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novelizt · 1 year

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PEERING EYES OVER WROUGHT-IRON FENCES ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ childhood friends (to estranged friends) to lovers. angst w/ a happy ending.

WC ➺ 12.2k

SYNOPSIS ➺ to uncover the mystery of iris griffith's murder, it's time to face the music, cross the fence, and talk to a friend you never expected to become a stranger to.

WARNINGS ➺ mentions of the lockwood family tragedies, strained family dynamics, discussions and descriptions of murder

DISCLAIMER ➺ fem! reader. lockwood & co. are aged up to about 18-years-old, I try to shoe-horn forensic science into psychical investigations (I am not a professional so... it's unrealistic, sorry.), and Lockwood calls reader cherry/cherry cheeks

NOTE ➺ I can't remember if Portland Row has wrought-iron fences. In case it doesn't, it does now — this is fan fiction. Also, this is the first time I've finished a story this lengthy and I feel really proud of myself. I hope you enjoy!

The first time Lockwood had laid eyes on you, you were a set of peering eyes over a wrought-iron fence. He could barely see over it, but he could remember how round and shiny your eyes were. All doll-like and unrealistic. Honestly, it scared him. You couldn't blame little Lockwood for scuttling back to his sister.

That same day, your parents had brought you over and formally introduced themselves. Between your parents's statuesque figures, stood you.

Contrary to your encyclopaedic eyes, your mannerisms were timid. You looked miniscule in your Sunday dress. You looked like a breeze could knock you over. Anthony couldn't help but feel bad for running from you earlier.

Following introductions, a terse dinner ensued. Your parents were doctors, the kind who would scamper about in hospitals in scrubs and white coats — people who believed in science. His were researchers who dabbled in spiritual devices of different cultures — people who preferred to find the emotional aspect in the supernatural. Suffice it to say, the conversation was very one-sided.

Even then, Anthony was determined to be your friend. He thought having pretentious parents, like yours, would spoil the fun in things like spinning tops or fencing or enjoying pie with ice cream after supper. (Your parents had insisted the sugar would make it difficult for you to sleep.)

Anthony had made up his mind before you even uttered a word to him.

The instant the adults had dismissed you to the living room with Anthony and Jessica, he had snuck you a pie with extra ice cream on top. He and Jessica had their backs to the door so in the unlikely event that your parents came in, they wouldn't see you breaking their rules.

You weren't much younger than Anthony back then, but with cherry smeared across your cheek and ice cream clinging to your lip, he thought you were as cute as a button. He wasn't aware that he had been smiling at you so widely.

He missed the knowing glint in Jessica's eyes.

Across the peaceful months you'd spent as friends, Anthony and Jessica would tell you about their parents' most recent findings and you'd tell them the most bizarre concepts you learned at the academy.

At night, Anthony would sit by the window in his attic room, flagging out written messages on a sketch pad. Across the way, you would poke your head out to read it.

lots of apples are falling these days. want some?

my parents won't let me

that's because an apple a day keeps the doctors away. i think they're scared

no way... papa says he cuts people open. how could he be scared of apples?

ew... and I dunno, cherry. do you want apples or not?

stop calling me that

apples?

sure...

come down

ARE YOU MENTAL??

He was, indeed, crazy. He had tiptoed all the way downstairs and grabbed his mother and father's favorite jackets on the way out.

In the bite of night and the glow of ghost-lamps, he looked up at your house to see your head poking out of of a different window, a crazed expression on your face. 'What are you doing?' you mouthed.

"Hurry!" He yelled back. He chuckled when you'd flinched and checked behind you. He held up the jackets and took a breath, watching in amazement as fog formed from it.

All while you tapped the window sill in thought. You took one more contemplative glance behind you, then shut the window.

You were vaulting over the fence in no time. He caught you, cushioning your fall with the jackets he'd taken and greeted you with an incandescent smile. Even in greenlight, your little heart skipped a beat.

"Here. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold. We'd both be in trouble if you did."

He threw his mother's coat over your head. It was so big, it enveloped you like a gown. You tried to slip your arms through the sleeves but you only got halfway before you wiggled the limp fabric in his face. He swatted you away but folded them up enough so your palms could come through.

