#with my previous post with Raine in a suit

[lonndoodles]

I don't think I'll draw this out but 2 routes we can go for this Raeda ship.

Route 1: This will be Eda and Raine's first time meeting at their job. It's Eda's first day and Lilith offers to show her around the office. She sees Raine talking to someone during their lunch break. Either Raine has something on them that makes Eda go like "Hello? 👀 we have similar interests?" or "Oh?? U look cool. I wanna talk to you"

OR! flip the script, we're following Raine's pov and they have a BIG crush on Eda. Altho Raine is very put together, they're clumsy or freeze up when trying to chat w/ Eda.

Route 2: They have not seen one another since high school. It's been several decades since they last saw one another. I haven't thought too long on this but I'm curious abt this idea. Did one of them had a crush on the other during high school? Or both? Maybe they had a huge fight and now working together they see they've grown since those school days.

[jezebelblues]

apollo | h.s

summary: fall 1925. a journalist looking for a story, a jazz musician dancing with the devil. [au]

cw: smut18+ - oral fem!receiving, alcohol usage, drugs, fem!reader, depiction of gangs, lower case in case u hate me for it, unedited.

word count: approx 16.7k

| debated posting for a while idk. can u tell i have a thing for historical au’s yet

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

october 16th, 1925 | chicago

a brick building sat tucked into a narrow side street, a sweet irony. it was flanked by tall, worn structures that once boomed with business but now seemed abandoned - their faded signage barely legible in the dingy light of street lamps. there was a reminiscence that lingered, the apollo club once tucked into bed and remained asleep as the city began to expand. there’s no longer a sign that introduces apollo to the public, having been removed a few years ago as the prohibition bared its ugly teeth.

the marquee sign held a dim, white glow with no words placed into it. however, on top of the sign sat a faded golden lyre, subtly marking the place for those who knew. the large entrance door had the chipped markings of the sacred name from a previous white paint, but since has been worn due to time. it’s the kind of door you’d pass by without a glance, unless you knew to look for it.

the club entrance is set into a recessed alcove, shadowed by the overhang of a rusted fire escape. the door itself is heavy and wooden, painted black, with the sheen of wear from countless hands that have brushed against it. it's always slightly ajar, as if welcoming those with enough curiosity to push through, yet closed enough to keep out prying eyes. graffiti lines the walls of the alley, the scrawl of the city's underbelly just a little louder here, a hint that apollo is more than just a music venue - it's a haven for those who dwell in the shadows of society.

a faint, pulsating glow of golden light leaks from beneath the door, casting long shadows onto the rain-slicked pavement. on humid summer nights, you'd hear the low, vibrating hum of jazz slipping out through the cracks - just enough to make a passersby wonder. there's an old iron gate, usually half open, that leads into the alley, lined with crumbling brickwork, creating the feeling of stepping into another world once you've crossed it.

the baseline thrummed through the floorboards, a low, sultry hum that vibrated in the soles of Y/N’s shoes as she stepped into the speakeasy. smoked curled lazily in the air, hanging like the lingering whispers in the dimly lit room. glasses clinked somewhere in the haze, the murmur of voices a soft undercurrent beneath the rich, haunting notes of a piano.

apollo was hidden away in the outskirts of the city, masked - a sanctuary for the lost and reckless. she had heard about this place, about the intoxicating music and the enigmatic man who commanded the small stage. but no story or rumor could have prepared her for the reality.

he was there, center stage, his figure bathed in the golden glow of a single spotlight. harry styles. the name had followed Y/N for weeks, woven into the fabric of the underground world she’d been chasing. no one knew much about him, but everyone had a theory. some said he was a runaway aristocrat, others swore he was tangled up with the mob. all anyone could agree on was that harry's voice could pull the soul right out of your body, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

and now, watching him under the light, she understood why.

he wore a suit that was all sharp lines and expensive fabric, his hair curling softly against the collar of his white shirt, the top button undone in a casual defiance of formality. a cigarette hung loosely from his lips, the smoke twisting like a lazy snake around his face. his eyes, half-lidded and distant, caught the light just enough to gleam as his fingers skimmed across the keys of the piano, a melody drifting from the instrument like a dream. the room fell silent around him, every eye drawn to the man who made the world seem to slow with every note he played.

Y/N stood in the shadows by the bar, watching. observing. this was why you were here. not just for the story, but for him.

as harry's song came to an end, a slow, mingling silence settled over the room. he stood from the piano, and for a brief moment, his eyes swept the crowd - dark, heavylidded, and sharp. when his gaze landed on her, it felt like a secret had passed between the two, unspoken yet undeniable. a slow smile curled at the corner of his lips, like he knew she’s been watching. like he had expected her all along.

Y/N’s breath caught.

this wasn't just any speakeasy, and harry styles wasn't just any jazz musician.

the crowd erupted in applause, but Y/N barely heard it, her pulse loud in her ears as harry disappeared from the stage, swallowed by the dim lights and thick curtains that parted briefly before closing behind him.

she inhaled sharply, forcing refocus. she was here on business, not to get swept up in the glamour. with a quick glance around, she pushed through the crowd, dodging clusters of people who were already sinking into the fog of jazz and alcohol. the bartender caught her eye as she neared the back hallway, a raised eyebrow hinting that he knew she didn't belong.

"can i help you, miss?" he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind. he didn't look like the type to throw you out without hearing your reason for being there. his eyes were a soft blue, almost doe-like.

Y/N runs her fingers through her hair, shifting in her stance. "'i’m supposed to speak with mr. styles." she said, confidence threaded into her tone. it wasn't a lie - she had been assigned to investigate, after all - but she hadn't exactly scheduled an interview. the bartender sized her up, his eyes narrowing in slight suspicion, but before he could reply, a deep voice drifted from behind him.

“no need, lou. i’ve got it.”

harry appeared as if he'd materialized from the shadows themselves, his presence as sharp and magnetic as it had been on stage. he was close now, the soft glow of the bar's dim lights illuminating the fine details of his face - the dark stubble tracing his jaw, the faint crease near his brow that suggested weariness beneath the allure. but his eyes, those piercing eyes, were locked on Y/N with a curiosity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"follow me." he mumbles, tipping his head toward the back. his voice was smooth, the words wrapped in an accent that didn't quite belong in this part of the city. she hesitated for only a second, feeling the weight of the moment settle. this was what she had come for.

Y/N stepped past the bartender and followed harry down a narrow corridor. the hum of the lounge faded as she moved deeper into the club, the walls closing in, and the only sound left was the echo of their footsteps and the soft click of harry's polished shoes against the floor. he led her into a small, private room at the end of the hall. it wasn't what she had expected for a locally popular musician, no. there were no plush velvet couches, no haze of cigarette smoke. instead, the room was plain, almost bare with a simple desk, a chair, and a window that overlooked the city streets. the chair looked a bit comfortable, at least - the light floral pattern matching its time.

harry leans against the faded oak desk, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded her with a faint smile. “you’ve been watching me all evening.” it wasn’t a question, just a quiet statement of truth.

Y/N swallowed, fighting to keep her composure. “i’m Y/N, a journalist.” she pauses, reaching into her bag and pulling out a dainty notebook. “m’here to write a piece on nightlife, the underground scene. apollo has a reputation.”

harry’s smile widened at her words, though his eyes darkened a bit, shadows playing in their depth. “and here i thought you were just another fan.” he pushed himself from the desk and takes a slow step towards the journalist, his gaze flickering between the notebook and her pretty face, studying every nuance like he was cataloging it for later. “but i’m guessing you’re not here to talk about the music, hm?”

she opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. it was like he was pulling her into his orbit with nothing more than a look. after a beat of prolonged staring, she found her voice. “no.” she shakes her head, trying to choose her words carefully. “there are rumors about you, mr. styles - about your connections, like the bootleggers that keep this city running after dark.”

harry's eyes gleamed, and he tilted his head, lips curving into a smirk and that hid something more. “rumors," he repeated, his voice soft and amused. he was closer now, just a few feet away, and the air between them felt thick. "rumors can be deadly in this city, darlin’. you should be careful who you listen to."

"i'm not afraid of rumors," she quips, forcing her chin up in defiance. "but i am interested in the truth. if you're involved in something bigger, people wanna know. your name became a gallery seemingly overnight.”

for a brief moment, the playful edge in harry’s expression faded, replaced by something harrowing - something that made Y/N’s heart race in both fear and fascination. "the truth," he echoed, his voice dropping to a low murmur. he leaned closer, his face inches from hers now, the scent of tobacco and something sweet dancing in the air between them. "the truth is, sweetheart, maybe i just sold my soul to the devil." his eyes burrow into hers, as if he’s trying to search within her. “people who come knockin’ for answers usually end up regretting it.”

his words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding, but she didn't back down. if anything, his warning only ignited her determination. Y/N had spent too long fighting to be taken seriously as a journalist, too long navigating a world where men thought they could intimidate or charm you into submission. she shakes her head, holding his gaze. “i don’t scare easily.”

harry stares down at her for a long moment, unwavering; like he was trying to figure out what exactly to do with the woman that stood before him. then, without warning, he let out a soft, breathy laugh while he shakes his head. “y’got guts, i’ll give you that.” he straightened up, breaking the tension between them, although the smirk still lingered on his lips. “alright, i’ll tell you what. wanna talk? come back tomorrow night and we can talk.”

with that, harry turned away, leaving Y/N standing in the dim room, heart pounding as the door clicked shut behind him. she stood there for a moment longer, her mind racing. she had come looking for answers, grazing her finger along his words like a page in a book, only receiving a paper cut in return. she found something dangerous, intoxicating, and impossible to ignore.

*

the next day arrived with an unseasonal chill in the air. Y/N stood at the street corner, breath visible in the low glimmer of a streetlight, clutching the strap of her bag a little tighter than usual. the thought of returning weighed on her mind. everything about last night - harry’s intense gaze, the invitation, the strange undercurrent of danger - lingered like a ghost in the back of her mind, pulling her in even as logic said to be careful.

she wasn’t new to risky assignments, but something about apollo felt different, like stepping into a dream where the rules of reality didn’t apply. there was an edge to the club that unsettled her, but it was also what made it difficult to resist.

she pulled her coat tighter around her frame as she made her way back toward the club’s narrow alley. the day had passed in a blur of half-hearted distractions, mind constantly drifting back to the meeting with harry. she had went to work as usual, exchanging small details of her story with her boss that doubted she could produce something of this measure. after all, she was just a woman. the city’s usual bustle had faded into a muted hum, and now, as she approached the speakeasy, it felt like she was walking into the mouth of something unknown.

the alley was darker tonight. the same graffiti-covered brick walls loomed on either side, but the faint pulse of golden light beneath the door felt almost menacing now. the faint, muffled sound of music drifted through the walls - a melancholy trumpet, shrill and poignant.

for a moment, she hesitated. was this really a good idea? she could walk away now, no questions asked, and pretend that harry styles and his world of secrets weren’t as intriguing as they appeared. but something inside Y/N knew she couldn’t. no, not after the things his smile hid, not after the way he had looked at her.

she stepped closer, hand hovering over the door handle. she bites her lip, pushing it open and then waltzing into the club like she belonged. the same smoky haze filled the room, but tonight, the air felt heavier, as if the very walls were holding their breath. warm lights twinkled in the lounge, two men standing upon the stage and playing their instruments with ease. it made her heart heavy, a sad language transcribed into feelings. it was wordless, but the tune held more than a jumble of letters could. some of the folks who sat in the booths actually listened, while others drank and talked amongst themselves.

Y/N scans the room, noticing harry near the bar. his outfit was a bit lackluster in comparison to yesterday, but he still looked dazzling. his posture seemed tense, gazing around the club as if he was in search of something - or someone. when he spots Y/N, a flicker of recognition crossed his features, but it didn’t come with the same easy smile. he offered a curt nod, gesturing her to follow him into a dimly lit area of the lounge.

and so she did, her bottom lip falling between the nervous grip of her teeth. the leather booth was tucked away in a back corner behind the bar, the faint light flickering overhead and casting long shadows over harry’s face. he slid into the booth first, leaning back with the same nonchalant grace as she had seen the night before. Y/N hesitated momentarily before sitting across from him, her bag resting beside her, ready to take notes when appropriate - but this felt less like an interview and moreso stepping upon a trapdoor. still, she tried to remain confident. harry’s eyes never left her, but there was a tension in his posture now, something taut and coiled just beneath his surface. he tapped his fingers heavily against the table, expression unreadable. “so, you came back.” he mutters, his voice a low rumble that made her stomach flip. “guess that means you’re serious.”

she knits her brows together, trying to maintain a collected composure by sitting back in her seat. “why wouldn’t i be?” she quips, her voice steady despite the anxiety that bubbled in her chest. she felt so close to him, feeling the weight of his presence - the same magnetism that could have everyone in the room gravitating toward him.

his lip twitched, almost like he was fighting back a grin, but his eyes remained cloudy and guarded. “y’persistent, little dove.” he paused, running his hands through his curls as his gaze flickers toward her hand reaching into her small bag. “but persistence can be- what’re y’doing?”

her eyes narrowed, turning her head to look at the suddenly more tense (if possible) man across from her. “i- i was gonna take notes.”

his features hardened, shaking his head and she immediately pulled her empty hand out from her bag. “y’trying to make things obvious? you’re already comin’ in here dressed like the press.” he grumbles, leaning slightly over the table between them. he turned his head away, jaw tightening, staring at some distant point in the smoky haze in the lounge.

she waited, her heart hammering in her chest as she nodded. the tension between them palpable yet unspoken. she wondered if there was a reason at all for this, if she would get any sort of answers or if he was just wasting her time.

after silence fell between them, his fingers stilled on the table. when he finally glanced over at her again, something had shifted in his expression. there was a flutter of vulnerability, something raw and unguarded, but it was fleeting. “i’ll give you a crumb.” he sighed, studying her face. “but it won’t be the whole story, not yet.”

she nodded slowly, like if her movements threatened to be too quick and cast a breeze, he’d blow away. like a dandelion to make a wish upon.

“there’s things about this city that the public won’t see.” he began, voice low and steady. “like the people who run it. the alcohol, drugs, power, it’s connected.” he paused, his adam’s apple bobbing against his collar. “bigger than just one man. i don’t pull the strings, m’just a puppet.”

her pulse quickened as she nodded along, trying her best to remember each key detail so she could write it down in her apartment later. “if this is so risky..” she paused, her throat dry and voice shaky. “why tell me?”

for the first time, harry felt the words get caught in his throat. why. his throat could be slit in the back alley tomorrow morning, or his fingers hammered against a table for even looking as if he was running his mouth. his eyes averted to the table, but when he looked up again, the mask was back in place, his expression reserved and hardened. “i’ve been where you are.” harry murmurs. “lookin’ for answers. thinking i could handle whatever. but i was wrong. this world will take everything from you if y’let it.”

her heart ached at the hint of pain in his voice, but before she could respond, harry leaned back in his seat. the moment of vulnerability gone as quick as it appeared. “s’all i’ll give you for tonight.” he said, voice firm. “if you want more you’ll have to earn it.”

she opened her mouth to protest, but harry stood up swiftly, eyes softening momentarily as he looked down at her. “m’on next.” he says gently, nodding his head toward the stage. “feel free to listen, otherwise, get home safe.” he dismisses, turning away and disappearing within a dark hallway.

Y/N frowned as harry vanished before her, slouching in her seat. she replayed his words over and over, studying them so she could write them down as effortlessly as she could later. she debated asking for a drink, but decided it against it as there was some clattering and adjusting on the stage. she had to crane her neck to steal a glance, but after a beat, harry appeared. the same soft spotlight shone on him, and she swore he looked like painting of the fallen angel brought to life. his eyes were narrowed and glossed over, the golden gleam of light paining him a rose gold. he held a heavier looking guitar in hand, and he started to strum after a momentary pause. his voice was low and raspy, and she could’ve sworn she floated toward the center of the lounge to watch instead of walking. his face held every bit of emotion the song could emit. it was almost refreshing to Y/N to see him this way, instead of the feigned apathy that befell him almost constantly.

the melodies he played revealed how shattered he was, it was apparent. he resembled a tragic painting from years into the past she would study in the history classes from adolescence. harry, himself, was poetry. an art. Y/N felt her chest grow heavy, knowing that she was sucked so far into the enigma on stage that she couldn’t fall away from this if she tried.

*

Y/N tossed and turned that night. the rain pitter-pattering on her thin windows as she curled into her desk, writing down whatever she could in her notes. every scribble in the margins were a question mark, riddles with no answer. she had even put on her favorite nightgown, silk and blushed pink. the color of harry’s lips, perhaps a shade lighter.

the next day dawned gray and overcast, the chill from the night before lingering like a hangover. Y/N eventually awoke in her small apartment, the events of the previous night playing on repeat in her mind. harry’s cryptic words, and the way he had performed on stage haunted her like the fading notes of his song. she sat at her rounded kitchen table that stood by a window, puddles rippling with each sprinkle of rain and the usual bustle of pedestrians moving about. the cup of tea before her steamed her face, and she basked in it. the warmth was comforting, having not changed out of her night attire and she hasn’t dared to try to warm the apartment just yet. coal was too expensive, and she could tough it out in heavy layers for just a bit longer.

her editor had phoned earlier, asking if there were any updates. but she dodged it completely, citing vague leads she still had to chase down. in truth, she wasn’t quite sure what she had. a story? not yet. a lazy article in the morning paper? maybe. she felt like she had an omen more than a paper worthy of breaking news. perhaps, she thought, she should take it as a sign and work down at the pier as a fortune teller. maybe even ask her boss for her own segment in the paper as a prophet. she tried not to grin pathetically at her inner turmoil.

before heading back to apollo in the evening, something that had become her routine - she took a second to think about what she should wear. harry mentioned in passing last night that it was already too obvious to take notes, especially since she dressed like the press anyway.

her lips pursed as she feathered her fingers over the clothes in her wardrobe. she wasn’t as cool as she’d like to be, didn’t have much that would fit into the speakeasy scene. she definitely didn’t own any flapper dresses or laces, but she did have a glittery black dress that reached her knees and frayed at the end. it was her late best friend’s, something she kept for sentiment and didn’t expect to ever wear. she clipped her hair up behind her, deciding against overdoing it in jewelry and only pulling on a dainty silver necklace that has been passed down through the women in her family. the mirror was a bit worn, but she smiled at her reflection, it looked like another version of her. her makeup was almost bare, her features dreamy. she had made note to wear one of her longer coats, mostly because of the weather, but also because she wouldn’t have felt safe bouncing around the city in her current dress.

she made her usual way back to apollo, the chill in the air almost as sharp as the sound of her kitten heels hitting the pavement. the occasional car rolled past, headlights cutting through the gathering gloom - it was only a thursday night after all. she was greeted by familiar warm lights of the club shimmering from underneath the door. she patted herself down anxiously, taking a deep breath and relaxing her features. she pushed the door open, the crowd larger than it previously was last night. the door scooted to a close behind her, and she unbuttoned her coat as she waltzed further in. there must’ve been a deal on drinks due to how much busier the bar was. louis had shot her a gentle glance, and she returned it with a small smile.

Y/N knew harry was on stage by the sound of his voice. it was piano again tonight, and the lyrics were bare - relying more on the notes of the piano to speak for him. her eyes twinkled at the sight of him. he’d worn all black tonight, and it made his green irises more vibrant. she was transfixed. Y/N doubted the idea that everyone was born with a set purpose, but it was undeniable how harry’s purpose was music. her mind wandered to the possibility of him even being the embodiment of apollo himself.

the journalist didn’t know where he was in his set, so she turned on her heel to the dispersing bar crowd. louis nodded a greeting toward her while another man beside him, one she hadn’t recognized, poured drinks for the few that were waiting. “hey.” she smiles, shrugging her coat off and setting it neatly in her lap as she sat on stool. “busy tonight.”

he only nodded again, his thin lips tugging into a smirk as he wiped down a glass with a clean, white rag. “thursday’s usually bring more of ‘em in.” he shrugged. “dunno why.”

she nodded, watching the brunette maneuver around the glasses. she didn’t realize until now that he also had an accent that sounded far away, since she was always usually focused on harry. Y/N bit the inner corner of her lip, nodding along absentmindedly to whatever he said until he ducked down a bit to meet her level, waving his hand slightly with a smile. “y’hear me?”

her cheeks flushed a bit, sheepishly shaking her head. “no.” she laughed, “sorry, what?”

he placed the glass in front of her, turning away momentarily before he poured her an amber colored liquor. the tips of his index and middle finger gently pushed the glass toward her before he stepped away to put the bottle back.

she stared at the glass like it would jump out at her. it was illegal to drink like this, prohibition and all. not to mention, her career would whither away if her boss caught wind of her getting into trouble with alcohol she wasn’t supposed to have. “it won’t bite.” lou chuckled, standing in front of her again, ripping her away from her own thoughts. “might taste like it though.”

she smiles with him, the tip of her finger running along the rim as she stares at her waning reflection in the alcohol. “bit nervous.” she admits quietly.

he scoffs, humor evident in his tone, however. “ ‘cause of the bloody prohibition?” he asks, causing her to look up. “don’t worry ‘bout it, we won’t be troubled here.”

she shook her head to his words, knowing that he meant the cops wouldn’t dare to stop by here unannounced. it felt self explanatory, gathering it from harry’s mumbles and such. the interconnections that ran through here were a dime a dozen - it’s easy to assume law enforcement could have their hands dirty as well. and so Y/N inhaled, giving louis an amused expression as she downed the alcohol she now recognized as whiskey. her eyebrows furrow from the taste, lips pursed as she slid the glass back over to him. “thank you.”

harry’s melody began to lighten, hinting that he was most likely almost finished. that was confirmed when he stood from the piano, pressed his lips in a flat smile toward the crowd, and disappeared behind the curtain without so much as a glance in the bars direction. she heard the heavy glass push toward her again, eyes falling on the doe eyed boy who gave her another drink. “he’s n’ a mood, you’ll need it.”

with that, she warily gulped it down, muttering another soft thank you as she picked up her folded coat and crossed over to the familiar path she once took the first night - his office. her steps started to slow as she walked further into the hallway, noticing his door slightly ajar. her pulse quickened, unsure of the personality she would encounter in a moment - she supposed the alcohol would help. thanks louis. steeling herself, she knocked lightly, then pushed it open.

there he sat, behind the same oak desk, but his easy charm wasn’t there. not visible to her at least. his face was shadowed, the small lamp casting sharp lines on his features. he could be cut and molded from marble. his sleeves were rolled up, revealing tattooed forearms. his fingers tapped restlessly against a half emptied glass. he looked up when she entered, his jaw clenched ever so slightly. “you came back.”

Y/N lightly closed the door behind her, hanging her coat on an abandoned rack beside her. she ambled toward the seat across from him, his eyes taking over her figure. his glance held something new, something she hadn’t seen from him before and she tried to stifle how her cheeks threatened to heat from it. she sat down, crossing her legs. “you told me to.”

he hums, eyes finally settling on her face as he shifts in his chair. “y’look different.” he mutters, swirling the remaining liquid in his drink. the ice clinked softly, a sharp contrast to the tension that seemed to always exist between them. “y’blend in. beautifully, too.”

she was unable to hide her blush now, the heat betraying her. it was obvious he noticed it as well, his lips threatening a smile. “thank you.” she says softly, “didn’t bring my notes either.”

he chuckled, taking his last sip. “good girl.” he grins, setting the glass down and falling into his seat more. he stretched out his legs, folding his arms over his chest - his gaze unwavering. “it’s a machine.” he starts, jutting his chin out toward her as an indication she should listen. “profit on the alcohol and drugs, or help smuggle it, get something in return.” he shrugs, swallowing dryly. “quid pro quo.”

she nods, placing both her hands upon the table as she fidgets with the tips of her fingers. if she’s doing something simultaneously, it’ll help her remember for later.

he clears his throat, sitting up only slightly. “cops get a cut for letting it slip under their nose. gang makes money either way, they run it.” his tone was matter-of-fact, like it was how to word went ‘round. and she guesses, in a sense, it was.

“what did you get?” she quizzes, without even thinking. it felt too personal of a question, and she wanted to clasp her hands over her mouth for asking so abruptly. but she remained still, biting her lip. she could blame her bluntness on the alcohol if needed.

he looks at her through his eye lashes, smiling gently - like he didn’t allow himself to fully. “my name.” he pauses, sitting up completely and bouncing his knee in a rhythm. “didn’t have anything before i started helpin’ out. immigrated to america on a whim, nothin to my name.” he chuckled, though it sounded sad. “met them, and suddenly i had an apartment and instruments and an audience.” he enthused, shaking his head to himself with the same gentle smile. “s’what i came here for. the music.”

she had stopped fidgeting moments ago, too enamored by his words. the more that fell from his lips, the more hopelessly intrigued she felt. he was a story she couldn’t stop flipping the pages to, his roots in a reality she was unaware of.

his expression shifted, an indifference settling upon him. “but the debt is infinite.” he says lowly, locking eyes with her. “done is done, in is in.”

Y/N’s lips parted, her face falling. a glimmer settled in her eye, searching harry’s face. she wondered briefly if he was only a figment of reality, perhaps a warning. “sold your soul to the devil.” she echoed his previous words, and she tried to ignore the shiver that wanted to run down her spine.

his lips finally curled into a full smile, nodding. “exactly, sweetheart.”

silence sat between them once again. there was a weight upon her shoulders, yet she felt almost weightless from the whiskey coursing through her veins. she hadn’t drank in a while, and due to her belly being empty, she felt its effects more quickly than usual. she remained still however, not wanting her head to spin off her shoulders. “tell me what i can do.”

harry almost snorted a laugh, but the sincerity dancing upon her features made him decide against it. his chest almost felt warm at her empathy. he shook his head, smiling. “there’s nothing you can do.” he pauses, “they’re smart, no mistakes. no loose ends.” he figuratively wraps something around his neck, holding his fist above his head. “only loose end they have is a noose.”

her breath hitched, and she swore her heart missed a beat or two. “nothing?” she murmurs, almost to herself. she shot him a glance, something a bit harsher. “why am i here then?” her voice was louder than usual, and had an edge to it. “you know my reasoning here, yet it feels i’m stonewalled.”

he sighed, running his hands through his messy curls. “cause,” he hesitated, another sigh escaping. “god.” he mumbles, letting his head fall backwards and lean against his chair. “i shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. y’gonna get yourself killed.”

she froze in her seat, “why do you say that?”

he groaned softly, shifting in his seat once more. she picked up on how restless he can be when upset. “you want to write y’little heart out on this, make a good story.” he says firmly, staring her down. “and it will, it will make a good story. but they’re not gonna clean house, make things the way it should.” he shook his head. “they’ll kill you, and then threaten your boss into confirming that y’were chasing a conspiracy, Y/N. you’ll not only be dead, but soil your own name in the process.”

she didn’t move, her mouth agape. she couldn’t help the small feeling that she was tricked sit in her chest. he could’ve turned her away from the get-go. she would’ve found another lead, another story. but now her job knew of her efforts, and her boss already doubted that a woman could publish such news. her shoulders falter, lips falling into a frown. “you already let me in.” she muttered, shaking her head. “everything here can be anonymous. but i’m not backing away now.”

he rolled his eyes, his frustration evident - but he could only blame himself. he dangled the carrot, he sucked her into his whirlpool of corruption that any reporter would be a fool to ignore. and if his death was a result in this, his own sword would be in his executioner’s hands. “god help you.” he sighs, clenching his jaw.

she took that as his defeat, and a small grin spread across her lips. she reached for the whiskey bottle that previously filled his glass, bringing it to her lips and taking a swig with a wince she couldn’t stifle. “don’t think theres one between us.” she whispers her reply, shoving the bottle toward the man across from her.

harry chuckled softly at her words, though there was no humor in his eyes. he caught the bottle as it slid toward him, the amber liquid sloshing inside. he took a long pull from it, his gaze fixed on her over the rim. there was a silent understanding now, one that settled uncomfortably between them. they were both two sides of the same coin - her driven by the need to uncover the truth, and him, trapped by the web of corruption he'd helped weave around himself.

Y/N felt dizzy, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the whiskey or the way he looked at her. the quiet between them made her unsure if the should bid her goodbyes, or sit with him for a bit longer. he didn’t make an effort to shoo her away like he would usually do, but he didn’t ask her to stay, either. but, like a jinx, harry stood from his seat, rounding the desk until he towered over her. he extended his hand down to her, gently pulling her up from the chair. she wobbled, and harry watched her through half-lidded eyes. “y’alright?”

“i’ve had a few.” she smiles sheepishly, removing her hand from his. the inside of his hands were calloused, a faint bruise on a knuckle or two, though the top of his hands were soft. “i think i should head home, if we’re finished here.” she murmurs, slowing inching toward the door to avoid tripping in front harry.

he lets out a breathy laugh, ushering toward her and placing his hand on the small of her back - barely. his fingers lightly grazed the fabric of her dress, and his palm simply hovered instead of pressing down. “let me walk you then.”

she furrows her brows as she shrugs her coat back on, shooting the curly brunette a look as he pulled open the door. “i can manage.”

he only smiled again, following her along the hallway into the main area. “m’not letting a pretty girl walk home alone, all the while dizzy from havin’ a few.”

she exhales through her nose, pursing her lips. of course he was right, but she wish he wasn’t. she dreamt of a world where women could feel safe, but it was only 1925, and the feminists of her time could only do so much with what they were given. so instead, she settled on wishing that at least her future daughters will have more. he lead her through the familiar corridor, stealing a glance or two.

harry pulled the door open for her, the crisp air hitting her a bit harsher than she would’ve liked. she hastily buttoned up her coat, a hand lightly touching the small of her back again. they walked quietly, only the wind and the click of their shoes audible as Y/N lead the way. harry’s nose began to flush a shade of pink, his curls dancing in the breeze. the alcohol made her feel a bit warmer however, or maybe it was her coat, or the hand she knew was on her back. “just around this corner.” she utters, breaking the silence.

they round corner, entering her street. brick apartment buildings sat on the edge of the sidewalk, along with a few small shops and a mechanic a little bit farther down. “not too bad of a walk.” harry adds, watching her start up the steps toward the main entrance. he stops by the large glass door, hands shoved in his pockets as she opens it. she looks at him expectantly as he just stands there, bobbing on his heels from the cold.

