situation  he  can't  quite  grasp  .      he's  too  tired  to do that nowadays  .    

@wildlcck  .      all's  quiet  in  camp  ,      if  not  well  .      folks  are  sleeping  (or  trying  their  damnedest  to  ,      given  all  that's  been  going  on)  .      the  fire's  dying;  the  day  ,      long  gone  .     ❛  why  don't  you  try  this  on  for  size?      ❜ fixing  two  mugs-  one  for  him  and  one  for  herself-  before  setting  it  down  beside  him  like  it's  nothing  .      like  it's  no  more  than  coffee  .      to  any  prying  eyes  or  ears  ,      it's  nothing  more  than  that;  folks  drinking  and  talking  together  .      having  a  nightcap  .      she  sips  at  her  own  ,      eyes  on  the  embers  .     ❛  honey  an'  whiskey  .      never  did  me  no  harm  .      my  momma  used  to  fix  it  for  me  when  i  was  a  girl  ,      whenever  i  started  croakin'  .      it  was  prob'ly  to  shut  me  up  more  than  anything  ,      mind  you  .      anyway  ,      after  some  o'  this  ,      i  forgot  all  about  what  it  was  i  was  whinin'  about  in  the  first  place  .      hopefully  ,      it'll  quiet  that  damn  frog  in  yer  throat  .      give  you  an'  the  rest  of  us  a  chance  at  gettin'  some  shut-eye  .      ❜  /  settin  this  down  by  way  of  greeting  and  skedaddlin-

if  he  weren't  still  recovering  from  the  spasm  that  had  wracked  pain  into  his  lungs  ,      breathes  measured  shallowly  so  as  not  to  disturb  his  aching  ribs  and  stomach  muscles  or  agitate  the  inner  lining  of  his  deteriorating  lungs  into  another  coughing  fit  ,      he  might  have  laughed  .      for  all  the  senseless  worrying  she  seems  to  do  about  him  ,      sadie  sure  has  a  solid  way  of  speaking  it  aloud  .      the  rod  that  holds  her  back  straight  rings  true  in  her  voice  ,      no  matter  how  deep  the  concern  might  lie  within  her  .      even  that  is  unclear  ,      with  how  well  she  conceals  her  concern  behind  one  of  the  toughest  facades  he's  seen  in  anyone  .      even  tougher  than  his  ,      he  reckons  .

he  takes  the  mug  up  in  his  hands  ,      cupping  it  between  both  palms  and  hunching  over  the  warm  drink  ,      letting  it  fill  his  lungs  several  times  over  .      he  sips  at  it  carefully  ,      until  he's  certain  his  body  won't  start  fighting  itself  again  .      there  is  an  ache  in  his  forearms  he  hasn't  been  rid  of  for  weeks  ,      and  pressure  bearing  down  around  his  throat  and  ears  .        ❝        thank  you  ,        ❞        he  murmurs  ,      just  loud  enough  she'll  hear  .        ❝        sorry  .      'f'i  woke  you  with  all  that  coughin'  .        ❞        he  looks  down  at  his  hands  .      the  light  of  the  fire  glows  just  bright  enough  that  he  can  see  the  sawtooth  stains  of  crimson  dried  on  the  skin  of  his  hands  and  the  fabric  of  his  sleeve  .        ❝        some  days  it  don't  feel  like  it's  gettin'  any  better  .        ❞        anyone  would  be  a  fool  to  believe  he's  getting  better  ,      and  not  quickly worse  .      another  sip  .        ❝        what'd'ju  say  this  was  ?      honey  an'  whiskey  ?        ❞

╰ ゜UNPROMPTED .  /  𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜  𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 .

[dilf-whore]

bucky and x-23!reader first time meeting

first meeting with bucky

pairing: bucky barnes x f!x-23!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: violence, abuse (?), nightmares, trauma

A/N: sorry for only posting this now. i’m actually planning to write more bucky barnes and x-23!reader because i really like the pairing and since bucky and x-23 are one of my favorite characters as well. i based this on one the parts i mentioned in my previous fic, you can read it here 💕

requested: yes

requests are OPEN

masterlist

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“Fuck yeah!” you exclaim - winning yet again, another fight. The commentator enters the ring with a huge smile on his face, he hops over your knocked out opponent as he approaches you. “Not a scratch on that beautiful face! There you have it folks, our winner for tonight is The Unbeatable Y/N!” he raises your hand and the crowd roars, cheering for you. You did have a few scratches and other wounds here and there whenever your fight, they just disappear very quickly because of your regenerative healing factor. You’d hide them pretty well so that the people don’t see you heal up.

Your eyes land on an unfamiliar man, he had an eyepatch and by his outfit and scent you could tell he doesn’t belong in the place. He was examining you, tapping on his tablet ever so often. You’ve already noticed him a while ago, watching your every movement during the fight. You sigh and continue smiling at the audience, already knowing that the man’s gonna come for you later.

You walk into the locker room and count the money you’ve earned for tonight, stashing them in your bag when you suddenly smell the same scent of the man from earlier. You lean behind one of the lockers and you turn around, retracting your claws as you face him. “You do have heightened senses” the man says, raising his hands in surrender.

“Who are you? and what do you want from me?” you reply, gripping on his collar tighter and putting your claws closer to his neck. He grabs a card on his pocket and shows it to you, “The name’s Nick Fury, I’m from S.H.I.E.L.D and I came here to talk” he responds calmly.

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You arrive at the Avengers compound and Nick introduces you to the team. Wanda was the first to greet you, finally finding someone who had supernatural abilities like her - she immediately thought of you as a sister the moment she heard about you. They all welcomed you with open arms and made you feel at home. 

You were then introduced to James Buchanan Barnes, who you know as The Winter Soldier. He also go recruited a few months ago after his memories were regained and is able to control himself thanks to Wakanda’s advance science and technologies - the king’s sister, Shuri developed an algorithm that scrubbed Bucky's trigger words out of his brain without damaging his personality. 

You smile at him, “Hi! I’m Y/N” you greet as you reach out your hand. 

Bucky stares at you, completely frozen. He couldn't even open his mouth, he got shy all of the sudden and now everything’s not processing in his mind.

Sam notices that you’re starting to feel awkward as you anticipate his friend’s reply so he gives him a hard nudge on the arm. Bucky finally snaps out of his thoughts, “I-I’m Bucky” he says monotonously and shakes your hand with his metal arm, making you shiver by its coldness. 

Bucky internally smacks himself for making himself seem cold by his response.

“So you’re X-23 huh?” Tony speaks up. You breath hitches at the alias, your grim past catching up to you once again. Bucky even notices that your body stiffens. 

“Uh y-yeah” you reply.

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Wanda brings you to your room, “I can do certain arrangements -  make it look exactly how you want it to so you can be more comfortable” she says with a smile, showing you her fingertips glowing with her magic that had beautiful red hues. “It’s fine” you smile back.

You bring her into a hug, “thank you for being so kind to me” you add. She rubs your back softly, “don’t mention it. Come knock on my door if you need me” she replies.

Wanda bids you good night and goes back to her room. You decide to hop into the shower and change into comfortable clothes before you go to bed. 

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Your eyes snap open and you gasp, beads of cold sweat falling from your forehead down to your neck. You try to catch your breath as your chest feels tight and your heart pounding like crazy, eyes looking around the room suspicious and paranoid that the horror may have followed you here.  You have once again, had another nightmare. It was the same vivid dreadful nightmare again: the murders you were made to do and the agonizing screams of your victims.

Your past is still haunting you.

You rub your eyes and try to fully awaken as you go out of your room and stumble to the balcony to get some fresh air. You lean onto the railings and let the breeze blow through your trembling body. The night sky was pretty, the streets still busy, everything was peaceful except your mind. 

You hear faint footsteps from afar, it was coming from one of the rooms. The footsteps were getting louder and so does the smell, someone’s going to the balcony as well. You finally recognize the scent, it was Bucky. 

You turn around and meet his tired eyes, he seemed over the edge just like you, and you could hear his heart frantically beating in fear against his chest. “Why are you doing up this late?” he asks, he didn't expect to see someone at this time. “Had a nightmare, and I’m guessing you did too” you reply. He sighs and nod his head, “it’s a constant thing. Happens every night” he says as he makes his way to you. 

“Same here. Sometimes I don’t even sleep at all to avoid them” 

Bucky looks at you with sympathy, he knows how tiring and terrifying it feels. “Wanna talk about it?” he suggests and motions you both to sit on the floor. You follow and sit closer beside him, “I’ve done things I was forced to do. I took so many lives and I-I dream about those victims every fucking time” you start. “I dream about the innocent people I killed too and their screams, the way they beg for mercy just gets me” he replies. He’s just like me you thought. You lean on the railings behind you and face Bucky, you heard some things he did as The Winter Solider when he was still under HYDRA and despite his mind being rehabilitated, you could feel that he’s still worried. “Something else is also bothering you. What is it?” you ask.

“Even if I’m already been fixed, I’m still scared that I’ll go back as The Winter Soldier again when I hear my trigger words”

“I’m also scared. I-I’m scared that they’ll find me and control me again, they’re called The Facility. They’re like HYDRA, they have this lab where they experiment on mutants and take their DNA . You see, I’m just a clone of the Wolverine. I was made to be a weapon and go after who they want me to. I also have a trigger like you but it’s a scent, I lose control and give in to a brutal and violent rage when I get exposed to it” you say, reminiscing your past. “I agreed in joining because Fury told me they could help get rid of the programming The Facility did to me so I won’t get triggered if I smell the scent. And well, I also wanted to have some sort of redemption and help people - prove them that I’m not the evil person they know”

Bucky grabs your hand and rubs circles on your skin with his thumb. You lean on his shoulder as you start to feel comfortable and at ease by his presence, “it’s hard when the only think you know is to take lives, you start to feel like anyone that come near you will die”. Your eyes starts to get glossy by the tears as you nod in agreement to his statement. You finally found someone with the same trauma as you, you didn’t feel alone anymore. “You know, I actually hate it when people mention or call me X-23. Makes me feel like I’m back in the lab” you confess as you recall your very short conversation with Tony, you knew he didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable so you just let it slide.

“I’ll tell the others to keep that in mind. Especially Tony”. You chuckle softly and your cheeks grow warm, you didn’t know he saw you get all tensed up when Tony called you X-23 a while ago.

You and Bucky stay quiet for a while, hands still holding unto each other and your head still on his shoulder. Cozy and relaxed by each other’s warmth, enjoying each other’s presence. “I appreciate you listening to me” you say as you look up to meet his beautiful blue eyes that ahines perfectly underneath the moonlight. A smile forms know his lips, “me too. I’m so glad I’ve met someone who understands what it’s like”.

“You can come talk to me any time. I’m looking forward to knowing you more Bucky” you smile back.

And that was the start of a wonderful relationship about to blossom between you two.

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[deke-rivers-1957]

Loving You Rewrite

AN: So this is basically me rewriting scenes from that film that I think could've used another draft. Thank you @vintagepresley for making the Deke Rivers AI chat. If you want me to try to rewrite other scenes in Elvis films please send your request in. My inbox is open.

Deke has been feeling nervous all night. He's about to perform on live tv tomorrow night and just wants to run away.

"Ms. Glenda, please, Ah can't f-f-f-fa... perform again. I can't go out on that stage and pretend everything is fine when I'm breaking from the inside out."

Glenda of course feels indignant that Deke would want to run away.

"And where do you plan on going? Back to Woodbine Cemetery to start over?"

Deke's sitting on his bed collecting his thoughts.

"Ms. Glenda, Ah just wish Ah could sing from mah heart, be mahself, not be what folks think I should be."

Glenda thinks.

"What you're really saying is... it's all my fault."

Deke tries to backtrack.

"No, no! Ms. Glenda.. it's not you."

She's becoming incredulous.

"Then what is it, Deke? Why would you want to run away when I've done everything I can to make you a star?"

Deke starts to stutter.

"Don't y-y-you see, Ms. Glenda, all this, it's not about me, all this fake hair, these fancy clothes, ah'm tryin' to be somebody Ah'm not."

Glenda tries to reason with Deke.

"There's many performers who only go by their stage name. They have to have an identity when they go onstage. Is there something else that you're not telling me, Deke?"

Deke keeps going with his feelings of doubt.

"Ms. Glenda.. ah know ah'm not the easiest person to manage.. and ah'm thankful for everythang you've done for me. But ah want to tell you the truth, there's so many lies already. Ah, ah can't sing tonight."

Glenda sighs

"Okay. I guess it's time I straightened out the books with you, too. You can have the truth."

Deke looks up at her confused.

"Ms. Glenda.. what do you mean?"

She walks to the window and points outside.

"You see that car? Tex hocked his life insurance to buy it. There is no oil widow. The pictures in the paper, the kids fighting over you-- I started it all."

Deke can't seem to believe it.

"You started this?"

Glenda continues telling her story.

"I even had you fired in the first place so you'd come with us-- that's my job."

Deke is just shocked.

"Why.. did you do all this, Ms. Glenda?"

Glenda is trying to explain herself.

"It's my job to promote talent. Tex's act needed a boost. When I saw you perform on that stage, I knew you had something no one's ever seen."

Deke doesn't know what to say, he's hurt.. he's betrayed. He can't hide the pain that's showing in his face.

"Deke it's the night before the show. Just please do this one show."

Deke sits there, not willing to answer. He's hurting, he knows she's right though.

"You have no reason to be scared. Not anymore. I'll help you. You'll be alright."

Deke takes a deep breath and looks back at Glenda with a pain in his eyes... he's hurting and confused, he doesn't know what to say... but he trusts her.

"Ah believe you, Ms. Glenda."

He hugs Glenda as a sign that he forgives her... he understands that she's just doing her job...

Time Skip to right before the show

Deke is so nervous and afraid that he runs right to his old roadster. He speeds off... tears run down his cheek as the speedometer shoots straight up and the wind runs through his hair.