His father's jacket was huge on him, too, but he had the kind of air that made him look natural in it.

In his efforts to help you, his own hands had turned red from the cold. You seized them and stuffed them in your pockets, since your—his mother's—jacket had the lined pockets.

After huddling for warmth, you two grew warm enough to walk further into the backyard and pick up handfuls of apples. You found that you could only fit three apples in each pocket, so you held more by tucking your shirt into your pants and shooting them into your shirt. Anthony had done the same. You didn't realize how ridiculous your actions were until you saw how puffed his figure looked with that many apples stuffed down his shirt.

You snorted so loud it hurt, slapping your hand over your mouth to kill any more laughs that could alert the sleeping adults.

He turned his head to you, like an owl. It made more apples fall from your shirt as your shoulders shook. He shushed you, frantically glancing at the house. "What's wrong with you?"

You shook your head, riding the wave of maturity before it crashed. Little laughs and apples spilled from you. "You look like a pufferfish!"

He looked down and examined himself then, indignantly, he pointed at you. "You're literally spewing apples, you're just as bad!"

Restraint crumbled. Your hand came away and your laughs filled the silent night air. Anthony's laughs began to dance with yours until the pair of you were reduced to shaking stumps surrounded by fallen apples.

"Don't look at me! You're making me laugh!"

"Your face is funnier!"

"Stop it!"

"Cherry— You're only making me laugh more!"

It was no surprise that his parents had woken up and scolded you two accordingly. While they tutted at you, you two sat under the same blanket. Elbowing each other when they began to question who'd initated it.

You weren't a snitch. You did not tell, and they never found out who caused the trouble.

Jessica later rewarded you both with a cookie under their noses. You cracked your cookie in half to share with her. Anthony did the same to his, giving his other half to you.

—

Those memories were a far cry from the present. On some days, they felt like dreams. Now, all you are to him is a pair of peering eyes over wrought-iron fences.

Lockwood would catch glimpses of you on the way back from a case. He would nod, you would nod. Then both of you would continue on with your lives like the era of cherry pies and fallen apples had never happened.

Some days, he would turn the newspapers, checking to see if student doctor you had earned any new accolades in your scholastic journey to saving lives, but he never had it in him to say hello to you.

That morning's issue had you on the front page. You with your resplendent eyes and smile finally sporting a white coat at the ripe of eighteen, the first one of your age to earn 'Doctor' as a suffix to your name. Apparently, you'd applied your studies on forensic science to aid psychical investigations involving mummified body parts.

Seems you were doing well.

He placed the paper face down on the thinking cloth, ignoring Lucy's questioning gaze as he took a sip of tea.

"What's happened now?" Lucy asked, stretching her neck to see what made him so upset. She settled back into her seat after she set her eyes on the crossword puzzle, unable to glimpse the front page. "Kipps's crew?" she guessed.

"No, he would have his brow furrowed like this–" George turned to show his brows knitted together so hard they looked like they were drawn on with marker. "–if it was Kipps. It's got to be something else."

"Oh, right," Lucy said with bite, smacking her head like that made sense. "How could I forget?"

George shrugged, grinning like he had a secret on the tip of his tongue. "I don't know, Luce. Maybe it's the letters you've been receiving from one; Norrie White."

Lucy's chair scraped as she stood, gaping at George with anger tightening her mouth. "You went through my mail!"

"She wrote her name in marker. Red. Marker. I would have to be blind to miss it."

Lockwood kicked back and watched the drama ensue, a smile easing itself back on his face. Lucy and George's petty squabble was always a shot of espresso on a rather depressing morning. They made an excellent stopper to all his wonderings about the past.

"That was none of your business!" Lucy shrieked. In her fury, her hands itched to do something... to throw something.

Lockwood realized too late. He vaulted forward to pry the newspaper from her fingers, but Lucy's rage made her a savage. She chucked the newspaper at George with the velocity of a racing car.

The headlines collided with George's face with a resounding thud.

His glasses fell and landed with a unceremonious noise. Thankfully, unscathed from the impact.