“coming in..or?” she trails off, raising an eyebrow at him.

“um.” he mumbles, taking the door from her hand and pulling it further open to step in behind her. “only if you’re okay with it.”

she laughs, traipsing toward the staircase with harry trudging close behind. “you walked me, least i could do is offer you something warm to drink.”

harry only smiles, remaining quiet as he mirrors her steps. she was only on the third floor, which harry thanked his lucky stars for, since his legs already ached from his jog in the morning. Y/N walked a few doors down, stopping on the fourth before unlocking her door and holding it open for the musician enter behind. she hangs her coat and drops her keys on the entry table beside her door while harry locks it from habit.

she toes off her shoes, encouraging harry to follow her into the kitchen and take a seat - in which he does silently. he feels almost too tall for her things, like it was a dollhouse intricately made for her. the floral table cloth on the round table hung off the sides gently, kept in place in the center by an unlit candle and a cute, little ceramic trinket. he couldn’t help but smile as he took in the surroundings, everything fitting into her personally so well. the floors were creaky and wooden - almost dull, but she brightened things up with all the pretty colors she could find. of course there was a fluffy rug in the sofa room, not to mention the bookshelf adorned with all kinds of books and little sentimental items she’s collected over the years. it was homey, and it was just hers.

she placed a mug in front of him, a raised etch of lavender right in the center. he fiddled with the tea bag, letting the steam wash over his face. Y/N had sit in the only chair left, which was across from him. a chill radiated off the window, but the temperature in the apartment was comfortable, nonetheless. harry had eyed her notebook that sat on the edge while he took a sip, and it took almost everything in him not to ask if he could take a peak.

“i don’t usually drink.” she says softly, tracing the florals on the tablecloth. “since the law and everything. but it’s nice.”

he places the mug down, nodding along with her. “it is.”

“i swear,” she whispers, reaching her hands out and taking harry’s wrist in her palm. he shivered from how cold her touch was, but melted into it as she began to trace the anchor inked onto him. “i could write a story on these alone.”

he grinned, his breath hitching. a daze clouded her eyes, and he knew it was just the liquor speaking for her. he still chose to enjoy it, however. his eyes threatened to flutter shut, to sink in his seat until he floated to the ground like a leaf shaken from a tree. but his trance came to an end as she pulled her fingers back, fidgeting with her own again. “sorry.” she mumbled bashfully.

“s’okay.” he shrugged. it was more than okay. he picked up his mug again, taking another sip. they sat in a blissful quiet, harry eventually finishing his tea to which she placed the used mug into the sink to reside in for the night.

Y/N leaned against the counter, and she could feel every beat and flutter of her heart against her chest. harry watched her expectantly, standing in her stunning dress in something as simple as a kitchen. a spring flower blossoming in the dead of winter - she was otherworldly. “i’m gonna change and i’ll walk you out after, okay?” she asked softly, to which earned a nod from harry. she began to step away, but before she peeled off into her bedroom, she paused, “you can look over my notes so far.” she murmurs, eyes glancing to her notebook before she crosses over to her bedroom.

harry felt like she read his mind. with her permission, the man doesn’t think twice. as she disappears, he pulls the book open to read over her pages. neat and cursive all in black ink, annotations and question marks in her margins. everything fit into this girl so well - it was almost alarming how her heart lived on her sleeve. but his jaw tightened at her writing, both their names everywhere. he knows that they only discussed anonymity prior to leaving, but it made his stomach twist seeing his name next to all these investigative questions and statements. his nostrils flared as he stood from the chair, walking out her door without so much as a goodbye.

*

Y/N had spent the last seventeen hours in a haze. after hearing the slam of her door, she rushed out only to find an empty apartment and a spread open notebook on the side of the table harry sat at. she had read over her pages more than once, but she couldn’t find a hint as to why he was upset. she had only wrote down what was said, maybe her own questions here and there, but it wasn’t anything offensive. all she could do is sit with her worries as she fell into sleep, and then on her bus ride to work the next morning. she helped out on other small article, not sure if this apollo piece would even see the light of day. was she even supposed to go to the club tonight? was that harry’s way of ending their conversations all together? she had spent the entire shift like that, but her mind went quiet on the way home. trees and people passed in a blur from the window, and a sigh of relief fell from her lips as she saw her apartment building come into view.

before she could even trudge up the staircase to her floor, one of the doormen stopped her with a gentle shout. “ms Y/L/N!”

her eyebrows furrowed, meeting him in the middle of the lobby. “what’s happened?”

he chuckles, shaking his head as he ambles over toward the front desk and pulled a powder blue gift box from underneath and walked it over. “a man dropped this off for you this afternoon.”

if her eyebrows could knit inward all the way to the opposite ends of her head to create an intersection, they would. “sorry? what man?” she asked softly, almost to herself.

“brown haired gentleman, tall.”

she only looked up in slight disbelief at the doorman, but offered him a gentle smile and a thank you as she rushed up the steps. the description was vague, but she could only assume it was harry. right? she unlocks her door, pushing it open with her shoulder and slamming it shut with her foot as she stumbles into the kitchen, placing the pretty box on the counter while she just stares at it. it was wrapped in a white lace bow, and she almost didn’t want to unravel it from how cute it sat. (but she did anyway, of course).

her lips parted at the sight before her, unfolding the cream-white fabric to open up to her as exhaled out of shock. the dress was a white that reminded her of vanilla, the trim neckline and shoulders were lace that faded gorgeously into a tinseled dress that would fall above her knees. she only assumed the tinsels would dance with every twist or turn she could make. she draped it over her forearm after admiring the fabric, noticing a small hand written note that lay at the bottom of the box.

see you tonight,

H.

and once the evening drifted into dusk, she slipped on the same coat and made the routine trek back to apollo. the music echoed from the club a bit louder tonight, most likely because it was friday. it was a warmer night in october, causing more people to be out and about. she stepped in, the electricity in the lounge immediate. there was clearly wealthier patrons about, and everyone’s voices blended in with the melody that came from the stage - not harry.

her dress dazzled in the low light, and she felt more at ease with how she mixed in with the other women here so effortlessly. she stepped further in, spinning around once or twice to see if she could spot harry, but, no avail. she wondered if he was even here, and if he wasn’t, why was she?

she took a breath and moved toward the bar where louis stood with a familiar grin. “didn’t expect you tonight.” he greets, sliding over a cocktail he had quickly thrown together.

“no?” she asks, picking up the glass and taking a small sip, happier that it was tastier than the liquor last night. “harry isn’t here?”

he shook his head, rummaging about behind the bar. “he is, he just didn’t mention that you’d be popping in. usually does.”

she frowned, forcing down another sip. she didn’t want to think about the possibility that harry didn’t expect her, thus not being the one to drop off the gift. beneath the glamour of the lounge, there was a buzz in the atmosphere that felt ominous. men in suits held conversations at desolate tables, and there was clearly white powder dusted about from previous lines. the event spelt specific, not its usual casual undertone - like the night was made for something. then, out of the corner of her eye, harry came into view. he walked from behind the curtain, only giving a soft smile to the men he had passed on stage. his clothes were dark again, hands shoved into his pockets as he glanced around. his movements were slow, like he genuinely wasn’t expecting her to stop by. his eyes weren’t eager, and his ears didn’t perk up in attempt to listen to her melodic voice. he greets someone unbeknownst to Y/N, shaking their hand with a flat-lined smile. he seems to look through the woman, a face that couldn’t compare to the journalist he’s become accustomed to. through his blank gaze, he spots her, nevertheless, and he had to take a deep breath to keep himself upward. of course she looked stunning, the lights above her making her face glow, while also reflecting prettily off her dress. none of them even moved for a moment - drinking one another in.

she shifted as harry neared her, leaving the woman with a puzzled expression. he looked good in his suit, but there was an edge to his demeanor. he didn’t smile at Y/N like he did to the woman, but his eyes held more than a tight-lipped smile could. as he stood before her, he nodded toward her dress, a hint of confusion lingering in his features. “blending in again, eh?”

she hesitated. it felt like things were moving in slow motion as harry reached past her to grab a drink from lou, sipping it gingerly as he stared down at her through half lidded eyes. “you like it?”

he swallowed, swishing around the ice as he nodded. “i do.” he says, quiet enough for only her to hear. “how many of those y’got?”

this is where she could allow her heart to take shelter in her throat. she studied his gaze, looking for even a smidge of taunt on him, but there was none. he was being genuine. she shook her head, lips parting. “you didn’t gift it?”

now it was his turn to look confused again, his forehead wrinkling from a furrow. he leaned beside her, only one hand beside her right hip on the surface of the bar. they were close, her arm against the edge of his chest. “what are you talking about?” he asked softly, and she could feel his breath above her ears. “be natural.” he cooed, but his body was tense.

she complied, of course. she didn’t move, remaining smushed against him as she takes a sip from her drink. “this dress was left for me. it had a note, seemingly by you.”

Y/N could hear him swallow, and it didn’t ease her worries one bit. harry sighed, licking his lips before he draped his arms across her shoulders, pulling her into the corner of the bar. it was still open enough for prying eyes, but just a little less visible. he guided her back against the counter, harry towering over her as he faced the crowd - his eyes occasionally scanning behind her. “play along.” he whispers, brushing a loose strand that fell from her clip behind her ears. “what’d the note say, dove?”

by his demeanor, Y/N knew he was troubled with something. she knew she should be shaking with fear in realization that it wasn’t from him, but the butterflies in her stomach gaslit her into believing she was alright. his touch was pillowy and warm, and she could melt in it if he’d let her. but she felt his hand drop, and her eyes snapped open. “um.” she paused, shaking her head ever so slightly. “said see you tonight.” she mumbled, watching his jaw tighten. “H.”

he froze, all attention placed back onto her. she had glanced around, looking for onlooking eyes but harry gently pulled her chin back his direction. “what?”

oh, how she wanted to drop to her knees and pull the fallen angel back up to heaven.

“it ended with H.”

his sigh was heavy, and his grip never fell from her chin. he had parted his lips to speak, but was interrupted by a large hand patting his back. he dropped his grip, glancing at the man beside him. brunette and basically the same height as harry. brown haired, tall gentleman. check.

“you received it well!” the man beamed, all attention pointed at Y/N, to which she only nodded. he extended his hand, lightly shaking hers. “you’ll have to excuse the H initial. figured you would trust that most.”

her eyes darted between the two men in front of her. harry was guarded, as per usual, but his eyes were worried. and the other man, stood confidently, unwavering. “you’ll have to forgive me.” she started softly, “but what is this for?”

“you’ve been around a lot.” he paused, wrapping his arm around harry’s shoulders. “with my star here.” he grinned, not releasing harry. “and i had to silence my intrigue on the pretty girl that made a pattern of coming and going with hushed words.”

she nodded.

his eyes narrowed, unraveling his arm from harry’s frame. before he could form another word, harry stepped over beside her and had pulled her head into his lips gently, kissing her temple. “s’my girl.” he stated. there was no shake or waver, and if Y/N didn’t know anything she would’ve believed it herself.

“your muse!” the man exclaimed, a smirk spreading across his lips - but there was a glimmer in his eye. a doubt, but it was barely there. “i thought we told each other these things?” he asked, but it sounded rhetorical.

“i’m so sorry.” Y/N frowned, shaking her head. “i had begged him for privacy. i didn’t think it would bring trouble.”

his eyes narrowed again, a smile still on his lips but it felt like he could see right through her. “no trouble at all.” he said lowly, nodding toward her. “our work is a lifestyle.” his eyes shot at harry, his smile faltering slightly, but not completely. “not a fan of surprises myself but,” he paused, his gaze befalling Y/N’s. he reaches for her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “i enjoy seeing you in my own surprise.” he murmured, eyes raking up her dress. and with that, he left. Y/N was sure she was only in a lucid dream until harry had pulled her away toward the awfully familiar hallway.

wordlessly, his hand remained around her wrist as she followed without protest. his shoes clicked over the tile as he pushed open the door with a little too much force, ushering her in and slamming it shut behind him. his chest rose and fell rapidly, back leaning against the closed door.

“say something.” she pleaded, her voice shaking.

he held up his finger, shaking his head as his nostrils flared. she took the hint, quietly leaning against his desk with a pout. his digits ran through his disheveled curls, and after it felt like hours had passed, he finally looked up at her.

“harry.” she whispered, it was weak. pathetic even. and she would kick herself silly if she saw herself now in the perspective of her a week ago.

his jaw clenched so hard she thought she would see it snap with screws and coils shooting out. he mumbled something under his breath, incoherent to Y/N as he darted to his desk, causing her to move aside before he swept everything of its surface and onto the floor. “fuck!” he shouted, his cheeks red and eyes starting to gloss over. she wanted to reach out, pull him into a hug and coax him into even breaths but it wasn’t in the cards right now. “i-”he paused, it almost sounding like a whimper. he stumbled to lean against the desk, gripping the edges until his knuckles turned white.

she swallowed dryly, her shoulders having already fell. she didn’t feel scared, she didn’t think she had a reason to be afraid of harry himself. but she was worried, yes. “harry?” she repeated, almost a whisper.

he shook his head, curls falling over his eyes. the words caught in this throat from how many thoughts bounced through his head. he felt like his world took a 180 from only knowing this girl for five days, and someone noticed. he didn’t expect the guy to know exactly what was going on, but now Y/N is recognizable. a pawn, an object in his life that can be used to dangle in front of him if they saw fit. “-i can’t ease you out of this now.”

she didn’t want to cry. but the weight on her shoulders would make her if she didn’t try hard enough. she had worked so hard to prove herself at her job, and now this one groundbreaking piece for her career could be ripped out from underneath her. part of her blamed herself, he had warned her countless times. and if she had been smart, she would’ve ran for the hills at his first warning. but she wanted to know the ins and outs, but also wanted to know him. her lip betrayed her by quivering, eyes glossed over with tears. she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of humiliation at her failure.

“Y/N.” he calls out, running his hand down his face. he sighs, taking a calculated step closer to her. “Y/N,” he repeated, only softer. his much larger hand removed her own from her eyes in attempt to shield him from her tears. her cheeks were flush, eyelashes damp as he thumbed a stray tear away. he felt responsible, as if he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing - but it was the opposite.

“m’sorry.” she mumbles, eyes finally melting his. “i’ve made a mess of things.”

he chuckled softly. he wanted to audibly agree, but he knew that would make her feel worse. he took a slow step back, hands dropping from her face to her shoulders. “you’re involved.” he said lowly, his heart in his stomach.

“involved.” she repeated, nodding. she sniffled, and all she wanted to do was crawl into one of the booths out there and sleep the rest of the night away. “-you’re letting me write?” she thought out loud, fully expecting that he would’ve pushed her away. it had seemed that way earlier. “i thought it was done?”

he let out another sigh, hesitantly pulling her into a hug. his chin rested on her head, and she very slowly wrapped her arms around his waist - debating if she should. he didn’t know if falsely giving her the title of his girlfriend was the right move or not, but the man seemed to believe it. what else was he supposed to say? she’s the new bartender! not a day in hell. she wants to play here! would’ve forced an audition. she’s the journalist i’m in kahoots with! shot in the back alley. so, girlfriend she is. “m’afraid you’re stuck with me for a while.”

and Y/N wanted to be terrified. she wanted the world to flip upside down and to boil over with anxiety. she wanted to want to disappear from everything completely. but she didn’t. and all that ran through her mind was, how could it be bad if it felt so good?

*

three days later, harry stopped by Y/N’s apartment again, and for the first time, there was no tension, no silent storm hovering between them. she sat cross-legged on the couch, a notebook sprawled in her lap as she scribbled notes, but her eyes shot up as soon as she heard the knock. she hesitated, fingers tightening around the pen.

another knock.

she rose, padded to the door, and opened it to find harry standing there, his dark curls slightly tousled and his expression unreadable. for a moment, they just stood there, gazing at one another like strangers who had seen too much of each other’s souls, yet still didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

“morning.” he said, his voice low, almost tentative.

she stepped aside to let him in. “i wasn’t sure I’d see you again so soon.”

he shrugged, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. “had a few things to clear up.” his tone was casual, but his eyes - those piercing green eyes - betrayed something deeper. a tension he wasn’t quite ready to confront. but he relaxed in her presence for the first time, melting into the apartment that smelt like black tea with honey and the morning paper.

Y/N moved back to her spot on the couch, closing her notebook as harry took a seat across from her, elbows resting on his knees. There was a comfortable silence now, one they hadn’t shared before.

“so, about the other night-” Y/N began, unsure how to dive into the complicated emotions swirling in her chest.

harry’s jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, she thought he might brush it off like he usually did. but instead, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “i wasn’t expecting arthur to do that. i didn’t want you dragged into that world like that. it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a strange relief at his honesty. she had been waiting for him to shut her out again, to dismiss her like he had before, but instead, he seemed almost open for the first time. “arthur?”

he nodded, “his name is arthur. he’s been involved longer than i have. insanely loyal and in love with the game.” he sighed, leaning back again. though something crossed his expression, a forgotten afterthought. “i’m so sorry-” he rushed out, shaking his head. “you’re not already with someone are you? i don’t want to ruin your reputation.”

she couldn’t help but giggle, shifting onto the rug and scooting herself to sit before his bent knees. “no harry, m’not spoken for.”

he looked down at her, lips parting as he breathed her in. an innocence floated about her like an aura, but sometimes her eyes held something opposite. she was a puzzle to harry, one he wanted to find all the pieces to so badly. an airy relief washed over him, and he knew it was the thought of her not caring for anyone in that way. her eyes were slightly puffy from sleep, her skin softened and lips the perfect shade - she resembled a cherub.

she placed her hands on his knees, pulling herself up. all she wore was a dainty white lounge dress that had tiny purple flowers scattered about, thick socks covering her feet. “would you like anything to drink?”

he had stood up after her like on autopilot, following her small steps into the kitchen. “coffee?” he suggested softly, seeing the back of her head shake into a nod. the girl hummed to herself, a tune he recognized as his own as he sat down. harry couldn’t resist a smile, the soft clatter of mugs and the steady drip of the percolator accompanying her honey soaked voice. “do you take sugar?” she called out from over her shoulder, glancing back at him with a small smile.

“two, if you got it.”

she nodded once more, taking out a small glass dish and removing it’s lid, setting two cubes of sugar in the mug. she stirred it around with a small spoon, handing it to harry as she retrieved a glass bottle of milk from the fridge if he wanted it.

“thank you.” he murmured, listening to the soft clatter and creaks as she sat down across from him. he uncorked the glass bottle, allowing only a trickle or two into his coffee. he settled in his seat, happy to see that the coffee was his perfect shade of brown.

“it feels like you aren’t used to mornings like these.”

harry glanced at her, raising an eyebrow as he took a careful sip. “mornings like what?”

she simply shrugged, a playful glint in her eyes. “quiet, simple. no trouble brewing over the horizon.”

he let out a soft laugh, stirring his drink a bit. “they come and go.”

they sat in a comfortable silence, a low hum of conversation easing between them. at some point, Y/N had gotten up to make herself tea, taking sips during the pauses of their voices. harry found himself sinking into the moment further, letting the usual tension that sat on his shoulders slip away. it felt like mornings in manchester before he crossed an ocean. the air was calm, his mum’s voice soft.

she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she set her empty mug down, pulling her legs into criss-cross in her chair. “you’re different when you’re like this.”

he furrowed his eyebrows, curiosity piqued. “how so?”

she bit her lip, eyes averting from harry’s as she thought. “relaxed.” she smiled gently. “it suits you.”

harry blinked, unsure of how to respond at first. he wasn’t used to being seen like this - stripped of the persona he so carefully put together - but there was something about Y/N that made him feel like he shouldn’t pretend, despite her interest in the truth. he leaned back, bicep stretch along the back of his chair. “i don’t know how to do relaxed.” he confessed, voice gentle and low.

she smiled again, pillowy and sweet as a dessert. “you’re doing it now.”

there was something about the way she looked at him - like she could see straight through all the mess, straight to who he really was. it was disarming, and he found himself leaning in just a little, his fingers brushing more deliberately against hers now. “maybe you're rubbing off on me.” he murmured, his voice teasing but laced with a sincerity he couldn't hide.

Y/N's breath hitched slightly, but her smile didn't waver, looking up at him through her lashes. "maybe that's not such a bad thing."

for a long moment, they just sat there, the space between them filled with a quiet intimacy. harry's fingers slid up her fingers and enveloped her hand into his. the touch slow, deliberate. she didn't pull away. instead, she leaned in slightly, the rounded edge of the table resting beneath her breastbone.

his heart raced in a way that felt foreign but not unwelcome. it wasn't the adrenaline of a close call or the rush of making a dangerous move. it was something delicate, slower. he wasn't sure what to do with it, but he didn't want it to end. “you’re not scared of me, are you?" he asked hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's eyes flickered up to meet his, her expression light but sure. "no, harry. i never was.” she confessed. of course it was the truth, she had always felt pulled into him like he was the center of gravity. even when uncertainty loomed over her, a flicker of fear toward harry himself never washed over. perhaps it was natural selection, his beauty a siren call to a sailor - and she followed the melody blindly.

there was a moment of silence, heavy with unspoken feelings, before harry shifted closer to her, raising his bum off the seat ever so slightly to lean farther in.

he swallowed, his hand moving from hers to gently cup her cheek. he hesitated for a split second, searching her eyes for any hint of doubt, but all he found was the same quiet confidence she always carried.

without thinking too much, he leaned in and pressed his lips softly against her forehead. it was a simple gesture, but one that made her heart swell. she closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of his touch, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn't exist.

when he pulled back, their faces were still close, and Y/N couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips. "that wasn't so bad, was it?" she teased lightly.

harry chuckled, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. "no. I suppose not."

they stayed like that for a while, harry having adjusted the chair to round the table and sit next to her. the morning stretched lazily around them as the world outside carried on. but for now, in the quiet warmth of her apartment, everything else seemed to fade away.

before harry bid his goodbye, he left another kiss on her forehead. her shampoo smelt of strawberries and her soft strands of hair felt like velvet against his skin. “need you to join me for an event tonight.” he mumbled into her forehead, pulling away to look into her eyes. he was kneeled in front of her, one leg underneath him while the other in front. his breath smelt like coffee and the jam biscuit she had given him earlier, the familiar scent of the smoky lounge embedded in the locks of his curls.

she hummed, eyes closing as she leaned back ever so slightly. if she was that close again, she might’ve been tempted to press her lips against his. “what for?”

he swallowed, an anxious feeling threatening to creep up his chest and out his throat to word vomit all over her. but he sighed, breath warm against her face. “a colleagues house. black tie event. you were invited.”

her eyes peeled open, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched in confusion. “why?”

“think they’re testing this girlfriend theory out.” he said lowly, the palm of his hand resting upon her knee gently. “don’t believe they suspect much, but i’ll need you on my arm. will you?”

she nodded, searching his expression to look for something hidden. “only if you’ll give me more to write.”

he gave a small smile, sending her a soft nod as he patted his hand against her knee, standing up. “y’have my word.” he stated, stepping off toward the door. and he meant it, she really did have it; both as a promise and written with the ink of her pens.

*

that evening, Y/N stood in front of her mirror, her hands smoothing down the delicate fabric of her dress. if she had owned any dresses, it was definitely an evening gown or two. the pine green gown hugged her figure just right, the hem barely above the floor as she twirled once in front of her reflection. the neckline was that as many of the bras she owned, though a bit more conservative - only a glance of her cleavage available to the eye. the back hung loosely, draped down to the highest point of her waist. the bones and muscles in her back rippled in the light gorgeously, that in itself could be her accessory. her hair was pinned back with loose tendrils falling around her face, and her silver necklace sat at her collarbone. she didn’t often dress up like this, but tonight wasn’t just any night. harry had asked her to play a part, and she intended to do it well.

a knock at the door brought her out of her thoughts. her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly gathered herself, giving one last glance in the mirror before padding to the door. she opened it to find harry, his dark curls neatly tamed, a black suit tailored to perfection, and a bow tie hanging loosely around his neck - unfinished. he stood there for a moment, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe, and for the first time since they’d met, she swore she saw him falter.

“wow.” he breathed, blinking as if trying to steady himself. “you’re breathtaking.”

Y/N smiled softly, feeling a warmth creep up her neck. “you don’t look too bad yourself,” she teased, gesturing to his unfinished bow tie. “though i think you need a little help.”

harry chuckled, stepping inside as he fiddled with the fabric. “never could get the hang of these things,” he muttered.

Y/N stepped closer, her fingers gently brushing his as she took over, expertly tying the bow. they stood there, inches apart, her gaze focused on the task while harry watched her intently. the air between them seemed to crackle, and for a brief moment, the world outside their little bubble ceased to exist.

“there.” she whispered, smoothing the collar of his shirt. her hands lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “all set.”

his gaze held hers, something unspoken passing between them. he swallowed hard, the tension from the nights before returning, but this time, it felt different - heavier, more intimate.

“ready?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, though her heart raced in her chest. before shutting the door; she reached over to the coat rack, pulling out a black shaw to wrap around her shoulders. “ready.”

as they stepped outside and made their way down the dimly lit street, the autumn air crisp and cool against their skin, harry reached out and placed his hand on the small of her back, inches below the bare skin revealed by her dress - or lack there of. it was a simple, but the way his hand felt closer than before sent goosebumps over her skin like a tidal waves. it wasn’t just for show anymore; there was something genuine in the way he touched her, something that made her feel more grounded than she had in days.

they arrived at the event after a wave and a whistle to a taxi - a grand estate, the kind that screamed old money and exclusivity. the soft hum of jazz music filtered out into the night air as they approached, their shoes clicking softly against the cobblestone driveway. Y/N squeezed harry’s hand slightly, her nerves bubbling to the surface.

“remember,” he whispered, leaning down so only she could hear. “you’re my girl tonight. no questions. just follow m’lead.”

Y/N nodded, her resolve strengthening as she straightened her posture. she could do this. she wanted to do this. it wasn’t just about the story anymore - it was about him. the world he was caught up in, the danger he carried on his shoulders. she wasn’t going to let him bear it alone.

they stepped through the grand doors, the warm glow of chandeliers illuminating the opulent room. men in tuxedos and women in sparkling gowns mingled, the soft clink of champagne glasses and muted laughter filling the air. harry’s hand never left hers as they wove through the crowd, his grip steady and reassuring.

moving through the throng of people, harry’s demeanor shifted. he was calm, collected, every inch the confident musician with connections to powerful people. he greeted a few familiar faces, keeping Y/N close by his side, his arm occasionally resting around her waist in a way that felt both protective and possessive.

at one point, they stopped by a group of men deep in conversation. one of them, a tall man with slicked-back hair and a knowing smile, turned his attention to harry, then to Y/N. his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.

“this must be the lovely lady we’ve heard about.” the man said smoothly, extending his hand to Y/N. “arthur’s told us quite the tale.”

harry tensed beside her, but Y/N met the man’s gaze steadily, slipping her hand into his for a brief shake. “it’s a pleasure,” she said, her voice calm despite the unease creeping up her spine.

the man’s smile widened, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “likewise. you know, we’re always curious when new faces come around. especially ones as..captivating as yours.”

harry’s grip on her waist tightened, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. “she’s with me,” he said firmly, his voice low but clear. “and that’s all you need to know.”

the man raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t press further. instead, he gave a slow nod, his gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment longer before turning back to the group. “of course. enjoy your evening.”

as they moved away from the group, harry’s tension didn’t ease. he guided her toward a quieter corner of the room, his hand still firmly on her waist, though now it felt more like a shield than a gesture of affection.

“harry.” Y/N murmured, glancing up at him. “what was that about?”

he didn’t respond immediately. he ran a hand through his curls, his eyes scanning the room. “they’re watching us,” he muttered. “arthur, the others..they’re testing me. testing us.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, but she didn’t waver. she placed a hand on his arm, grounding him, bringing him back to the present. “m’not afraid,” she whispered, her voice steady. “are you?”

harry’s gaze softened as he looked down at her, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. he placed his hand over hers, squeezing gently. “ ‘course not.”

for the rest of the evening, they stayed close, a united front in a world full of shadows and whispers. and though the stakes were high, Y/N felt a strange sense of calm wash over her.

as the night wore on, the atmosphere in the grand estate only seemed to grow heavier. the elegance and tinkling of champagne glasses became a backdrop to the undercurrent of suspicion and subtle power plays. Y/N could feel it - the tension in the air, like a taut string waiting to snap.

harry remained by her side, guiding her through the room like a chess piece he was careful not to lose. every so often, he would lean down and murmur a soft reassurance in her ear - small words meant to comfort, though they were as much for him as they were for her. when he was sure no one else could hear, he would occasionally feed her bits of information of those in the room. things she could write down later.

they drifted from one group of people to the next, exchanging pleasantries with men and women who, by all appearances, were simply enjoying a lavish evening. but she could see the way their eyes lingered too long on her, the flicker of curiosity when they spoke to Harry. she was an outsider in their world, and she knew it.

as they approached another cluster of guests, Y/N’s gaze was drawn to a tall man at the center of the group. he stood out, his dark suit impeccably tailored, and his brown locks slicked with gel gleamed in the soft glow of the chandeliers. arthur. his eyes landed on them almost immediately, a slow, calculated smile stretching across his lips as he stepped toward them.