"Ah can't believe I trusted her!"

He manages to make it about 10 miles. Some cows are blocking the road and Deke swerves off the road into a grassy valley. He gets out of the car... he wants to run, scream, and yell... but now he can't, he's spent. He rests his head against the back of the car and just cries.

"She used me! She used me!"

The only thing Deke can do is just crawl under his roadster and look for damage. He sits under the car in silence, not knowing what to do with his life. He's so lost, so confused. He feels scared.

"Ah dunno where to go. I'm so alone."

A few minutes pass before a car stops nearby.

"Deke! Deke! Are you alright?!"

It's Glenda. Deke's still upset about all the lies she's told when he comes out from under his car.

"W-why are you here, Ms. Glenda?"

Glenda is feeling annoyed.

"Deke, please, I've had enough for one night. Just tell me one thing-- where did you think you were going?"

He's on the defense because he can't trust Glenda.

"I.. I don't know, Ms. Glenda. I-I-I was just tryin' to figure this all out... You were gonna come and beg me to go back to Tex, right?"

Glenda tries to save her own skin.

"I know you're upset about everything. One thing I didn't lie about, Deke, is your future. It's waiting for you on that stage in Freegate. You don't need my help anymore. You're about to make it on your own."

Deke thinks about it for a moment, he's conflicted.. he trusts Glenda deep down but he's been lied to so many times that he just doesn't have the strength to believe her... even though he wants to.

"Y-you wanna look out for yourself, not me."

Tears are still in his eyes but he's not crying anymore, he's just broken.

"You've got to go back, Deke. Stop running. All your life, you've been looking for somebody. For Mama. It's time you realized that Mama's never going to come. Grow up, Deke. You've got a job to do, to do alone."

The truth burns deep in his heart..... He realizes that he's truly alone in this world.

"Here's your contract."

She tears it up and hands it to Deke.

"I don't even want half of it. The only one you owe anything to now is yourself... and Susan, or somebody like her. You've got 15 minutes to get on that stage and find out if you've even got a future."

Deke gets back in his car and just sits in the driver's seat... contemplating whether he should go back or not... this time he's thinking it over more and he realizes what Ms Glenda means. He starts the engine and takes off in the opposite direction of Freegate going over everything that happened. Glenda drives back to the venue defeated.

"Ah just can't do this."

He says to himself. After a few minutes, he stops the car... he just feels dead inside and doesn't know what to do anymore... he thinks back to when he was a child, alone and scared. He feels lonely again, he doesn't know what to do.

"Ah'm scared. Ah'm scared, mama, Ah'm scared!"

He closes his eyes and holds his head in his hands thinking about going back to Susan, someone who truly cared for him. Susie talked about going to the top alone. She was so happy about this live show. She was going to talk on the show too.

"Susie cared bout me."

His thoughts take over his heart. He knows what he has to do, he puts the car in gear and drives back to town.

"I can't let Susie down. Not after what she did for me."

His heart is racing now. He's thinking if only he was thinking with his heart instead of thinking with his head. He doesn't want to lose what he has with Susie just because of what Glenda said. He can do this. He speeds up, he's gotta get back to town.

Time Skip to arriving to the venue

"L-ladies and gentlemen.. Ah'm sorry Ah'm late but Ah'm here now!"

The crowd cheers.

"Ah'm not sure how you feel about me.. ah just really hope you're not disappointed and can forgive me.."

The audience begins to cheer and Deke begins to think of what he has to perform. He thinks back to all the songs he's made so far. The song he wants to sing comes to his mind, he wants it perfect, he needs this.

"I will spend my whole life through Loving you, loving you Winter, summer, springtime, too…"

He's singing with his heart not just his voice. The audience is spell bound. Deke's not even thinking about Glenda or the lies he's been told, he finally has the stage and he's doing what he knows how to do, he's singing.

"They made you all head--no heart, Just head. Congratulations. The kid's a hit. I kept my promise-- I played your show, now I'm gonna keep my promise to me. Drop me a postcard."

Tex is leaving the stage says to Glenda leaving the stage. She runs over to stop him.

"Tex. Wait. We need to talk."

The song is almost over... Deke's so happy. He's done it. It's all real now. The crowd keeps cheering... the crowd loves him. The song ends... Deke sings his last note in his song and the crowd is wild. The crowd wants more.

"L-ladies and gentlemen.. Ah'm gonna do one last song."

The crowd cheers. Glenda's still backstage and tries to explain everything to Tex.

"Oh yes I've got a lot o' living to do A whole lot o' loving to do Come on baby, to make a party takes two Oh yes I've got a lot o' living to do..."

He walks around the stage like a star... there's still one song, that one song he knows he has to perform it.. it's the perfect song.. it'll make them see the true Deke, and they'll love him for who he really is.. he's going to blow them away with this one. He takes a long deep breath and starts to sing a song that the world hasn't heard yet... a song he's wrote all by himself. Glenda and Tex finish their talk. The producer, Harry comes up to Glenda about a deal.

"Settle it with Deke, Harry. I tore up our contract."

All the chaos is happening backstage. Deke's just happy he did it. He got out of the small town and is now a star. He looks to Susan and she's beaming with a huge smile. Glenda walks back in.. her eyes are shiny, she's fighting tears. She pulls out a piece of paper.

"What are your terms Deke?"

Deke just smiles.

"I just want to be myself. I don't want anyone telling me who to be. It's my name, and I'd like a say in how I'm spoken about."

A smile grows on Tex's face. He takes the pen and hands it to Deke.

"Better write all your demands down while you still can kid. Glenda's feeling charitable."

Deke quickly takes the pen and writes away. After a few seconds it's done. He hands them the written up contract. Glenda looks at it as Harry comes in.

"Are these Mr. Rivers' demands?"

Tex makes a joke about it.

"They're in writing. Ain't they?"

Everyone laughs and it brings a sense of calm to Deke.

"In that case folks, I'll send it to my lawyers. We're gonna have a great show here. You'll be hearing from them soon. Good night to you all."

Harry leaves and Deke he realizes this is his moment.. his time to claim what is rightfully his. He looks right at Susie.

"Susie. Ah got something I wanna do with you."

He gives her the most amazing kiss. She puts a hand on his face and smiles. Deke turns back to Glenda.. everyone is looking at him, he's still very nervous and he's not sure what to expect next. Glenda is looking at Tex, and Tex is looking at Deke.

"Tex. I have a deal for you, too."

Tex turns to Glenda as she kisses him. Deke looks at the both of them.

"Ah-Ah think you and I both made good deals Tex. You got Glenda. And-And I got what I always wanted: friends."

Tex laughs.

"That we did, Deke. That we did."

At that point Deke's so in love with Susie that kissing her is all that matters. There's one last glimpse of Susie and Deke's kiss as the camera pulls out and the Paramount logo is all that is in focus. The music plays on the screen and fades away into black.

[searchingforthedreamscape]

Beast Wars: Season 2, Ep. 10: Transmutate

(SPOILERS: This post contains spoilers for “Transmutate”. If you haven’t seen this episode, I encourage you to watch it. It’s a very good, if not sad, episode.)

I was gonna make an entire paragraph, waxing poetic about this show and the wonders of childhood, but I’m in a bad mood, so y’all’re gonna have to settle for some old-fashioned nerd rage.

As a member of the Transformers fandom, there’s never really been a time where I’ve gotten upset with them. They’re usually a good bunch of grapes in the vineyard of awfulness called life. However, there’s something that’s come up fairly recently. Something that seems to sour my overall mood whenever I come across it. That, my dear Sparklings, is discourse. I’m not talking about ship wars (Lord knows that’s an insurmountable beast to conquer.). I’m talking about a particular episode of Beast Wars. If you’ve read the title of this post, then you know where this is about to go.

Beast Wars season 2, episode 10: “Transmutate” is an episode that involves the Maximals and Predicons getting their hands on the newest stasis pod that had been revealed in an earthquake. Silverbolt, Optimus, Inferno, and Rampage approach at the same time. As it turns out, the stasis pod’s data is corrupted, which then gives rise to a being that looks similar to a prototype of a robot. Rampage takes this being and assesses it, giving it the label of “transmutant”. The being then gives itself a name: “Transmutate”.

During the entirety of the episode, we learn that Transmutate has this powerful, sonic weapon at their disposal. Rhinox suggests that the Maximals put Transmutate into stasis until they can get back to Cybertron. However, as the protoform roams the halls of the Axilon, they get a signal from Rampage that beckons them to leave the ship. Not knowing any better, Transmutate flies through the ship’s hull, setting off the alarms. So, Silverbolt and Optimus give chase.

Silverbolt catches up with Transmutate and tries to fight Rampage. The two warring bots fall from a cliff, heavily damaged from battle. They fire missiles at one another. In that moment, Transmutate leaps down, summoning a forcefeild. However, it isn’t strong enough. Transmutate dies from severe damage, but not before acknowledging their friends.

So, I bet you’re all wondering how this episode is considered ableist by some fans. And honestly? I’m wondering that too. The posts I’ve read on this hellsite claim that Transmutate is disabled coded, but I don’t see it. If anything, Transmutate is child coded. They don’t speak much and if they do, it’s usually one to three words. They don’t understand the consequences of their actions because they lack the critical thinking skills required. They’re super trusting and they have issues with emotional regulation. Which, to me, means that they’re a baby.

After watching the episode on YouTube --as you do--, I took a look at the comments to see what the consensus is, and sure the fuck enough, someone was trying to pull the “what would they think?” card. And this is why I’m a little testy tonight. See, I’m of the belief that questions like this belittle folks like me. What did I think of a child character dying a violent, horrible death on screen? I didn’t think because I was too busy crying my eyes out in pure sadness. (I mean my god. Poor Transmutate.) The fact that someone would even dare to assume that it negatively effects how disabled people see themselves is astonishing. How dare they assume that disabled people would be affected by something some Joe Schmoe on the internet read too much into. It’s way too frustrating. I mean, as someone who was actually born with Muscular Dystrophy, I have enough people trying to speak for me. I don’t need some stranger pulling that shit online.

Anyways, I hope you lovelies enjoyed this post! And please, for the love of all that is holy, watch that episode!

TL:DR: After reading a post on Tumblr about how ableist this episode is, I watched it and....It’s not ableist. I got big mad and made this monstrosity of a post.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[winters-tales]

Talon!

Fuck me you're quick on the mark tonight

Talon: share a snippet that tugs at your heartstrings- can be sad or happy!

OK this is goijng to be a little long so, under the cut:

Rebecca Lynch addressing the Jury at her trial, 1964

Members of the Jury, I need you to put yourself in my shoes. It won’t take long. Just a few minutes of your time.

Imagine: you’re 12 years old. And despite the war, despite the massive exodus of refugees from the cities to the country, you love the stories of the Fae Wilds. You’ve heard so many names for it, but Fae Wilds is what your grandfather calls it, so it sticks for you as well.

You know that for a very, very long time, humans and the fair folk have been… well, maybe not friends. Neighbours. We live alongside each other. We don’t always have to get along, but we make do. Sometimes we’re closer than blood, and others it feels like every night you’re asking them to show some consideration.

So you grow up on stories of how we and the Fae used to be neighbours. Sometimes friends. Sometimes enemies. Always alongside one another. And there are stories about how some families were blessed, lucky no matter what, and maybe they were just lucky, or maybe they’d managed to make friends with the right kind of neighbours.

My family is farm folk. We’ve been farm folk for as long as anyone can remember. Good neighbours will have you overflowing with courgette, squash, tomato, an endless trade of “here, we had a bit too much of this” for a “oh, we’re overrun with that, will you take some for your troubles?” For a while, we were those neighbours, and as a child I never gave it two thoughts. We were lucky; it’s only right we share that luck as much as we can.

So imagine: you’re 12 years old. You’re been out playing, as your duties for the day on the farm are done. Your knees are skinned, your jeans are stained, there’s mud in impossible places, and you see your grandda striding out to the barn, holding a bundle of something.

You’re 12 years old. You’re a child. You love your grandda.

And when you peer through the door of the barn, you see him gently laying a fox down on the floor, and arranging the blanket it was bundled in carefully, just so.

You don’t think to run when your grandda snaps around, quick as a whip, and spots you.

You do give it a brief thought when the fox opens its eyes. All three of them.

“Come on then, young’un, don’t just gawk – I need your hands.” Your grandda has never been a man to frighten easily but now you, at 12 years old, can tell he’s frightened. Trying not to show it. You step inside. What else could you do?

He nods once, and turns back to the Fox.

“This is one of mine, and everything willing, she’ll be the next to steer this land.” You can’t find it in yourself to be surprised that he’s talking to the fox with three eyes. Not after all the stories. “This is a little earlier than I wanted to introduce you, but the devil makes his own plans, I suppose.”

You’re standing next to him now, and you can see what you couldn’t at the door: the fox is caught. A trap of iron wire has coiled around its leg, so tight the leg might not be able to be saved. You understand now, why your grandda said he needed your hands; the wire is too tight, the knot too small, for his arthritic fingers to be able to find.

There’s not a binding on this farm that you haven’t undone at least once.

You nod, just once like your grandda, kneel down, and reach towards the mangled leg.

To its credit, the Fox barely whimpers, but you can swear you see tears glistening in its eyes from the pain. It’s a battle, loosening the snare; too fast and you’ll hurt it more, and do more damage; too slow and you’ll only tire yourself out without doing anything.

You don’t know how long it takes to remove the horrid thing, but you do, eventually. The tips of your fingers are numb by the end, and you dip them in the cow’s water trough, hoping the cool water will shock some feeling back into them.

You’re not surprised when you turn around and there’s now a man spread out on the towel, although you do blush a little and look away quickly at his nakedness.

“Well done,” your grandda tells you as he busies himself wrapping the young man in the blanket. “Take that thing back into the house, now. We’ll need to be having words with those who border our lands, but later.”