The same could not be said for his nose.

George's face pulsed like he had been stung by the world's largest be. He splayed his hand over his nose to check for bleeding and groaned.

"That hurt..."

"Of course it did. I intended it to," Lucy huffed. She scooped up George's glasses and the paper. "That ought to teach you about looking at my correspondence."

"Didn't have to thump me that hard though," George grumbled, snatching his glasses back.

He looked like a dartboard bullseye wearing glasses. Lockwood couldn't focus on it though. His eyes were honed in on the newspaper Lucy was currently unraveling.

He bit his cheek and decided to finish his tea in one gulp. "Well," Lockwood started, fixing his collar as he stood. "I'd better see what we're taking on tonight. I'll be—"

"Hey, this is that girl next door." Lucy pushed her face closer to the paper to reassure herself that she wasn't seeing wrong. She'd seen that blouse and trouser combo on you a few days ago. "Yeah! That's her!"

George showed a rare kind of expression. A raised brow aimed at Lockwood. "She's a doctor now. How could that be upsetting?"

"Don't tell me you have a rivalry with her because she poked you in the bum when you were little," Lucy joked.

Lockwood's face flushed. He looked at the kitchen door, contemplating escape, then back to his friends. He leaned on the doorframe, attempting to look lax but coming off as stiff as a board. "Who said I was upset?"

"You were quiet over tea," George said.

"What of it?" Lockwood pushed.

George gave him an are you kidding me kind of look. "You never shut up when you can help it."

"And you did this." Lucy copied his pondering face, and Lockwood grimaced—reminding himself to school his expressions better.

"Please. For all things good, never do that again, and I am not upset at her—"

"Defensive now? You so are," George chuckled.

Lockwood's jaw ticked. "I am not—"

Saved by the bell. All three heads turned to the door with interest. It was still early in the day, so a new client was unexpected.

"I'll get it," Lockwood said. He left a prattling Lucy and George in the winds of his coat.

The doorbell rang again before he got to it. "Keep your shirt on—"

George and Lucy idled at the foot of the stairs as the door swung open. George let out a gasp, Lucy elbowed him to keep quiet.

Speak of the devil and he will appear. Though, you were more seraphic in that white dress, innocently festooned with embroidered cherries. Your smile was as disarming as ever. It was even brighter than the light haloing your hair.

"Hello."

Lucy tripped over air at the sweetness of your voice, now understanding how the word 'mellifluous' came to be.

Lockwood was indifferent.

Just staring at the back of his head, Lucy knew he was sporting an expression reserved just for Kipps and his crew. It made her want to kick his shin and tell him to get himself together.

"Hi," Lockwood finally greeted, tone bleak. "What are you doing here?"

"Lockwood," George finally intervened. Seems he was taken by how you carried yourself, too.

Both your and Lockwood's heads turned to him.

"Oh, you must be George Karim." Your smile widened, outshining the light above the door. "And Lucy Carlyle. Pleasure to finally meet you."

Lucy and George rarely agreed on things, but they spoke like they were on the same wavelength then. "Pleasure is ours."

A little laugh escaped you, just as graceful as the swish of your skirt. You introduced yourself, discounting your new title. "My parents asked me to invite friends to my celebratory dinner tonight but I don't have people I'd really consider friends." Your honeyed eyes drifted back to Lockwood, trying not to wilt under his blasé gaze. "I was thinking you three could drop by. No need to bring anything but yourselves. We have pie and ice cream for dessert."

Hope was alight in your eyes. The insider statement flew over George and Lucy's heads, and apparently, Lockwood's too. Your expression dampened as it struck you.

"That sounds nice," George said pleasantly.

Lucy nodded in agreement. "And it's not every day we get invited to a free meal."

"With pie." George was already dreaming about it.

Lockwood let out a breath. "Sorry. We have a case tonight."

"No, that's for Friday night," George interrupted. "Isn't that right, Lucy?"

"That's right," Lucy doubled down.

Both of Lockwood & Co.'s best simply blinked and grinned at Lockwood's taut form.

"Great," you quipped. Your eyes lingered on Lockwood but moved to George and Lucy when he showed no interest in being civil. "I'll see you tonight, then. Have a nice day!"