“harry,” arthur greeted, his voice smooth but with an underlying sharpness. his gaze slid to Y/N, lingering for a beat too long before returning to harry. “and his daphne.” he winked, laced with a teasing undertone. it struck something in Y/N, like a foreboding whine on a cello vibrating in her chest. daphne. apollo. the huntress he fell in love with. a journalist ravenous for truth.

harry’s grip on Y/N’s waist tightened slightly, but he kept his voice steady. “arthur. you’ve made your introductions previously.” his tone left no room for further taunts, referring to the night before.

arthur’s smile didn’t falter. if anything, it grew more amused. “ah, yes. but i’m afraid I didn’t get the chance to know her better.” he looked at Y/N now, his sharp gaze flickering over her dress, his lips curving into a smirk. “you do make quite the striking pair. no wonder people are talking.”

she felt the weight of his words, but she didn’t waver. she offered a polite smile, her hand resting lightly on harry’s arm. “i’m afraid i don’t pay much attention to gossip.”she said, her voice calm and measured.

arthur chuckled, a low, menacing sound. “smart girl. but in this world, my dear, what people say can be just as dangerous as the truth.”

before Y/N could respond, a woman joined the group, her gaze sharp and calculating. her long, dark dress shimmered as she moved, and she carried herself with the grace of someone used to commanding a room. her blonde hair was pulled into a bun, adorned with pearls.

“arthur,” she purred, placing a hand on his arm. her eyes flicked between harry and Y/N, and a knowing smile curled her lips. “i see you’ve finally met harry’s companion. been the talk of the evening.”

he inclined his head slightly, his shoulders relaxing. “indeed, i have. a pleasure.”

Y/N could feel the weight of their scrutiny, the way they were testing her, pushing for a crack in her composure. but she kept her head high, refusing to let them see her falter. she wasn’t here just for harry’s sake - she had a job to do, a story to uncover. this world, as uncertain as it was, held the key to something much bigger than any of them.

harry, sensing the tension rising, spoke up again, his voice cool. “it’s been a lovely evening, arthur, but i think it’s time i took her for some air.”

arthur’s eyes glinted with amusement. “of course, harry. i’ll see you as the night continues.”

the was a subtle threat buried in those words, but harry didn’t take the bait. instead, he nodded curtly and gently guided Y/N away from the group, his hand firm on the small of her back.

they found a quieter corner of the grand ballroom, away from the prying eyes and sharp tongues. Y/N exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her nerves finally catching up to her.

“what was that?” she whispered, turning to harry as soon as they were out of earshot.

harry ran a hand through his curls, his expression tense. “he wants t’rattle me. but i see it in his eyes, he’s fallin’ for it. slowly.”

“and what happens if he doesn’t?” Y/N asked, her voice soft but steady.

he met her gaze, his green eyes filled with something unreadable. “he wont, dove. i won’t let that happen.”

she swallowed, feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on them - the stakes higher than she had anticipated. this wasn’t just a simple gathering of the city’s elite; it was a power play, and she was right in the middle of it.

but she wasn’t alone.

he reached for her hand, his fingers lacing through hers as he pulled her a little closer. his voice was low when he spoke again, almost too soft to hear. “y’doing so good, yeah? jus’ keep following m’lead.”

Y/N nodded, feeling the warmth of his hand steady her. his praises allowed a heat settle between her thighs as well, his cool breath a contrast that allowed her breath to hitch.

they lingered in the corner for a moment longer, the noise of the party humming in the background. Y/N could feel the weight of harry’s eyes on her, the way he seemed to be thinking about something he wasn’t ready to say. but before she could ask him what was on his mind, a familiar voice interrupted them.

“there you two are.”

Y/N turned to see louis approaching, a relaxed smile on his lips with a flute of champagne in his hand. his easy demeanor provided a brief respite from the tension that had been hanging in the air. harry’s hand loosened slightly around hers, though he didn’t let go.

“didn’t expect to see you tonight, lou,” harry greeted, his voice still holding an edge of caution though a small smile tugged the corner of his lips.

he shrugged casually, swirling his drink before taking a sip. “figured i’d pop in, someone’s gotta supply the alcohol.” his eyes flicked between the two of them, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “you two seem to be handling the attention well.”

Y/N glanced at Harry, sensing the subtle shift in his stature. he was more relaxed with louis around, but she could tell he was still nervous. it was as if he was waiting for the next move, the next subtle threat hidden behind a pleasant smile.

lou has been a friend of harry’s since arriving to america, having worked behind the bar alongside with him before the opportunity of music presented itself. louis had a kind heart with a tough exterior. he wouldn’t have expected him to be in this line of work, but louis explained it was necessary to support his family. the economy struggled, and jobs were few and far between. he’d rather risk being caught bootlegging than burning alive in a factory with a boss who couldn’t care less.

the shorter brunette raised an eyebrow, catching the tension between them. “arthur giving you a hard time?”

harry’s jaw tightened briefly before he nodded. “he’s testing the waters.”

he chuckled, shaking his head. “sounds like him. loves to push people, that one. see how far they’ll go before they crack. but don’t worry, mate. he’s all talk tonight. no one’s going t’make a scene here.”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little relieved at his words, though she still couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. the event had an air of sophistication, but beneath the polished surface, there was a current of something darker - something she was only beginning to understand.

louis set his empty glass down on a nearby table and turned to Y/N, his expression softening. “y’holding up alright? not the easiest crowd for a newcomer.”

she smiled, though she felt the evening pressing down on her. “i’m fine, really. just trying to keep up.”

he gave a small nod of approval. “you’re doing more than keeping up, love.”

harry shot lou a warning look, but he waved it off with a smirk. “relax, H. they’re impressed. they don’t know what to make of the relationship yet, but that’s good. keep ‘em guessing.”

she was in a role tonight - harry’s partner, his girlfriend as far as the others were concerned - but it was a game, and she was still figuring out the rules.

before any of them could say more, the sound of a glass being tapped echoed through the room. the buzz of conversation faded into silence, attention turning toward the center of the ballroom where arthur now stood, a drink in hand and a smug smile on his face.

“ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice commanding the attention of the room. “i’d like to make a toast. to good company, to old friends, and to the future that lies ahead of us all.”

there was a murmur of agreement as glasses were raised, but Y/N noticed the way arthur’s eyes lingered on her and harry. a smile spread across his lips, a glimmer in his brown eyes.

“to new faces,” he added, his gaze locking onto Y/N. “and to the fresh opportunities they bring with them.”

Y/N’s stomach tightened. the toast was meant for her - thinly veiled, but it was there. she could feel harry tense beside her, his fingers pressing gently into her waist. he didn’t move, but she could sense the shift in him, his calm facade now cracking under the weight of arthur’s words.

“cheers,” the brunette finished, his glass raised high as the rest of the room followed suit. the clinking of glasses filled the air, and then, just as quickly, the room returned to its previous hum of conversation and laughter.

but she could feel the change. arthur’s toast had been more than just a public greeting - it was a message. she wasn’t just a guest here anymore.

louis leaned in slightly, his voice low. “watch your back tonight, love. arthur doesn’t like loose ends.”

harry shot a pointed glance toward his friend before tugging on Y/N’s hand toward arthur’s direction. she smiled softly at lou before quickening her stride to keep up. “saying our goodbyes.” he mumbled, “we’re leaving.”

his pace was quick and purposeful as they made their way across the extravagant room. she followed closely, her pulse racing as she felt the weight of arthur’s gaze settle on them before they even reached him. it wasn’t just a casual departure - it was strategic. harry knew how to play his cards.

arthur shot them a wide grin, a knowing look flashing in his eyes. he tilted his head slightly, swirling the golden liquid in his glass with a lazy grace. “leaving already, harry? night’s still young.”

he didn’t falter, his voice calm but firm. “got t’get her home at a decent hour. just came to say goodnight.”

arthur’s eyes flicked to Y/N, his smirk lingering. “a shame. was hoping to learn more about your muse.” his words were light, but there was a distinct undertone of menace.

Y/N stood a little straighter, refusing to shrink under his gaze. she smiled politely, though the steel in her eyes matched harry’s. “m’sure we’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted in the future.”

he chuckled softly, the sound sending a chill down her spine. “i look forward to it.” he glanced back at harry, raising his glass slightly. “safe travels, old friend. see you soon.”

harry gave a sharp nod, his grip on Y/N’s hand tightening just enough to signal the need to move quickly. “of course. goodnight, arthur.”

without another word, harry guided her swiftly toward the exit. the cool night air hit them like a wave as they stepped outside, the tension in the room left behind but still clinging to their skin.

Y/N exhaled sharply, her breath visible in the cold as she glanced at harry. “what now?”

he ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched as he looked down the dimly lit street. “take y’home and help you write.”

she nodded, hoping to shake off the lingering unease that wrapped around her like a shroud. “do you think he’ll try anything?” she paused, glancing up at him. “he seemed interested.”

he held onto her hand, guiding her down the long driveway and to the sidewalk. “interested in you, yes. but it’s more about power for him. wants to see how far he can push, wants to have an aspect of control over me to keep me from leaving. i don’t think he knows.”

as they walked down the neighborhood to meet the main road, he kept a pace brisk. his fingers were still interlocked with hers as if anchoring them both. once turning a corner and being met with the lights of the city, harry waved down another taxi to bring them back to her apartment. the ride was quiet, the low buzz of a radio echoed a host’s incoherent words along with the sounds of the tires against the road. he guided her up the steps of the complex after being dropped off, reaching for the keys she had told him to hold onto and allowing the door to open.

hey both settled in at the coffee table, shoes having already been taken off but they still resided in the evening’s attire. harry softly told Y/N things to write down, her hands flicking out the prettiest handwriting he’s ever seen. “i still feel guilty.” she murmured, continuing her movements. “for making your life more difficult.”

he shook his head, softly placing his hand across her paper to stop her writing. “nonsense.” his tone was soft, but firm. sincerity. he sighed, pulling her soft, cold hand into his. the pen rolled off the edge of the notebook, falling onto the rug. “arthur has a way of getting in someone’s head, makin’ them doubt themselves.” he paused, thumbing gentle circles on the back of her hand. “but s’nothing. i know you’re smarter than his antics.”

she nodded, her cheeks turning a tinge of pink. his touch was soft and electrifying all at once, a rubber band stretching in her belly threatening to snap. the grip on her hand went loose, his lips parting ever so slightly. her hair was down, having taken out the clip once she walked through the door. the sight of her sitting on her heels across the small table was a teasing in it of itself. his chest tightened as he let go of her hand, scooting around the coffee table to sit beside her. her perfume was light and floral, and when he noticed her chest start to rise and fall more hastily he felt himself twitch. “Y/N..” he trailed off, voice barely above a whisper. he kept his hands on the table, nervous to act on the thoughts that bounced around his head.

the pads of her fingertips trailed along the fluffy rug until she reached his thigh, her touch light and meticulous against him. “harry.” she whispered, almost breathless. “can we still pretend?”

his hand met hers before he gripped her wrists lightly, halting her movements all together. “pretend?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. of course he knew what she meant, but watching her cheeks blush into a darker shade of pink made his pulse quicken. “pretend you’re still mine?”

she nodded sheepishly, a heat pooling between her thighs pathetically. she wriggled her wrist in his grasp, her lips in a slight pout. “treat me like your girl.” she pleaded quietly. “just for a while longer.”

harry hesitated, eyes burrowing into hers like he was searching for answers. her eyebrows furrowed with need, eyes clouded with a desperation that pulled harry away from her eyes. he tugged on her wrist, gently pulling her into him as she tried to scoot her bum across the space between them simultaneously.

he cupped her cheek with his other hand, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that sent her heart racing. she melted into him, the kiss deepening as he maneuvered her wrist-in-hand to his lap, bounding her to him. the warmth of his body against hers ignited a fire within her, and she felt herself yearning for more. he bunched her grown above her knees ever so slightly as he pulled her onto him, his large hands kneading the flesh of her bum as his tongue swiped past her lips, brushing hers.

with a sudden shift, harry broke the kiss and guided her to sit on the sofa, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. "relax, sweet girl.” he murmured, hands trailing up her soft legs and dragging her dress back up along with it.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as he settled between her legs, trailing gentle kisses from her knee, up her inner thigh until he could see the thin fabric of her panties clinging to her wet cunt. his hands looped around her thighs and spread them apart. the cool air against her skin sent shivers through her body, heightening her senses. she leaned back against the sofa, her heart pounding in more places than her chest. "harry," she gasped, her hands tangling in his hair hesitantly as he continued his exploration, his mouth leaving a trail of fire in its wake. the anticipation built within her, and she could feel herself aching for his touch. she knew what was he was intending to do, though she’s never felt it before. she lost her virginity in high school, but only heard the idea of a man’s face between her folds through her best friend. she believed it to be a fantasy, only existing behind her eyelids as she fingered herself underneath the covers - until now.

"just a taste" he mumbled, his voice low and sultry, but it sounded as if he was talking to himself. his lips grazed over the wet spot of the fabric, the gasps that fell from her lips melodic, and he wondered if he could mimic the melody on his guitar. his thumb grazed up her covered folds, pressing down on her clit hidden between. she hissed, his fingers finding themselves looped around her underwear, pulling them down in a swift movement. he bunched up her dress a bit more, nearing her core as he gazed up at her through his eyelashes, an eager grin on his lips before he pressed a soft kiss against her most sensitive spot. his breath was hot against her, hands gripping the place where her hips and thighs met. his lips brushed over her folds before he spoke, “y’trust me, Y/N?”

her fingers remained threaded in his curls while she nodded feverishly, which only earned a tsk from harry. he placed a few kisses on her inner thigh and around her folds, the girl squirming underneath his hold. “my girl would use her words.” he taunted gently. he inched closer to her core as she whimpered multiple pleases. the sensation was foreign and electrifying, a shiver cascading down her body.

he placed a tentative kiss on her bud to get a feel for her sensitivity. her back arched involuntarily as she tried to pull his face closer to her dripping cunt. he responded eagerly, tongue flicking out to taste her - a jolt of pleasure shooting through her. his lips enveloped her clit, sucking and lapping like it was the best flavored lollipop in the local candy shop. although he only promised a taste, he would go against his word - already addicted to the way she felt against his mouth. “this okay?” he asked against her, keeping his movements the same until she answered.

“yes-” she whimpered, riding her hips against his face. “more, H. please.” she breathed, desperate for his movements to continue. the sensation wasn’t anything compared to her fingers - intimate and raw, filled with a heat that threatened to consume her.

his tongue flicked hungrily as he explored her with deliberate care. he licked and sucked, tongue swirling in ways that made the coil in her belly tighten. she bucked her hips against him, strings of desperate moans falling from her parted lips. nothing existed outside of this moment, including the neighbors behind thin walls. she cried out profanities that mixed in with his name, harry continuing his assault on her cunt. the knot in her tummy tightened, threatening to release - but she didn’t want it to end just yet. his mouth was ecstasy against her, and she wanted to ride out this high as long as she could. he didn’t rush, his tongue moving in slow languid strokes. his left hand trailed softly down her leg, his thick fingers sitting at her her entrance before he slowly pushed two in, feeling her walls clench tightly around him.

he couldn’t stifle the small groan that escaped him, reverberating against her pussy as he flicked the tips of his fingers upward. he leaves sloppy kisses around her thighs while his thumb encircles her clit greedily, watching the sight before him as if it was the first colored film with clear audio. “har-“ she moaned, having trouble forming coherent words. “m’gonna-“

“y’gonna what?” he asked lowly, quickening his place. “tell me, dove.”

her moans were messy, getting louder as she nears her release. he removes his hand, gripping onto her hips again and pulling her flush against his face. she could feel the tension coiling in her core, the pleasure mounting in a way that was both overwhelming and intoxicating.

she was on the edge, teetering on a precipice she had never experienced before, and harry seemed to know it. he slowed down, drawing out every moment, savoring her reactions, until Y/N couldn't take it anymore. her back arched, her hands gripping the sofa as her body gave in, the pleasure crashing over her like a wave.

her body trembled, every nerve alight as she rode out the overwhelming sensation, harry's touch steady and grounding. his mouth never left her core, lapping at her as he drank in every drop of her release. and when the waves of pleasure finally subsided, she collapsed back against the cushions, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

harry lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he climbed back up, resting beside her. his lips and chin glistened with the remnants of their passion, placing a gentle kiss atop her head.

once the tremors subsided, he stood up in a fluid movement, taking her hand into his as he gently pulled her up from the couch, guiding her to the open bedroom. he helped her sit on the edge of the bed, combing his fingers through her disheveled hair. “y’clothes in the dresser, dove?” he almost cooed, to which he earned a nod. he crossed over to the dresser with flowers etched into the wooden surface. he pulled out a thin, white nightgown, helping Y/N out of her dress to slip the gown over her head with care.

he leaned over the bed as he helped her get into the spot against the wall, tucking her blankets her frame. before he could step away, her fingers caught his, her expression weary and but wanting. “pretend a while longer?” she frowned, “don’t go.” she pleaded, fingers slipping from his as she patted the spot beside her.

“y’want me to sleep here?” he thought out loud, his gaze tender as it lingered on her. “y’sure?”

she only nodded as harry began to shrug off the blazer, undoing his belt that hugged his slacks around him. his fingers struggled with the bow tie, a sigh falling from his lips as he put a knee on the bed, leaning over with a small smile. “requires your assistance.”

she giggles quietly, undoing the bow tie before he pulled away and stripped down to his boxers. the moth on his abdomen fluttered with every breath as he slipped into the spot beside her, head resting flat against the pillow as she pulled herself into his side, draping an arm lazily around his torso, head on his shoulder. “thank you f’today.” he mumbled, tracing slow patterns along her back through the fabric of the nightgown.

she hummed, eyelids heavy as her breathing slowed. she listened to his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin a perfect contrast to the coolness of the blankets. it felt like heaven against her. she drifted further into slumber as she parted her lips, whispering out, “thank you for everything.”

[msbigredmachine]

Coming In London (Jey Uso/OC)

A date night for the ages across the pond. Post-Money in the Bank 2023. Jey Uso/OC one-shot.

Warnings: SMUT

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: New Edition's 'Can You Stand The Rain' was my muse for this fic. It kinda fit. I'm not weird I promise.

Enjoy!

--------------

Money in the Bank was so much fun! 

Zainab had attended a number of WWE shows with some great audiences in the past couple of years, but there was something about the atmosphere in the O2 Arena that could not be replicated elsewhere. They were on fire all night, especially for the main event, yet another one her boyfriend and his twin brother were headlining this year. Watching him feed off the fans’ energy and tear it up with his three brothers was mesmerizing. Emotions ran high afterwards and she ended up hanging out in the hotel lounge with the Bloodline and several other Superstars till the early hours of Sunday morning. It was hard to fall asleep with how happy everyone was about the great show they’d put on.

Jey was still passed out at breakfast time, buried beneath the white sheets of the plush bed of their hotel suite. Deciding not to disturb him, Zainab went alone, and ran into Jimmy and Roman at the buffet table. They were still buzzing from last night. As she kept them company, she noticed there was something else exciting them. They kept checking their phones, smiling from ear to ear and sharing secret looks. Her curiosity was piqued, but before she could press for more info, both men finished up their breakfast and quickly kissed her goodbye before leaving for their flights back home.

When she returned to her man, he was awake but still in bed, with his phone in his hands, the sheets pooled around his waist and his hair all disheveled and sexy. Damn, he looked so good. Like, “I woke up like this” kinda good.

“Morning, sexy. Hope you didn’t miss me too much,” she greeted, giggling when he yanked her down to the bed the moment she was within reach, almost knocking off her glasses. She accepted his soft, gentle kisses as his arms wrapped around her. He tasted like mint, like he’d just brushed his teeth. “I brought you a couple of muffins, a banana and some yogurt. How ya feelin’?”

“Like I been hit by a damn truck,” he murmured, sitting up to rest his back against the headboard while keeping his hold on her waist. “How was breakfast?”

“Good. Your twin and Roman were there. They were acting real sus. Kept smilin’ all wide and shit and checking their phones like you’re doing now. Who are y’all gossiping about?”

“Haha, no one, babe. We just goofin’ around.” Clearing his throat and putting his phone away, he smoothly changed the subject. “Date night at the London Eye is a go. Tonight gon’ be lit, baybeee.”

Zainab pursed her lips and adopted her most neutral expression. “Are you sure we’ll be able to go? You still look really tired.”

Jey couldn’t hold back his laugh at her faux concern. “Z, I’m good. We goin’. Don’t know why you so scared.”

“You know I don’t like heights, Mr. Day One Ish,” she rolled her eyes.

“Last time I was in London, I went on the ride. The view was unbelievable and I told myself I’d take you there if we ever got the chance. Don’t be a scaredy cat. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

Whenever his mind was set on something, he went through with it no matter what. Since he only wanted to show her a good time, she decided to indulge him. “Fine. Bianca invited me for afternoon tea. Imma do a little shopping afterwards, maybe get my nails done too. I’ll be back in time for tonight.”

Jey reached for his wallet and handed her his black American Express card. “Here. Go crazy with it. Just make sure you look sexy for me tonight.”

Zainab sighed dramatically and plucked the hard plastic from between his fingers, previous back-and-forths reminding her that he would not take no for an answer. “You spoil me too much, babe.”

She tried to sound stern, but that smile he loved was bright and happy, and he couldn’t stop himself from stealing another kiss. “For you, baby, ain’t no such thing as too much.” He meant it. She had him sprung, head over heels for her. He would give her the world if she asked for it. She worked so hard on the daily and she deserved to be spoiled and pampered all the time.

Zainab’s fingers trailed over his pec tattoo as a fiendish idea came to her. “Hmm. Would you like something in return then, Daddy? It’ll be unfair for you to do all the giving.”

“Well, if you insist…” he rasped, taking her hand and putting it between his legs, making her cup him through the sheets. His other hand curled dangerously around her neck, squeezing lightly, watching the flame of desire ignite in her gorgeous eyes, “...You can gimme that throat.”

His gruff demand, topped by his darkened irises and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, had her pussy purring. She drew the sheets off him and exposed his mouth-watering erection. Adjusting her frame on the bed, she closed her fist around his dick, leaning down to flick her tongue over the slit of his head, and her smirk widened when a sharp hiss escaped him. 

“Whatever Daddy wants, Daddy gets,” she said to him with a wink, licking him one more time. As her mouth sank lower down his shaft, Jey felt his bones melt, and he laid back with a relaxed sigh and let her work her magic on him.

Today was going to be a great day.

-----------------

The weather was nice, mostly sunny with none of the infamous London rain showers in sight, thank God. After tea at the highly esteemed Fortnum & Mason, she headed out to the High Street with Bianca Belair to find a knockout outfit for tonight. The odds were in her favor as she quickly found a pair of heels that would rock her man’s world once he saw them. That inspired her to search for an equally stunning dress, and several stores later, she came across one that made even notoriously-hard-to-impress Bianca’s jaw drop. So that was settled. Next stop was Agent Provocateur. The store was stacked with so many beautiful designs of lingerie, it was tough to choose. With Bianca’s approval, Zainab finally settled on a blood-red, backless lace push-up bra and matching thong. She was highly impressed with the amount of cleavage the bra afforded her and how the color made her skin pop. She looked forward to watching it get torn apart by her boyfriend tonight.  

Her predictions were headed in the right direction, as said boyfriend was already drooling before they left their suite for dinner. “Damn, girl. I ain't sure I wanna let you leave this room no more,” Jey drawled, resting his hands on her shapely hips. “You look good enough to eat, baby.”

Laughing as he tugged her backwards right up against his crotch, Zainab didn’t take her eyes off the mirror as she bumped him away with her backside. “Down, boy, before you make me drop my contact lens. This was your idea so we’re going. But who knows?” She locked darkened eyes with him through the round shaped mirror and twerked her ass for his benefit. “If I enjoy myself, I’ll be sure to let you…eat me…later tonight.”

Damn. “We’re gonna have an awesome time tonight, later and afterwards,” he declared loudly and confidently, finishing with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows that made her laugh. Her boyfriend could be so goofy sometimes.

—-----------

Dinner was quiet and intimate, and Zainab couldn't help but feel loved up and romantic as her man kept sweeping her off her feet. He was super attentive and she was enjoying the attention and their playful banter. She loved that he topped up her wine glass whenever it emptied, loved that he fed her the last piece of his steak. Being together like this was really nice; thanks to their busy careers, this kind of alone time was a luxury, one neither Jey nor Zainab took for granted.

The walk from the food market to the world famous ferris wheel was thankfully a short one. Zainab beamed as she entered the structure known as Cupid’s Pod and was greeted with rows of red roses and candles decorating the enclosure.

The ride came with a complimentary bottle of Rosé Champagne and a luxury box of Pink Champagne Truffles, set up on the wooden oval bench in the middle of the pod. Jey was right about the views from inside the London Eye. They were unbelievable, overlooking the boats gliding along the River Thames and several high rise buildings. The higher they went, the quieter it became, save for the personalized playlist playing softly in the background. Snuggled up with Jey on the bench, Zainab sipped some more champagne, indulged in some chocolate and basked in the ambience and the safety of her man's arms, which currently were around her waist, the heat of his body pressed against her from behind. His soft lips dispensed tender kisses along the curve of her neck, eliciting a small, welcoming moan from her at his gentle caresses. 

“You so damn fine, girl,” he complimented, pressing more kisses to her skin, absorbing her intoxicating scent. “I’m glad you’re in London with me.”

“Thank you, my love. I’m glad I’m here with you too,” she smiled up at him, lazily rubbing his thigh.

“We met on this day two years ago. Do you remember?” he asked.

Zainab sighed dreamily, her eyes closed as she nuzzled her face against his. “Like it was yesterday.”

“Mm-hmm. I also remember your stubborn ass ain’t want nothin’ to do with me.”

“I told you why. I dated a soccer player and a basketball player. They both put me through some shit. Didn’t want to deal with another athlete.”

"Naw, baby girl. None of them dudes was right for you, that's all," Jey stated matter-of-factly, his toothy smirk showing off his silver jeweled grill.

“Ha, ‘course you’d say that.” Their romance was a slow burn, as both were still struggling with recent personal heartbreak when they first met. But their deep attraction to one another was something neither could stop themselves from exploring. When he was still working in the Thunderdome, he would make the trip to Fort Lauderdale to see her after the show every Friday night so they could bond and get to know each other better. They didn't even start sleeping together right away, because they were more interested in learning about each other first. When he resumed traveling, Zainab was sure that she would never hear from him again. But nothing changed. Not a day went by when he didn’t call her; a month did not pass without them meeting up at least once. She had been afraid of falling for him, but it was impossible not to. The man was beautiful, inside and out; not without his flaws and bad habits, but who wasn’t? 

At first, she wasn’t sure how long they would last, given his crazy schedule and his history, along with her own bad breakups. But somehow she shelved all those fears and worked with him to strengthen their relationship. The fact that they were now one of the few couples in their circle still going strong to this day, meant they were doing something right. 

She studied his features as he took her hands in his. There was a nervous energy about him tonight he'd been trying to conceal, but it only felt more palpable now. “You okay, baby?” she queried. 

“Any regrets? Ya know, gettin' with me?” he asked, his voice quiet and shy.

She made a show of thinking about it. “About two or three, maybe,” she shrugged, and burst into laughter at his bombastic side-eye. “I’m just playin’,” she chortled, nudging him playfully. “We’ve had our ups and downs like any other couple, but it’s been incredible. I won't change a thing. You're an amazing boyfriend, Jey.”

“You’re amazing, Z. You’re a special person, and you been so good to me these past couple of years. I love you.” He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but shiver at the intensity in his eyes. 

“I love you too.” The feeling was still so surreal after all this time. Every time he said those words to her, she had to catch her breath. She knew about what he had endured in his past and how long it took for him to open up again. Knowing that he felt this way about her made her heart swell. She had never felt as happy and as loved as she did with him.

The moment stretched with them gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Zainab raised his hand to her lips and placed a soft kiss across his knuckles. With that same hand, Jey caressed her cheek, down to her jaw, cupping her chin. His thumb softly rubbed across her bottom lip. Boldly, she sucked the tip into her mouth, her heated stare locked on him, and he could not resist replacing his thumb with his lips, feeding her with warm, languid kisses that made her lady bits clench and her toes curl. 

Their little make out session was interrupted by the British A.I. woman’s voice announcing that they were at the very top of London. Jey reluctantly released Zainab and helped her to her feet. “The best of all the views is right here, babe. Take a look.” He pointed, gently rotating her and stepping back.

Summoning enough courage to go closer to the railings she’d been avoiding all evening, she cast a cautious glance out at the wondrous skyline before her. “You know what? I think I’m getting used to the height now,” she agreed, turning back around for his rebuttal.

Jey was down on one knee. A little velvet box was open in his hands with a sparkling diamond ring shining out of it.

Zainab burst out laughing and covered her face. “Oh my god you asshole! Are you fuckin’ serious?!”

Jey feigned hurt. “I know your ass ain’t cussin’ me out while I’m about to propose to you, woman,” he exclaimed, watching her walk away with her hands still on her face. He could hear her laughter gradually disintegrate, and when her shoulders began to shake with sobs, his eyes prickled. “Z…Baby, come here, I got somethin’ I wanna ask you,” he called out softly to her.

She was sure she was dreaming. It was a struggle processing this overwhelming surge of happiness, a happiness that only Jey Uso made her feel. She had to sit back down because her legs were shaking. She would definitely fall over and ruin this beautiful moment he'd clearly worked hard to set up. Luckily, Jey was kneeling before her, his hand resting on her thigh while holding up the ring to her. Her tears flowed freely, but he was there to wipe each one away, being there for her as he had been for the last two years.

“Fuck, I had a whole speech planned out and shit,” he whispered, his own voice clogged with emotion, “But now I got nothing, except that I’m so in love with you, baby. You changed my life, and I wanna be with you for the rest of it. Thank you for teaching me how to love again. Zainab Ortega, my queen, my love, will you marry me?”