You are 12 years old, and this is the first time you meet the being that guards your land, and blesses you with abundant crops. Later, with bandages of burdock around the wound and a hearty lamb stew cupped in his hands, he tells you he has been looking after your family for 250 years.

Just a few more minutes of walking in my shoes.

Imagine this: you are 32 years old. Your grandda has been gone for 4 years. Your siblings have long left, to fight in the war or craft for the war or spy in the war. You inherited the farm, just as grandda said you would. You work the fields and tend the animals, and each harvest season you leave a loaf of bread, a cup of fresh cream, and a plump chicken at the edge of the lands. You check for snare traps every night for as long as the farm is yours. You politely but firmly tell anyone putting them down that this behaviour isn’t tolerated, and if they left out gifts they’d probably find their hens unbothered.

The three-eyed Fox visits seldom, but it’s always a pleasure when he does. One day he tells you that he is being hunted, and you know there will be no more mulled cider by the fire of a winter’s evening, or strawberries in the fields. You know the war has left the cities and not even your peaceful farm is safe any more.

You run when you hear the shouting but it’s clear your stumbling and crashing is leading the mob right to your friend. You beg him to flee, and after many a stubborn refusal, finally he does. You crash away through your fields in the opposite direction, shouting even louder, hoping they fall for it, and they do.

You are 32 years old, and you are caught, but your friend is not. No-one will wear a fox pelt with 3 eyes that night.

Yes, I helped him escape, but he was as much a part of my family as the cows were, the lambs, the hens, the bloody badgers and rabbits that I didn’t raise myself but knew just as well! I was not tricked, or ensorcelled, or bespelled. I did what I did of my own free will, and I would do it again, in a heartbeat. He was not the enemy, he was my neighbour. My friend.

Members of the Jury, what I did may be considered a crime according to the laws of this city, but in this instance the law is not Just. If I could go back I would make the same choice, again and again and again.

The law is not just. I am not guilty.

--

Rebecca Lynch was found Guilty by a Jury of her peers, and sentenced to death by firing squad for aiding in the escape of an enemy combatant.

The Lynch farm was sold to raise money for the war effort, but yields dropped too much for the farm to be considered useful, and it was left to become derelict.

[personasintro]

Love Lockdown | 03

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; yoongi isn’t going easy on you

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: yoongi x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: zombie apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, horror au (?)

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.3k+

banner by: @dee-ehn​

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢

The morning isn't any better.

You learn that as soon as you make it downstairs with Zoya attached to your side, met with cold stares aimed at no one else but you.

Are you even surprised? You weren't expecting them to suddenly be fond of you after one night. As of now, they see you as a burden which isn't too far from reality. You hate being seen like that. You hate having to depend on other people, strangers, that some of them don't want you here and it's more than clear.

It makes you angry and sad at the same time. Do you have another choice? Not really. You certainly won't risk your life any further, not when you're no longer alone. Without them, you would probably be dead by now and you would have no shelter where you could peacefully sleep knowing there is at least someone who is up the whole night to make sure you (all of you) are not dead before the sunrise.

In other scenarios, it might look like any family morning you often used to see in movies as everyone meets in the morning for breakfast. However, there are no scrambled eggs, toasts or whatever that could be appetizing enough to make you salivate.

“Well, I'm going to sleep. G'night folks.” Bruno waves, not really waiting for any response as he makes his way upstairs with Johnny following him right after.

You stare at them questionably. Sleep? Didn't they sleep?

“We take turns guarding the house during night,” Yoongi says, cold eyes already set on you as he breaks you from your thoughts and curiosity caused by the two men. “We let you sleep because it was your first night but tonight you're on guard.”

His voice is rough just like you remember it to be, eyes watching you attentively as you gulp and give him a nod. “Okay, thank you.”

He doesn't say anything else, staring at what you notice is a map in front of him.

You're not sure how you feel about the news. It sounds like a huge responsibility and you've no idea what it entails to be on guard. Well, you did tell Taehyung you will try to do your best. If this is one of those things – not that you have a choice because it seems like you don't – you have to do, then you will learn how to do them.

“There are always two people who are on guard, don't worry. You won't be alone.” Zoya informs you as she motions for you to sit down.

You do, your stomach clenched with nerves but still craving for some more food. Ironically enough, it's right on the opposite side of Yoongi who doesn't pay you any attention as he continues to scan the map.

“Good morning, how was your first night here in our luxurious abode?”

Yoongi looks up to give Taehyung a look, turning his gaze back to the map.

Taehyung scoots down onto the seat next to you, shining you with a bright boxy smile as you give him a slight smile in return.

Despite how comically safe your old apartment felt like, including your own bed, it was out of electricity and water shortly after the whole chaos had begun. Yesterday, on your way here when Taehyung started talking to you in a car, he mentioned this house and how they found it. Sometime in the midst of it he explained they have running water, which immediately made you confused and curious at the same time because no one in the city has running water.

As far as you know, the water network stopped working due to contamination, damage and leakage.

But you remained silent, only because you were too nervous where they were taking you (no matter how Taehyung tried his best to ease your nerves) and Yoongi's sharp eyes just added to your stress. He didn't seem to be happy about Taehyung clearly oversharing any information.

However, Taehyung continued to show his gratitude revealing the old couple had their own cistern which water haul service had to fill up. That would also explain this house being located in the woods, rather than closer to the city. The water is of course limited and you suddenly understand the glares they probably gave you behind your back once you were allowed to take a quick shower.

Yoongi said they're running low on their supplies. Running water must be one of them.

“Good,” you answer simply, “I… I really needed sleep.” you share, stealing a glance at Yoongi who simply ignores you which you're glad for.

You're on the edge in his presence. It's like you're just waiting for him to jump at you or send any jabs your way.

“That's good,” he genuinely gives you a smile as he turns to his food – instant ramen which its smell does make you salivate. “Who's on guard tonight?”

“She is.” Yoongi answers right away, voice cold and distant as Taehyung slightly freezes before he looks at you, giving you one of his encouraging smiles.

Taehyung knew Yoongi wouldn't go easy on you but the fact he already set you to watch over the house on your second night here, is slightly beyond him. He hoped he would at least let you grow accustomed to… well, them.

“Oh, I can be with you if you want.”

Your heart softens at Taehyung's kindness and willingness to help.

There's no time for you to even open your mouth before Yoongi's voice booms in the entire kitchen again, despite it being not even that loud.

“No,”

Taehyung frowns, both of you staring at Yoongi as he slowly looks up from the map.

“I don't trust her.”

You tense again, his words feeling like a punch to your stomach because the coldness towards you is more than obvious. Anyone could see and hear that.

“So? Why can't I be with her tonight?” Taehyung asks confusingly as Yoongi sighs and leans against the stool.

“Because you trust her.” he says yet simply again, almost as if that explains everything.

Zoya stands behind the kitchen counter, behind Yoongi where he doesn't see her and visibly motions to Taehyung not to argue about it any further. It seems like Yoongi has the final word. Always.

“Who's gonna be with her then?” Taehyung asks, his eyes averting from Zoya back to the cold dark-haired man.

“Me.”

You gulp, not helping yourself as you stare at him once again. But he never spares you a glance, simply standing up from his spot as he takes the map with him.

Not even the smell of ramen can make you feel the appetite again. You still force yourself to eat some of it once Zoya places it in front of you, encouraging you to eat.

After all, you have no idea for how long you will stay here.

The room you share with Zoya seems like the safest place in the house. No one comes in, so this way you're off their sight and their glares can't make you squirm in place like a little lamb that's driven into a corner by wolves.

Well, except Zoya who makes sure you're okay once she finds you in bed staring at the plain ceiling that would definitely need a fresh painting. How funny.

No one will ever care enough to do that because – what's the point?

“I was wondering where you were,” she says, chuckling as she crouches down and opens her backpack. “You can join us downstairs, although I understand you prefer to be alone. I'm not blaming you,”

You stay quiet, sighing in response.

What are you supposed to say?

She knows she is right. Anyone would rather be alone if all they are met with is coldness and contempt.

She stands up, walking up to you which makes you turn your gaze away from the ceiling to her as she hands you a–

“It's a toothbrush. I took it from Cherry, don't tell her,” she chuckles, “I had a spare one but I can't find it. She has lots of this stuff. Well, more than any of us.”

The redhead woman that seems to utterly despise you does seem like someone who takes care of her well. She's pretty. You can't lie about that. Maybe if it weren't for her cold exterior that makes her unsympathetic, maybe she could be even prettier.

“I–thank you,” you take it from her, slowly sitting up. “You didn't have to… I mean–if it brings you trouble.”

“It won't,” she assures you with a smile, “She won't know if you don't tell her.” she teases as you chuckle.

“I surely won't.”

You both share a laugh, thanking Zoya one last time for taking care of you even when it comes to things like this.

Even the simplest act such as brushing teeth makes you feel like a human again. Even though, you're reminded by her not to use too much toothpaste because there's only one in the bathroom. Along with water.

Oh, how you missed the simple life from a year ago. Back when there was no pandemic and everything was normal.

You manage to take a nap during the day, preparing yourself both physically and mentally to spend the night in Yoongi's presence. Zoya has assured you there's nothing to worry about. You just make sure to look from the windows and a balcony here and there, see if there are any threats in the form of undeads or anything that actually could be a threat.

You are nervous. You are scared and a coward when it comes to things like this but being in this house does feel safe.

Despite your nap, you feel like you could use a good night's sleep.

You barely slept anyway. Whenever there was the littlest sound or voice outside of your room, you shook yourself out of the nap with your heart beating fast against your ribcage.

It will take a while to get used to this. Unless you will be out of here before you can even get used to anything.

Yoongi barely pays you any attention as he lays on the couch, leg propped lazily. He looks like he's used to this. He most certainly is. He wears the same black cargo pants with a matching black short-sleeved shirt, and you think it mirrors his persona accurately. It just adds more to his coldness.

Along with attractiveness you're too stubborn and shy to admit even to yourself.

You stand next to the fireplace, where a set of candles is lit up and warms your face. You stare at the single picture of the old couple in a dark brown frame, what seems like them in a sunflower field. They hug themselves, smiling widely which makes you smile sadly.

At least they got to live most of their life under normal circumstances. Who knows if they still live. It always makes you wonder whenever you see or think of someone. It mostly happens when you can't sleep or you're just swallowed in your own thoughts.

It has been happening ever since the lights got turned off and the entire world was swallowed in darkness.

Does the guy who worked in your favorite bakery live? Did he make it out alive?

Does your first boyfriend whom you mutually broke up with because you grew apart live?

Is your sister still alive?

Is your dad alive?

What about your cousins?

“Overthinking never helps.”

You jump at the gruffy voice behind you, noticing Yoongi in his same position with the only difference that he is now looking at you from across the room.

“So what? Am I supposed not to think?” you ask dumbfoundedly, growing annoyed at him. Does he realize how absurd that sounds? You can't control your thoughts all the time.

“You could make yourself useful and prove taking you in wasn't a waste of our time.”

Waste of their food and water is what he wants to say.

“What am I supposed to do?” you ask, challenging him as you don't let him intimidate you no more.

Of course, you still have a huge respect when it comes to him. With a snap of his fingers he could kick you out of this house and you are done for.

However, Yoongi seems to be amused by the sudden voice you have found. Even if the smirk is bitter and cold like his entire personality is.

“Perhaps you could start by watching through the window instead of being ten seconds from crying.”

You gasp, noticing how wet your eyes feel. Fuck! Your overthinking always makes you want to cry. Huffing a breath, you don't let him have the satisfaction of seeing you wiping your eyes, you walk towards one of the tall windows that is covered by a curtain. You wipe it as soon as you're turned with your back to him, glancing into the darkness.

“How are we supposed to see anything when it's so dark outside?” You voice your thoughts, frowning when you can't see even a meter away from the house.

All you see are the tops of the tall trees but that's only thanks to the moon and its moonlight.

“We are safe here. The house is locked but if undead come near, you will notice them.”

You can't imagine how when it's pitch black outside but well, he probably knows what he is talking about.

“What happens if there are more of them and they're right next to the house?”

“It's usually enough for us to grab our things and go,”

Is it really that easy as it sounds? Grab their things and go?

“There are usually a couple of them but they don't come in massive groups. At least not in this location but you never know.” he explains, his words scaring you a little if you imagine hundreds of undead surrounding this house. Actually, just the thought of a dozen of them makes you scared shitless.

“How many of them have you killed?”

Yoongi pauses, his eyes momentarily dropping to you. “I lost the count.”

He stares back at the ceiling, his hand under his head as he goes back to ignoring you.

You take the silence to think again. Without a doubt, you do admire Yoongi for how brave he seems to be. He definitely has to have good skills to make it out alive this whole time. That could be said about you but on your part it was more luck than anything else.

Sighing, you drop your head against the window, the sight of darkness and not knowing what's between the trees, deep in the forest makes you anxious. Gulping, you realize how dry your throat feels like.

“They smell people, right?” you ask in affirmation, feeling like an idiot you ask such a question after four months of the world being in this state.

Yoongi chuckles bitterly at your lack of knowledge which embarrasses you to the core, but you don't let it be known as you face him with a raised brow. Unfortunately for you, he doesn't even spare you a glance.

“Light and sound attracts them,” he informs you, “Light not as much but sound and smell of living flesh for sure.”

You shiver at his answer, backing away from the window as you take a deep breath.

A rustle sound comes from the couch as Yoongi stands up, his boots hitting the wooden floor as he starts walking out of the room and you panic.

“Wait–where are you going?” You're embarrassed how quickly you react, fear more than clear in your tone as Yoongi stops and frowns at you over his shoulder.

“I'm gonna check the balcony. It has the best view.”

Glancing between him and the windows, you suddenly feel unsafe to be left alone even though he told you the house is locked. They don't really have a chance to get inside, unless they come in a massive group and would eventually be able to break down the windows. Although, you are not sure if it's possible. You have never seen it and you don't want to.

“Can I–can I come with you?” you ask quickly, cringing at yourself as Yoongi sighs and looks at you again.