"You too!"

Lockwood gave you a sufficient nod and lipped smile as he closed the door. The moment you were out of sight, the room turned sepia.

Silence for a moment, then George.

"There is definitely something going on here."

—

Despite Lucy and George's joint efforts to pry answers from him, Lockwood did not bend. When the light began to die outside, they retired to their own rooms to prepare. Finally leaving him in silence.

Lockwood chose to wear his usual get-up. The only difference was his waistcoat. It sported a thin, stylish red stripe down it's right side; George had worn an unstained shirt for once, so he did put a bit more effort into his looks that evening; and Lucy wore her best skirt and sweater to put her best foot forward.

"Now," Lockwood said as they all spiraled down the steps. "You have to remember a few things about our neighbors."

"And that would be?" George rolled his eyes.

"They're doctors," Lockwood answered like it was a sin.

"All of them?" Lucy asked with interest.

"Yes, the entire family," Lockwood confirmed. "You have to remember that when they start getting weird about our work."

"Why?" Lucy flicked a crumb left on George's shoulder once they reached the last step. "We get help from hospitals when we need to examine post-mortem documents. It's not like our professions are worlds apart."

"You mean I get help," George corrected firmly. "Not like either of you do the grisly work when it comes to research."

"Well, you're the best at it," Lucy said placatingly.

"'Course I am," George nipped.

Lockwood shushed them. "Regardless of what they say, do not loose your cool. They think getting you worked up means they win.

"They can't be that bad. Your girl was nice enough," Lucy said.

Lockwood's brows furrowed then unfurrowed. "She's not my girl," he said, opening the door with zeal.

"Sure," Lucy grinned as she slipped past.

—

34 Portland Row looked the same as 35 from the outside. The interior decor made it clear that the home was made up of doctors. Successful ones, by the looks of it.

You greeted them at the door with the same radiatant smile from the papers. Your dress was marvelous but Lucy and George could not help but look over your shoulder, into the opulence of 34 Portland Row.

Like always, Lockwood greeted you with a nod and addressed you by name. It wasn't much but you accepted it with cheeks strained from practicing your smile.

As you lead them to the dining room, their eyes wandered at their own volition. Lockwood couldn't help but do the same.

The crystal chandelier in the living room was as decadent as ever; the doorknobs had been changed to be made of glass and silver; the bookshelves were packed with newer books—likely yours; the wall next to the stairs still held your height measurements from years ago. He caught your eye as he did so, trying not to flinch at the waves of melancholy that crashed over him. He chose to look at the back of your head as the light of the dining room enveloped them.

Like every room in this house, a chandelier sat in the middle. Everything was gleaming. Not a speck was out of place, except maybe him. Perfect, just like the family that lived here.

The table was already set with steaming meals of steak, veggies, and mashed potatoes. There was a pitcher of juice in the middle but Lockwood noticed that he, Lucy, and George's glasses were already filled with water. Your mother had just finished filling the last one when she offered her most deceitful smile.

"Anthony Lockwood and friends..." your mother greeted. Her tone was eloquent but the drawl in it sent an unwelcomed pang of anxiety through Lockwood, he tensed then forced himself to relax. "Haven't seen you around lately, Tony."

"Running a business does eat time, unfortunately." He spared her a terse smile and sat at the chair you directed him to — just across from you. Lucy sat beside you, and George had the misfortune of sitting next to your father. Lockwood cleared his throat to break the silence. "You haven't aged a day, Mrs.—"

"Doctor, actually. We've had this conversation before," she chortled with a furled smile you would only expect from the devil's mistresses.

Lucy and George found sudden interest in their food. Your shoulders sunk, but like times before, you didn't say anything. Lockwood tried not to look surprised.

"Right... Doctor. My apologies." He straightened himself in his seat. "You two look swell. How has the winter been treating you?"

"Oh, it's absolutely tiring," your father said. He had the kind of tone that suggested that he was always pouting. At least he wasn't spitting venom while he was talking about himself. "Patients coming in but rarely being able to make it out. Terrible thing, really."