Tears kept streaming down her cheeks, threatening to ruin her makeup as she stared at the man she loved more than anything in the whole world. She had only one answer. “Of course. Yes, yes I will,” she replied without hesitation, nodding enthusiastically as she watched him slide the stunning diamond ring on her finger. It fit perfectly.  

Jey’s head was spinning. He never thought he’d be in this position so soon after Nisha. He thought he would never find love again. The morning Nisha breathed her last breath, he all but lost his will to wrestle, to function, to live. Never did he imagine that just eighteen months later, at a fundraiser to combat the disease that took his wife, he would meet someone else that made his heart flutter again, that caused his skin to sprout goosebumps with just a smile. At first, he felt so guilty and so ashamed of his feelings. But before her passing, Nisha had made him promise to move on, to open his heart again if he ever found the right woman. 

So he did. Allowed himself to fall in love one more time. He couldn’t believe he’d found such a beautiful, caring, patient, sexy ass woman like Zainab. Her kind soul, her perennial optimism and her zest for life inspired him to push on with his own. Now, his career was thriving and he was in the best shape of his life. In so many ways, she saved his life. Putting a ring on her finger made all the sense in the world to him. With this, everything between them would become that much more final, much more complete. 

Zainab stared down at her finger in complete awe. “It's so pretty! I can’t believe it. This must have been such a difficult step to take, baby,” she said, looking at him.

“At first, it was,” he confessed, wiping the corners of his eyes with the pad of his thumb. “But then I quickly realized how much in love I was with you, and I couldn’t live without you. I got that ring made two months ago, ma. This weekend wasn’t gonna go by without me poppin’ the question. Nisha will always be in my heart, but it’s you and me now, Z.”

She nodded in understanding and pulled him close, pressing her lips against his. “I would be honored to be your wife. I love you so much. Thank you.” She was literally on top of the world. She would never forget this trip to London, ever.

They spent the next ten minutes calling up family and friends to tell them the good news and show off her brand new engagement ring. There were a lot of happy tears and a lot of love. Apparently everyone had been waiting for this day to come. Roman and Jimmy had merely grinned proudly, and just as Zainab suspected, they both knew that this was going down tonight, which was why they’d been so cryptic and secretive at breakfast. Jey and Zainab were so happy to have the support of both their wonderful families.

She couldn’t stop fawning over the sizable diamond glowing on her ring finger. “Baby, this rock is so big.”

“Thought you liked big things,” Jey teased with a light squeeze of her waist, flashing her a knowing wink. 

“You know first-hand that I do. Oh my god, Jey…we're getting married!”

“Mm-hmm. I’m so fuckin’ lucky, babe, you have no idea,” he gushed. He cupped the side of her face and bent down to kiss her, gently at first, then harder, leaning into her. Zainab ran her hands up the bulge of his biceps, moaning into his mouth when his tongue lashed against hers and his hand slid over her ass, giving it a firm squeeze.

“You know, proposing to you wasn’t the only thing I imagined doing in this here pod,” he said.

One look at the heat in his eyes made her understand right away. “No. You wouldn’t.”

“That a dare, baby?” He moved his mouth down to her neck, a small groan rumbling through him as he nipped and licked her skin. It served as the perfect distraction for his hands to slip under her dress and massage the round, ample globes of her backside. 

“Babe, people can see us,” Zainab gasped, but melted into his arms anyway, “We’re gonna get in trouble. There’s cameras in here-”

“Fuck the cameras,” Jey dismissed. His penetrating stare shot tremors down her spine. "Do you know how fuckin’ hot you look tonight? Do you know the nasty shit I wanna do to you right now?”

She could already tell with the bulge pressing insistently against her. But she wanted to hear him say it. She couldn't quite think straight anyway. She wouldn't have been able to stop him if her life had depended on it. "Tell me, Daddy," she moaned.

"You drive me crazy when you dress up like this, baby, all sexy and provocative and shit��I seen dem thirsty ass motherfuckers at dinner, starin’ at you, wishing you were theirs...I wanted to bend your fine ass over our table and give you this dick in front of everybody. Let ‘em all know you mine."

“I will always be yours,” she whispered. "Always."

He walked her back to the bench, sitting down and pulling her to sit on him. As always, she fit perfectly on his lap, her ass resting between his muscular thighs. They hugged and kissed, his eager hands all over her body while she rocked back and forth against his hard erection. He took his time maneuvering her dress up to her waist, caressing her thighs the whole way and amplifying her already rabid need for him to be inside her. His fingers dipped beneath the lace edge of her panties, finding her wet and ready for him. He teased gently, lightly stroking her pussy lips, causing her to moan into his mouth. He knew just how to touch her, knew exactly how to make her body react to his every whim.

His hands slipped upwards to rest over her delectable bosom. “This a pretty ass bra, ma. You got it for me?”

“Yes, Daddy. You like it?” she asked. Jey answered her question by freeing her breasts from the confines like he was opening up a present. Her titties were nice and plump and made his mouth water. He eagerly took a nipple in his mouth and sucked while he massaged the other one.

“Baby…” she whimpered, hesitancy thick in her voice. 

“Z…” he growled, his lips giving her nipple a quick, audibly wet tug that momentarily short-circuited her brain, “Unless you tellin’ me to fuck you harder, ion wanna hear it.”

His mouth covered hers before she could speak again, and this time she completely surrendered to him, allowing his tongue to slide in and wrestle with hers to a no-contest. She unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants to get access to him. As she pulled him out of his briefs and dragged her palm up and down the hard, smooth length of his cock, she gasped as he immediately tugged her new lace panties to the side and lowered her down onto him. The stretch was incredible, and they both moaned. She looked at her new fiancé, who sported a sexy smirk on his lips, watching her mouth fall open as she sat all the way down on his long, hard dick. They’d had sex many, many times together, but each time something new was awakened in her, even more so now as it occurred to her that anyone in the surrounding capsules could take a close look through the darkness and see what was happening. Her heart pounded in her chest in anticipation. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening, but she wasn’t going to stop it. 

She moved on top of him, moaning as his dick twitched inside her, welcomed by her warm depths. He grabbed her breasts again, kneading them expertly, which made her bite her bottom lip harder than intended. When he pinched her nipples, her back arched and her head hung back. His long fingers then met her waist as he leaned in to suckle her throat and smell her, basking in the pleasure and feral desperation in her voice. Her thighs locked around his hips, giving her a little leverage to lift herself up and down on him with ease. She was dripping but still so tight around him thanks to how endowed he was. 

“Damn, baby…keep ridin’ me like this and you gon’ be a mama in nine months,” Jey choked out, his eyes rolling back as she kept grinding herself on him, squeezing her walls snugly around his cock. “Imma give you all the babies, fuck, you feel so good…”

He already put a ring on it. Babies were the next step, surely. The thought of conceiving his child on the night of their wildest sexcapade yet, aroused her to no end. “Hmm, then breed me, Daddy,” Zainab groaned. Threading her fingers through his hair, she gave him a kiss so passionate that he moaned into her mouth, he then forced her to do the same when he smacked her ass, the sharp sting zipping down to her loins. The bench was not comfortable, but they were so into it, and the ambience was so romantic and sexy, that neither of them cared. 

“Unnnhhh god, baby,” she whined with her lips parted over his own, tasting his heavy breaths, “Shit, you feel so good inside me.”

"I can see that, you creamin’ all over me,” Jey looked down at her gyrating hips with a smirk. Her creamy mess had visibly smeared his exposed gray-colored briefs. “You love this dick, don't you, baby?" he taunted, flicking his tongue over her lips.

“Yes Daddy.”

“I know you do. Fuck me, beautiful, bounce on this dick.” His moans had dissolved to primal growls now, mingling with the soft music and the wet, slapping sounds of their lovemaking. She pushed him down flat on his back, and the surprise on his handsome features evaporated when she began riding him harder, taking his dick deeper inside her with each drop down, with each salacious roll of her backside. Her moans mingled with his groans as he started to bounce her himself, his hands clutching the meat of her hips, moving her more vigorously up and down. His pouty lips were parted and gasping in stereo with hers as he made her fuck him, that big dick meeting the sweetest of her spots. 

“Shit, Daddy, that dick in me!” she groaned. The atmosphere was so incredibly hot, she buried her face in his neck, moaning her pleasure as she felt herself start to tingle and throb. "Oh, fuck, Jey, I'm gonna come,” she breathed heavily, her voice vanishing into thin air as she bounced harder and faster on his dick, hunting down that potent high. She nearly lost her balance as it seized her, a glorious cascade of orgasm, her thighs quivering and skin humming as the explosion eviscerated her senses.

She felt him sit back upright and rise to his feet with her still in his arms, his mouth moving against hers with more purpose than usual. It wasn’t until she felt something cool and hard pressing against her bare back that she finally broke the kiss out of curiosity. Looking behind her, her heart stopped cold inside her chest.

Jey had pressed her directly against the clear glass wall of the capsule, with nothing below her but the twinkling lights of London. Zainab screamed and squirmed against his body, her head spinning with both fear and the remnants of her orgasm as she struggled to get away from the glass.

"Jesus! Fuck, Jey, what…" 

"Hey, hey, shhh," he whispered, keeping a careful hold around her trembling frame. His lips swept tenderly over her jawline as he tried to keep her calm. She was shaking, her arms and legs gripping him with the strength of a boa constrictor. "Breathe for me, Zainab. Look at me. Look at me."

She twisted her face away from the view, her pretty eyes wide and frightened. 

“I-I-I…”

“Calm down for me baby. Relax.” His mouth brushed along her throat, doing his part to quell her nerves. Her squirms subsided, but only a little. He could tell she still wanted to get away, but he kept her body firmly secured between himself and the glass. “Do you trust me?”

Right now, on the cusp of grave danger, she wasn’t so sure she did. “Yeah,” she finally ground out.

“Then you know I’ll never let anything happen to you. I gotchu.”

His kiss was gentle but insistent and full of reassurance. She felt his hand sneak along her hip, then the sharp tug of her panties pressing into her skin, and a tearing sound and the flimsy material falling away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him tuck the ruined undergarment into his back pocket. Keeping his body flush against hers, he molded her bare ass cheeks in his hands, grinding against her for a few seconds before sliding his dick back home. She clenched around his girth immediately, greedily, and Jey groaned softly as he worked himself into her with slow, winding circles that touched every single sweet spot her pussy possessed. He was a tight fit, always was. It felt so good that she couldn’t stop the moans that spilled from her lips.

“You like that, huh? Daddy’s gotchu,” he said, repeating the action again and again. He stared with wonder in his eyes at his love, the most wonderful woman in the world. “You so beautiful, baby. I love you so much.” Placing another gentle, calming kiss on her lips, he increased his pace. Zainab did what she could to block out the very real threat of the deathly drop behind her and focus on her fiancé now pounding into her. The sound of his body meeting hers was almost deafening in the exposed enclosure.

“Damn, Z, you soppin’ wet. I knew you’d like this shit. Love this pussy so much.” His expression was one of lust-filled triumph as he studied her face, the parting of her lips panting for him, goading him to angle his hips and fuck her harder and deeper, bottoming her out. “This turnin’ you on, huh, your ass and titties out, all of London watching you take my big dick…”

With another whimpering moan, her head rocked back against the glass as she felt her climax creep closer again. Her eyes fluttered shut as her nerves settled and more erogenous sensations took over. Her legs tensed around his waist as she rotated her hips in rhythm with his thrusts, each one pressing her ass deeper against the glass, making her wetter and wetter and bringing her closer to succumbing to that euphoric feeling that only her man, now her betrothed, could give her. Her breath was stolen from her as his dick continued to toy with her g-spot, his grunts and gasps warming her neck, her pussy walls quivering and rippling around his girth in reaction. “Fuck, Jey, right there…Mmm fuck, you ‘boutta make me come again!”

Holding his girl in place with his big strong hands, Jey intensified his strokes, his gruff voice grunting with the effort. "You fuckin’ right, baby, gimme that nut,” he mumbled, himself starting to unravel from the near-crippling pleasure. “Give it to me cuz it’s mine. Drain your pussy all over my dick."

Zainab hugged him even tighter, her nails digging through his shirt and into his back as her moans devolved to whimpers, and the faster he thrust into her, the further their bodies seemed to plunge from the same dizzying heights as the capsule they were in. She cried out as her release tore her apart, her walls suffocating his cock. Jey was right behind her, his guttural groan at the pulse of her throat, his dick lodged in the back of her pussy as he came just as hard for her. Desperately, she clenched around him, taking it all, milking him for everything he had as the world seemingly collapsed around them.

Seconds later, the A.I. woman’s voice popped up again to announce that the ride was descending in ten minutes. Jey leaned in for a breathless kiss as he pulled out of her and finally edged her away from the glass. She clung to him as he carried her back to the bench. He pulled wet wipes seemingly out of nowhere and cleaned her up, sharing more kisses with her while helping each other redress. 

“You good?” he asked, smoothing her hair back into place and drawing her legs onto his lap.

Zainab nodded, biting her lip as the last of her climax rippled between her squeezed thighs. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“You loved it though,” he said, his deep voice seductively low as he stroked her thigh. “Don’t lie to Daddy now. I could tell you loved every second, you got so wet for me, babe...”

There was so much amusement and cockiness and love in his eyes. All for her. “You always make me wet, Daddy,” she admitted, glancing back at the sheet of glass she’d been trapped against just moments ago. She had to give him his props for his highly unique sense of adventure. “You think we’ll still be this lit after we’re married?” she questioned.

“Ay, as long as we work on it, together, like we been doin’, and we don’t let none of that outside noise creep in…we’ll be good. That’s what I want for us, Z.”

She liked that answer a lot. It was what she wanted, too. “I made you a promise earlier that if I enjoyed myself, you can eat me when we get back. My offer still stands,” she noted, batting her long lashes at him.

Jey smiled like the cat who got the cream. Literally. Picking out a truffle from the box, he popped it into his mouth and licked up the morsel that stained his finger.

“Mmm. I bet this goes great with pussy,” he commented with a sly smirk.

Fuck. Zainab’s throat went dry and her body instantly flooded with heat, despite having been thoroughly fucked just minutes ago. “You might be right,” she uttered back.

The capsule finally came to a safe stop on the ground, bringing the ride to an end. Jey and Zainab settled for a few more chocolatey smooches as the pod's doors opened. Expecting to be confronted about their antics by someone in authority, they were relieved when no one approached. The newly-engaged couple walked out hand in hand with big dreamy smiles on their faces, eager to retreat to their far more private hotel suite to continue their raunchy celebrations.

They took the box of chocolates with them…for research purposes, of course.

THE END

---------------

I really enjoy writing soft Jey.

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[mintedwitcher]

So I was going to reblog further on that "Scott believed Theo over Stiles" post from yesterday, only by the time I'd finished writing my addition I realised 2 things:

I was writing from a reactive standpoint. I felt a negative way about the previous reply and I let it impact how I responded, and

I ended up talking myself out of the stance that I'd started with.

So in that vein, I'm going to rewrite it here as it's own post, with the encouragement from @prettyshon10 (the OP of the previous post).

Sorry for the long intro but I wanted to be transparent about where I'm coming from here. I'll put the rest under a cut because this is going to be long.

(Edit: it got Very Long, sorry.)

The key thing to note first of all is that I wasn't giving Stiles a "free pass". I acknowledge and agree that both he and Scott mishandled the situation. However, because of the power imbalance inherent in their dynamic, with Scott being an alpha werewolf and Stiles being his Second, I do believe that there is more weight on Scott's shoulders here than on Stiles's.

The timing of the discussion alone is a misstep on Scott's part. He initiated the conversation in the rain, while they were already short on time, trying to save a girl who was dying. Stopping to have any kind of heavy conversation at that point in time wasn't going to end well, because there are simply too many details that have to be hammered out. There is too much to say, and not nearly enough time to say it all. Especially with the emotional weight of the situation on both parts.

I also say that Scott bears more weight in the moment because he is the leader of their group. Stiles might have plenty of influence with Scott, but Scott is still the leader, and so it falls to him more than anyone else to sort out conflicts within the group. That's not to say that Stiles shouldn't have come forward about it - in fact I think that Stiles should've gone to Scott first about it - but that Scott has a responsibility to their entire pack to make sure that everyone is as comfortable as possible. That is the role he's taken on among them, and in confronting Stiles the way he did, he failed in that role. (Stiles' failing is not trusting Scott to have his back if he'd told him the truth, and I desperately wish that the canon had gone deeper into the reasons why he didn't trust Scott with this. I've seen fanon interpretations that the trauma from the nogitsune could be influencing Stiles' distance, but again, that's never really discussed in canon so... it's an interesting theory, but it's another place where the show's writing fell short.)

In my initial response, I said that Scott has a "killing = bad" mentality, and I do stand by that, because from canon observation, his morality is fickle at best. He allows - and even encourages - murder when it suits him (killing Peter to "cure" himself, killing Gerard to be with Allison, killing Jennifer to save his mother) but condemns it when it doesn't (letting Jennifer go after her ritual failed, locking Peter in Eichen after Mexico, letting Deucalion and Gerard live). There are even points where his fluctuating morality doesn't make sense, such as when he refused to kill assassins who were actively targeting people he knew and loved. He persists that killing is wrong, and that murdering a Bad Guy makes you Just Like Them. But he overlooks it entirely when it suits him, when it can be justified as something that the Good Guys did. (Most notably here can be the way he overlooks Allison hunting and nearly killing Erica, Boyd and Isaac; not because their deaths would benefit him but because going against Allison would damage his relationship with her.)

It's actually a very interesting contradiction, and if Scott was an adult in the series it would be on a whole different level, but unfortunately, he's a child. Which means that his contradictions aren't exactly novel and groundbreaking, they're just... teenage conflicts. He's doing the best he can with the limited information he has, and the limited experience he has as well, and that leads to some very black-and-white thinking.

His worldview is black-and-white not as a character flaw but as a result of his age and the life he's led so far. He's still a child for the majority of the show, and so his worldview is limited by what he knows. He knows that murder is illegal and that killing people is not a good solution all the time, and that people who kill anyway are bad, ergo, killing = bad. Until he needs someone dead for whatever reason, which he can then justify to himself as "But I'm a Good Guy, and this person is a Bad Guy, and I'm going to save a lot of people from them if I kill the Bad Guy, so my actions aren't Bad because I have Good Intentions." Which is a very black-and-white thing to do. (I'm not saying this is a fault or a failing of his character, it's just an observation. This mentality also isn't specific to murder but also to many other 'immoral' actions.)

Stiles, similarly, has a black-and-white worldview for the same reasons; age and life experience. Where the two differ, however, is that Stiles has experienced more trauma than Scott has at this point of his life. So his priorities are skewed in a different lens than Scott's are. Scott is very much "Save Everyone, no matter what," whereas Stiles is more "Some people can't be saved, protect your own." Which are both very fair views to have.

Stiles watched his mother mentally decline for months(?) before she died. He was in the room with her when she died. And if the very vague timelines can be believed, he would've been around 6-8 years old at the time. There was nothing that he could do to save his mother, and there was nothing he could do to save his father from his grief after her death. I do really wish we had more lore about the Stilinski family during that grieving period, because that would likely inform the way that Stiles behaves now, too.

But what we do see from Stiles is that he is suspicious. He has one friend and he likes it that way. He distrusts anyone who gets a little Too close, especially too close to Scott. (This to me reads like a protective behaviour rather than the fanon-preferred possessive; Scott grew up with severe asthma, and Stiles likely would've been the one helping Scott deal with that throughout their childhoods.) But he's not suspicious to the point of paranoia. His suspicion is always firmly rooted in reality. He notices Matt's weird behaviour in season 2, in fact he's the only one to see Matt as a potential threat. He notices - though doesn't actually put the pieces together right away - that the kanima was familiar to him the first time he saw it. He's the one who goes through the process of actually investigating and documenting the weird shit that keeps happening to them. His pattern recognition skills are unmatched, though severely underutilised in canon.

What I'm trying to get at is that Stiles is the realist in the Scott+Stiles dynamic duo. Scott is the Optimist. Scott is the one who always wants to find the peaceful solution, who wants everyone to walk away happy and satisfied - or at the very least, alive - at the end of the day. Stiles is the one who recognises that sometimes that's just not an option. Sometimes there are going to be people you can't talk down, threats you can't just peacefully walk away from.

Their dynamic should - and normally does - function perfectly. But there are times that it doesn't, because Scott has a bad habit of ignoring or dismissing Stiles' concerns.

Which brings us (at last) back to the actual point.

Stiles had said from day one that he doesn't trust Theo. That there's something off about him. That he's not the kid they knew growing up. Scott humours it at first, but ultimately decides to make his own judgements about Theo (which is a fair choice). This, however, plants the seeds for the discord that Theo is about to sow within the pack.

(There are other instances of Scott dismissing Stiles' theories but if I get into that I'll be here for hours.)

Theo has spent all this time trying to ingratiate himself into the pack, to get into Scott's good books, and at every turn, he's met with Stiles barricading him. He's got Stiles' alarms ringing, and Stiles isn't going to drop it. So what does he do? First, he shows empathy to Stiles, by saying that he knows about Donovan - and dropping that in the middle of an already emotionally heightened moment so to deliberately keep Stiles off-balance - and then using that to plead Stiles's silence about Josh. Stiles, in response, backs off of Theo. Not entirely, but he keeps his distance, because now Theo has incriminating information about him and Stiles doesn't want Scott to know about it. Once Theo has some breathing room, he escalates. It's now not just about getting in with Scott, it's about getting rid of his overprotective packmates. So he tells Scott an edited version of the story. He lies through his teeth and Scott, the bleeding-heart that he is, laps it up. He's horrified by Stiles' involvement of course but he feels for Theo. Which is exactly what Theo wants, and exactly what Stiles wanted to avoid.

The crux of it all is the confrontation. Scott and Stiles are having two completely different conversations, and due to the timing of the moment, they can't go into further detail to untangle the miscommunication between them. So it keeps getting worse.

From Scott's point of view, he's trying to understand what would make his best friend snap so violently. He's trying to understand, to be there for his friend. He wants to help. Why can't Stiles see that he's only trying to help?

From Stiles' point of view, he's being punished. He's being pushed out and away, he's being lectured at for trying to defend himself, why won't Scott just see that he was only defending himself?

Neither of them know what the other is really saying. They both Think that the version of events in their head matches the reality, and they both walk away from that moment feeling like they've failed.

The problem - and where my own stance on the discourse is really rooted - is that the way the scene is presented, makes it look like Scott is choosing Theo over Stiles. It looks like Scott is turning his back on his lifelong friend. I'll have to rewatch the actual episode to get a better analysis of the specific placement of that scene, but that was the impression that I walked away with the first (and almost every) time I watched that episode.

To sum up: I don't think that Scott "believed" Theo over Stiles, but to the characters, it would feel that way. The problem is that fandom tends to project themselves onto the character they like more. I've seen people insisting that Scott underreacted to the situation in equal measure to the people insisting that Scott overreacted.

I think it's kind of fascinating how our personal preferences interfere with the way we interpret media.

[jasntodds]

Penance [1]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 7,340

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, mentions of death, mentions of injuries, a little blood, a little bit of violence

Summary: ❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don’t care.❞

It’s been a month and a half since Crane’s reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that’s not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you’ll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right?

Right?

A/N: It's finally the last book!! I'm honestly so excited lol You don't have to read the previous books to read this one but if you want context, feel free to ask!! You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary  and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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Everything is different. Somehow, everything has changed so much over the last month and a half everything that happened before almost feels like some sort of sick fever dream. It's all very real and all of it happened but everything is different today. At least, to Jason it feels different.

Gotham itself is pretty much the same. Bruce has been back and doing his whole Batman thing. The only difference is he doesn't have a Robin now but his methods remain the same, it's the same routine for him, same big bads. It's the same for him. The businesses that were boarded up during Crane's reign are up and running, everything looking to be the same just as it was before. The air around the city is still smoggy and the rain is still cold and wet. The streets sound the same just as they always did and the gargoyle keeps Jason company just as it did before. So much is the same but he feels like everything is different.

Instead of him and Bruce butting heads over him being Robin, they're butting heads over his methods. Bruce has no issue with Red Hood but he does have a problem with the killing part of it. And Jason won't budge. He swears he's not bitter about what happened but he is firm in his belief that change needs to happen. It stops with him and Bruce can either fight him or get on board. They are trying to come to some sort of agreement which is significantly better than how it would have went before. Bruce keeps the Robin suit in the case. He won't tell Jason why.

Their relationship is different now. Jason thinks it might be for the better.

He hopes it's for the better.

His living situation is different than it was before. He has his own place, the main safe house he used while Crane ran the city. It's not anything too special yet and Jason doesn't have too many things that are his but it's coming along. And that is his. It almost feels like it did when he was on the streets but this time, it is his choice. It is his choice to be alone here. And he owns it. No one can come and kick him out, no one can come and arrest him for trespassing and breaking and entering, it is his. It might feel lonely sometimes after living with Bruce and the Titans for so long but it is his and it brings him some sort of pride in a way.

He works with Barbara mostly now. Whenever something a bit more dicey pops up or Bruce is busy, she calls Jason. It's his literal job now and he would be lying if he said he didn't like it. Him and Babs get along better now. Actually, him and the Titans get along better now. There's still plenty of work to be done but his relationship with them has been on the mend, something he is eternally grateful for. He still owes them.

Then there's you.

Things are different with you.

"I will be back as soon as the threat is taken care of." Bruce states as he grabs a few things from the Batcave. "Are you sure you can handle this?" Bruce asks, not because of his lack of confidence in Jason's abilities but rather his general mental health.

"I got it, man." Jason brushes him off. "Nothing I haven't done before. You've gone with the Justice League plenty of times." Jason holds back his snippy attitude, trying his best to level with Bruce and not let his anger get the best of him.

"Before you were..." Bruce trails off in a way that makes Jason shift his weight off his bad leg. "Robin." He nods once, sternly and hard. "That was before."

"I'm fine." Jason nearly whines, desperate to not get into that. They don't talk about it. "I got it." He gestures his arms out casually.

"Okay." Bruce states with a sigh. "Do not blow anything or anyone up again." Bruce warns.

The touch of a smirk pulls at his lips. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

There may have been an explosion near Harbor last week with some gun runners inside. Jason may or may not have been in the area patrolling. And that group may or may not have been the group Jason had been tracking over the last few days. Jason does think the explosion really helped though. They got all the guns and all the people involved in one sweep. Seemed efficient.

"I know it was you." Bruce states easily.

"Nope." Jason shakes his head but the grin is tugging at his lips, knowing damn well he's guilty.

Bruce lets out a sigh, not bothering to argue with him over it. "Just...keep it down, Jason." Bruce states and he's gone out of town a hundred times but something about this being the first time since Jason died and has been brought back almost makes him nervous.

Jason can handle himself. He's been doing it. This is only his second time in the Batcave over the last month and a half and only his third time back at the manor. He's doing well on his own, all things considered, but he is Bruce's son and Bruce does worry even if he doesn't show it.

"It'll be fine, just go. I got it all handled. Pick up your job you're working, almost got the one from Babs and..." Jason pauses feeling his mouth run dry. "Molly said y/n's got a few she's working."

Bruce eyes him, knowing very little but knowing enough about the situation between the two of you. "You should call her." Bruce tries to say it casually.

"No." Jason states simply. "And you're not allowed to give me advice here. The one that got away? Seriously, man?" Jason lets out a scoff.

Of all people, Jason does not want relationship advice from Bruce. Bruce had a solid chance with Selina and apparently, he's still hung up on her and is doing nothing about it. He could have had something great with Talia, too but that didn't end well. Jason is not looking to take advice from Bruce and he's thinking he shouldn't be taking much relationship advice from anyone he knows. No one seems to be getting that department together anytime soon. The way he sees it, this is fine.

It's fine.

"How did Tim know that?" Bruce questions Jason plainly.

"He stalks us." Jason nearly chortles.

"Well, that is all my advice. Call her, Jason." Bruce nods once at him.

"I'm good." Jason shakes his head. "Now go before Clark shows up and drags you back with him."

Bruce lets out a sigh, making his way through the living room. Bruce offered to let him stay at the manor which Jason declined. He's on his own. He can't come back here. If he's even being honest, he's only thinking Bruce called him to "look out over his jurisdictions" just to check up on him, make sure he feels useful as if Jason doesn't have his own work he's doing. Somewhere in his chest he wants to be mad and fight back over it, swear it's because Bruce doesn't think he can handle it so he's setting him up to prove a point to get him back. But Jason bites it all back, deciding to tell his mind to shut up for fucking once and let this just play out.

He sees Leslie once a week and that helps. He thinks he'll just tell her about it.

Jason finds himself back at the place he's calling home, enabling the alarms once he's safe inside. It's messy and somewhere in the back of his head, he can hear the echo of your voice telling him he should clean because he's not busy now. And he looks at the stuff on the floor, almost willing himself to listen, and then he heads upstairs anyway.

If Jason Todd is good at anything, it's being alone. He's been alone almost his whole life. Even when his dad was around, he was drunk or mean...so he was alone. Even when his mom was alive, she was usually high. She wasn't really with him very much. He adapted to what it's like to be alone. To fend for himself always and somewhere deep in his broken heart, he wishes it weren't this way but he's good at it. He has always pushed until he was alone. He is a natural disaster ripping through the hearts of people who love him so maybe being alone has always been better for him. At least the only thing left to destroy is himself.

Even if being lonely is some of the worst kind of hurt. But this is his penance.

One day, he swears, it won't be like this. That's the point of talking to Leslie and getting along with Bruce and being himself today. One day it won't be like this. A day will come when he won't have to punish himself for all the hurt he's caused. He won't have to punish himself for all the scars he bears at the hands of others and himself. One day he won't have to punish himself for the person he could have been. It just has to be like this today. So, Jason goes up to his room where he keeps his training equipment and monitors and he starts to work on the cipher until it's time for patrol.