He sees you biting onto your lower lip anxiously, causing him to roll his eyes at your weakness. “Just be quiet. Everyone's sleeping.” he mutters under his breath.

That's all it takes for you to follow him.

There is not a chance of you stealing something and making a run for it. Not in the middle of the night and you wouldn't really have a chance to hide any food you might have taken. Plus, you don't know where they keep the medicine – something everyone is willing to kill for and they were lucky enough to find some a month ago.

Still, he doesn't trust you and it's better if he doesn't let you out of his sight.

But you're oblivious to his thoughts and assumptions about you.

It's hard to be quiet when the stairs creak under your boots with each step you take. You really want to smack Yoongi every time he annoyingly sighs when your boots and the wood makes a sound. It's not your fault! The wood creaks under his weight as well but somehow, he manages to go quietly and almost soundless.

He walks up to a door that's in the middle, the one that has to be facing the back of the house. He slowly opens the door with you following him. It's too dark to make out any details of the room but your eyes widen when you realize there is someone sleeping in the bed.

This room is bigger than the one you and Zoya share and judging by some pictures hanging on the wall, it has to be the master bedroom. Suddenly, you're reminded of the old couple that used to live here and your heart clenches with sadness.

Too distracted once again, you bumped into Yoongi's back rather uncomfortably and you have to admit the collision with your forehead and his back is not very pleasing.

Yoongi takes a deep breath, causing you to sheepishly apologize.

“Sorry.” you whisper.

He doesn't say anything, quietly making his way towards the balcony. The curtain is draped over there as well but he locates the knob and turns the lock with an audible click. He opens the balcony door and the immediate cold breeze brushes past your face.

As he steps onto the balcony, you follow him but not before stealing a glance at the person lying in the bed. It's Cherry.

There is no denying it's a female and considering Zoya is in your shared room, it has to be her.

You join Yoongi on the balcony, shivering at how chilly June night is. Surely, the temperature runs low in this location since you are surrounded by trees.

There is absolutely nothing.

Just darkness but Yoongi was right.

The view is best from here and despite the darkness, you can make out things more clearly from up here.

The night is soundless, just a casual rustle of the trees once the breeze gets slightly more intense but other than that, it seems like a calm night.

It's weird.

If it weren't for the apocalypse, you would think of this view and place as peaceful.

“Have you stumbled upon any undead here?” you whisper, your voice suddenly sounding too loud in your ears but you know you're keeping your voice down.

“Yes.” Yoongi answers your question, dark eyes looking around completely focused on the forest in front of you.

“How many?”

Yoongi takes a deep breath before answering. “Two or three.”

“And how many days have you been in this house?”

“Two weeks.”

“Fuck.” you say mindlessly, not even hiding the desperation in your voice.

He turns around, getting out of the balcony and you eagerly follow him. Embarrassingly slowing down when you notice he's been waiting for you to get out of there before he closes the balcony door quietly, not to wake Cherry up.

You get out of the room quietly, slowly making your way back to the living room where the tall windows wait for you. Yoongi goes back to his previous position lying down.

You sit down on the stool, easily growing bored as you keep walking towards the windows to check outside, no matter how scared you are each time you touch the curtain.

Not having an idea of how many times this is that you've walked to the window to check outside, you lazily lean your head against the frame, eyes lazily drooping as you finally start to feel the exhaustion.

Yoongi keeps checking the kitchen and the windows in front of the house but still comes back to the couch to lay back. You're embarrassed how anxious you get each time he stands up and walks out of the room.

He's back on the couch, mindlessly twisting a pen between his long slim fingers.

You're not going to lie. You did take the time to watch him whenever he was focused on something else. You don't know whether he knew about your curious gaze or not, but he never commented on it.

He's an average height but still hovers over everyone with his demeanor. He has such a soft skin for such a rough mouth. It's pale and clear, in other words Yoongi doesn't look real in rare times of mindlessly staring at the ceiling letting his features relax. But still, he always has a prominent frown present on his face, even though sometimes it's very subtle.

You wonder if he ever smiles genuinely these days.

Is there even something to smile about?

You certainly don't have a reason to smile, so you can't blame him if he doesn't do it.

Staring into nothing, you audibly sigh (both bored and exhausted) wondering how many hours until you can go to bed and sleep. Perhaps your next sleep will be better and more peaceful. However, sleep is long forgotten, especially when your eyes catch something – a movement – that is so slight you barely see it but if you focus your vision, you're able to notice it.

Naturally, your heart starts to pick up its pace, hands slightly shaking as you focus your eyes even more.

Come on, it's just a tree. You're tired and you're seeing things.

You know it's your own fear trying to persuade you of such a thing, mouth slowly opening when you realize.

It's one of the undeads.

It's close.

You back away, fearing to take your eyes away from it so it disappears and you won't be able to pinpoint where it is.

“Yoongi,” you shakily say his name, still staring at the slowly approaching monster. “It's–it's undead.”

Yoongi jumps out of his spot, immediately on his feet as he walks over to you, chest brushing against your side but you're too scared and frozen to even notice how close he is.

How you can smell the interesting combination of men's showergel and him.

Yoongi tries to follow your line of vision, staring into the darkness with a deep frown until he finally makes out the motion and turns around, walking to the coffee table where he takes a knife from. The sharp and big one that's been sitting there ever since you came here, waiting to be used.

But you hoped it wouldn't have to be.

Just as he's about to leave, you're quick as you suddenly grab him by his wrist, stopping him from going any further.

You're met with a glare as you stare right back at him.

“Where are you going?”

“Going to kill it,” he deadpans, “Move.”

“No, don't go.” you plead him, wondering what if something bad is going to happen.

He really wants to get out, into the darkness and kill it?

You're fearing for him.

“Move,” he growls at you. “Or would you rather kill it, dove?”

You stop, slowly letting go off his wrists as you shake your head. Dove?

“That's what I thought.”

And he's walking to the backdoor which is situated in the kitchen, clicking the lock open. He is out before you can blink and you gasp, running towards the backdoor, palms pressed against the cold glass as you don't let your eyes fall from Yoongi's back.

Yoongi approaches the undead as if it's a normal human being, suddenly moving too quickly and before you can realize what is happening, the knife is already stabbed into its brain and it falls down, dead completely.

He pulls out the knife, standing quietly while he looks around for a moment before he walks back into the house.

You take a step back, letting him come inside as he closes the door and clicks the lock shut.

“Do you know how you make it completely dead?” he suddenly asks, walking towards the kitchen counter as he pulls out a random cloth, wiping the blood the undead left behind on the knife.

“How?” you ask, voice shaky as you still stare at him completely shocked how easy he made that look. Meanwhile you were ready to shit your pants just by watching it.

“You destroy the brain,”

That makes sense. The two times you've seen people kill them, which happens to be only Yoongi so far, it has always been sticking the knife into its brain. Destroying it.

And then he looks up at you, expressionless and emotionless as always as he wipes off his knife.

“Next one is yours.”

You've no idea if he does it to scare you or make something known to you – your hands shake by the time you join him in the living room.

Praying no more undeads will come to this house.

It's only your luck that it had to appear on your first guarding with Yoongi out of all people.

You're lucky when the sun comes up and no other surprise visits in the form of growling and bloody monsters happen.

Yoongi's eyes follow you once you finally have the green light to go to sleep.

You know it's just a matter of time before he makes you do your job here.

[inkandpen22]

The Heiress and the Gangster (1/?)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Female!Reader

Warnings: violence, swearing

Word Count: 2.7k

Part Summary: Y/N Adair, an American heiress, is visiting London for the social season with her fiancé Alfred Bamford. Alfie Simmons and Tommy Shelby have formed a plan to kidnap Y/N and hold her for ransom, that is until Tommy changes his mind...

Masterlist

Y/N

The car rolls up to the entrance of the race track. My driver, Mr. Richards, comes to a steady halt and immediately hops out of the car.

"Ready, darling?" Al questions with a grin beside me.

I pull back the velvet curtain covering my window to peer up at the arena. "As I'll ever be."

Mr. Richards opens the door and offers me his glove-covered hand. "Miss Adair."

I step out gracefully, my wide-brim hat blocking the beaming sun from my face. Al crosses behind the car to join me. His head finds its way to my back securely. Robert, my main bodyguard, climbs out of his own car with two more security my father hired. Al escorts me inside the stadium to the boxes. Robert leads the way with his two henchmen behind us. It's like being put into a human box.

When we arrive at our box, we're greeted by our friends in attendance. It's rare that we make it over to England, so when we do it's nice to see everyone. Al and I perform our social duties, making small talk and asking about everyone's families as though we all didn't have dinner together last night. It's the same couples in different settings for the entire month we're here.

_________________________________

Tommy

I watch from one of the pub tables at the top of the box with John as posh folks shuffle in to find their spots. When news broke that Y/N Adair would be visiting London for a month, both American and England were over the moon. The youngest child and only daughter of William Vincent Adair, the richest banker in America. She will inherit a third of his multi-million dollar fortune. It's a known fact amongst the public that's she's the favorite child so the percentage may be greater than just a third. My boys and Alfie's team are banking on that rumor. If she were to be kidnapped and held for ransom by a couple of English gangsters, it's certain her father will pay a hefty sum for her safe return to The States.

John nudges me subtly to avoid attention. "There she is!"

My eyes flicker away from the hustle and bustle of the crowd toward the entrance of the box. A young woman in an all-white lace dress crosses our path. A gentle smile rests across her lips as the Viscount and Viscountess Furness approach her, each greeting her with an embrace. Her Y/H/C hair peeks through beneath her lavish matching hat. For a moment, I experience hesitation. She's not what I expected at all.

John nudges my arm with a snicker. “You alright, Tom? Look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” 

I shake my head, taking a smoke from my cigarette. "No, that can't be her. She's far too young."

"Of course it is!" John argues.

A young gentleman in a brand new navy suit follows close beside her, keeping a protective hand pressed to her back. He shakes hands with his peers, charming his audience as he and Miss Adair are greeted with cheers.

"And her arrogant playboy fiancé, Alfred Bamford." My brother scoffs. "His family owns more railways in the U.S. than any company in the entire world!"

As my brother babbles, I watch closely as Y/N stands beside Alfred with a restrained, but convincing, smile. As he gloats and encourages banter with their fellow posh folk, she's quiet and glancing about the arena.

"Their marriage will create a media frenzy!" John describes in my ear. "Adair Banks and Bamford Rails, it's a match made in posh people heaven. Shame she'll never live to see it," he snickers.

I press my cigarette into the ashtray and turn my body toward my brother. "As soon as the gun fires that's when Alfie's man takes the shot.” I check my watch. “He'll be here in five minutes. That's when you leave and fetch the car. Understood?"

He nods sharply, "right, Tom. Got it."

___________________________________

Y/N

Anticipating the race, Al and I stand right against the rail with our dainty gold binoculars, searching for my family's horse.

"I need Olympus to win," I worry outwardly. "I need to prove to my father that this trip was worth it."

"I’m certain William will be pleased no matter the outcome."

"You don't know my father then," I chuckle.

"Excuse me!" A voice announces over the chatter of the box.

I glance over my shoulder as a well-dressed middle-aged man hurries up to my security. His brow is sweaty and his white suit wrinkled. He rushes out words to Robert before being escorted over to me.

"Welcome to Ascot, Madam," he welcomes, gesturing to the large building. "I'm John Wilkson and I'm a partner at the track. May I get you anything before the festivities?" He rubs his hands in circles nervously.

I offer John my hand with a warm smile. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. If possible, I would like a pot of Earl Grey."

"Oh yes! Yes, definitely!" The man gushes as Robert leads him toward the door. "Right away, Madam!"

"Thank you!" I nod, maintaining my smile until he's out of view.

Al chuckles beside me at the man’s expense as he rubs his palm up and down my spine. "How are you enjoying it so far, My Dear?"

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," I remark. " It doesn't appear any more luxurious than Arlington Park."

"You are far too difficult to please, darling," he teases, scooping up my glove-covered hand and planting a kiss to the back of it.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to today's festivities..." the announcer begins, causing widespread cheering across the crowd.

Al and I clap our hands along with our friends.

"Your tea, Miss Adair, a young waiter informs me as he sets down the set on a side table by our chairs.

I thank him quietly before he dismisses himself.

"Don't forget, tonight is the dinner with Prince Albert and Lady Elizabeth," Al reminds me.

"Aw yes, thank you!" I express with relief as I step back to pick up my teacup and return to my spot beside him. "They're quite lovely, aren't they? Their engagement is such delightful news." I bring my cup to my lips for a sip.

"I'm certainly looking forward to the wedding, it'll be a spectacle." He smirks. “Another excuse to return in the spring.”

I narrow my eyes mischievously, sharing the same agenda as him. "They can be the social event of the season in England, but we shall claim America."

Tommy

Two of Miss Adair’s men are positioned outside while his Head stands against the far wall, just a few feet from her. Alfie's hitman enters the tent without suspicion, dressed like a posh race-goer and his gun well concealed. He glances in my direction, giving me the signal to release my brother. I give John a brief nod and he disappears through the opening in the curtain.

"Jockeys! Prepare your horses!" The announcer declares, marking the start of the races.

I clap along with the crowd. Everyone in the box is zoned in on the gates where the jockeys are mounting their horses. Alfie's man claps as well, keeping his eyes on the horses to blend in as he continues toward Miss Adair and Mr. Bamford. He stops in the second row, just behind the couple.

My eyes flicker to Y/N. A glowing smile forms across her face as she switches her sight away from the gates toward her fiancé. Her eyes glimmering with optimism and excitement. There’s a youthfulness in her I haven’t seen in anyone since the war. She has no idea that the man behind her has been sent to point a gun at her head and kidnap her. Her attention travels about the box, at her friends and peers. Her eyes glance in my direction, her soft Y/E/C eyes meet mine. Her radiating smile softens as her hands slows to a steady halt. Then, something in me just... snaps.