"Sorrows to those who have passed because of the upstart," your mother chipped in. "Our little darling saved some lives in lieu of her recent graduation, and she's only been a doctor for a few days!"

Your mother smiled at you. You refused to look up from your dinner. "All I did was administer CPR. The hospital was understaffed that day. I work in a different department, mama."

Her smile faded before her eyes snapped to Lockwood, her grin sharpening.

"Can you imagine that? Not even a day as a doctor and she's already on the papers. Real talent gets recognized straight away, everyone knows."

Your father did not finish chewing his steak before he joined in. "Kids these days run around wasting their time on things other than their academics. What do they expect to do after their talents fade, huh? Our girl has no worries in that department."

George pushed his plate away after a blob of spit landed on his potatoes. He thought it was best to put down his utensils as well. His grip was turning his knuckles white. Lucy had resorted to pushing her asparagus to calm the anger beginning to stoke in her mind. They were beginning to see why Lockwood did not want to come. The aforementioned remained with a practiced smile on his face.

Your eyes conveyed your apologies yet Lockwood refused to look at you. You were as meek as the girl Lockwood first saw over the fence. Your voice was weaker when you used it in this house. "Mama, papa. Those kids risk their lives to make living easier for everyone. Bravery like that can't be learned from textbooks."

"No, but keeping your nose out of that business altogether will keep you alive." Your mother's expression changed, a beguiling woman turning into medusa before their very eyes.

You sunk under the weight of her stare. You might as well have turned to stone.

"Knowledge keeps you alive," your father added. "Perusing supernatural business will only end with dead kids or orphans who have to resort to psychical work to get by. Some of them work up the nerve to call it a real profession."

A resounding ring resounded from Lockwood's side of the table. He had dropped his knife. His smile had gone. His lips twitched, like he wasn't sure what to do or say. Ultimately saying nothing.

Your eyes glossed over, anger and sadness swirling together in your belly. You were ready to let loose, to set your parents straight. Yet, one look at your father's face was enough to have you curling in on yourself.

The temperature dropped like the conversation had. No one said a thing when smoke began to choke the room.

"Well," your mother cheered. "Seems like the pie is ruined. I'm afraid we'll have to end supper here."

—

Lucy rushed the door open, just itching to unload the tangle of colorful words she'd thought up in that stuffy house of yours.

"They were horrendous," George said, throwing his flannel aside. "I thought that junior doctor was nice but now I know she's Medusa's spawn."

"She is. And have you seen her dad?" Lucy doubled down. She considered going downstairs to release her pent-up emotions but thought better of it. "Terrible, the lot of them."

Lockwood had thought the same cruel thoughts but hearing it from them made him defensive. You weren't bad. You were just a bystander. Your lack of responses hurt as bad as your parents's passive-aggressive jabs, but you weren't even close to being half the evil your parents were. He felt his stomach churning as they began to drag your name through the dirt.

"We are never going back there," George declared. "You were right, Lockwood."

"I need 24 hours of sleep to recover from it. I've never felt so murderous before." That was Lucy's way of saying goodnight. She started for the steps right after.

"I think we should go back. So you can finish the job," George said, following Lucy up the stairs.

Lockwood stumbled ahead, throwing his coat on the newel and collapsing at the foot of the steps. From where he lazed, he continued to hear Lucy and George bicker.

"Maybe you could call up that Norrie White to help you get away with murder," George said encouragingly.

"Don't even start on that, George," Lucy warned.

Her door closed.

"Fine," George said despondenty. "It was just a suggestion, geez."

His door closed, too.

Lockwood let out a breath. It felt like his soul had left his body for a moment of reprieve. He didn't have even five minutes of silence before he heard urgent taps reverberating through his ears. He sat up, alarmed, trying to assess where the noise could have come from.

After a quick sweep, he swung the kitchen door open and discovered you on the other side of the garden door, knuckles raping against the glass with a pained look on your face.

He contemplated leaving you out in the cold but decided that he wasn't that kind of person. He opened the door and wasn't all that surprised that your habit of forgetting a jacket stayed true. You were shivering.