The city is warm tonight. Cars are crowding the streets while people walk home from their Saturday night out and a smile pulls at your lips from under your mask as you watch the people below you. Patrol has just started and you're mostly waiting and listening, knowing something is going to happen because it always does on Saturday nights. But, you'd be lying if you said you don't like the view from where you are. Something about Gotham always being pretty at night.

The smog isn't visible, it doesn't look dreary as it usually does during the day. It's just street lights and busy people walking about. A part of you can't believe just a few months ago you were terrified of heights and now you actually enjoy the view.

Things have changed a lot since then.

You live with Molly now, probably how it always should have been. You share a small apartment, this one has better locks on the doors and windows. And every night you teach Molly some self-defense, just in case. If you've learned one thing, it's that you cannot save everyone but you can help them. At least if Molly is somewhat prepared, she has a chance though you could tell by how she moved and certain things she already knew that Jason had taught her a few things before San Francisco. Living with her is nice though. She understands you and there is no judgment. You aren't alone.

Gar and Tim talk to you every single day, updating you with whatever is going on. At first, it was fun stuff on the road trip like sightseeing and museums and bowling. Now, it's the hell Metropolis is currently under. You've never been so happy you stayed behind. You do not want to fight a demon. You'll never admit it, but you wouldn't stand a single chance against Rachel let alone Mother Mayhem and Brother Blood. Though, you are disappointed you missed the whole zombie situation. You're just glad the boys keep you up to date with everything and you talk to Dick and Kory all the time, too. That doesn't feel too different. It feels almost like it did when you first came back to Gotham and you like it this way.

And then there's Jason.

Things are different with Jason.

"Robbery in progress in the East End, convenience store." Molly says through the comms.

"Got it, send the address." You grin wildly behind your mask before you use your grappling hook to lower yourself down the backside of the building.

Molly helping out has been new. You aren't too happy about that part but...Molly was insistent and to tell her no would make you a hypocrite. Molly stays back and is youe eyes in the skies kind of deal which has been very helpful when it comes to patrol. At least that's nice.

You take the bike and head to the address Molly sent you. Patrolling is different now, too. You've always patrolled with Bruce or Jason or the Titans. Even when Jason died, you weren't patrolling. You had set targets and that's who you went out to grab. This is patrol. This is different. You're alone with Molly in your ear. You thought maybe you wouldn't like it, Iike maybe you'd actually be really bad at it being alone. But, if you were being honest, you're really enjoying it this way. You're good at it. And it's fun and you don't have to worry about anyone else. It's just you. Your life. That's it. And you like the thrill a little bit.

Jason shoves the last of four men to the ground, his hands zip-tied behind his back and the man lets out a groan. He glares up at Jason with blood streaming down his nose, his friends all a bit battered but have learned to keep quiet. This one is annoying.

"You broke my fucking nose!" He screams up at Jason.

Jason never quite understood why people committing crimes who get caught, like in this instance for example, are confused by their injuries. They showed up to rob a local small business and expected to get away with it. They're here to possibly ruin something that someone has earned and worked very hard for just because they can. A broken nose seems to be a pretty good deal.

He's not even a stranger to robbery but these guys walked in there armed and prepared to shoot anyone who wanted to get in the way. Jason was also a teenager and desperate. These four men don't seem to be in the same boat and the way Jason sees it, there was no reason to hold a gun to someone's face for a hundred dollars in a cash register. These are not master criminals.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood or your nose would be the last of your worries." Jason says casually through the modulator.

"Good mood?!" The man yells back as if he's the real victim in this situation.

"Yeah, good mood." Jason echoes back about to make another smart comment until he hears the sound of a motorcycle pulling up.

Jason turns around just in time to see it stop and he'd recognize the bike anywhere because it's the same one as his. He'd recognize the blue and black suit anywhere because it's yours.

You pop the helmet off and Jason swears his very heart just burst into flames into his chest and it might just burn through his ribcage. The corner of his lips starts to tug into a shielded smile at the sight of you and his only thought is that he misses you. He asks about you to your friends, not too often but...often enough for them to know. All of them say the same things, you're doing okay but they're worried. You're working with Barbara, too, running different jobs for the PD and you check in on Tim's parents every single day.

Molly always says the least about you.

Every single bone in his body feels hollowed seeing you. But when you lock eyes with him and you don't look happy, the guilt comes back baring its teeth and digging them right into his jugular.

It has been a month and a half and he is trying his best. It hasn't been easy and some days he doesn't try but generally, he's trying. It's hard whenever every breath he takes is haunted by the day he took his last. It's hard trying to figure out his footing. Jason Todd is Red Hood. He knows that. He is Red Hood. Red Hood protects innocent people and uses any means necessary to make sure they stay safe. But he is not a hero. He is doing what must be done and that is all. Jason Todd is Red Hood but outside of that, he doesn't know yet. Instead, he wraps himself in a straightjacket of guilt and remorse and agony and hopes that'll be enough to repay his debts to misery and happiness.

You eye him and it's like you're being exposed to the entire city in an instant. It's as if your suit and mask have been ripped from your body and every scar and insecurity and vulnerability is being displayed in some sort of sick museum as you see him. You have separate sections of the city. You, him, and Bruce. This is Bruce's section but he's out of town with the Justice League. It would have been Jason's to pick up but you didn't even question it when Molly mentioned it.

You wish you would have questioned it.

It is almost a relief he wears a full-face helmet because you aren't entirely sure what you would do if you saw his face, saw his expression. Would he be happy to see you? Disappointed? Mad? Would there be anything left at all or would he just look at you like he would any other vigilante showing up a little too late to help? You aren't sure which of those would be easier to swallow.

Something builds in the space between you, something hard and damaged, sucking the air out from between you. It snarls back at you both almost daring you to go ahead and try to move. Try to make the space less and see just how badly the teeth of grief will hurt this time. Go ahead and tempt death for old time's sake and guilt. Go ahead and try to mend this and pretend it's some sort of coincidence, as if fate has any hand in this. It bites and gnaws at you both as water brims in your eyes, every emotion bubbling over to the surface and grief screams out to you both.

Go ahead and try again, see just how badly this will all end again. It will only end in bloody hands and shredded agony. Guilt laughs in your faces, a devious crackle as if you are not worth the other. The both of you do not deserve forgiveness for the torture you've caused the other. Walk away. You both can hear it over and over again, guilt and grief and resentment and loneliness, walk away.

So, you do.

You pop the helmet back on your head just as Jason turns back to the robbers.

"Where are you going?" Molly asks through the comms as she watches the tracker on her screen start moving.

"You can see him here." You seethe. "I know you can see him, too."

Molly has all of your locations. She shares them with Bruce. It was part of an agreement with her doing this eyes in the skies thing and you being able to keep patrolling. It's how you all keep your sections of the city. Molly knows Jason is here.

"He wasn't when I sent you, I swear." Molly defends softly. It's not a lie, she just didn't mention when Jason happened to be moving towards the robbery. "He showed up but you were already on your way—"

"So you didn't tell me?!" You yell. "Seriously?"

Somewhere in the last month and a half, grief has metastasized into something resembling resentment. It's not him. You know that. But, seeing him just now brings back too many feelings you've yet to deal with properly, you're trying but you haven't gotten that far yet.

Grief bubbles back and transforms into something like resentment because you should be together. You should fucking happy and you aren't. You are, generally, but there is this void echoing in your chest. A burning pain right on your heart where his name was stitched. It sucks to be blind-sided into seeing him even if the resentment is towards yourself. You just would have liked some fucking warning about it.

You need to be prepared if you're going to see him and you aren't entirely sure you're ready. There's still a lot of shame even if missing him makes you feel like Atlas. Half the damn time it takes everything in you not to call him. Something will happen and he is still the first person you want to tell. But, you're not talking. Instead, you get updates about him through Molly and Gar and Tim. All of them have said he seems okay while sounding worried about him. It's hard not to worry about him. He's Jason. You think that's your only relief, knowing he's at least doing okay.

You just wish you had it in yourself to check in but he said space and you said space. You agreed and guilt and shame suck the very air out of your lungs to the point where you think this is your way of punishing yourself for everything you've done to him. Forcing yourself to not contact him first and check-in. You're punishing yourself but keeping to what you know and staying away from him. Maybe it was him who was always better off.

Molly sighs. "You have to talk to him eventually." Molly rolls her eyes on the other end and decides to drop it. She can hear the engine of the bike roaring louder than usual. This conversation is not one to have at the moment. "Mugging two blocks from you, take a right."

She is thankful the two of you have not put her in the middle. The most that happens is you both asking about each other. Other than that, you don't ask. You don't mention each other. It's as if you only know of each other through your mutual friends. Molly thinks that might actually be worse sometimes.

Jason gets back to his safe house and strips from the Red Hood gear. He heads right for the shower. Seeing you tonight, it feels like a lot. He never tried to kill you but somehow, you're the person he betrayed the most and dealing with that has been a lot harder than most of the rest of it. Your dedication and loyalty to him he thinks has made it so hard. To have someone so loyal and love him the way you did, sends his head fuzzy with regret knowing the pain he caused you.

At first, Jason thought it'd be a week or two. You'd both cave and talk again and then one thing would lead to another. Maybe it wouldn't be the healthiest way to deal with your shit, but you'd be together and you'd figure it out. But then a week or two turned into three and then four and then six. The more time that passes, the harder it gets to pick up the phone. Maybe that's why he asks Gar and Tim and Molly about you. They all say you're good but they're worried about you. They're always worried about you. But at least you've been good and Jason is grateful for that. He just wishes he had it in himself to suck it up and just call you. But, he doesn't so he showers away the thoughts of you and drowns himself in his guilt and regret.

By the time he's out of the shower, his phone is ringing and he's drying his hair with a towel, the white streak staring back at him in the mirror and he's still mad Dick didn't get the same thing he did.

"Yeah?" Jason answers the phone.

"I need your help." Dick states on the other end.

Jason pulls the phone from his head, looking at the caller ID before he puts the phone back to his ear. "With?"

"Training Tim." Dick states.

Jason almost laughs at the very statement. It's not that Dick is asking for help in the training department, he has before. That's fine. It's that Tim is supposed to be Robin out there and Jason knows they are actively fighting demons and zombies. Tim should absolutely be getting trained in between all of that.

"You haven't trained him yet?" Jason scoffs in surprise before he walks out of the en suite and into his bedroom.

"We've been busy." Dick scoffs back knowing damn well Jason knows what's been happening. Dick has mentioned it and Gar gives Dick updates about Jason meaning Gar talks to him plenty. "Between everything that's been going on since we got to Metropolis, we haven't had time."

Jason chuckles softly on the other end. "Yeah, uh, Gar was telling about me about the zombie shit. Fucking Deathstroke? Glad I wasn't there." Jason laughs softly and he can't see it but there might even be a faint smile on Dick's lips. He sounds good.

"Yeah," Dick huffs, running a hand through his hair. "You gonna be able to help?" Dick asks.

"Yeah, I owe you anyway." Jason agrees. "Not gonna go easy on him though. I'm gonna make sure he's ready when he comes back."

It doesn't take Jason long to have his decision. There's something...weird with someone replacing him in a way, as Robin. But, if someone is going to be Robin, they have to be prepared, more prepared than he was. Jason doesn't want someone else to end up like him and he knows Tim, kind of. He owes Dick for everything Jason has put him through and Jason did always like helping with the training. It's not a difficult decision.

"Good, that's what I expect." Dick nearly chuckles. "If he's going to be Robin, he needs a good teacher."

"Wouldn't go that far, man." Jason shakes his head, still getting used to Dick being nice.

"You trained y/n and look at what she can do. That is mostly on you. Do the same for Tim. I'll have him in Gotham tomorrow."

"You just gonna send him to me?" Jason's brows pull together as he puts a hand on his hip.

"No, I'm going to send him on a mission that is all just a ruse to get him there. You'll find him and go from there. Don't tell him." Dick explains simply as if Jason should have known Dick would have a...ruse?

"So, you're gonna send him here on a fake mission with no training as Robin?" Jason lets out a laugh. That's ridiculous and somehow Jason finds himself not entirely surprised. "Why not just fucking tell him, man?"

"I want to instill confidence in him." Dick states, almost defensively. He's trying his best and he also knows that Tim is very confident and maybe he needs to see he needs the help. "Should have done it with you guys. Not making the mistake again."

Jason clears his through. "Yeah, okay, deserved that." Jason shakes his head. "Alright, just let me know when he's on his way and where I need to be. I'll get him ready to actually be Robin."

"Thanks, Jason." Dick's voice is sincere.

"Yeah, don't mention it." Jason lets out a sigh before he hangs up.

He plops onto his bed, his eyes falling onto the helmet resting on the dresser on the opposite side of the room. Right after leaving the manor from talking to Bruce, this is not where he saw Red Hood being. Being a vigilante is now something Jason feels like he has to do, he likes it but he is trained to do it. He's trained to help people and if no one else is going to help them, Jason might as well. It's taken a little getting used to, rebranding Red Hood in a way. Red Hood is not a murderer. He kills really horrible people for the greater good. He targets people like Black Mask and Penguin by working his own circle to steal their business. He sabotages their work and steals their shipments. That part is always a bit fun. Red Hood patrols Crime Alley. He helps them. He is not a murderer.

He's still getting used to it but it's better than it was. Even if the blood on his hands burns from time to time.

This is kind of nice though, the ability to train Tim. He does miss that part a bit, training with someone. Training alone only does so much sometimes. Jason liked helping train the other younger Titans. It made him feel important and now he gets to train Tim. He'll never tell Dick, but it means a lot for him to ask for help here even if it's just because the Titans have been busy.

This is the last one for the night. You've been tracking this group of people who work for a pretty bad pimp in the city. You've gotten a couple of the women to turn and Barbara has put them into protective custody, immunity from any and all charges. It's not them they want anyway. It's the pimp and his right hand but when women stopped showing up, he got wind and went into hiding. So, did most of his men and women. Until tonight when Molly grabbed one of them on a camera in Gotham Heights. You wasted no time in trailing him.

The second this guy sees you, he takes off like a bat out of hell and the only thing you can do is roll your eyes and go after him. They always run. It's like they really think running is going to work for them. Between the cardio and the grappling hook and the bike, why do they think they'll actually get away? They always run.

The guy thinks he's smarter and quicker. Well, maybe he's quicker but he is not smarter. Molly is tracking him through every traffic camera he hits while you stay a good distance behind him until the opportunity comes for you to get onto a rooftop and continue the chase that way. He's heading somwhere, it won't be toward his boss. There's no way he's that stupid but he is heading into the perfect spot for you to grab him.

You turn off and then jump a few more buildings before ducking down into an alley. You walk to the very end and then wait a few seconds for the running footsteps to come closer. You grab a knife from your belt and then just as he goes to run past, you grab him, spinning him and pinning him against the alley wall.

You hold the knife to his neck and press it into his skin, not enough to cause serious damage, just enough to let him bleed. Blood gets people talking quicker and you're tired and hungry.

"Where is he?" You demand.

The man gulps and the blade presses into his neck further, his breathing heavy and shallow. "I don't know who you're—"

"Your boss. Yes, you do. You're all in hiding but you came out and for what? Where he is?" You question again, not in the mood to even let him think for a second he's smarter than you.

He looks at you with terror. Somehow, he wishes it were The Bat that grabbed him and yet he finds himself thankful it's not The Red Hood. The Bat won't kill him but Red Hood would make sure his death was painful if he really wanted to. You're not one to be messed with either. But his boss? That's just signing his death certificate.

You pull the knife away, kneeing him in the stomach before you land a punch to his face. You don't want to kill him. You read his record. Wrong crowd at sixteen. He was probably manipulated into this, too. He's a victim, too. But, he needs to give up his boss.

The man groans, sliding down the wall as he holds his jaw. "Fuck!"

"Tell me." You grit your teeth.

"He'll fucking kill me! I'd rather you just send me to Arkham or Blackgate! I'm not a fuckin' rat." The guy seethes but there's a quiver in his voice.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, I'm aware he'll kill you."

"What the fu—"

"So tell me and give me a reason to make sure he doesn't." You offer. "You think I'm here to kill you? If I wanted you dead, I'd kill you myself. Tell me and we'll protect you." The offer is genuine even if it comes out snippy.

"I don't believe a damn thing you say." The man gives you a weak scoff and diverts his eyes to the street.

"That's a you problem then. I'm trying to help you while you help me." You offer. "It's a real offer."

"Immunity then." The man fires back without even thinking.

You scoff. Does he not realize that the whole vigilante thing is still a crime? You can't promise that. "No. And I don't have the ability to promise that anyway. Work out with the DA. I can get you into protective custody though if you give him up."

Barbara has you working this case involving some sort of ring with sex workers. It's definitely more than just some guy calling the shots and dividing up money. Missing women, bodies turning up, drugs, it all seems to lead back to him. Your argument was that half the people working under this guy are victims, too. Some of those people are given the opportunity to flip and if they do, they're given protection. Barbara said the DA isn't too happy about it and some of the civilians will probably be pissed but you don't care. Not all of them have to go down with the ship.

"Look, he's going to find out you were with me and he's going to think you flipped or you're thinking about it. You're a dead man the second you walk out of this alley if you don't help me and we both know it."

The man lets out a sigh. "Crime Alley." He finally caves. "I don't know exactly where. I heard there are only a few women who know and then his right hand, that's it."

You nod accepting the response. It's way better than nothing. "Thank you."

"You're really gonna help?"

"Yeah, of course." You get to your feet.

"Why?"

You shrug. "You're not the big problem here." You answer casually. "My advice though, take whatever punishment is dealt to you and serve it and then get out. There's a program. The commissioner will give you information about it if they decide to try you."

"Thank you." The guy nods.

"Mhm." You hum, pulling out your own zip ties before you zip tie his hands together but before you get Molly to call Barbara, Molly comes in through the comms.

"Hey, I've got Dick on the other line, you wanna take it?" Molly asks.

"Yeah, actually, I'm done here. Let the commissioner know he flipped and I got info on him so he's good." You answer.

"Got it." Molly answers before she patches Dick in.

"I need your help with something." Dick starts without wasting a single second.

Your brows pull together. "Uh, hello to you, too?" You question as you get back to your feet. "The fuck do you need my help with? I do not want to go to Metropolis." You let out a chuckle before you look out onto the street and then back back into the alley.

"Superman?!" The guy on the ground yells.

"No, Nightwing." You scoff. "Shut up. You're done talking."

"Are you on a job right now?" Dick almost yells and at this point, he expects nothing less.

"Oh, yeah, just wrapping up." Your voice is almost cheery on the other end.

"Okay..." Dick holds the bridge of his nose, not even wanting to unpack that. "I need you to help train Tim."

You cackle on the other end. "Okay, hold on, let me wrap this up. This shit needs my attention." You laugh looking back to the guy. "Alright they'll be here in a few to arrest you but I gotta head out so...sorry about this." You pull your fist back, punching the guy and knocking him unconscious. "Anyway," You start before you shoot your grappling hook at the roof and start your jumping and walking to your bike. "You need me to do what now?"

"I need you to help train Tim to be Robin." Dick repeats.

"Is that not your job?" You quip back with a laugh.

Dick sighs, seeing as he is clearly going to have the same conversation twice. "We've been busy."

"Yeah, Gar and Tim said something about Zombie Deathstroke. Sounds fucking insane. Glad I'm not there." You laugh before jumping onto a neighboring rooftop. "Wait, okay hold on." You shake your head. "You're gonna send Tim here?"

"Yes. On a fake mission to build confidence." Since he's already had this conversation, Dick knows exactly what to cut out and include in his response to get this conversation over quickly.

"Uh-huh." You nod, getting the feeling there's a bit more to this than Dick is leading on. "Right, yeah, got it. Fair enough, I guess. And why are you asking me?" You ask knowing Jason is right there in Gotham City as well.

"You're good at this, you're the newest member besides Conner but well..."

"Superboy." You finish. "Unfair fight."

"Exactly. You also have your combat clairvoyance. Jason always said you were a good sparring partner because you fit." Dick's voice is casual and simple, you know there's something he is not telling you. He's nicer than he was before. The stick is no longer up his ass, but he's being too nice.

"Yeah, he did." You roll your shoulders before jumping to the next rooftop. "And uh, why are you not asking Jason?" You ask before it goes completely silent. And you know immediately. "Oh, you did." You state.

"I did." Dick answers simply.

Of course, Dick asked Jason first. You aren't offended or hurt by it. Asking Jason to train Tim is smart. But, not immediately telling you means one of two things. Either Jason said yes and Dick is setting you both up which makes you want to jump off this rooftop or Jason said no and Dick just wasn't going to tell you. Unfortunately, you're betting on the first option just because you know Jason wouldn't send Tim to the wolves.

"And he said yes, didn't he?" Your voice is a little snippy this time.

"He did." Dick keeps his voice level, unsure if you're going to start yelling or not.

"Okay so you're asking me to help Jason train Tim but Jason doesn't know you're asking me and you weren't going to tell me but because I asked you were obligated not to lie to me in fear I'd be pissed off enough to walk out and so would Jason?"

"When you put it that way." Dick states. "Look, I know it's complicated right now." Dick tries to reason with you.

"We're not fucking talking, Dick like..." You let out a breath. "He probably doesn't want to see me, ya know?" You nearly whine at the thought because you really believe it.

You hurt him.

"I know but this is for Tim." Dick urges.

You might be giving Dick a hard time but you both know you'll agree. Not only is Dick asking for a favor but it's also Tim. You would never not help Tim especially with everything that's happened. You owe Dick and Tim for everything. But, that doesn't make the situation any easier for you.

"Jason is gonna be pissed if he finds out, ya know?" You ask.

"Yeah." Dick answers. "Tim will get the best training from the both of you though."

"Yeah." You roll your eyes. "Fine. Yeah, I'll help and I won't tell Jason. Just when and where?"

"Tomorrow, I'll text you the rest." Dick answers. "Thank you."

"Mhm." You hum.

Dick feels bad for you and Jason. You've both been through a lot individually and together. It's two of the things that brought you together in the first place. You two always seemed to make each other happy and you actually seemed really good for each other. Dick knows first hand it's not easy and it is always complicated. It's always going to be painful trying to work out the romance department while being a vigilante. It's why it didn't work with him and Barbara. It's why it didn't work with him and Dawn. It's not easy. But, he feels bad for you both. It feels like you weren't given a chance.

"Talk to him." Dick states carefully.

You groan as you look to the sky. "You're not giving me a fucking choice are you, Dickolas?"

"You know what I mean." Dick says right back.

While you appreciate the sentiment, you are not taking dating advice from Dick Grayson. As far as you know, Dick's been in love with Kory for almost a year, at least and he has not said a single word to her about it. At least you told Jason. The way you see it, Dick should be taking dating advice from you.

"You tell Kory how you feel about her and I'll have a conversation with Jason." You offer in a higher-pitched voice, offering a bit of bite in your words.

"Okay no—"

"Yes." You quip back. "Don't give me advice if you're not going to take the same advice." You jump to the last rooftop. "She feels the same way anyway." You mutter softly.

"Alright, thank you." Dick cuts you off. "Talk to him. Tim won't know you're helping him."

"Gathered. Just let me know. I know to keep my mouth shut. I got it." You assure him.

"Thank you."

"You owe me." You laugh softly on the other end before ending the call.

After the run-in earlier tonight, you weren't sure when you'd want to see Jason again. At first, you thought about it all the time. Maybe you'd run into each other just as you did earlier and he'd make some quip about you being in his territory and you'd make fun of him for needing your help. Something would click and you'd be back to normal and it would feel good. The void in your chest will fill again and it would be normal. But that's not what happened because more time passed and you think about how maybe he's mad at you. He should be mad at you still. The more time that passed, the more you convinced yourself it was what you deserved. So, you keep your distance on purpose from him. Maybe that's your penance.

But now, you have to face him.

So, you head back to the apartment to mentally prepare. Jason Todd is still the Jason you always loved and you have to act like you're fine. You have to act like it is not eating you away inside to think about him. Everything has been going okay and you're finding yourself in this city. You think your feet are starting to land on solid ground for once. But, the thought of seeing Jason makes you feel like the earth is being pulled from under your feet. It's the one thing you have deliberately not dealt with. So, you know you have to act like it's all normal. If you're going to be able to do this with him, it has to feel normal. You have to feel normal otherwise it'll be sad and awkward and painful. Maybe he won't want your help anyway.

In no way did you expect your first time speaking to Jason again would be because Dick asked for help. But, it looks like that's exactly what's going to happen. And maybe your bones are starting to vibrate with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. You might feel guilty and you might be worried but you miss seeing him. You miss the way his voice sounds. You miss him more than words could ever describe.

Maybe you hope he misses you, too even if you don't deserve it.

Maybe as the night goes on and you get ready for bed and tell Molly about it, maybe you can't wait to see him.

next chapter

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[ishipallthings]

Cap Iron Man Rec Week 2024 (Fri)

Family Fluff Friday - July 26th for @cap-ironman Rec Week

Family fluff - both canon and AU fics, all the fluff!

Remember to show some love for your hard-working creators!

Deep in the Heart of Me by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar) (AU)

There were days when the realization that he was someone’s father made Steve’s head hurt, but mostly he was grateful that he could trust his instincts, because apparently Peter was what had been missing from his life. Yes, he still had lingering, unresolved issues from his time in the Army, and sure, he had what Bucky annoyingly referred to as a criminally untapped ass, and no life outside of work and Peter, but Steve was okay with how his life had turned out because of trusting his instincts. Unfortunately, those same instincts had straight up betrayed him by going absolutely haywire upon being exposed to Tony Stark.

ten years too late (just in time) by Anonymous (AU)

 Steve never went out with Tony when they were young despite Tony’s attempts at wooing him, mostly because he thought Tony was too much of a flimsy playboy who could never really commit seriously to anything that wasn’t partying. Years later he runs into Single Father Tony taking care of his 3 year old. Tony refuses to buy his kid candy before dinner and is overall a pretty decent dad. Tony also thinks Steve could never be interested in him, since he was always rebuffed before, but Tony’s in for a surprise.

Tony, Please by FestiveFerret @festiveferret (AU)

Steve is doing just fine nursing a painful crush on his most captivating client. That is, until his babysitter has an emergency and drops Steve's six-year-old daughter off at his work. Somehow, everything goes off the rails.

Send Me A Hero by suitofhumour @suitofhumour (AU)

Tony needed a bodyguard for his kids and Steve Rogers was the most recommended pick available. Even as Tony tries to be wary of him, the guy manages to worm his way into Tony's life and soon his heart. But Steve has a secret that might be something that even Tony with his Iron Man suit cannot handle easily.

The one where… Tony meets Mr. Rogers by shieldmaidenofrohan  (AU)

“Are you ready?”

In the midst of a heavy rain by BladeoftheNebula @bladeofthenebula27 (AU)

“Do you know where Mr Rogers is?” Peter hummed. “He took his refreshment with him. He said he was going for a walk and would return for our next lesson.”

the porcupine and the armadillo by meidui @meidui (MCU, post-EG, series link)

‘I would not hurt them,’ the Porcupine thought to himself. ‘They did not give me a chance to show them that my belly is soft and has no quills. They also did not care that my quills are not there to hurt them. They are there to protect me and I would not survive without them.’

Treading Desire Lines by fohatic @fohatic (MCU, post-EG)

Tony knows that his daughter can be difficult, but he really needs someone to do him a solid when an important opportunity arises. Unfortunately, word is already out: Morgan Stark is a real handful. Never one to shrink from a challenge, Steve steps in, hoping to shift the strained dynamic between him and Tony and having no idea how the course of his life is about to change.

you’ve got to close your eyes and see by Thahire @thahiree (MCU, post-EG)

Morgan manages to bring Tony back eleven years after Thanos’ defeat, long after everyone’s learned to live without him. Everyone’s overjoyed once they get over their shock, but Tony finds it hard to adjust, now that Pepper’s moved on and Morgan’s not a little kid anymore. Somehow, the one constant is Steve.

Hope you guys enjoy the recs, and stay tuned! Please mind the tags before reading. Check out my tag for previous years’ rec lists, and here is an older rec list I made for stevetony single parent AUs :)

[matchibee]

United In Grief

based on this post by @ldhluvr that had me sprinting.

not proofread, a lot of emotion, my brain hurts

Days were long, evenings even longer. An empty bed to reflect the void spreading throughout your heart, threatening to consume the useless organ in a plume of despair.

Miguel was everything, your multiverse.

For so many years you were fruitful in curating the life of your dreams, everything you desired within the palm of your hand. A loving husband, a brilliant daughter. The pair of them were more than everything you could've conjured in the crevices of your mind, a duo of delight you wouldn't trade for the world — for everything that encompassed continuance.

"Ya me voy," Miguel spoke through a tired sigh, his chest slotting up against your back, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. "I won't be back until late, Amor. Don't wait up for me." He peppered kisses down the nape of your neck, relishing in your scent, in the warmth of your skin pressed up against his own.

But evenings that left you waiting for Miguel's return were detrimental to your work, finding you couldn't sleep without his warmth enveloping you, fueling the very battery you swore had long-since emptied.

You knew he was home, knew that when you slipped through the window of your apartment another person entirely, he would be safe and sound.

But tonight was nothing like the evenings previous, a lump in your throat as you walked towards the pot of coffee that had long gone cold, pouring the liquid into a mug Gabriella had made you during school — infinitely talented, forever yours.

The hairs of the back of your neck stood on end, the pot slipping from your fingertips, shattering onto the floor.