My attention changes to the man on the field lifts his gun into the air. At the same moment, Alfie's man reaches into his coat pocket.

"No! Wait!" I shout, knocking the table out of the way. "Everyone down!"

I leap over the chairs and tackle Alfie's man. He sets off the gun as we stumble to the floor, chairs flying all about. Screams ensue as we wrestle on the floor. A man I recognize as the Head of Y/N's security steps on Alfie's man's hand. With a hiss, he releases his fist around the gun and the security knocks it away. I rush to my feet to inspect the damages, to see if Y/N was hurt, but I see no sign of her. Where did the bullet hit? A hanging bit of cloth that was once the awning answers my question. The arena is in chaos as people travel upstream toward the exists. People are being trampled and pushing each other about.

I work against the traffic down toward the railing to where I last saw Y/N. I shove people out of my way in a hurry. Then, that's when I spot her hat, squashed flat on the floor. I lean down to pick it up and that's when I finally find her resting against the wood base of the rail, holding her head with a bloody hand.

Y/N

I remove my hand from my stinging forehead to see my once white-glove soaked in blood. One minute I was scanning the reaction of the crowd behind me, then there was a shout. The shot for the race to begin rang and I was knocked forward. My head hit the metal railing and I fell to the floor. My forehead was stinging and I realized I was bleeding. Then, I swear I heard another gunshot. I've tried to stand up, but everyone’s scrambling to get out. Plus, my head is throbbing

Suddenly, a man appears hovering above me. He stares down at me with a clenched jaw and a look of determination. He leans down, scoops up my unscathed hand. Before I utter a word, he begins to usher me through the chaos. My feet shuffle across the floor briskly to keep up as he grips my hand tightly. People continue to shout and scream for their loved ones, frightened.

"Who are you?" I ask loudly over the noise.

He ignores me, guiding the way through the arena. People rush down the closest stairs, eager to reach one of the main exits. This man, however, avoids all the staircases and remains on the walkway of the top floor. I sense he's leading me to the furthermost end and hopefully to an emergency exit.

"Answer me this instant!" I demand, attempting to yank my hand free. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, Miss Adair, I do!" He finally answers and whips his head around to meet my gaze. "Now, if you wish to not get shot, I suggest you follow me!"

I check over my shoulder for Al. "But my fiancé-"

"They're not after him," he states turning his attention back ahead.

My stomach drops. "You mean you know who's behind this?"

"I know enough..." His answer is vague and it worries me.

"Why do they wish to hurt me?"

"Your family is the wealthiest in the United States! You should really travel with more security," he suggests over his shoulder.

My prediction was correct, the man takes me to the furthest end of the platform to a fire escape of sorts behind a curtain. It's much less hectic than the main stairwells other than some workers attempting to escape. The man never releases my hand as he leads the swift way down the metal stairs. Once we're on solid ground, we weave through various parts of the arena. Booths and vendors scatter the area. The man seems to know this well, making a bee-line for a large white tent tucked away near the main staircase where Al and I first entered the race track.

When we rush into the tent, I first note a series of telephone booths, the dirt floor, and the absence of any of else. The man releases my hand and starts marching around. I assume checking to make sure we're alone. I spin around, checking my surroundings, frightened that one of these men this stranger speaks of will attack me suddenly.

My head is pounding and I can feel the warm blood twinkle down my cheek. My hair must look a fright. Who am I kidding, my white dress is covered in blood and dirt, every part of me is messy.

Tommy

Y/N and I both struggle to catch our breath. I double-check that neither Alfie nor any of his men are hiding out in here. "We should be safe in here," I announce.

"Don't you think we should fetch a car or something!" She rushes out worriedly. “My car is parked just-”

I shake my head, moving back toward her. "No, not yet. They'll be expecting that."

Now that her hand is away from her head, I can inspect her injury properly. A minor gash above her brow. It doesn't appear awful, won't need stitches, but she has significant amounts of blood down the side of her face and cheek.

Y/N

"Here." The man reaches into his pocket square and pulls out his handkerchief. He brings one hand behind my head and the other presses the fabric to my forehead. "We'll have someone look at this once everything is settled."

I nod, still a tad dazed to say the least. "Thank you," I mumble as my eyes fall to his tie directly ahead of me.

For a moment, despite the chaos outside the tent, there's a sense of peacefulness as the stranger pats my cut.

"So, you know my name, what's yours?" I ask. Considering he saved my life, I don't think we should be strangers anymore. “Since we were in the same box, I suspect you’re friends with the Bowes-Lyons.”

"Thomas, Thomas Shelby," he answers directly without much emotion.

"Well, despite the circumstance, it's pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. I'm surprised we've never met before considering we share friends."

A faint snicker escapes him as a smirk creeps onto the edge of his lips.

I grin. "What's so funny?"

"An heiress calling me "sir," he chuckles, glancing down from my forehead to meet my gaze. "It's not exactly something I thought I'd ever hear."

My brows scrunch together in confusion. “But aren’t you-”

"Tommy!" A voice calls from behind me.

Frightened, I rush to stand behind Mr. Shelby. My hands wrap around his bicep as I peek around his shoulder. His arm reaches around to keep me close to his back.

"In here Arthur!" He hollers.

Wait, he knows the person?

Suddenly, a lengthy man with a mustache marches into the tent. When his eyes land on us, his brows scrunch together. "What's this? What happened to-"

"Change of plans," Mr. Shelby states, physically relaxing at the sight of him.

The man switches his sight between me and Mr. Shelby. He rocks on his heels nervously. He steps to the side to get a better view of me. "Oh uh... hello then... Miss Adair. Nice to meet ya," he greets.

"And he's a friend?" I ask Mr. Shelby quietly.

He chuckles. "Yes, he's my brother. He's safe."

I step out from behind him hesitantly. I redirect my attention to Arthur and remove my glove to offer him my hand slowly. "Pleasure to meet you as well."

His brows rise at the sight of my hand, but he shakes it nonetheless. He chuckles. "She's awfully friendly," he tells his brother.

"Did you happen to see my fiancé? Alfred Bamford," I ask, growing worried that Al may have been hurt.

"He was escorted to your car I believe by one of your security."

"And the others?" I press urgently. “Are my friends alright? What about Lord and Lady Elphinstone?”

His features fall. "I lost them in the crowd, Miss..."

My eyes grow wide. "I should go find them!"

I go to head back outside, but Mr. Shelby grabs my wrist and steps to block my path.

"The men trying to harm you may still be out there," he warns.

"But my friends! Alfred!” I argue. “They’re probably worried sick! I’ll find my car and have them take me back to the hotel!”

"They'll be searching for you there! I'm sure they already have it staked out."

I huff. "Then where do you suggest I go?"

His eyes flicker to his brother and it's evident a thought has crossed his mind.

"I have an idea..." he states vaguely.

Oh no...

_______________________

Masterlist

[tpwkay]

Medicine (h.s.)

You’re finally given permission to cover the song you’ve wanted to perform for years and a special surprise during your performance sweeps you off of your feet.

Word count: 11.5k

Rating/warnings: NSFW - A lot of this is plot but there is smut as well. Contains explicit language and consensual sex acts between a man and woman. This is a story written in the 2nd person (“self insert"). This isn’t written to be exclusionary, it’s just my preferred style! Author’s note can be found at the end!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for coming out tonight to listen to me and the band. We've got a couple more songs coming up for you but I just wanted to take a minute to tell y'all how much we appreciate you." You gesture to yourself and the band behind you as the lights on stage come up a bit. "We wouldn't be where we are without your support. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you!"

The crowd cheers and you can't help but experience an insurmountable feeling of joy. It never gets old. You'd been in the spotlight for a few years now, already at the end of touring your second album, though the size and scope of venues this time around was much, much larger. There was nothing that compared to being able to sing your own songs and have a crowd of thousands scream them right back at you.

Being an up-and-coming singer and songwriter in the genre of country music hadn't been easy. Girls your type had been a dime a dozen, hoards of Taylor Swift-wannabes covering "Teardrops on My Guitar" during open mic night. You held nothing against them; there was a path to success for everyone, but yours had been, well, different. 

It was a karaoke cover of Brooks & Dunn's "Boot Scootin' Boogie", a song that you'd been singing since you were a toddler, that had gotten you noticed by a recording artist one night while out with your girlfriends, which led you to where you stand now, performing in front of thousands. You were liked for the range of your voice, with it's easy easy transitions from the sounds of pop to country and rock, in addition to the way you performed, and your take-no-shit attitude towards the entirety of the industry. People liked that you were forward and left nothing on the table, though you had to admit that it was mostly an act, a means of coping with the pressure of working your way to the top.

///

"It's refreshing!" Jax, your manager, had shouted one day, arms flailing as you had argued that maybe your attitude was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Aren't you, as, you know, my manager, supposed to be the one keeps me in line?"

"You aren't out doing coke, killing anyone, public indecency and all that," he had shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, you are in line. People talk about you because of your attitude. They like it! They like you. Why is that so hard for you to accept sometimes?"

"Maybe I just haven't been caught doing those things," you grinned, effectively dodging his question. Fame hadn't helped break down the walls that you'd long ago built around yourself. If anything, you had done some reinforcing, built a moat even, in an effort to ensure that you protected yourself from getting too close to anyone that would only end up using you in the end. You had seen the way people in life had been used, and what it ultimately led them to, and you had promised yourself long ago that even if it meant being known as the Boot Scootin' Bitch, you would protect yourself and your heart at all costs. 

"Your momma would tan your hide for much less than any of those, you know. Hell, you should be more afraid of her than you are of me or anyone else… 'cept maybe God."

///

You shake your head, working the memories free from your mind as you grab a bottle of water from the platform on which the drum set rests.

There's one more song of yours to sing before you performed a new cover, the one you had been looking forward to for months. Although you'd gotten permission to perform it not long into the start of your tour, the set list had been rehearsed already and every other detail ironed out around it. You'd convinced Jax and the crew to let you slot it into the last concert of the tour, Austin, Texas. These folks knew their music and for some reason, they liked you so you were thrilled to be able to share something new with the crowd that had welcomed you to their city with open arms. 

You grab your guitar off its stand and slide the strap over your shoulders, adjusting it as you step forwards to the mic stand. A shimmering blue shirt catches your eye in the crowd and you do a double take because surely it can't be Harry because he's—

And it's not him, of course, though the fashion of the gentleman in the pit area would surely catch his eye as well as it's right up his alley. It's not him - it can't be him - because you know exactly where he is right now and it's not in the pit of your Austin performance. 

A grin stretches over your face as you think of him. You strum the first chord of the first song you'd ever written about him, although there had been many more since. He probably knew this one was about him, having come just after your first meeting. 

/// 

A friend of yours was good friends with Kacey, who had been the guest artist that night. Her name had been added to the VIP list and in the summer of 2018, just as you were hitting your own stride in your career, you tagged along with her to Harry Styles' live tour performance in your hometown of Nashville. 

If you were being honest, prior to his concert, you hadn't heard much of his solo work, apart from the various huge hits like his Kiwi or Watermelon Sugar and a few other ballads. You liked his sound, seemingly influenced heavily by rock stars of days past, but you'd had other influences to worry about in your own side of the industry. 

Sure, he had country music connections through the likes of Kacey Musgraves and Cam, and legends like Stevie Nicks, but his pop and soft rock style was pretty far removed from most country playlists that you yourself had graced. Your genres just didn't cross paths and the two of you seemingly operated in different realms of the music industry, topping your own charts and breaking your own peer's records. 

Of course, you hadn't been completely oblivious to The Harry Styles. One Direction had been too big of a deal to ignore and you'd often found yourself bopping along to their old hits, singing along as they played amongst the other nostalgic pop hits to which you listened. 

The concert had been in June, a hot sunny day followed by a perfect breezy evening. Downtown Nashville was always busy, but that night the city seemed to buzz, bright with music and life. After meeting for drinks at Acme on the River, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in getting lost in the crowd that milled about on Broadway. It was a surprising thing to not be recognized in your hometown, but you weren't one to complain about it. It was one reason that you value your time in Nashville over other music-centric cities like Los Angeles - it seemed that people here respected the private lives of musicians. There was an odd fan here and there, but you'd lived a majority of your "famous" life in Nashville in relative peace. 

You were early to the venue, your friend having wanted to have a chance to see Kacey backstage. You were excited to finally meet the star - though you'd been around the block of fame a bit already, there would always be people that you never had an opportunity to meet in passing. You had been greeted at will call and had been led backstage.

The arena was alive with excitement. At that point, you yourself had never toured a venue that large, so the experience of being backstage and seeing the operations first hand were thrilling and a bit overwhelming. In her dressing room, Kacey pulled you straight into a hug, gushing about how excited she was to watch your career take off. She insisted on sharing her personal cell phone number with you, urging you to call her to get together on a collaboration. You were in shock leaving her room, blown away by her kindness and the way the music industry worked in the most bizarre of ways, when you turned a corner and ran smack into a tall, solid, smiling Harry Styles. His arms had come out quickly to steady you on your heels boots. 

"Fuck," you swore, shaking your head at your clumsiness. "I am so sorry. What a great way to introduce myself."

He laughed and the sound flowed through you, warm and sweet like a cup of tea with honey. "Y'alright?" His eyes looked you over, and you couldn't help but notice the way they lingered. 

Your cheeks blushed and a wave of embarrassment washed over you. "I'm the one that should be asking you that. I don't think your adoring fans would be very happy if I took you out with a textbook tackle right before you're due to go on stage." You took a moment to give him the same appreciative glance he had already given you, admiring the way his deep blue custom-beaded suit jacket fell open to reveal a black dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest. 

"Ah, 'm fine. Lil' thing like you couldn't do too much damage to me, even in those heels. Don't think they'd be very happy though," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the already-rowdy crowd while offering his hand. "I'm Harry."

You laughed as you introduced yourself, shaking his hand. 