"Anthony—"

"Give me a moment," he interrupted. He turned, walked back to the steps to retrieve his coat, then returned to drape it over your shoulders. "Come in. Sit. You never remember to bring a coat at night, stubborn girl."

You smile despite the frost on your face. Your face turns pink as the warmth of 35 Portland Row thaws you. He sits you on his usual seat and takes George's cushioned seat instead.

"Old habits die hard," you chuckle, holding his coat tighter. If you bent your head enough, you would get a whiff of him on it. You could have tried to do it inconspicuously but he was sitting right there, he would know. "I'm sorry... for everything. I thought they wouldn't– I really should have known they would say things like that. I apologize for them. I really do feel bad. If Mr. Karim and Ms. Carlyle are still up, I'd like to tell them as well."

"They've retired for the night," he reports. He redacts the part that they were discussing the demise of your family. "but thank you for coming to say that."

"And I'm sorry I didn't say anything," you add.

Lockwood doesn't say anything to that. In his mind, you would have stopped them if you were really sorry. "Why did you come here? And please don't say you're inviting us to another dinner."

"Goodness, no." You snort. "I... have a case. I don't know who else to surrender the evidence to."

His brows jump. "You're asking for psychical service? From me? Us, I mean."

You nod. "I hear that Ms. Carlyle is particularly gifted. What I think we're facing is something special. Something no regular agent can feel out."

"Why hasn't Fittes or Rotwell been put up to this if it's that important?"

"Because it's a personal study of mine." You drop a manila folder on the thinking cloth. Lockwood didn't even notice you were holding it earlier. "It's a closed case. An unsolved one. The autopsy is gruesome and justice was never brought to the victim. I searched her property myself and found the source. I tried to communicate with her but I can't do it."

"And you think Lucy is the Listener for the job?"

"Yes. I don't just want to get rid of a ghost, Anthony, I want to lay her to rest. To give her peace."

He leans back in his chair, drinking in the information while he raked a hand through his hair. "You investigated the area of the haunting alone?"

"In daylight," you said in your defense. "My sense of touch is useful enough for me to know if something is a source. Problem is, I can't get any psychical resonance to find out who had killed her."

"Amazing..." he breathed. He didn't know you had that level of sensitivity. Still, he had to think of this as an official case. He righted his posture immediately. "I'll ask George and Lucy in the morning. Can you come by at nine?"

"Yeah. My parents are at work before then. No worries about them."

"Good."

You nod, not knowing what else to do. "Good."

You stared at each other. Possibly taking in how much time had changed you; The scars he'd earned through the years, the callouses on your hands from studying, blemishes, changed mannerisms—and then the unspoken reminder that you had drifted apart after the Lockwood family turned from four to one. You were completely different people to the children who used to laugh through these halls.

"I better get going," you said. You couldn't handle Lockwood and his expressive eyes. You don't know if he was doing it consciously, but it was like you could see his sadness bleeding into the world just by glancing at them.

He nodded like a puppet on a string, pulling himself up and leading you to the garden door once more.

"Goodnight," you said, mustering a friendly smile that was, thankfully, returned.

"Night... Cherry," he replied.

You smiled for a moment more before you snuck back home. Neither of you remembered that you had his coat until morning.

—

You were knocking at 35 Portland Row at 8:55. You stood stiffly, not knowing how to conduct yourself after last night's catastrophe. Lockwood's coat was folded over your arm when George answered the door.

Opposite of the day before, his face was flat. If you turned around and left, you'd be doing him a favor. Unfortunately for him, you were there with intention.

"I need the help of Lockwood & Co."

George opened his mouth, probably thinking of some creative way to say 'shove off'. Lockwood's voice from the kitchen bellowed over his train of thought. "It that her? Let her in, Georgie."

George was mumbling something but he stepped aside and didn't stab you with a nearby rapier. You believed that meant there was a chance to redeem yourself.

You were lead to the receiving room where you were shortly joined by Lockwood and an either groggy or bloodthirsty Lucy. George had retired to the kitchen to bring in biscuits. You hadn't earned the respect to have cake in the vicinity.