Gabriella called out to you, concerned by the sudden sound of shattered glass — a sound that reflected the very feeling present in your heart, breath heaving as you frantically travelled the inner-workings of your mind for an answer. "S-Stay in your room! I'm alright!" You called out to Gabriella from the kitchen, the young girl still have yet to see you dressed in your suit, nothing within your immediate vicinity available to cover your body.

You practically flung yourself towards the windowsill, January rain flooding the evening in puddles of despair, the reflections in the bodies of water displaying a mask ridden with apprehension.

'He's fine,' You'd mumbled to yourself as texts went unanswered, as the clock continued to turn. Time didn't rest, an entity that obeyed the will of its whim. 'He just got held up, had too much work.' But as minutes transitioned into hours, you knew something was wrong, you knew there was more to Miguel's absence than meets they eye.

The activation of your Spider-Senses only confirmed your worst suspicions, droplets of water shielding your mask as your frantically flung across the city, entirely dismissing the sound of civilians chanting your name — their savior, the one to deliver them from evil.

But who would be there to save you?

It happened in a blur, a figure in the night illuminated by streaks of lightning, your web snapping as you lost concentration. You tumbled a great deal, skin scuffed beneath your suit.

"Shit!" Voices piqued your interest, standing to your feet, you were met with a pair of thugs who seemed to struggle with an array of items, your webs doing well to restrain one of the assailants.

"What are you up to at this time of night?" You called out to the pair, doing your best to look for the other obscured in darkness, your foot catching on a lump before you. Your brows furrowed, dropping to your knees as you recognized the shape to be one of a person, every fiber of your being erupting with Spider-Sense.

"Miguel?" His name left your lips as you flipped his body over, your husband lifeless before you, a trickle of blood flowing from his lips, your eyes trailing to find a splotch of blood at his stomach — a gunshot wound, one that was seeping with blood.

And it was then you realized you were standing in a puddle of his blood, Miguel's essence coating your shoes, staining the fabric of your suit as you dropped to your knees. "Miguel." You whispered his name, the sound of struggle from behind you shielded by the beat of your heart - one that now beat alone, without the accompanying acoustics that seems to always persist by your side. "Miguel, we need to go home. Let's go home, Miguel."

But he didn't hear the call of his name, the plead of your voice.

Your webs were torn from behind you, the sound piquing your senses, but you couldn't keep your eyes away from Miguel — from the groceries strewn around him, his cellphone cracked just inches from his fingertips.

The twin bouquets of flowers bathed in his blood.

Your suit-clad fingers caressed the expanse of angular features, a man who personified the very definition of ethereal, everything you loved slipping from your fingertips in a singular fluidity. Where he once sat jovially in the palm of your hand he now proved nothing more than a fleeting memory, one you'd forever keep within your heart, whispering his name, your prayers falling upon deaf ears.

It happened too fast, so abrupt. One second he was there, your shimmering beacon, even when life made you feel as though there was nothing more to this life than an arachnid persona. But the next, Miguel lie in a heap of what once was. A memory on the stain of your vowed eternity.

You called out his name once more, whispered it like a mantra, praying something, anything would bring him back. Desperation creeped up your spine, interlacing your fingertips with a demon of this universe's own creation, one who hadn't an ounce of empathy in the face of your suffering.

But you knew better than to believe this line of work would have mercy, that anyone could find it in their hearts to grieve for someone they perceived as a beacon of perfection .

You knew better than to think your grief would be spared.

"C'mon, let's get going." One of the men whispered to his counterpart, their eyes trained on your vulnerability as they scrambled to retreat. Still, they worked to gather everything they'd taken, fragments of your memories of Miguel.

But you wouldn't let them get away, couldn't possibly fathom them getting away with what little remained, with what they'd done.

And when you finally snapped out of it, finally found it within yourself to stand, they were gone.

So you returned to his side, returned to stroking along his angular features, allowed yourself to fall against his chest despite the blood that stained your entirety.

Miguel's phone dinged with a message, your eyes lingering on the screen as you viewed the words of his co-worker.

When you unlocked his phone, you found the screen lingered on your messages together, Miguel in the midst of typing one, the text still unsent in the box.

'Picking up something for the three of us to make together. It's our favorite! I love you, see you soon, amor.'

You hit send, your own phone chiming in the pocket of your suit, and you fell apart all over again.

Days blurred into existences of grief, months having spanned the time since you'd lost Miguel, and yet every day felt as though you were reliving a nightmare. The bed remained empty, his toothbrush untouched, body wash forever in a state of stagnancy.

Everything seemed to stand still, yet time ticked on, you were still expected to live with this grief hanging over your head for eternity.

The men had gotten away in the midst of your surprise, taking advantage of your vulnerability.

But you never forgot a face, vowed that evening as you slipped back through your window, tears shimmering in your eyes, that you'd bring the men to justice.

That was your job, your purpose in this life, and you would rather die than deprive yourself of this right, this closure.

"I'll be back late tonight," You mumbled into Gabriella's hair, tucking the little girl in for the evening. Your suit was concealed by a coat, fingertips webbed in fabric unknown to Gabriella.

"Can't you stay here for tonight?"

Of course you'd come to realize that Gabriella was missing you, the loss of Miguel hitting harder than everything she'd experienced in her short years of living.

But you were doing this for her, doing this for your family.

For Miguel.

"I'll be back before you wake up, I promise."

Your words seemed to soothe her, calm her nerves as she snuggled into her sheets, into the various stuffed animals Miguel brought with him every time he walked through that door.

You missed the jingle of his keys, the sound of his footsteps as he did his best not to wake you up.

You missed Miguel.

When Gabriella had finally dosed off, confining herself to the safety of sleep, you hopped out through the window, your mind set on your first target, the initial hit on your self-written list.

Two names, two assailants, both linked to a single moment.

You'd tracked them to an abandoned apartment complex they seemed to frequent in the evening hours, meeting at a different location every night but ending it in the same place.

So that's where you waited, impatient as you clung to the crumbling roof, the sound of voices the only thing ringing through mind, headache inducing. The pain becoming increasingly profound the closer they arrived, proximity practically nonexistent.

One of the men lit a lighter, illuminating your suit, gasps falling from their lips as the three of you were once more shrouded in darkness. Your webs thwipped in every direction, binding the men against the wall, their struggled groaned filling the space. Dropping to your knee, you brought the lighter between your fingers, igniting the flame before your masked face.

"S-Spider—!"

"Don't." Your voice was foreign to your own ears, malice dripping from your lips like venom.

"I don't know what we did but—!"

You thwipped your webs to cover the mouth of the man who seemed incapable of keeping his mouth shut, approaching the other before you, your full attention on him. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"Fuck if I know." He spat, eyeing you with a bored expression.

You hummed. "You'll find out soon enough."

Glimmers of spark erupted from behind you, illuminating the once dim space, figures slipping through the occurrence, standing before you.

Your senses stood on edge, looking to the trio with an expression of confusion.

"How ya doing?" A woman you realized to be pregnant spoke in a soothing voice.

"You're like me..." The words slipped without your permission, a hand flying to your lips, concealing your words.

A much smaller figure shrouded in multicolored shades, white dominating the mass of the fabric, was the next to speak. "We're here to help you," Her voice was like honeysuckle, dripping like ripples of heaven. "You just have to come with us."

"I'm kinda in the middle of something." Despite the invitation you weren't intent on slipping away after everything you'd worked towards, after dedicating your life to this very moment.

"We aren't asking." This voice was much more gruff than the two previous, tone entirely bored, as though fed up with being here.

And yet it sounded so familiar.

You stepped up to the man, arms crossed over your chest. "I'm not going anywhere."

So, you ended up being forced to leave. The trio had worked against you, confining you to a glorified bubble that hindered your escape, producing you in the sanctuary of a man clad in red and blue.

"Let me out or so help me—!"

He chuckled, looking down at you through his mask. "Or else what?"

"Miguel," The woman from earlier, Jessica, slipped into the conversation. "Maybe be a little more compassionate?"

Miguel?

"Leave us." He spat, the pair of Jessica and Gwen leaving with remorseful expressions, obviously not keen on defying his will.

No, it couldn't be, it was unfathomable. You shook the thought from your head, removing your mask to look into their eyes without the obstruction. "Send me home."

A mask of blue and red dematerialized before your very eyes, a face you hadn’t seen in the flesh for forever — condemned to what remained on your phone, on the plaque that garnered his picture in the cemetery you and Gabriella frequented, unable to deliver him from your memories.

Eyes of vermillion stared into the crevices of your soul, a man who was yours yet far different than how you remembered him. Where smile lines traveled along your Miguel’s face, this man seemed to have an expression pressed into a permanent frown, incapable of any emotions apart from anger. He wasn't yours, yet eternity whispered otherwise.

"I can't do that." Miguel spoke, but you weren't focused on his words, only capable of registering his face, his entirety. Here before you stood everything you'd ever lost.

Your past, present and future.

"Miguel," You pressed your hand to the bubble that kept you confined, entirely entrapped within a state of disbelief. "I thought you were—"

"Dead?"

You nodded wordlessly, slipping to your knees as Miguel turned away from you, your crimson confinement slipping away as you were met with the crisp air of the near-empty room.

"I'm not from your universe. In your universe, I'm dead."

You furrowed your brows. "That doesn't make any sense! I know what I see, and right now I see my husband!"

The words left Miguel in a state of shock, his body rigid as he fought every urge to bound towards you with open arms, hold you and never have to release you again.

"There are an infinite number of universes, an infinite number of Spiders just like us."

Miguel pressed on with a tangent that had your thoughts spinning, mind fighting to make an understanding of the information he was spewing, everything seeming more akin to a fever dream than anything else.

"We all go through canon events, moments that connect us, that make us who we are."

Your eyes drifted to various screen baring different scenes, instances where those cursed with this ability had lost everything. A man with his uncle, another with their best friend.

You with Miguel.

"No," You swiped the images away, the room returning to its previous luminance. "That's bullshit. It doesn't make any sense."

Miguel sighed, his back still turned to you as he held up his left hand, the multicolored suit dematerializing with a technology you'd never witnessed before. "I wish it was," A silver banned shimmered in the artificial light, glimmering with love, a reminder of vows that were bound to eternity and stripped by oblivion. "In my universe, you're dead."

You felt at the ring beneath your suit, shifting the jewelry uncomfortably, the piece having never felt so unbearable until this very moment. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"That's why I couldn't let you go through with it."

"What?"

"Killing those men — the ones that took me... Your husband. All it does is make everything worse, it doesn't solve anything."

As though you hadn't learned anything you scoffed, "How do you know?"

"Because I went down that same road when you—shit... When my version of you died." His voice was shrill, seeming to lose his composure with every passing second. In your eyes he saw everything he'd ever lost, standing before him as though you'd never faltered to begin with. "I went looking for the people that took you away from me, from our family that wasn't a family yet."

"Then what?"

You could see the remorse in his eyes, a gaze of regret, the memories too painful for him to share, yet he pressed forward — for you, for himself, for an unspoken closure the both of you desperately required. "I missed you more than anything in this world. I went looking for you, disrupted universes until I couldn't handle it anymore, until I convinced myself I was better off alone — not meant to be a father, a husband."

You gasped. "You were gonna be a dad?"

The though brought a smile to Miguel's face. "You had our little girl with you when they took you away — took both of you from me." Miguel's eyes were glazed with tears, vulnerability on his sleeve as his mind fought for him to remain logical, remember why he's the person he was in that very moment. "I wish I'd gotten to know my darling Gabriella."

A lump in your throat, the sensation scratching you with claws like fire. "She's wonderful, Miguel."

He chuckled, a smile forming on his lips, one he forced himself to push away. "What's she like?"

"Just like you." The response was instant, absentminded, thinking to a universe where he no longer existed. "Everyday I'm scared I won't be able to face her because she looks more and more like you, acts like you."

Miguel could picture it, the life he deserved, the one he was destined to live. In his heart there was a love that would forever remain his to keep, bound to his soul. And while the thought left him in a state of elation — the fact that his daughter was happy in another reality — it wasn't his joy to experience.

It was yours. Yours and a Miguel that wasn't him.

"I can't send you back to your universe unless you swear you won't go after those men."

"I can't just-"

"Swear you won't go after those men or else you'll never see Gabriella again!" Miguel's voice thundered through the room, shaking you to your core, a chill rushing down your spine in wisps of terror. He couldn’t stand to see another variation bound to the universe’s clutches, lost because of selfish, something he could easily prevent. Miguel didn’t want to see to see you suffer all over again. lose everything just as he had. And if this was how he had to get his point across, it was what he would do for the sake of the canon.

For the sake of his love that transcended the multiverse itself.

"I..." Your voice was weak, tears brimming in your eyes. Miguel had never yelled at you, never dared raise his voice. And the fact that this variant of him had done it so simply, without an ounce of effort, had brought you back to the cruelty that was reality.

This wasn't your Miguel.

"I promise."

No matter how you begged and pleaded, no matter what you did to change the canon, he would never be yours.

"Good."

The Miguel O'Hara from your universe was gone, and all you had to remember him was memories bound to blood, crimson staining a suit you hid away, unable to bring yourself to wash the stains of grief, ridding your fingertips of what once was, all that remained.

But just as the vows of your eternal love were broken upon the death of Miguel...

This promise would soon be broken, too.

[seeminglyranch87]

Taylor & Travis Timeline

November 2024 - Part 2

November 8 - Taylor is nominated for 6 Grammys:

Album of the year - TTPD

Record of the year - Fortnight feat. Post Malone

Song of the year - Fortnight feat. Post Malone

Best pop vocal album - TTPD

Best music video - Fortnight feat. Post Malone

Us - Gracie Abram’s feat. Taylor Swift

Taylor is seen out in NYC dining with Zoe Kravitz & friends at Chez Margaux.

November 10 - Chiefs v Broncos, Arrowhead Stadium, Kansas City, MO

Travis arrives ahead of game

Taylor arrives at Arrowhead with her parents.

Travis Kelce scored the first touchdown for The Chiefs. (x)

The Kansas City Chiefs defeat the Broncos 16 -14 with an Adrenalin filled ending, the Chiefs blocked a game deciding field goal to remain undefeated this season 9 - 0

Post game celebrations

November 13 - Travis Kelce attends Jelly Roll concert with Clyde.

November 14 - The Eras Tour, Rogers Centre, Toronto, ON N1

My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys x This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (guitar) & False God x tis the damn season (piano)

November 15 - The Eras Tour, Rogers Centre, Toronto, ON N2

I don’t wanna live forever x Mine (guitar) & evermore x Peter (piano) N2

Travis’ friends Ross Travis and Reggie King attend the Eras Tour and photographed with Austin Swift.

November 16 - Taylor posts her upcoming release: The Anthology on CD & Vinyl.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Taylor Swift (@taylorswift)

Taylor Swift's 'THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT: THE ANTHOLOGY' will feature four bonus acoustic tracks:

Fortnight

Down Bad

But Daddy I Love Him

Guilty As Sin?

- The Eras Tour, Rogers Centre, Toronto, ON N3

Tammy Reid & Tavia Hunt (wives of Chiefs Coach & Chiefs Owner) attend The Eras Tour photographed with Andrea & Scott Swift

Taylor mimics Travis’ dance move during Midnight Rain

Us x Out Of The Woods with guest Gracie Abrams (guitar) & You’re On Your Own Kid x Long Story Short (piano)

Travis Kelce arrives in Buffalo ahead of game.

November 17 - Chiefs v Bills

Buffalo Bills defeat Chiefs 30-21. This is the first loss of the season for the KC Chiefs. Taylor did not attend.

Travis with Jelly Roll and Clyde

November 20 - Taylor at Jean-Georges private members’ club Chez Margaux with Faith Hill, Ashleigh Avignon & Este Haim

Taylor wins the ARIA for most popular artist (x)

November 21 - The Eras Tour, Rogers Centre, Toronto, ON N4

Mr Perfectly Fine x Better Than Revenge (guitar) & State of grace x Labyrinth (piano)

November 22 - The Eras Tour, Rogers Centre, Toronto, ON N5

Ours x The Last Great American Dynasty (guitar) & Cassandra x Mad Woman x I Did Something Bad (piano)

November 23 - The Eras Tour, Rogers Centre, Toronto, ON N6

Ed Kelce attends The Eras Tour - his first show. He is wearing a suit and trading friendship bracelets - adorable! (x)

Sparks Fly x Message In A Bottle (guitar) & You’re Losing Me x How Did It End (piano)

Taylor gets emotional during the Champaign Problems speech

Travis arrives in Charlotte, NC ahead of game.

Go to previous update - November 2024 part 1

Go to next update -> November 2024 part 3

Return to the timeline

[spotsupstuff]

fuckin' around a lil bit with that idea of a more personified structure i've mentioned who knows how long ago now in some tags. i just.. adore the hit that is the sheer size of the Iterators when taken at whole so much... it terrifies me to my bones

inspired/motivated by a post by tanzdoesthings where they pointed at a puppet n said that is the Iterator's face. shit lit an actual lightbulb over my head...

unrelated to the art drabble underneath the cut

"I love you. Can this be understood?"

'No,' she sighs while she thinks... Just where can one begin to understand such a thing? An organic's brain isn't made for the comprehension of it, she's sure.

That every time pipes groan it is his veins stretching. Or that when she floats in his heart, the sound of its beats is strong enough to penetrate straight through her. Dammit, she has to wear a special suit just so her bones wouldn't shatter from a singular beat.

How can she properly grasp it, that he breathes only once a day- and just that is enough to rain destruction upon everything within his retaining walls. That he carries a whole city on his back- so small... almost unnoticed... Or that when she hides away in the shelters at his bases, it is akin to crawling underneath his skin?

It makes no sense for something that terrifyingly giant to exist. To live. Oh, why does it have to live just the same as her...?

Each component she understands. His blueprints are framed in the Mechanic's little house positioned near one of his more discreet entrances. The biggest blueprint takes up a whole wall, little notes made by her or the previous Mechanic scattered all over the detailings of his body.

Her fingertips trace over the white lines on the blue paper before bed, planning out a route for tomorrow- because oh it would take years to travel him whole unguided. One could so easily get lost within the mechanical organs, tangled in wires, strangled by accident in the tons upon tons of tightly knit cords- left as a corpse without a chance to be found in the less travelled recesses of him.

Palm in palm, she presses her hands against each other in hopeful prayer and in the anxiety the thought brings forward.

So small... so finite compared to him.

Sometimes when people want to disappear for a while from the little city- little? It holds thousands upon thousands of life like me- including her, they wander the dusty metal desert that makes up his backside. All the way to the edge of him, edge of the world that he represents- is... And then just stare over the clouds.

The more daring ones, more agile and capable, climb down a little ways- finding crannies in his skin that he'll never notice for purchase.

One time- while feeling terribly lonely and sad- she climbed as low as she dared. Just above the clouds. Some almost licked at her feet as they rolled around him- submitting to his presence like waves to boats. The clouds turned grey, his sirens blared below and she was scared. Not for herself, but for the childhood she spent living beneath him- for family still stuck there.

And she'd hide away in a crook in his panels- a fault she will once have to fix- tearing at the moss that somehow managed to make livelihood here. Waiting... for nothing.

Then he looked to her, red Overseer popping out of nowhere. The uncomprehensible, godly by its sheer size thing giving her maybe all of his attention. And she feels guilty, worming around his skin- hiding in it- like this.

Though he tells her: rather apologize for disappearing like that, for not answering the hails. As if the violation of his physique wasn't actually anything... It had been so weird, having him fuss over her like so. There's better things a fake god like him has to do.

'I love you. Can this be understood?' still stares at her from her watch, unanswered.

"I don't think it can...," she writes him, feeling sad, confused, intimidated.

"Oh..."

She rushes to reassure him. "I love you back anyway though. Don't worry, weirdo"

[neuroprincess]

Simili - The Executioner

Professor!Agatha Harkness/Student!Female Reader

Fanfic Chapter List

Summary: A series of murders start to scare the small town of Westview when young university students turn up dead on campus, soon Y/N seems to be connected to the victims somehow. Determined to find the author of these atrocities, she can trust no one, not her family, friends, and even less the local police, except the only person really willing to help her, the professor Agatha.

Warnings: Trauma in the subtext, sorry

Word count: +2500

"I watch attentively as the molten bronze falls through the mold, boiling, shining, filling every gap that will form a beautiful image, just as the fire fills and consumes me inside to one day become a person, for now I'm just a mold, even though bronze already runs through my veins, it's in my blood, it's who I am." 

As an omen of dark days and in response to recent events, the sky has darkened, turning the bright ones into a mist of mourning. Everything is gray, the animated conversations have become murmurs and, even if they hide it very well, fear pervades the corridors. The academic staff have told everyone that there is nothing to fear and no reason to, but how could they not fear a brutal murder on campus? The image of the man in their memories, haunting some dreams, meanwhile seems to be the entertainment of others who can't stop talking about it as if it were a kind of gossip. Young people are stupid, that's what Y/N thinks as she goes along her usual route, trying not to stare for too long at certain groups that gather on corners, enthusiastic whispers and cunning words, dozens of theories being born. No one really knew Jareth Redd apart from the fact that the name was on the staff and his visits, which could easily go unnoticed among the suited men who administer the university. She... she remembers the yellowed and pointed teeth showing in a smile not warm at all, almost sickly from how forced it was, the eyes that lingered too long and the soft speech that could engage anyone. And she doesn't like to talk or even think about him. That's why she's silent while friends chatter away, trying to keep her mind off other things like new classes or the fact that it hasn't stopped raining, two days and three nights in a row, the puddles are piling up at the exits, there's no umbrella to withstand the gale and at the same time there are a dozen reporters surrounding every gate. It's annoying how they insist on asking questions that no one has answers to and when don't get what they want, induce those answers, distorting phrases to make headlines in the local newspaper, main posts on websites and bloggers too. After days, they're still seen standing on the other side of buildings, trying to take photos or at least catch a glimpse, it's hard to have a big news story like this in hand in a considerably small town. A promising opportunity. 

"I heard he had a mistress and the wife ordered his death..." Wanda whispers to friends, there had been several rumors spreading in her previous classes "And the mistress is a university student, from here."

"He wasn't married." Y/N comments without thinking, immediately dismissing another created story, although she knows that if he were married it would probably be true "There was no ring on his finger." she tries to take some of the attention off herself when realizes that the group is staring with curiosity.  

"You're very observant, darling." Darcy compliments and smiles sweetly, approaching her who walks ahead faster than the others "Is everything all right?" she asks in a whisper, worried, since everything happened her friend has been quieter than normal, which isn't surprising considering how traumatizing seeing the scene had been.  

"Hum, yeah... yeah... I'm just a bit distracted today. I still have a couple of classes to finish the day." she shrugged and sighed, feeling tiredness along with the sleepless nights take over her body "And you?"  

"Just one more, how about we meet at the Planet later?"  

"I'll come along!" the redhead says, just behind them, listening attentively "But I'll be late, our practice has been postponed until late afternoon."  

"The debating club too." Monica says dejectedly, many classes have been canceled and events postponed "Maybe we won't go at all." she points at Jimmy, he agrees. 

They quickly get back to chatting about trivial things, like celebrity affairs or how much they hate a specific professor; to Y/N's relief, Redd is no longer mentioned. However, the walk is long, too much for her taste, feeling exhaustion in every part of body. From neurons synapsing a millisecond slower to feet that don't seem to obey the mind screaming that at this rate she'll be late. A bolt of lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating the dim corridor and the noise makes all her hairs stand on end, like a dose of caffeine, it wakes her up almost immediately, senses heightened and eyes alert, suddenly there's a lot going on around. A bunch of architecture students, if she remembers correctly, walk past them, judgmental looks alongside curious stares, all pointed in one direction, Y/N. They don't even try to hide it. This irritates and embarrasses her at the same time, she has never particularly liked being the center of attention, since childhood preferred to be on the sidelines, just an observer and now, after letting instincts lead her to that scene, she has become the last thing wanted. She involuntarily stares back at them, until finally she loses sight, and swallows her saliva, realizing the consequences of that day. But she... needed to confirm what resembled one of the recurring nightmares she's had, the ones that still torment her in the middle of the night and make her feverish. All seems very surreal. The water running under feet, wet grass, red taking over green, white and gray, the statue she had never paid attention to appeared to express itself as it held him in arms, between pain and compassion for a loved one who was gone. Such irony, she thought to herself, smiling without noticing.  

"Hey!" Wanda calls as she approaches, increasing speed to keep up with them "I have to do something before class, I might be late, could you save a seat for me?" and without giving a chance for an answer, the other girl takes off down the corridors, everyone there knows what she went to do and with whom, no one comments anything.  

"Good luck with your new classes, I hope and pray I didn't scare you about SHE." the brunette whispers, feeling a bit guilty.  

"Nah, I'll be fine." Y/N shrugged and winked at her "By the way, I don't want to be late, so I'm going. See you later!"   

"See you..."   

Without even trying to hear what her friend wants to say, she heads towards the stairs to the second floor, where the classroom is located. It's not as if she can pay attention to any real words or advice, it just goes in one ear and out the other, through the fog that her mind has fallen into. She's thankful that the floor is practically empty compared to the first, so she doesn't have to face the people staring at her or fill herself with questions about what the hell they must be thinking, away from judgmental, malicious and biased speculation. For God's sake, they don't even know her name and that doesn't prevent invented rumors from circulating in every part of the campus. 

"I'm sorry, I was distracted..." she begins to explain immediately when feels herself hit another body, both almost fall to the ground due to the impact, but hold on to each other avoiding it, the younger raises face and, surprise, releases her, kept safe by the arms that continue to hold her by the waist firmly against herself, so close, face to face "You... I mean... Well, I, actually..." the words are jumble in the midst of so much nervousness, her throat dries up immediately and hands tremble. 

"Watch where you're going next time." the woman says slightly annoyed and lets her go after making sure she can stand. Then straightens the coat she's wearing, fixes the glasses that slipped down the nose during the collision "Are you hurt?"  

"No, I'm fine. And you?" she asks, nervousness evident in her voice. The woman, the same one who hugged and cried in her arms, is so different from how she remembers.  

The eyes, previously swollen and darkened by pain, are a clear, soft blue, expressive and gentle, capable of seeing through any soul, from the purest to the most bruised, contradicting the indifferent expression on her delicate features. Long eyelashes frame them, accompanied by well-defined eyebrows, outlined nose and perfectly drawn mouth, a mature beauty that makes Y/N melt immediately. The air is stolen from her lungs and a sudden need arises to look minimally presentable, internally regretting her modest clothing, slightly disheveled hair and the miserableness of her appearance in general. A little embarrassed, she runs fingers through locks in an attempt to straighten them. 

"More than fine." the brunette reacts indifferently and stares at her from head to toe, making the student even more tense "Now, if you don't mind." she mutters, checking the handbag before continuing to walk in the opposite direction, without a second glance.  

The stranger's phantom touch makes her skin burn, a weird sensation begins to consume her, an emptiness that hits her straight in the chest. Y/N sighs in defeat, feeling the world trying to create a small conspiracy so that nothing is forgotten or, as she prefers, buried seven feet under next to his corpse. Very dead, waiting to be consumed by the worms, who, even though they are worms, are about to taste the dirtiest thing they've eaten in a short lifetime. The poison intrinsic in the cold and sickly flesh, time destroying it, just as it should with all the secrets and deeds in life. In the end, all she wants is for this person to disappear from existence, to leave her alone. No matter how much she's being pulled into the small loose parts of a complex puzzle, by which she means people and anything related, begging to be seen, she prefers to blind herself. Repeating, for the hundredth time in the week, that everything ended the minute a heart stopped beating. 

"Right, right, everything's fine now." she murmurs, impatient for letting these thoughts, ideas and... some memories surface "Class! I have to be in class." quickly checks the room number on the timetable.  

It takes her a while to find the correct number in the long corridor, among the various identifications that scramble in her blurry vision, sometimes she forgets how big the campus can be. From the high walls raised in raw brick to the statues molded by the hands of the graduates themselves, every detail drawn on Westview's timeline, the pride of the small town. The Mythology professor's auditorium lives up to this, rows of chairs down wide staircases, at least fifty empty seats, the walls are filled with paintings probably worth more than her life, along with dozens of historical decorations, at the end there is a stage that seems untouchable, so clear and organized, a large table in the center, behind it two shelves full of old books and a blackboard already scribbled on. The cursive letter written in impeccable calligraphy.   

Heels tapping against the laminate floor attract attention and a figure emerges from the adjoining door, walking at a slow, glorious pace to the table, those thick-framed glasses stuck on the end of her nose as she seems to concentrate on reading the local paper.  

"Are you going to continue staring at me or find a seat for yourself? Class starts soon." the woman, the same one from the fountain and the corridor, says loud and clear, sitting down without even looking up "And keep quiet." 

Y/N just nods in shock and does as she's told, looking for one, having the privilege of choosing anyone since nobody but her has arrived yet, ending up somewhere in the middle. And not a single student shows up for the next ten minutes. She begins to wonder if there will be any more or if a second thing has happened in the week to bring everyone together, doubt makes the atmosphere tense, not only because of her concern, also for the indifference she feels coming from the other woman. It's almost as if she despises the girl without even knowing her, which only reinforces what Darcy warned about earlier and makes her believe that she is, in fact, an executioner. How will the next lessons be if this is just a taste of what's to come? Not to mention the visible connection between her and the late chancellor. As the clock ticks down, the hope of having a partner in the battle for the first class is fading and, like a heroine on a winged horse, Wanda finally appears. The loud banging of the double door draws the attention of the only people there, which earns her a disapproving look, she doesn't mind.  

"Honey, I'm home!" she jokes, taking a seat next to Y/N "Can you believe I couldn't find him anywhere? So I gave up wandering around campus like a silly cockroach. Did I miss anything?"  

"Class hasn't even started." 

 "At this pace it won't, will it always be empty like this?" she whispers noticing the older woman's deadly stare now directed at them, the newspaper forgotten on the wooden surface "I wouldn't be surprised at her fame."  