"I've heard that name before, but I'm sorry to say that I don't recognize you. You don't seem like one that's easy to forget."

"I sing, write music," you shrugged, not sure how to explain to a superstar that you were on the way up, yet still somewhere much farther down the fame totem pole than him. "Country, mostly. Not sure if that's on your radar."

"The new stuff's not, but I may have to change that." He was tapped by one of the event producers, needed for another pre-show procedure. "Where will you be tonight?" 

"To your right, in the pit."

He smiled and you had almost immediately fallen in love with the crinkles that appeared under the corners of his eyes. "I'll look out for you. It was wonderful meeting you. Oh, shit, wait, just remembered— may I?" he gestured for the phone that was in your hand and you unlocked it before passing it to him. 

You watched as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. He paused for a moment before he grinned. "Hi Harry, it's you from before the show. This is a message to remind you to text this number and ask the owner of it out on a date. She's the one with the beautiful smile and great tackling skills. You won"t have forgotten her. 'Kay, bye!"

You laughed at an almost embarrassing volume, blown away by his cheek. 

"Why not ask 'her' out now?" you pondered to him as he handed the phone back.

"What, and risk getting shot down? Wouldn't want to be sad and disappointed through my whole show, now would I?"

"It would make the ballads a bit more emotional," you had reasoned with a grin.

"Ouch! They're already filled with emotion, love. You'll see, I'll sing 'em right to you if I have to. Gotta run, thank you for letting me use your phone, that was a very important message!"

You laughed again as he took off. "Harry!" you had shouted to get his attention in the busy hall. He turned quickly, a small smile on his face. "She definitely won't say no, but you can wait until later to ask if you want to."

His grin stretched wider and he'd pumped a fist in the air before turning and jogging down the hallway. 

You liked to joke with anyone who knew the story that your life had changed that day all because you met Kacey. Which wasn't a complete lie - it had been her dressing room you'd come out of before slamming into Harry in the hallway. 

///

Singing the last lines of one of your songs, your stomach began to flutter in a bit of nervousness and a lot of excitement. Performing the next cover was something you had been looking forward to for months, and the moment that you got to share it with your fans was finally here. 

You retreat from the mic stand to pass your guitar off to a stagehand, taking another sip of water to settle yourself. 

"Doing alright?" Wyatt, your drummer, shouts over the pounding bass drum and you give him a thumbs up before turning back to face the crowd. 

"I've got one more cover to play for y'all tonight," you say, grasping the mic stand to keep your hands from shaking. "I've been working on getting permission to play this one for quite awhile now. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it played and now here I am, performing it for you all. It's an unreleased piece by a very, very good friend of mine, but his performances of it are all over the internet so some of you may know the words. This song is called Medicine."

The song starts out with a steady bass line and the rhythm centers you a bit, steadying any nerves that still linger. The intro gives you a minute to shake out your shoulders and get comfortable at the mic stand once more like Harry does at each performance. You catch yourself having fun mimicking him and feel thankful that you're able to perform one of your favorite songs of his. When the bass drops in pitch and the electric guitar riffs, you slide in close to the mic stand.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine," you sang the opening lines, already settling into the sexy rock sound of the song you and the band had rehearsed relentlessly over the last few weeks. No, the genre wasn't one you normally dabbled in, but part of the fun of performing was taking chances, risks. You had to admit, you liked the sound a lot. It tempted you to branch out a bit more on your upcoming album. 

The opening lines of the first verse throw you back into thoughts of meeting Harry that first night. You hadn't imagined what would follow the concert, let alone have the foresight to see it bringing you to this very moment in time. 

///

You had been standing outside the arena after the concert, ears buzzing and heart thumping still from the incredible show Harry had put on. As soon as he disappeared from the backstage hall earlier, you had immediately saved his number to your phone, still in disbelief over the night's events. 

Your heart had soared when your phone began to vibrate, not in a text message but in a voice call. Harry's name appeared on the screen and your friend had nudged you, clearly approving of the night's turn of events. 

"Harry," you answered, ready to praise him halfway to Sunday on his performance. 

"Let me take you out," he interrupted you. "Right now. Please? Anywhere you want to go." 

You laughed and paused. "Yeah, okay. I might know of a place."

There was a lot of shuffling on his end before his voice came back on the line. "Might've had to do another fist pump."

"Told you she wouldn't say no."

"Where are you?" You heard the smile in his voice, already familiar with it. 

"Demonbreun and John Lewis, headed towards the park."

"Give me 10, I'll pick you up." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"

"I'll stick with the hoards of your fans milling about, maybe ask some of them for the hot gossip on you while I wait."

"Don't believe anything they say," he said, and you could tell he was still smiling as he hung up. 

He and his driver arrived shortly after, Harry's hair damp and covered with a baseball cap, dressed down in black pants and a simple loose white shirt, tattoos peeking out everywhere you looked. He exited the car and opened the back door for you, helping you balance as you stepped up into the large Suburban. 

"We'll go to Pecker's," you said to his driver, laughing as Harry snorted next to you. "Shut up, it's just a bar. Take a right up here onto 24 and it'll take us all the way to Fairfield. It'll be on the right."

He looked at you and smiled before reaching out to hold your hand in the middle seat between you. 

Taking Harry to Pecker's had just felt right. It was where you'd been discovered, where all of your adventures had started, and you weren't sure why but you wanted to share that small part of you with him after watching him up on stage that night. 

"Won't people recognize you? I looked you up before the show, you're apparently a pretty big deal around here." He had asked, smirking, sipping on the locally-brewed beer that Clint, the regular bartender, was serving that night. 

"Locals are pretty good about not interrupting our normal lives. Pecker's isn't as well known to tourists either, so it's a good hideout. This is where a lot of producers, executives and all the other professionals come to unwind." You ignored his comment on your fame and had taken a sip of your margarita instead. "Unless, of course, there's a drag show scheduled, then it's a bit of a madhouse."

Harry laughs into his drink and you grin. "So," he started after a pause, twiddling with the rings on his right hand. "What'd you think?"

"It was incredible," you said without hesitation. "Truly one of the best live shows I've seen in a long time, country acts included. You've got such a magnetism about you that people can't help but want to watch." You blushed a bit, alcohol and the quick comfort of him loosening your lips. "The whole water spraying trick was hot," you admit, making him blush. "And don't tell Stevie, but I think I might prefer your version of The Chain."

"Sacrilege! That's some incredibly high praise," he said, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. 

"Earned and deserved," you said, tilting your glass to his. "Honestly, Harry, you're an incredible musician. There aren't many out there that have the whole package like that."

"What about you? You seem like the whole package."

"I don't know if I'd say that. If you looked me up, you've likely seen what they say about me. 'My attitude won't get me far' and all. But I don't think it's my attitude, so much as it is my willingness to take the risks that others won't. I'm not out here to make music that's just there to be sold. Hell, I couldn't care less about the money. All I want is to create music that makes me feel fulfilled, and I think that honesty scares them." You twirled your finger in the condensation of the glass in front of you. You glanced up to his face finding his eyes already on yours, holding your gaze steadily. "It doesn't scare you, does it?"

"It's the most refreshing thing I've heard in a while. Not many people in the industry are fearless in the face of failure like that."

"I'm definitely not fearless; I just refuse to change who I am to make a buck."

"Who are you then?" Harry had asked, and telling him your story was easy. You couldn't understand how it was so natural, opening up to a stranger, but as the conversation wore on, you realized how similar you and Harry were in terms of the way you conducted your professional lives and that was without apology. 

And you also realized, as the evening continued and you and Harry crept your bar stools closer and closer to one another, feet and knees bumping, his fingers tracing the ridges of your knuckles as you shared life stories like long lost friends, that you didn't want it to end. 

///

"He's acting like a gentleman," you continue, changing up the lyrics slightly as you finish the first verse. The line always made you smile and you let yourself briefly flash back into your reminiscing about the night you'd met Harry, and how, even though he had acted gentlemanly upon dropping you off for the evening, you wanted to be anything but a gentlewoman. 

///

After enjoying drinks late into the evening at Pecker's, Harry had insisted on having his driver take you home rather than allowing you to call an Uber. 

"Such a gentleman," you commented as he opened the car door for you once again. 

"Maybe my gentlemanly actions have motives," he said, sliding his hand along your lower back as you step past him and into the car. Your grin matched his smirk as he shut the door and you decided that he'd been right - not calling an Uber was the right thing to do.

The car ride back to your apartment building was too quick and before you knew it, he was at your door again, offering a hand for you to hold for balance as you exited the car. Neither of you let go as you walked through the lobby towards the elevators. 

"You're uh— You're welcome to come up, if you'd like," you said, suddenly shy but not wanting to chicken out on asking for what you wanted, asking for some continuation of this sweet but likely brief meeting between you two. "For a drink, I mean, or to keep chatting, you know."

Harry smiled and glanced around the empty lobby. His hand in yours smoothed up the length of your arm, over your shoulder, and came to rest at your jaw. "I'd love to, believe me. You have no idea how much I want to." He leaned towards you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and your skin burned at the contact of his lips. "But I want to do this the right way. Don't want you to get the wrong idea of me."

"What if I want the wrong idea of you?"

He laughed, the sound open and honest and it had given you hope. "You called me a gentleman earlier and I have to admit that I liked it, coming from you. Would like to keep up the facade that I am, even if it's just for a bit." His face searched yours, each of you trying to read the thoughts that were flying through one another's minds. "You have beautiful lips," he whispered suddenly, his accent thicker than it had been all night. 

Your mouth quirked into a smile, unable to do anything but preen at his compliment. "You do too," you replied, just as softly. 

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes." Before the words had settled he was kissing you, slowly and with too much care, like you would break if he wasn't gentle enough. It was over much too quick but you knew you would remember every moment of it for the rest of your life. 

"Christ, I'd wanted to do that all night." His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, smiling when you leaned into the touch. He glanced up as the elevator doors swung open and gently nudged you towards them. "Thank you, truly, for a wonderful evening. I promise to give you a call soon."

"I'll send Kacey after you if you don't!" you laughed, stepping into the lift.

"Good night darling." He winked and the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the delicious ghost of his lips on yours. 

///

"Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline, think I'm gonna stick with you," you finish the first verse as Ryann rips through the chords on her guitar. You loved that the song built slowly, and even though that meant a quieter beginning, it promised an explosive end. 

Though the crowd had been hesitant at first, you can see that the first few rows of them are nodding along, countless phones out recording the performance. You know that somewhere out there at your request is a member of your press team, professionally filming the cover. You may only be doing it once, but you were determined to make sure you would never forget it.

///

You had enough time at home to check some of your social media accounts, shower and get comfortable in bed before your phone rang again. For the second time that day, your heart soared seeing Harry's name light up your screen.

"If you're going to say that you're downstairs because you've reconsidered my offer for that nightcap, I'll need a few moments to prepare as I'm currently in my pajamas," you said as a greeting and you were met with his warm laughter once again.

"No, no, I had to go back to the arena for a bit anyways, pack up and all of that," he said, still chuckling. "I just— I wanted to make sure you weren't offended by me declining your offer. Because I wanted to— I didn't want the night to end there. There's something about you that's… Transfixing. And I don't want to ruin that and make you think you're just a fling."

"That's quite a compliment," you said, a bit awed by his words.

"What was it you said earlier, "earned and deserved", yeah?" He said, quoting your toast to him at the bar, making you grin. "I want you to be more than that. I'd like to get to know you, the gentlemanly way."

"Okay. Will we have a chaperone at our next date then?" He laughed but didn't correct your referral to that evening as a date. You had snuggled a bit deeper into the sheets, still disbelieving that all of this had been the result of being dragged along to a concert. 

"No chaperones," he chuckled, "but yes, I do want to take you out again, if you'd let me."

"Hmm," you jokingly pondered aloud, as if answering with anything other than a resounding "yes" was on your mind. "I suppose I could fit something into my schedule."

"I hope that's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes! I didn't want the night to end either. And don't you dare say that you just did another fist pump," you had laughed, hearing the familiar shuffling of the phone on his end of the line.

"Me? Never!"

"You're adorable," you had said, a smile stuck on your face.

"And you're beautiful. Two can play this game."

There had been a comforting silence between you for a moment before you had spoken up again. "Harry?"

"Yeah, love?"

You had blushed at the pet name but loved the way it sounded being directed your way. "Thank you," you had whispered. 

"Should be me thanking you. Sleep well sweetheart." You'd fallen asleep with your phone in hand, hopeful that you wouldn't wake up the next morning to realize it had all been a dream.

/// 

It hadn't been a dream, and here you were, nearly two years later, performing one of the songs that Harry himself had sung the night that you'd begun falling for him.

The second verse continued quickly and you let the lyrics wash over you as you sang, loving the way the rock energy of the song sounded with a bit of your band's country influence. 

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine, rest it on your fingertips," you sang, holding your pointer finger in the air much like Harry did every time he performed the song before bringing it to your lips as you sang the next line. "Up to your mouth, feeling it out, feeling it out."

/// 

Beginning to date Harry - properly date him too, not just make FaceTime calls to one another from across the world and sending texts back and forth until the wee hours of the morning thanks to the differences in time zones, sharing everything and more with one another as best you could digitally - had been the most exhilarating experience of your life, and you had performed in front of sold out crowds and accepted awards on live television. His tour was due to stretch on for almost another month throughout North America and the next time you saw him was when you'd been invited as Harry's guest to his show in Chicago just a few weeks after you'd met. 

While he had put on an incredible show for the United Center, there had been moments that felt like he was performing just for you, glancing over to where you stood in the Friends and Family area, meeting your eyes and grinning. By that point, you could sing along to every song of his and you knew he loved it, loved watching you dance along to the music that he had created and was performing. 