Lockwood lead the conversation, eyes trained on you. It made you conscious enough to shuffle and pick at the frayed seams of his coat.

"You only gave us a few details about this case. Evidently it was murder but it was closed and unsolved for two decades."

"I have the rest here," you said, revealing another manila folder. This one was thicker, packed with all you knew about it. It was the real deal. As you passed it across the table, the three of them ogled at the vivid red 'confidential' stamp slanted across the front. "Her name was Iris Griffiths. She was a forensic scientist who cracked several unsolved cases in her time. She had sensitive hearing, from what her colleagues said. She wasn't working on any new cases before her housemate reported her dead on a random night."

"Was it during winter? She could have been ghost-touched." Lucy suggested with a clipped tone. She just wanted to close the case and never see you again.

You shook your head, reaching across and guiding Lockwood's hand to another page in the folder. "Her autopsy shows several lacerations and bruises but no remnants of ghost touch. Her body was already decomposing when she was found."

"And her flatmate? They could be a suspect." George pitched.

You shook your head again. "Celia Rodney was out of town with her fiancé. Several colleagues were interviewed and confirmed it."

Lockwood looked up. "Then we have to assume that it's someone from Griffith's personal life. Did she have a lover?"

"This is like the Annie Ward case all over again," Lucy groaned.

You continued nonetheless. "She did have a lover, actually. Howard Gasley was her co-worker and boyfriend. They had a good relationship, according to the interviews, so I don't suspect any foul play between them."

George leaned against the right side of his chair. There was a creak from the old thing but he ignored it. "What if their relationship was rocky behind the scenes?"

You looked down at the evidence file and sighed. "I guess we will find out when Ms. Carlyle's able to speak with her. All our suspects have solid alibis. To obtain justice for Iris Griffith, we'll have to be her witnesses."

George turns stiff. "We? Lockwood."

Lucy does the same. "You're asking me to communicate with a ghost?"

Lockwood tries to settle them down with a relaxed smile. "It's high time I stop scolding you for being good at what you do, Luce. Our client is explicitly asking you to exploit your talent and find us a killer. The client is always right. Isn't that right, George?"

George grumbles a reply you don't hear, and Lucy nods limply, like she can't comprehend the fact that Lockwood was being so lax about this. What happened to the dangers of communicating with ghosts?

Regardless, they realize that arguing with him was going to be a losing battle. He has that look in his eye—one akin to an adrenaline junkie who's about about to jump from a cliff, and his eyes are set on you.

Lucy and George watched as you returned his coat before they shot each other looks.

What happened to hating you and your white-coat family? Lockwood marched to the beat of his own drum, apparently.

They had their kits ready before dark and met you on the street you'd told them about. Lockwood saw your peering eyes over the run-down house's picket fence and quickened his pace.

"Lovely place," Lucy drawled, eyeing the chipping paint with faint curiosity. Two decades could do so much to a nice house.

"Very lively," George seconded with bite, side-stepping the corpse of a rat.

"I have the source inside, under a chain net," you inform them. You push open the door, wincing as the hinges break and send the wood slamming to the floor. "I hope the house holds long enough to finish this investigation."

"Finally," cheered Lucy. "something we can agree on."

Lockwood was contemplating over how to behave himself. One second, he was keeping pace with you, then walking ahead the next, then falling behind you. He cycled between all three, ignoring George's rolling eyes and Lucy's sighs until all four of you reach the second-floor's lavatory. Luckily, no one had fallen through the floor.

"Do tell me we're not dealing with supernatural turd," George begged.

Lucy wrinkled her nose. "I'll be the one doing the Listening so you can take your complaints outside, George."

"This might be worse," you answer them when you pull off the chain net from an odd looking thing. It looked like a starfish wrapped in ripped and yellowed tissue paper. Lucy gagged when she took a second look.

"Mummified hand," Lockwood said aloud, trying to keep a placid smile on his face. "I always tell you to never mess with mummified body parts but we'll have to make an exception."

"Mummified parts bridge the forensic and psychical field, unfortunately." You cover the source back up as a mercy to Lucy. "They couldn't find her hand before they autopsied her body. Found this under a plank in her bedroom."