"I have very good hearing, Maximoff." the brunette says suddenly, standing up and showing off her elegant figure without a coat; no one noticed that she had taken it off, revealing a beautiful navy blue dress that clings to curves and accentuates all attributes "And you should know that my fame doesn't even come close to what it's really like being in my class."  

At this point, Y/N doesn't even care anymore about the reputation of an executioner or how the hell she's going to deal with it for the rest of an entire semester, her eyes are fixed on the lines that outline the impeccable body and she can't help but admire her beauty. If she didn't have the slightest bit of self-control, surely she'd be drooling with reason. But she's certain to be blushing deeply and is grateful that the attention is on her friend.  

"Well, you two are new, so I'll be kind enough to go over a few simple rules. First of all, time, anyone arriving after the agreed time won't be allowed in. I'm not going to waste my voice for nothing, so be quiet, pay attention and take notes. And, most importantly, no smartphones."  

"But..." Wanda tries to protest only to be interrupted immediately, with no chance to say anything or assimilate indignation. 

"That's all!" the professor takes two steps forward and stares at them for a moment, blue irises fixed on Y/N before returning to speak "Welcome to Cosmogonic Mythology! I am Miss Harkness, besides teaching I'm in charge of the history department..."  

The words become garbled and the younger can't concentrate on the introduction to the subject, even though she knows all the difficult words need to be written down and some knowledge absorbed, nothing seems to enter her head. She is paralyzed, without reaction. It's really happening, there's no escape. At the same time as being enchanted by the professor, she is also frightened, fearing that she might read her soul and pull out the deepest secrets, because, like a magnet, they can't take their eyes off each other. 

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[levi501ackerman]

Steel Heart Chapter 20: Orange

Hange x Reader Chapter Index Masterlist AO3

Megan's Note: !!!!!! WARNING: TORTURE !!!!! (it's not too bad I swear. 1 part may make you go like O.O but I swear everything's fine. I think the mutts were worse) I am so excited to release this chapter!!! It is 2:30am in my time zone. Thank you for reading and I really hope you enjoy this chapter! Posted: 9/9/24 Also fun fact 9 is my lucky and fav number.

Word Count: 3.6k

“Princess Y/N . . . ” A deep, pleasant voice said behind you. It didn’t sound like Jean’s and you whipped your head toward the voice. You gasped and a bolt of lightning lit up the man’s face. His tall figure and blonde hair were the first thing you noticed. His sharp blue eyes were focused on you and he didn’t flinch at the booming sound of thunder. Erwin Smith was how Jean described and you eyed his crested sword. His armor looked like how it did the night you saw him in the forest. Blood was on his gorget and it was smearing off in the rain.

“You’re . . .” You lifted a shaking finger toward him. Water droplets were scattered on your hand and you shivered. “ . . . Y-You’re Commander Erwin Smith, r-right?” You weren’t sure if you were stuttering because of the chilly rain or because you were being brave. The blonde knight held his chin high and his eyes half-lidded, peering down on your petite form. Your breath staggered as he eyed you up and down. Your heart pounded and you lowered your shaking hand. “Of . . . of the Royal King’s Guard . . .?” 

Then, like he snapped into consciousness, the blonde knight suddenly knelt and placed a fist over his heart in one motion. It felt easier to breathe seeing the knight kneel for you like all the previous knights had done when they met you. Not because you wanted his respect but because you wanted to know he was an ally.

“My Princess Y/N,” the blonde man lifted his head and revealed a shining, charming smile. His blue eyes were bright and captivating—attractive. He held your gaze with a sparkle in his eye and his symmetrical face was clear of imperfections. “To be in your presence is an unparalleled honor.”

“I . . .” You didn’t know what to say. The cacophony of rain and thunder fogged your brain and the presence of the man who seemed like a threat a few nights ago was being cordial. He reached for your hand and his skin was rough, cold, and bruised. Like a gentleman, he planted a kiss on your damp hand. “Thank you . . . Commander Erwin.”

“It brings me immense pleasure to see you looking healthy.” His voice was smooth, and he spoke like a well-raised, educated child from a noble family. Erwin rose from his kneeling position, and his posture was straight. Then he placed his hand on the side of your cheek. You leaned into the feel of his rough hand and couldn’t look away from his mesmerizing eyes. The rain wiping the bloody gorget of his armor suit clean gave you a sense of clarity. 

“Are you bleeding, sir? Are you hurt?” You gently touched his wrist and brought his hand away from your face. 

“No, your Highness,” you blinked. Did that mean it was someone else’s blood? A spike of adrenaline shot through your body and you parted your lips. The blood melted away, becoming translucent in the rain—the traces of carnage were fleeing and avoiding accountability. 

“H-How did you get covered in blood?” You took a step backward away from him and eyed his armor. Sir Miche Zacharius’ echoing voice invaded your thoughts, almost like a plea. Trust no one . Between Sir Zacharius and the bloodied knight, you chose Sir Zacharius’ side. You took another step back, and your hands were in front of you, ready to defend yourself somehow if needed. “Are you even Erwin Smith?! Who are you?!” You cried. 

The blonde knight dropped to one knee again and saluted you submissively. You flinched at the sudden movement and he bowed his head. He had hair tied at the base of his neck. His blonde hair was longer than a typical man’s fashion. 

“Mutts. Multiple mutts attacked me,” the knight said firmly yet gently. His salute was not one out of respect but imploring comfortability. You furrowed your eyebrows and hesitated—not knowing whether to believe the knight. What was the right choice? To believe or not. With the position you were in, was there a right choice or a safe choice? “Yes, my name is Erwin Smith. I traveled a great distance and have been watching you—protecting you. I dedicated my heart to ensuring you return safely to your parents . . .”

“Uh—” Your voice caught in your throat and a memory flashed in your mind. Sir Zacharius confided in you a phrase that higher-ups used half a decade ago. He said that they were people you could automatically trust. It was limited to knights who were involved with creating the first royal draft of your return to Mitras Castle. Before you were aware of the meaning, Captain Levi said the phrase as a promise to give you antibiotics if you took him to the injured Sir Zacharius. The night you met Sir Miche Zacharius when Shiganshina was being attacked, he escorted you to the outer gate and met with Knight Commander Dot Pyxis. When you met Dot Pyxis, he replied the phrase to Sir Miche Zacharius’ salute. Lastly, Hange, another Commander, said the phrase when they were assured they would protect you. All the knights who have said the phrase had played a crucial part in your survival . . . yet when Erwin said the secure phrase, it was utterly precarious. “I don’t . . . I don’t believe you. Pardon me, but prove it!”

“My Princess—”

“Hange said to have my guard up! And if you were Erwin Smith, you’d understand!” You raised your voice. There was an uncertain gleam in his light eyes and guilt shot through you, then fear crawled all over. Would he retaliate because of your ill manners? Your chest was heaving, and you blinked rapidly, maybe because of the rain landing on your eyelids and lashes or maybe because your vision narrowed. You held your chest, clutching the drenched white fabric, grasping onto something—anything. You swallowed and wheezed, gasping for air or perhaps control. 

“What Hange said was right,” Erwin agreed.

“Give me your sword . . .” You wiped off the slick rain from your face and gritted your teeth. Erwin rose from his salute and stepped toward you. 

“Are you—”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” You screamed, putting your hand out in front of you as if it gave you some power—some sort of capability to guard yourself. Knowing full well that between you and him, he would win the fight. “I’m sorry! Please just . . . hand over your sword.”

“What do you plan on doing, my Princess? Hurting me is unwise, but . . .” Erwin grabbed the steel handle of the crested sword and the blade shinged crisply while pulling the weapon from its sheath. Lightning cracked, casting a white glow on Erwin’s armor and his crested sword. “ . . . if my sword puts you at ease, I must oblige.”

His cooperation relaxed the tension in your shoulders. You slicked back the hair stuck to your face and reached for the sword. Then, a thought crossed your mind and you pulled your hand back. 

“Put the sword on the ground and then back away from it!” you ordered. Erwin paused momentarily and followed your order, setting the crested sword in the mud. Then, with a slight tug on his warm lips and his head bowed, he walked backward with his palms up, surrendering. The sloshy mud caused an uneven surface and you felt unbalanced as you walked toward the sword. When you grabbed the crested steel sword with both hands, strength grew in you.

 You thoughtfully praised yourself that your plan worked and you possessed his sword. Then you glanced at Erwin through the rain; his soft face was friendly and vulnerable. You appreciated that Erwin was willing to hand over his weapon and then a pang of embarrassment cratered in your chest. Your demanding behavior was Erwin’s first impression of you. Though he was understanding, you didn’t want the Commander of the Royal King’s Guard to think you were feisty. 

You carefully held the crested sword by the blade in one hand and the handle in the other. Your eyes grew wide. Just like Sir Zacharius, Captain Levi, and Dame Hange’s crested sword, the sword you possessed had an intricate ornate crested design. Tiny jewels were embedded in the handle, identical to the other jewel swords. The tiny jewels were orange. The knight before you was Erwin Smith. 

You choked out the air you had been holding inside, feeling relieved. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath and nearly giggled at yourself at your ridiculousness. A small smile grew on your lips as you shook your head and then rolled your eyes at yourself. 

“My Princess, I understand your need for reassurance,” Erwin’s voice was tender and comforting. 

“I’m . . . sorry, sir,” you turned the blade over, offering the handle to Erwin’s sword with a blush on your cheeks. 

“You are wise for acting cautious—” Something on the sword caught your eye. You furrowed your eyebrows and retracted the sword to you. At the base of the blade were initials just like Sir Zacharius, Captain Levi, and Dame Hange’s jeweled sword. But part of the steel blade was damaged and chipped. The first initial was E and the second was where the blade was chipped and scratched. The scratches covered some of the E, but the initial was still visible. Like an alarm, Jean’s voice rang through your brain. 

Erwin’s sword has blue jewels .

You glanced at Erwin; his thin eyebrows were furrowed, noticing your skepticism. You looked at the sword again and brought the blade closer. Then you wiped the part of the blade with the damp sleeve of Hange’s white cotton shirt. As you focused hard on the base of the jeweled sword, you realized that the tangled scratches were inconsistent and wild. The scratches weren’t signs of damage . . . they were man-made. Your breath hitched as you intently looked at the E initial; the bottom horizontal line was crooked. When you studied the scratches, you noticed the crooked horizontal scratch didn’t connect. The E was actually an F . . . 

An F? The tiny jewels around the crested handle were orange, even though . . . Jean told you that Erwin’s jeweled sword was blue. Jean also called you Hange and had been acting erratic. 

It clicked.

Your heart thumped in your ears. 

You staggered out a breath, staring at the muddy dirt surrounding you. 

A jeweled sword was missing.

Levi’s words overwhelmed your thoughts. He speculated that there was more than one traitor and that he had the missing sword. You’ve heard Levi mention multiple times: to Sir Zacharius, to Commander Lobov, to Hange . . . Commander Flagon’s camp was raided and his sword was missing ever since. 

This sword belongs to Flagon . . . this is the missing sword . 

You lifted your head to Erwin Smith, but he wasn’t Erwin Smith.

He was a Marleyan Cult member—another traitor. The blonde knight ripped the sword from your grasp, cutting your palms. You shrieked. Adrenaline coursed through your body and your hands dripped blood. Piercing rain landed on your hands. The blond knight had a fierce gaze and lightning struck behind him. His charming and friendly demeanor disappeared. Thunder masked your cries and you turned to run toward Flegel’s home, but the blonde knight’s hand gripped your arm. You thrashed and he wrapped an arm around your abdomen. 

With a force fueled by desperation, you screamed out, shutting your eyes and hoping someone would hear you. You twisted in the knight’s grasp, but his hold on you was unyielding. You cried out for Hange, and then a cloth stifled your blood-curdling scream. You fought off the damp cloth by whipping your head side-to-side. Hot tears fell from your face as you realized the man was stronger than you. He would have fought better than you if you had a sword. Your arms and legs felt heavier and your vision was blurry. Your eyes were drooping and you were fighting to stay alert, but your thoughts were disconnected. One last strong thought came to you. 

You lifted your leg lethargically with all your last energy and felt for your boot. When you felt the tip, you pulled your knee up with all your might, bringing your hand deeper into the boot. A strong, pungent, floral smell polluted your mind. Your last thought was that earlier, you gave Jean your dagger and didn’t have it to defend yourself against the knight.  

The last thing you felt was being lifted off the ground and the wind against your face.

━━ ⊱ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ ♡ ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⊰ ━━

“Keep your mouth shut! You’re in no position to be speaking. You’ll only be answering questions.” Levi’s stern voice said, and Niccolo caught his breath. He glanced at Hange and then darted his eyes back to Levi. “What’s this message you have?”

“Captain Levi, Sir! This was all planned—” Niccolo sputtered and his wide eyes darted around the room. Hange furrowed their eyebrows, noticing Niccolo’s trembling foot. His high-strung behavior could be evidence that he was telling the truth about betraying the Marleyan Cult. Hange concluded that the man went rogue, risking his life and genuinely fearing for his life. “This was all planned! The raid! The dogs! Meeting me! IT WAS ALL PLANNED!” Niccolo hoarsely cried out. Levi wound up and then smacked the damp chef. Niccolo hunched to the side, but Levi grabbed his hair, forcing him back into the chair. 

“You and your cultist group put us through shit!!!” Levi said curtly. Niccolo’s face was pink and his mouth was agape. “I don’t care about the plan you and your little cultist group put together! TELL ME! Where is Princess Y/N?” 

“I want to make a deal—” Levi raised his knee and dug it into Niccolo’s abdomen. Niccolo let out a deep grunt. 

“You don’t get to bargain,” Levi pulled his hair again, and Niccolo choked on his spit. “Where is Princess Y/N?” 

“LISTEN PLEASE—-” Levi kneed him in the abdomen again and Niccolo howled. 

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Niccolo coughed and spit dripped from the corner of his mouth.  

“Levi . . .” Hange gazed at Niccolo’s strained form in the chair. “I want to hear the plan,” Hange smiled mischievously, and Levi stepped back. Niccolo let out a sound of relief and Hange drew their jewel sword. They chuckled and there was a harsh look in their eye—a blazing fire. The thought of you in peril sparked a deep, hidden rage. Hange ran their fingers against the blade of their sword and then their lips curled in a smile. They grabbed the blonde man’s damp hair and yanked it back. Then Hange leaned into his right ear, “And if I don’t fucking like your story, you’ll be castrated . . . .” Niccolo gasped. Then Hange directed one of the knights, “Remove his codpiece.” 

“What?! No! NO! NO!” Hange turned around and smirked. Behind them, a knight was taking off Niccolo’s armor and he was thrashing, crying out. The room full of knights had been through Hange and Levi’s torturing sessions before and knew that between Levi and Hange, Hange was crazier, yet they always got the information they wanted. Nothing and no one was going to keep them from you. Hange exhaled and then turned around. Niccolo was slumped in the chair and his flaccid penis was on display. He winced as Hange approached. 

“I’m only a novice at torture . . . but I’m willing to give it my all,” Hange tilted their head, peering down and Niccolo’s chest was heaving. “I want to hear your deal . . . and you will tell me the little plan you and your traitors made. But . . . If I hear something I don’t like . . .” Hange jammed the tip of their sword in the chair between Niccolo’s legs, causing him to yelp “You won’t continue your family lineage. So start talking: tell me the deal.”  

“I . . .” Niccolo’s voice wavered and there was a lump in his throat. He was sweating profusely and having trouble looking Hange in the eye. “I-I want to work in the castle and work as a chef for the royal kitchen! In exchange for telling you everything about the Marleyan Cult! Including where the Princess was taken!” 

“That’s a shit deal,” Levi bluntly said and Hange flashed Levi a smirk. 

“Oh Niccolo . . . you want job security in the royal kitchen? And why should we believe you have betrayed the Marleyan Cult?”

“BECAUSE!” Niccolo shouted, gritting his teeth as if holding back his thoughts. His voice trembled, and his head slumped to the side. He looked like he was daring himself to speak—to say his truthful thoughts. He shut his eyes and whimpered defeatedly. “Because . . . I believe titans shouldn’t rule the world.”

Hange heard the faint whispers among the knights. Their hypothesis had been confirmed. 

“That means nothing,” Levi said.  “Anyone like you could storm in and tell us they are traitors because they don’t want titans to rule the world.”

“Fine.” Niccolo huffed out. “I don’t care anymore. Kill me. I don’t want to live my life as a cultist. If I could have been born into a family that didn’t belong to the Marleyan Cult, I would have chosen that life.” 

“I want to hear the plan you and the other traitors devised,” Hange clipped. 

“My part of the plan didn’t go through because Commander Lobov didn’t choose me to join Levi’s group of knights. So, I’ll start from the beginning of what I know: Zeke led a ward to one of the other knight’s camps. He tortured the commander and stole his jeweled sword, which is what Zeke was told to retrieve. While another member was in charge of gathering a ward's vicious mutts. Then . . . Uh . . .  I believe Zeke then went to Captain Levi and delivered a fake letter to Levi, telling him that Commander Erwin saw a ward in the Trost District. The letter told Levi to ride east to Karanese District. On the way, the mutts were supposed to kill everyone and Zeke would abduct the Princess then . They knew that was risky, so they added another part to the plan. Another purpose of heading to Karanese District was to appoint two more Marleyan Cult members to join Levi’s group. Me and Reiner Braun. But Commander Lobov did not assign me to join, so my part of the plan fell through. Another part of the plan in Karanese District was: If Levi’s knights and the Princess managed to arrive in Karanese District, then a ward of the Marleyan Cult would raid and abduct the Princess.” Hange exhaled and blinked, encoding all the information Niccolo had spilled out. The room was silent and too stunned to speak. 

“Well, your fucking plan failed, dumbass,” Eren yelled from the other room. 

“SHIT! SHIT! HANGE! JEAN COLLAPSED!” Connie yelled and then a group of knights huddled Jean. Connie leaned him upright onto the couch and held a finger to his neck. Jean’s wet hair stuck to his pasty face. “I feel a pulse! It’s faint.” 

“Connie, take him downstairs, do what you need to do. I’ll come down when we’re done with the chef.” Connie and three other knights lifted Jean off the couch and carried his unconscious body out of the room. Then Hange glanced at Levi, who was staring daggers at Niccolo. 

“So Niccolo, you told us the plan, but there are some holes in your story,” Hange started. “First, I want to know what made you want to betray the Marleyan Cult?”

“When . . . when,” Niccolo closed his eyes again and he scrunched up his face as if he was trying to remember something. “The day I served her lunch—the Princess. She was gushing over my food. She was like a kid shoving food into her mouth. The Princess didn’t know that wine was a type of alcohol. I knew she was too innocent and I wanted to protect her. I realized I didn’t want her to be sacrificed and that she deserves to live a safe life. She was so precious, so—”

“Don’t say another word about her,” Hange hissed and pressed the blade against his balls.

“Another thing doesn’t make sense,” Levi started, moving closer to Niccolo, peering down at him. “Answer: Who sent the letter stating that Commander Erwin was heading towards Trost District? Who gathered the mutts and who killed Commander Lobov? Zeke Yeager didn’t have the jeweled sword, so who has Flagon’s sword? How did you find us? And where is Princess Y/N?” All the knights practically leaned toward Niccolo and stayed silent to hear his answers. 

“Reiner Braun, Zeke, and I followed you the morning after Karanese District . . .” Niccolo breathed. “We were trying to catch up to you but couldn’t find you . . . Then we split off in three different directions, hoping one of us found your camp. When Zeke was exposed as a traitor, the Cult Leader got angry and took it upon himself to abduct Princess Y/N.” Hange and Levi exchanged knowing looks. Hange drew their sword back into the sheath and both Hange and Levi had the same question in mind. 

“The Marleyan Cult Leader abducted Princess Y/N?”

“Yes. He sent the misleading letters, burned Shiganshina down, burned the Karanese Headquarters down, and he’s in possession of a jeweled sword.” 

“Damn it!” Hange’s knuckles were turning white and they were holding back on punching a wall. 

“Have you heard the story of the Legend of the Titans ?” Hange gasped and their eye went wide. “There’s some truth behind that story. The Princess was born on the day of the coordinate and she has royal blood. The Marleyan Cult believe she’s the key to the ritual and would revive the founding titan on her quarter birthday. Eventually leading to the revival of the other eight—”

“Wait . . . so you’re saying it’s true? The Marleyan Cult has a titan?”

“Yes. The cult leader is in possession of the founding titan, but he can’t use the full potential until the ritual on Princess Y/N’s twenty-fifth birthday.”

“And that same person abducted her?”

“Yes, Cult Leader Willy Tybur.” 

End of Act II 

Megan's Note: I so badly wanted to name this chapter "The Missing Sword", but that's just a spoiler : (( That's a wrap on Act II. Please tell me I fooled you with the Erwin/Willy Tybur plot LMAO Thank you so much for reading and we are half way through the story! More adventure, action, violence, romance, fluff, and angst. Thank you for sticking by me! Have a good one :D —Megan<3

Next chapter: 21: Power at Play

chapter index masterlist

[tyrantisterror]

Well gang, it's Walpurgisnacht, a time when the veil is thin and the supernatural powers are at their strongest. That also means it's the two-year anniversary of the publication of the first Wizard School Mysteries book. I had hoped to have a third out by now but life has been... well, it's been life, and things are progressing if at a slower pace than desired, that's how it goes.

ANYWAY! To keep with the faith and tide over the five or so of my followers who are actually looking forward to a third one of these (and five more after it at some point), I thought I'd share something special: the Wizard School Mysteries Freshmen Year soundtrack! Yes, like ATOM and No Sympathies before it, I've made a soundtrack for Wizard School Mysteries. It's not fully complete, mind you - this is the biggest writing project I've undertaken so far, and things are constantly developing, but the parts of it that cover the first three books are more or less done - and today, I'm sharing the first two with you, i.e. the songs that cover the freshmen year of my eight meddlesome youths.

As with the previous books, I've made a youtube playlist of the songs involved, and will post the tracklist below along with what each track corresponds to in the books. So if this kind of thing interests you, dive in after the cut!

Book 1: The Meddlesome Youths

Prologue: He's Leaving Home - She's Leaving Home by The Beatles, which is a song about a runaway teenager escaping a family that refused to acknowledge their pain. This is, obviously, a song for James Chaucer.

Chapter 1: The Treadscar Path - We Are Going to be Friends by The White Stripes. This song's about kids going to school for the first time and making friends, and while the protagonists of the song are much younger than our Meddlesome Youths, I still feel it captures the spirit of the first meeting of James, Ivan, and Gretchen.

Chapter 2: Elemental Orientation - Pursuing My True Self from Persona 4. The Persona games are the biggest influence on Wizard School Mysteries out of all its inspirations, and the opening theme for Persona 4 to this day screams "teenage sleuths diving into a mystery" to me when I hear it, which made it the perfect song for our introduction to the AAAM.

Chapter 3: Academics and Absences - Beneath the Mask -rain- from Persona 5. Second verse same as the first where Persona and WSM goes. I consider this another James Chaucer theme, both lyrically and in its general vibe, and the "rain" version's specifically moodier, more contemplative arrangement really suits where his head is at during this chapter of the book, as James is exposed to the faults in the AAAM and how it's failing some of its students.

Chapter 4: Of Chariots and Fire - She's Actual Size by They Might Be Giants. This is a Margot theme, and also kind of a James theme since it fits his view of her really well.

Chapter 5: What No Student Has Done Before - Rasputin by Bony M. This is an Oomlowt theme, which I struggled to find for a while when putting together the early versions of the WSM soundtrack, until one of my friends pointed out that, as an Aitvaras, Oomlowt could be considered Russian - and, well, as the first book's sole "cool" teacher, I think he's earned the right to claim one of the raddest fucking songs ever sung as his unofficial theme.

Chapter 6: The Hoard of Knowledge - Magic by The Mystery Skulls. I wanted a song that captures the feeling I got when entering my college's enormous, jaw-dropping library of books back in the day, which is a feeling this chapter also tried to catch. The fact that the song is full of language dealing with magic spells also helps it fit a wizard book.

Chapter 7: Tea With Mackers - The Nuckelavee Song from The Bard's Tale. Listen, this is the chapter where a nuckelavee plays a big role, and that's as good an excuse as any to use this song.

Chapter 8: The Matter of Manners - Changes by David Bowie. This is a Rodrigo theme, and I try to give him glam rock songs as much as possible to fit his vibe as the most fashionable of our wizard youths. I think the song also fits what Rodrigo is attempting to do in this chapter - namely, help his friends figure out how to fit in with a "higher" class of people.

Chapter 9: Hobgoblin Poetry - Magic Dance Underground / A Labyrinth Medley by Aurelio Voltaire. As I've opined before, I think Jim Henson's Labyrinth is one of the best illustrations of what folkloric fairies are like in terms of behavior/morality, and so for this chapter, when we get some characterization for a normal fairy underling for the big bad, I felt a Labyrinth song would be appropriate, and this medley is like half the soundtrack condensed into five minutes.

Chapter 10: The Samhain Celebration - Love Is All by Dio. Speaking of characterizing the Fae, there's a manic aspect to the cheery 70's positivity of this song that I find subtly sinister while still being playful and fun, which I think fits the dance-scene in this book quite well.

Chapter 11: Traps and Treasures - God's Away on Business by Tom Waits. This is a Fafgander theme - like Oomlowt, I kinda struggled finding a good song for him. I knew I wanted his theme to be something by Tom Waits, but I struggled to decided on one song in particular. I kept coming back to this one despite having already used it on the No Sympathies soundtrack - I generally try not to repeat myself on these to make sure each book's audio accompaniment is unique to it. But I couldn't stop picturing a big dragon slithering out of the clouds to the opening beats of this song, and the playful cynicism of the lyrics just felt very Fafgander.

Chapter 12: A Wild Hunt & Chapter 13: The Summer Prince - Tam Lin by The Fairport Convention. Yeah, I know, kinda cheating to lump two chapters under one song, but Tam Lin is a long-ass song, though short by Medieval Ballad standards. A song about a clever mortal finding a way to trick a high-ranking fairy noble into releasing a person she was intending to use as a sacrifice is, I think, a pretty fitting song for the climax of book 1.

Chapter 14: The End of the Beginning - This Must Be the Place by The Talking Heads. A song about finding comfort and solace despite the uncertain future that lies before you, because you have people around you to help lift your spirits, which is exactly where our heroes are emotionally by the end of book 1.

Book 2: Tournament of Death

Chapter 1: The Dragon Tithe - Don't Let's Start by They Might Be Giants. There's a fan-made Adventure Zone animatic to this song that kind of cemented it as a Fantasy song in my mind despite there being no inherent fantasy elements to the lyrics. I mean, I already loved this song, They Might Be Giants has been one of my favorite bands since I started actively considering what my favorite bands are, but this just added to that love. Like a lot of TMBG songs, it's got a very peppy, upbeat vibe while having pretty dark lyrics, which feels pretty appropriate to the tone of WSM as a whole and Tournament of Death in particular.

Chapter 2: The Dragon Trick - Just the Right Bullets by Annabelle Chvostek. This is a theme for Juno Panopte, and was chosen for a couple reasons. First, Annabelle performs this song with just the right sort of gritty, vaguely sleazy charm that I wanted Juno to ooze. She's a charismatic teacher who nonetheless puts you a little on edge - you're never sure if she's fucking with you or not. Second, it's a cover of a Tom Waits song by a lady, and Juno Panopte, the character who represents the Empress arcana in WSM's tarot motiff, is a sort of equivalent to Fafgander, the Emperor arcana - and another character with a Tom Waits song as his theme.

Chapter 3: Curios of Calampen - Marketland by Lemon Demon. This is a song about people trying to hock weird shit to you at a flea market, for a chapter about our heroes buying weird shit at a flea market.

Chapter 4: Herring Lordred - Chaos King (with lyrics) by ManontheInternet. A theme for Lord Dhenregirr, and specifically for his duel with James at the start of the titular deadly tournament.

Chapter 5: The Sundown's Shine - Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In) by White Denim. Yeah, it's the version from the Fargo TV show. Obviously this is a song for Geoffrey Travers, out Dude-inspired wizard.

Chapter 6: Chivalry Dies - The Impossible Dream (The Quest) from Man of La Mancha. If there is a song that more succinctly captures the ideals of chivalry and gallant knighthood, I have not heard it, and no other song could make for a better funeral dirge for poor Gabriev Zelgad.

Chapter 7: Grudge Match - Barracuda by Heart. I looked for so many other songs for this chapter because Barracuda seemed like to obvious a choice, but nothing fit as well and, hey, this is me we're talking about, and more than that, it's Midgaheim. I am not one to avoid obvious, one might even say cliche, story choices if they appeal to me. And, like, this is specifically a song about confronting and telling off your abuser, very few things would fit this chapter better. A second theme for Margot, obviously.

Chapter 8: A Needlessly Gendered Night Out - Sandstorm by Danude. Ok, so, in every high school dance, as well as every dance club I went to in college (which was, like... three? I think? I did not party nearly enough when I was young) played this song at some point, so it's cemented in my head as THE song for teenagers/young adults doing stupid shit and getting into ridiculous drama, so I included it despite it being even longer than fucking Tam Lin.

Chapter 9: Lightning Struck - Under Pressure by Queen. A song that perfectly captures the teenager/young adult condition of, like, complete and total anxiety that any moment now you could ruin your life forever without meaning to. A song for Polybeus, but also for all the Meddlesome Youths, and really for all young people everywhere.

Chapter 10: Well-Timed Pranks - The Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel. Once I remembered and accepted that being trite/cliche/obvious is very much my bag, I figured what the hell, let's use one of the most-overused songs about dealing with grief for the chapter that's about dealing with grief, because this song happens to be really fucking good at describing the process of dealing with grief.