In a moment where you were thankful for the differences between the genres in which you two performed, you hadn't been recognized at all by his fans. You'd both talked about wanting to keep things quiet as you got to know one another, and you hadn't wanted a relationship with him, an already incredibly famous artist, to somehow influence the trajectory of yours. While it had been easy when you were apart, being together without seemingly being together was difficult. Especially in that moment, when all you wanted to do was curl up into him and soak in the post-show bliss with him. Instead, you sat on the couch with him, a cushion apart from one another, holding his hand tightly while you chatted about the concert. 

"Someone is gonna notice that you looked to my side of the pit constantly all night," you said and he grinned guiltily. 

"I like knowing you're in the crowd," he shrugged. "Besides," he scooted closer and threw his arm around you before dragging you in close, "you look incredible, how could I not want to stare at you all night?"

"Anyone could walk in," you pointed out, watching as his eyes followed your lips. 

"Just want a little taste," he said, moving in closer, "Haven't I earned a kiss from my girlfriend after all of that work up on stage?"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked at him and he seemingly realized his slip-up. 

"I mean— What I meant was— Shit," he scrubbed a hand over his face but you could tell he was hiding a grin. "Wasn't exactly how I wanted to ask you, but… Will you officially be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, H. I'm all yours."

"Love it when you call me H." He pulled you in for a kiss that you both lost yourselves in, finally able to experience the feeling of one another after being denied it for so long. When a knock at the dressing room door came, Harry had to all but drag himself away from you, hair disheveled and lips swollen, scowling at the door. 

You threw your head back and laughed as he stalked over and pulled it open with a flourish. 

"What?"

"The hell's your issue?" you heard Mitch ask before Harry widened the door so he could see you laughing on the couch. You raised a hand in greeting and Harry's scowl deepened as Mitch chuckled, taking in both of your disheveled appearances. "Oh, shit, hey, sorry. Uh, car's ready when you are. See you tomorrow bud." 

"Harry!" you chided once he'd closed the door in Mitch's face, giggles still bubbling out of your mouth. "He was just being polite."

"Interrupting arse is what he is," Harry said, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "Where were we?"

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your body as close to his as possible, hoping that he'd thought to lock the door before returning to your embrace. "Right about here, I think." With a hand on your hip, sliding under your shirt to reach warm skin and one at the back of your neck, Harry kissed you until you were breathless and not only wanting more but very seriously needing it. 

"Come back to the hotel with me," he murmured against your lips as you ground your body down on him, reveling in the way the action made him throw his head against the back of the couch and exhale sharply. 

"You sure?" Your hands smoothed over the chest of his skin, tracing the dark swallows with your fingertips as you rolled your hips. 

He shuddered at the light touch and gripped your hips tightly, pressing his up as you pressed yours down and the action made you sigh, the pressure a delicious tease of what was hopefully to come. "Absolutely," he said, his grin telling you he was pleased with the noises he was causing you to make. "Want you so bad, like I won't be able to breathe right until I properly have you."

You leaned in to kiss at his neck, his shower-damp curls tickling your cheek. "The feeling is mutual. Adored watching you up on stage tonight. Have I told you yet how much I love seeing you perform?" You nuzzle at his neck, urging him to tilt his head back farther, exposing more of his skin to you. 

"Yeah, you have, but tell me again," he sighed, his hands running up and down your back. 

"It's like when you get on stage no one else before or after you matters," you said honestly, letting your lips against his skin hide how truthful you were really being, spilling all of your thoughts about seeing Harry up on stage. It was scary, feeling so deeply for him already. But you wanted him to know, at least in part, what it meant to be able to watch him perform. "Something about your live voice just makes my breath catch in my throat, I can't get enough of it."

Harry breathed deeply for a moment, working to center himself while you nosed at the curls around his ear and heaped praise upon him. 

"It's like you connect with every person out in the crowd, like you're singing just for them. You can tell that you're having fun and people want to join you in that. They know you love the attention," you whispered and he hummed in appreciation (or agreement), the sound low in his throat. "They'd stay out there all night for if they could, screaming about how much they love you."

"And you feed into it, playing it up for them. You know exactly what you're doing when you get to act a little bit naughty up there, driving them all mad," you said with a smile. 

He chuckled and you could hear and feel the sound rumble through him. "Played it up for you tonight. Did it work?" 

"You mean did it make me want to jump your bones the second you came off stage? Yeah, it worked."

"Fucking hell," he said, holding you close with his hands on your butt as he stood up. "Our first time is not going to be in a dressing room so we need to go now."

He let you slide down his body and held you steady as you balanced on your legs. "Would be pretty fitting though, don't you think, given how we met and what we do?"

"Yeah, but then I'd think about it every time I was in one. You wanna torture me relentlessly?" He pulled you tight against him, kissing you once more before separating to grab his bags. 

"Yeah, relentless torture sounds like something I might be into." 

He glanced up at your words, eyes dark and hungry, a smirk on his lips. "Careful what you wish for, love." 

///

The bass line increased behind the riff of Ryann's guitar and you leaned into the mic stand, eyes closing as you continued singing the first bridge. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted, and when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

There were a few fans of yours and Harry's who apparently knew the words as they helped you out, screaming the unwritten word that finished the sentence: "tasted."

///

Harry was quick to say goodbye to everyone on the team before pulling you quickly through back hallways and down quiet staircases, sneaking quick kisses when he was sure there was no one around. You were both out of breath when you finally climbed into the car, grinning like kids getting away with sneaking around. 

The hotel ride was quick, mercifully, but Harry had been anything but patient, his hand at your knee creeping up slowly, closer and closer to the hem of your dress, toying with the hem while he chatted with the driver. 

"I'm gonna head in first with Martin and Eric will loop around and drop you off at the side entrance. I would wait in the lobby for you but this hotel hasn't been the best in the past with uh— containing sensitive information, we'll say, so Martin will meet you on your floor to get your stuff, then bring you up. Is that okay?"

"You sound like you've done this before, Styles," you said with a wink, using humor to cover the nerves that had settled in the pit of your stomach. 

He blushed and you loved knowing you got under his skin so easily. "The band used to stay here when we toured… and I was young and dumb once, yes."

"Just giving you a hard time, H."

His grin stretched as he leaned over to peck your lips once more. "See you in a minute, love."

Harry climbed out and the driver took off once again, slowly circling the block. "He's quite taken with you, you know," he said, glancing up in the rear view mirror as he parked the car at the curb. He got out and opened the door for you in the empty street then used his keycard to unlock the heavy side door of the hotel.

"Thank you," you said, both for his actions and his omission about Harry. Sure, you had talked to him as often as possible over the last weeks and had yourself been on the receiving end of his attention, but it felt validating to hear that Harry's feelings for you may have gone a bit farther than just a small crush if people around him had also noticed his behavior. 

Harry's bodyguard was waiting by the elevators and escorted you to your room to gather your luggage, then led you to Harry's door.

"Car'll be around about 9 tomorrow morning, H. Flight's at 10:30." He turned to you. "I understand you have business to continue here in Chicago?"

"Yes, meetings tomorrow and then I fly back to Nashville in the evening."

"There'll be a driver ready for you tomorrow as well. He's been instructed to take you wherever you need to go and he'll stay until you depart. Have a nice evening," he nodded at Harry, who was smiling in the doorway, before departing.

"You didn't have to do that for me, I could've managed by getting an Uber," you said, stepping into the room past Harry to set your bags down and kick your shoes off. 

"I didn't, was Martin's idea; says he doesn't want anything to happen to the one thing that's made me so happy these last few weeks."

"Oh yeah? I'm the one thing, huh?"

"You're everything, honestly," he replied a bit sheepishly, taking your hands in his. "Think I might like you a bit more than I already should. Lettin' my heart get a bit ahead of my head, I suppose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," you said softly and he beamed. 

He moved his hands up to cup your face, pulling you close for a sweet kiss that quickly turned insistent, heat rising between the two of you. Harry slid his hands under the hem of your shirt to rest where your spin ended and yours wrapped around his neck, dragging him down to you as you stepped behind you towards the bed. His long legs tangled with yours and you tumbled backwards, laughing as you hit the plush bed and Harry collapsed on top of you.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at you with a smile, pushing the hair that had fallen into your face aside. "Hi baby," he said softly.

"Hi."

"Missed you," he said, leaning down for another sweet kiss. 

"We were apart for like, eight minutes," you giggled between his kisses, your laughter giving way to a sigh as he moved to press a kiss to your nose, your cheek, your chin.

"Doesn't matter," he breathed into the crook of your neck, pressing small open mouth kisses to the soft skin there, "Any time apart is too long."

"The two weeks left of the tour will fly by. You should enjoy them while you can."  

"Wish you could come with me, love performing for you." He kissed his way across the base of your neck, collarbone to collarbone as his fingers trailed to the small straps on your shoulders. "Would you like to take this off?"

"Please," you sighed, desperate and aching for the feeling of his skin against yours. 

Your first time sleeping with Harry had been exactly what you'd wanted and expected - hot and fast, admittedly over a bit more quickly than either of you had wanted, but worth the weeks of wait. 

Harry's skill set hadn't ended at singing and playing instruments. If anything, his vast experience using his hands and mouth only helped him excel in other pastimes that also utilized those parts of his body. To both of your delights, he had proven his adeptness in all areas multiple times that night, and once again in the morning before he had to rush into the shower, dragging you along with him simply to get more time together before you were forced apart once again. 

/// 

You had spent the next two months away from one another, Harry having wrapped his tour and immediately beginning work on his next album. You'd spent your own time mixed between writing and recording an upcoming single. You had already written a handful of songs that were inspired by him and you'd wondered, albeit a bit nervously, if the sentiment was shared. When he stopped in Nashville on a long layover, pushing his flight back even longer to stay with you for another night, you'd tried to pry the information out of him. Unfortunately, no amount of sexual teasing or denial had convinced him — he, however, had you singing like a canary almost immediately, teasing you in the best way about how easily you opened up for him, telling him all about the music that he had already inspired.

You had been FaceTiming him late one night weeks later, both tired from long days spent in the studio. He had suddenly gotten shy, biting at the skin around his fingernails. 

"Hey, stop that. What's the matter H?"

"Wanna ask you something," he mumbled, but a smile was peeking through where his fingers were still at his lips. "Jus' don't know how to."

"Baby," you sighed, "you can ask me anything. Y'know that." 

"I know, I know." He paused and took a deep breath before a wide smile stretched across his face. "Would you maybe want to come home with me this Christmas? To London? Wouldn't be for long, maybe just a couple nights, I just wanna introduce you to my mum already, she's been pestering me nonstop lately 'bout meetin' you and Gem's joined in on it now too, so it's two against one when they call and I've told them that—"

"Harry," you said chucking, trying to interrupt his nervous rambling.

"—and she actually called me Harold last time she told me to bring you 'round and that got me a bit worried so I—"

"Harry! Of course I'll come with you. I'd absolutely love to."

You met him at the airport weeks later, desperate to pull him close and kiss him silly in the confines of his darkly tinted car, but you refrained, knowing how seriously Harry took the protection of your relationship from the press. You may not have been able to see anyone straining to capture pictures of you two, but you knew there was always the chance. 

It was an entirely different story, however, when he'd finally pulled the car past the mechanical gate and into his private drive. You both reached for each other immediately, arms tangled and shifter knob pressed uncomfortably against your side, but perfectly content so long as his lips were against yours. 

"Fuck— I missed you— so much," he muttered between kisses. He pulled away, forehead resting against yours, sly smirk pulling at his lips. "Mum won't expect us for a few hours at least."

"What is it that you're insinuating, Mr. Styles?"

"That there's plenty of time to give you a tour around the house, that's all," he said innocently. He gave you a sweet smile before hopping out of the car and coming to the passenger side where he helped you out and picked up your bags.

You were eager to be given a house tour, more than keen to learn all of the things you could about his London life. The house was decorated in a way that made you smile - eclectic but with a definitive air of cohesive taste. It suited Harry to an absolute tee. From the artwork that decorated the walls to the mismatched but homey furniture, you could tell immediately that this was Harry's sanctuary - every inch of the home screamed his name. 

"It's incredible," you said as he led you into the largest room, the master. He walked over to the dresser that sat under the window and pulled open the top two drawers. 

"I know we won't be here long, this time around, but I cleaned out a few drawers for you here, if you want to unpack some things. And there's space in the closet for you too," he nodded towards the door on the other side of the room, dragging a hand through his hair as he talked, "I had too much in there anyways and some of it needed to go and I wanted you to be able to leave some things, if you felt comfortable, of if Mum drags us out shopping and you don't want to take it all home now you can leave it here and-"

"You- you cleared out a drawer for me?"

"Well, yeah," he said, resting his hand on the back of his neck. "Made some space for you in the bathroom too, though I doubt it'll be enough, with all that you bring along to fix yourself up." He paused and thought for a moment. "I know how our lives are. I just wanted you to have some of your own space here; want you to feel as comfortable in my home as I do. Is that too much?" 

"H," you said with a sigh, your lips curling into a smile, "it's perfect, and so thoughtful. I'm sorry I haven't done the same for you in Nashville yet."

"'s alright, love. I've already got a toothbrush there at least. I can take some time when we fly back to come and help if you'd like me to. As long as you don't end up wearing all the clothes that I leave there," he chuckled.

"You know me too well," you said, reaching for his hand. He lifted your entwined fingers to his lips to brush a kiss over your knuckles.

"You do look good in my clothes," he confessed, pulling you close to face him. "Look good in my house. But you always look good anyways."

"Said the pot to the kettle," you said with a smile. "I like being here already," you shrug, hands resting on his shoulders. "It feels like you, like home. Thank you for inviting me," you add, as though the measly voicing of your appreciation is enough to convey what you truly feel. 

"You're welcome anytime, if I'm here or not."

"You trust me that much?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll get you a key and everything." He leaned down to kiss you slowly, relearning the map of your lips and mouth, before pulling away. He laughed when you made a noise of protest.

"The bathroom's over here if you'd like to freshen up." He had pulled at your hand, stepping towards the other open door in the room. "Figured a shower might sound nice after a long day in an airplane. Besides, I've gotta clean up before we go to Mum's anyways."