Chapter 11: Wasp Under Glass - Woman!! Spirit of the Festival from Sakura Wars (2019). This song is a leitmotif for the most under-developed lady in the main cast of this game, which is a shame because the song itself is a fucking banger. Here it serves not just as a theme for Serena (hopefully more well-developed as a character) but specifically for her fight with Sadie Pineed. Can you hear the part where all the towers fall down? I can.

Chapter 12: Deadly Threads - General's Battle Song from Centaurworld. This is a song about a character who's seemed pretty affable and cool revealing his true colors as a total bastard, and on this unofficial soundtrack it serves as a theme for Richard Rainsford. If you read the second book, you know why.

Chapter 13: The Fury of Stars and Shards - Get Along from Slayers. This is specifically a theme for Margot and Serena's two-on-two fight with the saboteurs of the tournament. Can you hear the part where Serena gets the power up? Or when our two heroines, having dealt with the first saboteaur, bear down on the second and utterly curbstomp him? I can!

Chapter 14: Triumph of the Chariot - La Bete et la Belle by The Real Tuesday Weld. The Real Tuesday Weld is another of my favorite bands, and this song is actually a reprise of their song "The Ugly and the Beautiful" from their concept album I, Lucifer (which is in turn the official soundtrack for a novel of the same name by Glenn Duncan). The song itself is about a somewhat toxic relationship between two deeply unwell people, but this reprise differs from the first instance of it by being more sweet and mellow in how it's arranged which, combined with it being sung in French instead of English like its predecessor, softens a lot of its edges and brings the sweeter, more hopeful parts of the song to the forefront. I picked it as a song for James and Margot - two people who, while not toxic, are still a bit broken and unwell because of their life experiences - who are finding hope in each other and the people around them.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Shot through the Heart But You’re to Blame (You Give Love A Bad Name)

Chapter Fourteen of Sweet Home Alabama

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)

Description: Before you can believe it, it's your wedding day. If only you could bring yourself to be as happy as Natasha and Carole seem to be. Carole is in her element, bossing around everyone in the wedding party as well as the staff and the caterers. She seems wholly occupied at the thought of giving her son a picture perfect wedding. When a wrench gets thrown in the works, it's anyone's guess as to who loses their cool.

Meanwhile, Jake is prepping for a lightning storm. It seems like the world is ending. He's lost everything he's ever fought to get. Is there one last chance fated for these estranged lovers?

Themes: love, attraction, angst, sex, cheating, lying

Warnings: Carole being Carole. She’s a warning in and of herself!

Word Count: 3127

A/N: Well yall, we're at chapter fourteen. This is the beginning of the end for this story, and I'm so nostalgic to think of it ending. I've been working on this story since June or July of 2023. A little over 6 months of writing and just about 4 months of posting this story and here we are. I can't believe it. I want to take this time to thank everyone who has been reading this story. You've made me so thrilled and genuinely shocked with your love and support.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

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Floyd Plantation, Greeneville, Alabama - Wedding Day

The day of your wedding dawns bright and clear, with big creamy clouds floating across the sky. It’s hot and humid, static electricity making you jumpy - you wouldn’t be surprised if it rains tonight - though you hope it doesn’t rain during the ceremony. Carole would freak out if that happened. In any case, Floyd Plantation is resplendent, the grounds festooned in bunches of white, cream, and peach flowers, the chairs covered in white satin with big bows on the back. Standing in the master bedroom of Floyd Plantation you’re being poked and prodded with pins and makeup brushes. You feel rather like a doll as you stand there and let the makeup artists doll you up to Carole’s satisfaction. You can faintly hear the band setting up in the big tent for the reception and not for the first time, you wish that Carole would just shut up. She’s been drilling you about notable guests and on your answers for an interview with the press after the ceremony all day. You’re already frazzled, your nerves strung tight, and you’d really appreciate a few moments to yourself before you walk down the aisle.

“Alright, Linley, remember that Mr. Fulsom and his third wife will be here tonight. Her name is Marta,” She’s got her glasses on as she prepares to run through the list with you again.

You sigh, and continue the tirade. “I know, Carole. Don’t call her Donna or Leanne because those are ex-wives numbers one and two. That’ll cause her to start drinking, if she drinks, she’ll cause a scene, and we need Mr.Fulsom on the Bradshaw side because he is one of the best political supporters on the East Coast and he will be instrumental to Bradley’s career.”

“Well, it looks like you’re ready.” She turns to the poor beleaguered make-up artists hovering on either side of you. “Is there anything you can do with contouring? All of this time in Alabama and she looks tireder and flabbier than ever. It must be all the fried food you get around here. Anyone would think salads aren’t an item you can eat, looking at her.”

You can’t even summon up the energy for an eye roll as she waltzes back out of the suite, her heels clacking loudly against the tiles. The titters of the makeup artists as they attack your face with vigor again doesn’t help your mood or the way your stomach cramps with nerves.

Jake’s Yellow House, Pigeon Creek, Alabama - Wedding Day

In the years since his marriage fell apart, Jake’s been able to sniff out lightning storms like none other. It’s like he can taste the electricity in the air, and feel it in the summer breeze. At least the scent of electricity on the breeze diverts his thoughts from the event happening in Greeneville tonight. He’d been invited, sure, but Jake Seresin’s not sure he’ll be able to sit in the audience in a monkey suit and hear a preacher ask if anyone objects to the nuptials - not without screaming, “I object!” at the top of his lungs. It’s why he’s pacing back and forth in front of his house as the sun sinks languidly below the horizon.

Eventually, the nervous energy singing in his veins isn’t placated by pacing, so he pulls on his heavy work gloves and starts loading up his truck for a night out on the beach. If he can’t see the love of his life, if he can’t stop her from getting married to another man, he might as well make a few more lightning-glass sculptures. Jake’s just loaded up the first set of heavy metal beams into the bed of his truck when a pickup truck rolls up the driveway. Unsurprisingly, it’s his Mama stepping out of the truck. He hasn’t seen the look on his mom’s face in years, not since he decided to give up on his dreams for Linley and the baby they were expecting. The disappointment on her face, then and now, stings more than he ever expects it to. 

“Hi.” She’s wearing one of her fancy church dresses, like she’s heading up to Floyd Plantation to say goodbye to her daughter forever. Amelia’s lounging in the front seat looking positively miserable in a pink frock, and Jake would smile at her dismay if he didn’t feel just as miserable as his little sister. “There’s a wedding going on.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard mention of it a time or two.” He can’t look at his mom or his sister. He can’t bear to see the pity and righteous anger in their eyes. Though, it is a balm to his soul that the anger is on his behalf.

“I sure hope this weather cooperates.” A lick of cooler wind brushes across his face, damp as it rustles through the trees.

“It’s supposed to be a big one, tonight.” The lightning rods clank satisfyingly as he chucks them into the truck piece by piece.

“You know, Jake…” That tone of voice is something Jake’s been trained to pay attention to since he was very little. He grabs the last of the rods and his toolbox as his mama picks up his sleeping bag. “You're my only son and I love you, but sometimes, you are too much like your daddy.”

There’s naked pain in his voice as he finally responds. “She made her decision, Mama.”

“You know, for somebody who’s been holding on to something so hard, you’re pretty quick to let it go.” But has he been quick to let her go? Jake Seresin has been in love with Linley Mitchell since he was ten years old. He’s been holding out hope that she’ll come back from New York for the better part of seven years, taking the time to make something of himself so she’ll finally like the man she sees enough to stay. He’s been hoping and praying. But what can he do when the person he’s been praying for doesn’t want him at all? It feels like there is only one decision he can make. All he can do is step back and hope that she’ll be happy, even if its not with him.

“You know, I can't control her any more than I can control the weather.” So as he latches the tailgate back up and gets into the cab, he hopes that Linley is happy, incandescently unbelievably happy with Bradley Bradshaw. He leaves his Mama and sister in the dust as he pulls away, the sad look on his face mirroring the ones on theirs.

Floyd Plantation, Greeneville, Alabama - Minutes before the wedding

Natasha’s fingers are deft and gentle as she carefully buttons up each of the miniscule buttons at the back of your dress. Your hair and makeup are perfect, you’re wearing your new blue earrings and you should be ready to go. You’ve got the old, the new, the borrowed and the blue, but you can’t recognize the woman you see in the mirror.

“It’s just nerves, Linley.” Natasha’s quick to reassure you. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“Am I?” You turn your head back and forth, gaze caught on prisms of light cast by the blue glass earring you’re wearing. 

“He can give you the life we dreamed about when we were penniless and living in the dorms at FIT off of instant noodles and our dreams of success.” She’s resplendent in a periwinkle blue gown, her short bob styled into a sleek cap which makes her look effortlessly stylish and elegant. 

“And he adores you, doesn’t he?” You bend obligingly as she arranges your grandmother’s veil over your head, extra careful with the aged fabric as she pins it into place.

“He does, doesn’t he?” Your heart feels like it’s ripping itself into pieces and you’re not going to think about why. You made your choices. Bradley Bradshaw chose you and he adores you. He even says he loves you. You’re not sure you believe it, but affection should get you halfway there at least, right?

As the music plays out across the assembled guests in their finery, you feel electricity in the wind as you take your father’s arm. Natasha proceeds down the aisle in front of you, her pace stately even as thunder rumbles ominously over your head. The audience stands on cue as Wagner’s Bridal Chorus is tunefully played by the orchestra Carole and Bradley hired fpr your wedding. The sky is dark and the breeze is chilly enough to have goosebumps rise along your bare arms and a shiver trailing down your spine. The photographers are clicking away, and Bradley is looking gorgeous in his fitted black tuxedo at the end of the aisle. He’s got a fond, sweet smile on his face at the sight of you. To the audience members, he looks like a man in love. But to you, he looks just a little fake, just a little tired. There isn’t love in his eyes as he looks at you, but pride and satisfaction. What’s the likelihoods that your dad will block Bradley from running after you if you turn tail and book it to his truck?

But that thought comes too late. You’re just about to take Bradley’s hand in front of the minister when the shouting of your nom de plume rings out over the hushed audience. It’s a sharply dressed African American man, and you recognize him seconds before two of the guards Carole hired deck him. 

“Mr. Fitch?” You’re shocked as you tread back down the aisle as fast as your cumbersome dress and heels will allow you. 

“Get your hands off me!” He’s fighting off the guards as much as he’s able to.

You can feel Bradley coming up behind you as you finally find the words and demand, “Wait! Let him go!”

“Linley?” You can hear the confusion in Bradley’s voice as Mr. Fitch straightens his creased suit as much as he can and walks towards you. “Miss Floyd, you are one hard woman to get in touch with.” His voice rings commandingly through the crowd. 

“Mr. Fitch. He signed the papers. What are you doing here?” It seems like everyone is watching your every mood as you hiss the words out. You’re not sure why he’s here at all.

“He did … you didn’t.” At least Mr. Fitch finally seems to realize he has an audience too, because his voice is just as hushes as yours is. 

“What?” Sure enough when he pulls the papers out and shows you the signature tabs, Jake’s signature is in bold ink scrawled across the page, but the tab where you should have signed is empty. You could have sworn you’d signed at least one of the copies before you made your frenzied trip to the post office that morning. But you can’t remember. You’d been completely drugged by the scent of Jake on your skin, by the ghostly feeling of his hands and then also still hungover to boot. “You mean I’m still married?”

You just see the joy on Penny and Amelia’s faces as Mr. Fitch says, “Well, only if you want to be.”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, Linley! I thought you took care of this.” Just when you’re starting to finally feel joy in what should be one of the most joyful days of your life, it is your fiancé’s voice which plummets your mood. Bradley sounds disappointed, even if his face doesn’t reveal it.

“It was an honest mistake, Bradley.” You’re not sure he believes you.

“Well, then, can we fix it before we all get soaked?” Carole’s domineering and nasal voice rings out over the assembled company.

“Does anybody have a pen?” Your voice is thin as you ask that question, and it gratifies you that most of the audience so obligingly searches for a pen in their belongings. Bradley even tries to ask Carole, but her scoff makes your eyes roll just a little even as you search for a pen yourself.

It’s Penny Benjamin, the only mother you’ve ever know who pulls a pen out.

“Darling,” Her voice is soft and filled with as much love as you’ve ever heard. “These things don’t just happen, you know.”

With the pen in hand, you’re filled with so much confusion. All of a sudden you’re seeing Jake and Bradley side by side in front of your eyes. Mr. Fitch is looking at you with the same sympathy you can see in Penny’s face. Every glance you take of Bradley shows him silently urging you to sign the papers. But you can’t. At the moment, you’re not sure why you agreed to marry Bradley anymore. He’s gorgeous, sweet, funny and kind, but he’s so buttoned up all the time, so sure of what he needs to do to succeed. In comparison to him, you’re something of a mess. You couldn’t be organized if you try, and forget it if an idea sparks in your brain. You’d happily give up food, sleep, and hygiene if your ideas manage to make their way onto pages first and then fabric in turn shortly after. It’s a trait of yours Bradley has always hated. But he’s never realized how much of you that is. 

In contrast, you remember what Jake used to act like when you got in that mood. He never minded, carefully coaxing you to eat, to sleep, picking his moments to break your concentration. In truth, that’s probably why you and Jake are kindred spirits. He used to get the same way before big football games, practicing until his muscles gave out and he’d collapse. A part of you wonders if he is the same way with his glasswork. You have a sneaking suspicion he is, and if the bags under his eyes when you saw him at the opening for Deep South Glass, your suspicion would be correct. There was also the matter of how thin and sad he’d looked. Your hand with the pen hovers over the papers. You try to sign the papers the way Bradley and Carole so want you to. But each attempt at putting pen to paper is ultimately unsuccessful. There is something like resignation in Bradley’s face when you put the pen down for the final time and walk toward him.

“Bradley?” He looks oddly surprised that you’re talking to him right now. “You don’t want to marry me.”

“I don’t?” His voice is still light and polite.

“No.” You’re nearly besides yourself in comparison to the cool look in his eyes. “No, you don’t. Not really.” Your throat is tight and your head is spinning as you carefully try to think of words to tell Bradley the truth without breaking his heart. 

“You see, the truth is, I gave my heart away a long time ago.” There’s a sob building in your throat as you say the words because you can see Bradley’s heart break the more you say. You fell in love with Bradley Bradshaw a long time ago because of his big heart. “My whole heart and I never really got it back.”

“I don’t even know what else to say, but I’m sorry.” You sniffle as you hand the ring, the beautiful Tiffany ring back to him. “I can’t marry you, and you shouldn’t want to marry me.”

“Wow.” Of everything you’d expect the man you’re leaving at the altar to say, “Wow” is not something you’d have expected. “So this is what this feels like.”

You chuckle despite your tears, because something tells you that Bradley is going to be just fine after this botched wedding.

“That’s it?!” Carole’s screech nearly takes your eardrums out; it is that high pitched. “You’re just going to let her humiliate you with some bullshit about an old husband?” If there was a member of your collective friends and family who were unaware of what was happening, well, there isn’t a hope of that now.

“Yeah, mom. I think I am.” Bradley smiles softly at you, kisses your knuckles and walks away, murmuring ‘Excuse Me’ to the guests as he does. You think there is a pep to his step as he strides away, and he looks lighter, happier.

“Well, in my entire life, I have never met anyone so manipulative, so deceitful! And I’m in politics!” There’s something menacing in Carole Bradshaw’s voice and tone as she marches closer to you. 

“I -” You’re more than a little discomfitted. “I’m just trying to be honest, Carole. Your son deserves that.”

“I will not allow the future President of the United States to be dumped at the altar by some psycho Daisy Mae! You go after him now, you little bitch!” Well, at least she’s showing her true colors now. The guests gasp the moment she starts cursing you out, and surprisingly, Penny and your dad step up in front of you like a physical shield at your ex-fiancé’s mother’s vitriol.

“Wait just a minute. There’s no need for name-calling, now.” Penny is angry, her placid demeanor melting into the mien of a mama bear out for blood as she glares at the Mayor of New York like she’s an unruly bar patron.

“My daughter spoke her piece and that’s all there is to it, Carole.” That it’s your dad who defends you just seems to have made Carole angrier. But she seems to realize that she can’t attack Maverick Mitchell on his home turf. Instead she turns back to Penny in her simple black dress and growls, “Oh, go back to your double-wide and fry something!”

That’s about when you’ve had enough of the almighty righteousness of Carole Bradshaw. You take one step forward, square up your hips like your daddy taught you how to years ago and take one almighty swing. Your fist makes contact satisfyingly with the bridge of the nose she’s always proclaimed is perfect with a thwack and a very satisfying crunch. She looks dazed as she lands on the soft grass. Her nose may be bleeding just a little, and that makes you grin vindictively.

“Nobody talks to my mama like that!” Beau Simpson is there to help prop her up, but you could care less about the crazed Mayor of New York. Nat giggles as you hand her your bouquet and you smile softly at your dad as he hands you his truck keys. At the moment, the rain lets loose, deluging the pretty flowers and satin chairs and beautifully dressed people in moments.

“Hey y’all! If you're friends of the bride, stick around!” Your proclamation is filled with whoops of glee from all the people you love in Pigeon Creek. “I’m going to go find me a groom!”

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@atarmychick007 @the-romanian-is-bae @mshistorylover @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814 @praline357 @seitmai @cheyrenee @trickphotography2 @abaker74 @marrianena-library @angelbabyange @temptest13 @kmc1989 @im-an-adult-ish @chaoticassidy @inkandarsenic @lynnevanss @shanimallina87 @khaylin27 @mizzzpink @emma8895eb @hookslove1592 @leahnicole1219 @djs8891 @midnightmagpiemama @itsdesiree86 @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

[quickspinner]

Weekly Lukanette Link Roundup

What is the Weekly Roundup? | Previous Weekly Roundups

I hope I got everything. Apologies if I put anything under the wrong author name or missed anything. Drop me a line if I missed anything and I'll make sure it goes on the next roundup as always.

From me: Some Other Timeline

From @honeybloom20-23: The music that was finally complete

From @smileytrinity: Late Night Worries | Truths

From @chrwrites: Ghosts | Sword | Fire

From @nerdypanda3126: Smooch Roulette #1

From @rosebrided: Moonlit Melody

From @omnoramayday: Let's Try Again | The Straw That Broke | It's Time | A Bold Move | Ring The Bells | We Should Talk | Art Speaks | Distracting | Truth Hurts | Too Late For Cold Feet | A Special Moment | A Little Rain | Anticipation | Maize Maze | Caught | Dark Days | Puddle Jumping | Sometimes I Miss It | Exercise Can Be Dangerous | Love Language | Smooth | Replacement Needed | Couples Who Cook Together | Wrong Dressing Room | 7 Minutes In Heaven | Giving Up | Wake Up Call | Sunlight, Starlight |

From @rierse: "It's not too late, let's go." | Conceal | Altered | I Want To Believe You | May I Crash This Dance? | We Need to Talk | Smoke | Fair Trade | I Wouldn't Do That If I Were You | Unexpected Truth | On Our Own | Darning, Yarn is Alarming | The Suit | Warped | In the Dark

From @verfound: Autumn | Many | Hidden | Ghost Family | Circus | Tiny | Cats and Bats | Under the Bed | Funeral | Full Moon | Folklore | Skeleghost | Burn | Mushroom | Pattern

If I missed something that should be included, reblog, reply, DM, or drop the link in my asks and I’ll make sure it goes on next week’s roundup! If you prefer not to be included in these roundups for any reason please drop me a message, or if you post something that you would like to be sure I include, please drop a link in my asks and I’ll make sure it gets listed (Lukanette endgame only please - see what is the weekly roundupfor more details). If you want to be sure I’ve flagged your work for inclusion you can check the quickroundup tag on my blog to see what I’ve got in the queue for this week.

If you find something you like please like/reblog the original post to let the author know you enjoyed their work!

[ghoulangerlee]

Post last ritual, Copia and Dew talk about the future :)

I'm a firm Copia doesn't die truther so don't look to me for death. Copia lives a happy and long life with his ghouls post retirement lmao

-

"So, that was the last one, huh?" Dew asks as he lets himself into Copia's dressing room, the last one of the long line of dressing rooms he'd found himself in over the last several months.

Copia, as always, is sitting in a chair in front of a vanity mirror, a nicer one than some of the previous, carefully wiping his papal paint from his skin, "Last one," he confirms after a long moment of silence, looking back at Dew through the mirror. "How does it feel?"

Dew comes further into the room, pulling his helmet off and placing it down on the first surface he can, "It's bittersweet," he admits, "This tour has been...enlightening. A lot more high energy than previous ones," he carefully rests his hands on Copia's shoulders.

He's already out of his show clothes and is wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants; he looks good like this, content and happy, comfortable. Settled into his skin after several long years of trying to prove himself.

"You've done well, Papa," Dew says, leaning down to press a kiss into Copia's hair.

Copia hums, a happy little sound as he places the paint stained rag on the vanity before leaning back into Dew, "I couldn't have done it without my ghouls by my side," he says, soft and full of meaning. "Having you here has meant so much to me." His hand comes up and he covers Dew's on his shoulder, bare skin on bare skin. "Thank you for never giving up on me."

Dew scoffs a little, but there's a smile on his face, "None of the mushy stuff until we're out of the venue," he says, "You know Rain or Cumulus are better suited for that shit."

This time, Copia laughs and he turns in the chair a bit so he can look up at Dew, a happy smile on his face, "I mean it Dewdrop," he says and then he grows serious, "Having you here has kept me sane more times than I could count."

And well, Dew's not sure what to do with that, so he leans down and draws Copia into a kiss that he hopes is able to convey that he's here. He will always be here. That he doesn't make arbitrary promises in the middle of a traumatizing elemental transformation for just anyone.

When they part and Dew pulls his hands away from Copia's face, he makes a face at the smeared mix of white and gray transfer on his fingers. "You missed some," he says, wiggling them at Copia.

Copia's smile is private, fond and smitten as he turns around and picks up the washcloth, handing it to Dew, "Take care of it for me?" He asks.

Dew rolls his eyes but takes the rag, carefully tilting Copia's head to one side so he can wipe away the paint and sweat accumulating under his jaw and behind his ears, quiet all the while.

"Aether used to do this for me too," Copia comments quietly, a far away quality to his voice. "It'll be nice to see him again."

Dew feels something soft tug at his heart as he thinks of Aether, waiting for them to return to the church. They have so much to tell him about the tour. About Aurora and Aeon's part in their pack now.

"I can't wait to see his dumb face again," Dew says, his voice full of emotion, disgusting human emotions that Dew can't help but feel being fed into his and Copia's bond. Love. Care. Admiration. Longing.

They lapse into a silence and Dew continues to carefully wipe away whatever paint he finds that Copia's overly eager swipes had missed.

"When I name my successor..." Copia begins after some time, slow and careful, tasting the words in his mouth like something foreign. A thought he hadn't considered in almost six years. "Will you continue on as a band ghoul?"

Dew hasn't thought much about it, beyond what happens when they return to the church. Beyond Copia assuring them—with paperwork, notarized by Mr. Saltarian, the senior most member of the Clergy, and the oldest living member to date, that Copia's place in the church was as elevated leader, beyond Papa—he hasn't really considered what he might do.

The Ghost project will always be around. It will always be the way they entice people into joining, into spreading the Word.

But as Dew looks at Copia, eyes closed and content in Dew's hands, trust apparent and love blooming over through their bond, he just knows.

"I think Aeon would be a fantastic lead guitarist," Dew says, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he pulls the washcloth away from Copia's skin and tosses it over to the vanity once more. "I think, my place has always been with Aether. With you. I think, I would be content to stay at the church." He brushes his thumb across Copia's cheek, "Maybe it's just my old age and all, but I think it might be time to settle down."

Copia opens his eyes and looks at Dew, "Oh?" He asks, "You and Aether finally ready to make an honest man out of me?"

"Something like that." Dew says, though the fluttering in his chest tells him just how much he likes that thought.

[dangraccoon]

Oyuba'din - Epilogue

Summary: A familiar scene plays out...almost

Warnings: canon typical violence, Big Ouchie type feelings

Author's Note: *gonzo voice* this looks familiar, vaguely familiar No but for real, if it hadn't been for the love and support y'all have sent my way, I don't think I would've had the inspiration to finish this, let alone start a sequel! This fic will be going up on AO3 sometime in the near future, and I will be writing and posting the sequel fic Jari'eyc in a couple weeks!

Make sure you leave me a comment or reblog in the notes below, or submit an update to your taglist request here if you want to be added to the taglist for Jari'eyc! The taglist will be resetting, so make sure you let me know if you want to see more!

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The group stalked quietly through the labyrinth of hallways, narrowly avoiding other troopers. 

“We’re not going to get very far without our gear,” Tech sighed.

“They started moving all your things to the hangar,” Omega told Hunter. “Your gear might be there, too.”

Hunter nodded. “This way.”

The squad ran into the hangar as Tech opened the door, searching through the rows of crates for their gear.

“Alright, boys, suit up,” Hunter ordered, finding a crate filled with his own armor. “Let’s make this quick.”

The squad dug into the cargo, pulling out various pieces of equipment.

Wrecker groaned, mumbling softly to himself.

“Tech, Echo, power up the ship,” Hunter said. “The rest of us will go after-”

“I don’t think we’ll have to go far,” Omega whispered. 

Wrecker’s mouth fell open. “Is that-”

“Jaine?” Crosshair breathed. He could feel his heart shattering as Jaine entered with a whole squad, herself clad in new, darkly colored armor. She removed her helmet, crimson hair falling to her shoulders, now streaked with stark white. 

Time seemed to stand still, even as the rain pounded against the hangar, punctuated by thunder and flashes of lightning. 

Hunter swallowed and stood, catching Jaine’s eye. 

“Stand down, Sergeant. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” 

A chill ran down Crosshair’s spine. Her melodic voice sounded eerily robotic now. Was this really their Jaine or a just very convincing droid?

“Jaine,” Hunter pleaded. “What are you doing? It’s us.”

“I read the report of your mission on Kaller. I also read the report from the captain of that battalion, who doubts your report. You should have killed that Jedi kid,” she said, sounding almost bored. 

“Jaine, this isn’t you,” Hunter pleaded. “You’ve got to snap out of it. We’re your family!”

“I have no family,” Jaine roared, anger already receding as she winced, hand almost rising to touch her head. “You went against orders. That cannot be tolerated.”

“I did what I thought was right.”

Jaine scoffed, unimpressed. “What a shame it is that you’ve never been able to see the bigger picture. Surrender. Now.”

Hunter’s eyes darted away from Jaine to the rest of his squad, reluctantly pulling themselves into ready positions, and Omega, hunkered down behind a crate. 

“Is that an order, Lieutenant?”

Jaine bristled. “It is now.”

With one last glance at his squad - his family - Hunter smirked ever so slightly. 

“Guess I’m disobeying that one, too.”

Hunter could hear the crackles of electricity sparking at Jaine’s fingertips. He kept his eyes on her, waiting for her to make the move, but praying she wouldn’t. 

With a sharp grunt from Jaine, a streak of lightning flew out towards Hunter, who barely dodged it.

As the troopers with her began firing on the squad, Hunter dove behind the crate as his brothers fired back.

Jaine growled, forcing her hands out in front of her, red smoke pouring from her palms, filling the space between her and her old squadmates. Pressing a button on her new helmet, she could see the heat signatures of each of them. Wrecker and Crosshair behind one set of crates, Hunter and the girl behind another. She hurled a few more bursts of lightning towards them, hitting their cover hard.

“Tech, we gotta move,” Hunter growled through the comms. “Now.”

“We’re working on it,” Tech answered, hands flying across the control panels.

“Wrecker, clear the smoke on three,” he ordered.

“You got it, boss,” Wrecker nodded, grabbing a few lids from the crates.

“Omega, stay low,” he said. “One…two-”

“Three!” Wrecker shouted, jumping up from the cover to use the lids as fans, before sending one of them flying towards the regs. Jaine barely dodged the second one as it kareened towards her.

Wrecker reached for the blaster strapped to his back, but Jaine was faster, sending a fast shot from her blaster towards him, clipping his shoulder. 

He shouted in pain as he fell, his helmet flying off and landing next to him.

Omega stood up, starting to jog towards the large heap Wrecker lay in.

“Omega! Don’t!” Hunter shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her back, the shot Jaine intended for her missing by a few short inches. “She’s using him as bait.”

“But he needs help!” Omega protested.

“Tech,” he growled. “We’re out of time!”

“Almost got it,” came Tech’s reply as the thrusters came to life, catching Jaine’s eye.

“What are you waiting for?” she shouted at the reg closest to her. “Seal the bay door!”

The reg nodded, rushing to the control panel to hit the appropriate button. 

Hunter watched, a deep dread forming at the pit of his stomach as the doors to their exit began to close. But then they stopped, despite the alarms still blaring.

Jaine’s head whipped around to the reg at the panel.

“Sir, someone’s overriding the controls!”

She growled. Watching the heat map of the squad.

Hunter kneeled next to Omega. “When I say ‘go’, you head for that ramp, and don’t stop, got it?” She nodded and he turned to face Crosshair. “Cross, we go for Wrecker.”

Jaine watched across the hangar. “Only one way out, Hunter. Your move.”

“Go!” Hunter shouted, popping up to lay down cover fire as Omega and Crosshair ran behind him. 

Jaine came out from behind her cover, energy surging at her fingertips. 

She raised her hands, vision locked on to Crosshair, Wrecker, and Hunter.

A single shot sounded; a stun round hitting Jaine’s hand, knocking her to the ground.

Omega lifted her head from the rifle, steam flowing from the barrel. As the others got up, so did Jaine, pulling her blaster from her waist as Omega began to fire off more shots until her brothers were on board, the shots from Jaine merely hitting the surface of the hull. The Marauder rose and exited the hangar as Jaine wrenched her bucket off, scowling up as the ship escaped.

Thanks for reading! - River

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