"Gonna join me?" 

"Yeah, thought I might, if that's okay." His smirk had been wicked as he pushed you the rest of the way into the bathroom. He dropped your hand to reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. As he reached for the buckle of his pants, he had met your staring eyes. "See something you like, love?"

You definitely had, though you didn't think your attraction — physically or emotionally — for Harry had stopped at something that was as weak as "like." Getting to know him over the last six months had made you worry that there wasn't ever going to be anyone else like him, anyone that made you feel like he did. You had fallen for him, desperately hard, and the realization of it as you stood in front of his half-naked self almost embarrassed you. 

"Babe? You alright?" he asked as he stripped down to his boxers. 

"Yeah, you just got me all distracted," you had grinned, pulling your sweatshirt and remaining clothes off quickly before joining Harry under the warm spray of the water.

Meeting Harry's mom that evening went better than you could've ever dreamt it would. The two of you got on like old friends, and Harry had stared, almost in wonder, at how easily you seemed to bond with her. And then he had stared in horror as Anne offered to pull out the photo albums filled with pictures from Harry's childhood, particularly when Anne offered up the album filled with photos from Harry's and Gemma's emo phases. 

As the evening wore on, you caught Harry on more than one occasion glancing your way, cheeks bright from the red wine he was sipping on and eyes warmly reflecting the bright Christmas lights. He always looked like he was a split second away from saying something, only to shake his head and look away with a small smile. 

Later, in bed, Harry pulled you close to him. He was laying on his back, you on your side, and you threw a leg over his waist, soaking in all of the cuddles you could get on this short trip together. The room was only illuminated by the ambient light coming in through the blinds. 

"Mum liked you a lot," he murmured, gently stroking the skin at the base of your spine, "said I should hang onto you". 

You returned the gesture, running your fingertips along the lines of ink that make up his many tattoos. "I liked her too. She's wonderful, I see where you get it from now."

"Hey now, 'm wonderful all on my own!" He tickled your side and you couldn"t help but arch towards him, shrieking and laughing at the touch. 

"Stop that! You are an absolute pest, you know that?" you said, grinning up at him.

"Ah, you love me," he whispered, and his joking tone made you smile but the way he pulled you tighter as he said it made you brave. 

You let the weight what you were about to say wash over you, aware that things were going to change forever with just a few words. "I do love you, Harry," you whispered, moving up his body to press a kiss to his lips.

"Thank God," he had said, wrapping his arms back around you and pulling you on top of him. "Cause I love you too."

Leaving Harry after that had been even more difficult. All you wanted to do was be with him, but you had too much coming up with the future release of your album and Harry was still in the midst of doing his own writing and recording. 

It was your professions, along with the desire to keep your relationship private, that kept you apart. You weren't sure how you did it, but your relationship had withstood the distance and odd-hours. The only step now would be deciding if, when, and how to confirm the suspicions to tabloids and fans alike that you were an item.

The wait was killing you. All you wanted was to show off to the world that Harry was yours.

///

The bridge of the song was followed quickly by the chorus and the heavy guitar and pounding drums had you rocking on your feet, body swaying into the mic stand as you let yourself get lost in the lyrics. "If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive."

The crowd was even more into the song now, many picking up on the words quickly and screaming them along with your singing. The rock and roll vibe of the song was coursing through you and the crowd, the arena electric with energy already. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

You remove the mic from the stand and dance towards one end of the stage, singing as you move to the beat. "We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

///

You had been on the phone with Harry one day in July, nearly five months after the release of your album, having him help you decide what the setlist of your tour would be when it began in November. 

"I wish I could cover one of your songs."

He had laughed and slurped his tea, the sounds comforting to you, even over the phone. "That'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it love?"

"I don't mean cover Golden or Kiwi," you said, tapping your pen against the pad of paper in front of you. "What about one you wrote for 1D? What about Perfect? Or Stockholm Syndrome! That was always one of my favorites."

"Getting permission on those might be a bit more difficult, s'not just me that's gotta sign off on it. Besides, do you really wanna be the artist that covers a One Direction song on her own headlining tour?"

"Guess I'll stick with singing along to them in the shower then."

You were both quiet for a moment, lost in your own thoughts. 

"What if I covered Medicine?" you asked suddenly, realizing it was the perfect compromise, not to mention your favorite song that Harry himself performed oh his own tour. The rock sound wasn't a far cry from the roots that country music had and you knew it would sound great. "Even if it was just for one stop!"

"Hmm," Harry mused. "It would sound great with the band, I'll give you that. But videos will go around, people will know it's my song you're singing and they'll connect the dots about us."

"H, I'm ready for that if you are. I love you, and I'm ready to be able to share that love that I have for you with the world. Sneaking around has been fun but I want people to know how proud of you I am and how much you're loved and appreciated. Half of our fans know already, it's just a matter of us confirming it. I think that we could really-"

Harry was laughing at your rambling on the other end of the line. "Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain, love. I think you're right, maybe it is time we stopped sneaking around. I'll try, but Jax and everyone else still have to agree to it too. It might be easier to convince everyone if it's just a one time thing. Pick another cover, something you'd normally do, in case it takes some time to work things out."

"I'll ask him right now! Thank you Harry!"

"I just have one condition," he said, and you could hear the grin that was surely pulling at the corners of his lips. 

"What's that?"

"I get to perform it with you," he had said, and the smile already on your face widened exponentially. "If we're finally gonna make "us" public, may as well do it with a bang."

///

In the moment after the chorus, an 8 count beat is carried by the drummer and guitarist. For this performance, and the only performance you'd put on of this song, you had rehearsed the 8 count repeating once between the chorus and the next verse, as you needed a bit of extra time to announce your guest performer. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," you shout into the mic, grin wide and face beaming already at what was about to take place. "To help me finish this performance, please help me welcome my very good friend, Harry Styles!"

Harry emerges from behind the stage holding his own wireless mic as much of the crowd screams - he may not be a country artist, but he was absolutely known worldwide. You step back with a wave of your arm, smiling as he begins the next chorus. His performance is for the crowd but he's singing the words directly to you. 

"Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes, tingle running through my bones," he sings, voice smooth like whiskey, and the crowd adores him, eating out of the palm of his hand. "The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with them, and I'm OK with it." 

You can't help but dance as he sings, his voice and the energy of the crowd propelling you to move. He watches you, eyes no longer on the crowd, as he sings the next lines. Immediately, heat pools low in your belly at his glance and the words. 

"I'm coming down, I figured out I kinda like it. And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

You gyrate your hips at the unsung line of "ride it", listening with a sly grin as some in the crowd scream the two words that go unsung. 

///

After giving him a key, Harry had moved some of his clothes to your apartment in Nashville some time while you were away on the first leg of your tour. He had found the city to be incredibly welcoming and inspirational for his upcoming album and had decided to stay there for a spell while you continued to tour around the country. 

You had scheduled a short break between your concerts over New Years, wanting to be able to grab at least one or two nights at home with him to celebrate the holiday before you were back on the road again. 

"So fucking glad you're home," Harry panted, pulling your shirt over your head before attaching his lips to yours once again. "Missed you like crazy."

"Missed you too," you moaned as his lips moved downwards, across your neck and over your collarbones, down the valley between your breasts. Before he could reach around to unhook your bra, you reached for his shirt, as desperate as he was to see and touch what you'd been missing. 

As he pulled the half-unbuttoned blouse over his head, you pulled your leggings off and reached for him, pushing him back onto the bed behind him. He unbuttoned his pants as he scooted up towards the middle of the bed, shoving them and his boxers off in one swoop. 

You climbed on top of him, hurriedly reaching to kiss him as you rubbed your clothed center along the length of his hard cock. 

"Fuck," he hissed, throwing his head back to allow you room to kiss his neck. "Desperate aren't you, darling?"

"Want you so bad it hurts," you whispered, sucking a bright hickey right where it would absolutely be seen by anyone.

You moved to continue kissing down his chest but he stopped you with a hand under your arm. "Not gonna last long, love. Wanna be inside you."

His cheeks and chest were flushed bright red, lips puffy and pupils blown wide. This was when you loved him most, being able to have him like no one else did. The same feeling always hit you at certain moments, particularly ones of domesticity, like when you watched him back the car out of the driveway or when he stood in the kitchen in the morning in nothing but socks, boxers, and his ratty old robe, singing along to old big band jazz as he waited for the coffee to brew. There was Harry Styles the musician, Harry Styles the actor, and Harry Styles the performer, but then there was your Harry. 

"Yeah, okay," you sighed, moving off of him quickly to remove your bra and panties. You climbed back onto the bed and threw your leg over his hips, straddling him. He immediately reached for you and pulled you flush against his chest, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. 

You rocked your hips against him as he held you, your slick arousal gliding along his length, drawing a moan from both of you. 

"Baby, please," he panted, and you could only mod in agreement, lost already to the sweeping feeling of your close release. 

His hands rested on your hips as you positioned him at the entrance between your legs. You groaned in harmony as you worked down him slowly, the only sound in the room was your shared heavy breathing and gasps. 

"Fuck me," he sighed as you set a slow pace, rocking on top of him to reach each spot that you know will get you there. 

"Workin' on it," you grin. A quick swivel of your hips hit at just the right angle and you tossed your head back, repeating the movement over and over again until you shuddered with a final snap of tension, your orgasm rolling over you as Harry helped you move, hands tight on your hips, to wring all you could from the release. 

"You look so beautiful right now, like a fuckin' angel," Harry said, voice low and gravely, accent thick with need. 

"How's that line go?" you said as you slowed down, smirking when a harsh rock of your hips caused Harry to moan. "'Turns out she's a devil in between the sheets'?"

"Fuck," he groaned again, eyes closed tightly. "Can't just go reciting my own lyrics to me while I"m buried in ya like this, love."

"And there's nothing you can do about it," you continued, singing the line of his song this time, and his hips buck up into yours harshly.

"You're gonna pay for that," he had said, quoting another of his songs, before he had flipped you over onto your back and set his own brutal pace.

///

Like he can read your thoughts, Harry beams and wags a finger in your direction and the crowd screams at your chemistry together. You grab your mic from its stand and take a step towards Harry to sing the chorus together.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive." Harry dances off to the side of the stage, performing once again for the crowd. 

You dance at center stage with your wireless mic, too excited about performing with Harry that you can't stand in one spot. The music and Harry's energy make you want to move. "You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it." 

"We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da!" Harry throws his head back, singing along in his own world and you can't look away from him. He really was a rockstar and getting to share the stage with him like this was an experience you'd never forget. 

"You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

There's a great pause in the lyrics where the guitar, keyboard, and drums play together, increasing the tension of the song. You and Harry take off towards opposite ends of the stage, both reveling in the performance for the crowd as you dance and stomp to the beat. Eventually, with a slide down the keys of the keyboard, the instrumental quiets into just the steady beat of the bass line joined by the hi-hats. 

You and Harry urge the crowd to clap along as you both return to the middle of the stage to sing together once again. He always said that this portion of the song was one of his favorites to perform, the repeated line from the bridge ending abruptly with the lights going out before flashing back on, the added theatrics of the performance elevating the climax of the song completely. Having rehearsed that Harry would sing the following chorus alone, you let yourself get lost in his gaze as it settles on you.

You stand facing one another behind the mic stand, once again singing more to one another rather than to the crowd. You step closer towards him as the lyrics progress, nearly chest to chest now with your voices sharing one another's mics. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm—"

Before you can sing the last word of the line and the lights can blink out as rehearsed, Harry leans forwards and captures your mouth in a hungry kiss. The crowd erupts with screams as the lights above the stage go dark.

You can feel rather than hear him say the words "I love you" against your lips and you have just enough time to repeat them back to him before the drums and guitar pick the beat up once again, the lights flashing back on brightly. He moves away and continues to sing the chorus that follows as if nothing had happened. You're a bit stunned, not having prepared for his relationship-revealing public display of affection to happen during your performance of his song but it was perfect and he knows it. Your smile is wide and you can't help but stand rooted where you are and laugh at what has just finally happened.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive," he sings, smirking at you while you blush across from him. 

You join him in singing the last lines, your right hand joining his left hand where everyone can see your fingers entwine. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it. We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh!"

You urge the crowd with a waving hand to join in and they do, singing along with you and Harry. "La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

The drums and guitar end the song on five quick beats and the crowd erupts once again in screams. You immediately jump towards Harry, throwing your arms around his neck in a close embrace. His hands wrap around your waist to hold you close, and you can feel him smile where his face is pressed close to your jaw.

"How was that?" he asks, chuckling against you.

"It was perfect, you're perfect. Thank you, H. For everything."

"Can take you on a proper date now, yeah? Wanna show my girl off to the world."

"Yes, please!" You can't wipe the smile from your face as he sets you down and Harry continues to beam at you as the crowd continues screaming, reeling from your shared performance. 

Harry nudges you gently before turning back to them, lifting his and your arms high in the air and leading you in bending for a bow. He steps away from you and turns, opening his arms wide to you for the crowd to praise and you laugh, tearing up at his gesture and the overwhelming emotions of the performance while you take another bow just for yourself. 

He pulls you into another hug and you can't help but angle your face up towards him, wordlessly asking for another very quick, very public kiss.

He glances down at you, smiling. "You're gonna love this now, aren't you?"

"Course I am. love showing them you're mine."

He leans down to peck your forehead, your nose, and finally, your lips, as the crowd goes wild. "Love showing them you're mine. You've got a show to finish, love. Go kill it."

///

Ahh! So much fun! This has been such a joy to write and I appreciate you taking the time to give it a chance! It’s my first (of hopefully many) Harry fics - reading all of the stories here has been immensely inspiring, and I’m so looking forward to writing more!

Tagging my love @morganlatte​ who is a wonderful hype woman and beta reader. Thanks buddy!

Anyways! Thank you for reading! My love language is words of affirmation (aka I have a praise kink) so leave me a comment here if you feel so inclined!