"Handy," George said dryly.

Lucy glared at him. "Not the time."

"I'm not sorry," he replied.

"You could have mentioned this sooner," Lockwood interjected, turning his head to you.

You gave a smile in response. "I think it's just another piece of evidence that proves someone had been very angry with her."

"Did the academy teach you to smile so morbidly?" George questioned.

"No, that's just her face." Lockwood said gravely.

George spared you a look that resembled concern. "Pity."

You dropped your smile and walked passed a chuckling Lockwood.

—

Lucy couldn't hear a thing while there was light out. Even with the chain net off, all she could hear was George's heavy breathing.

Lockwood had everyone sat in the disparaging kitchen to have tea and some biscuits before night fell. All the courtresy of Lockwood & Co., of course. Papers spread across the table, rehashing the details in hopes that it would help Lucy discern which questions to prioritize once she made contact with Griffith.

George squinted his eyes at the court transcripts. "There's an awful lot of witnesses."

"It was a big case. Griffith did wonders to connect the world of science and the psychic." You dipped a biscuit into your overly sweetened tea; it was not so coincidentally your favorite brand, and took a bite. "She inspired me to study. It's been a dream of mine to solve her case."

George nodded with the most plastic smile on his face. "Wonderful. We're fulfilling childhood wishes while Lucy experiences rediscovered trauma."

You sighed and sunk into the rotting seat. There was no salvaging an acquaintanceship with George at this rate. You lulled your head to look at Lockwood. He spared you a smile but looked away just as quick.

"Don't interrupt me, that's all I ask," Lucy said as the clock struck six.

Papers were put away, circles were drawn, several more candles were lit, and Lucy hunkered down in the lavatory. The door was closed to give her room to work, leaving you to stand between Lockwood and George. You hobbled from heel to heel as you eyed their rapiers and their weary wandering.

The silence reminded you too much of home. Words poured out of you to chase away your parents's images in your mind. "How strong are Ms. Carlyle's talents? I've only heard heresay about her abilities."

"None of your business—"

"She's the best Listener in the field," Lockwood answered. Even in the dim light, you could see his smile pull higher. It made your heart do funny things while your stomach dropped. "I ought to think she'd be on parr with Marissa Fittes, given enough time. Maybe even better."

George nodded in agreement, turning his head as the ghost-lamps outside flickered to life. The green hue bled into the room, dimming the atmosphere even more.

You leaned against the wall as a chill crept out from under the lavatory door. "I have no doubt that we'll be able to get our answer then."

"Oh! Ow!" George exclaimed.

You didn't have a rapier or any form of weapon but you turned to him like you could help, just to find he was simply hugging himself.

"Got really cold all of a sudden. Felt like something passed through me," he said. He looked down at his thermometer. "Temp's dropped significantly. This visitor is a force."

"That's why she got the best of the best to do it," Lockwood boasted, winking your way and changing his stance as a spectral glow began to flicker under the door.

"Do we have a guess on what we could be facing?" you asked, backing away.

Lockwood didn't miss the tremoring in your hands. "No, but where where is a lack of knowledge, there is faith. We'll make it out this alive."

"Oh," you laughed unhumorously. "how reassuring."

"He's good at that," George added flatly.

Lockwood held out an arm, guiding you to stand between him and George. Their backs turned to you, their rapiers raised and at the ready.

"Here," Lockwood didn't look away from the dark as he unclasped a salt-bomb and a flask of lavender water. He held them out and you took them with shaking hands.

Malaise stalked in on you three, making the hairs on your arm stand. You gripped the salt-bomb and lavender water for dear life. Pressure squeezed down on your chest and your heart raced for a danger unseen.

"This much activity before ten? Griffith must have had qualms about dying." George said.

Lockwood chuckled, nodding along. "Wonder how nobody reported this much activity if the source was hidden all this time."

"Nobody wanted to visit this place when the killer was still at large," you answered, struggling to keep your tone even. "Some kids started some rumors during the court proceedings. They said someone just wanted the house badly enough to kill for it."

"That would be unfortunate," George said. "Imagine all that commotion over a killer who simply wanted real estate."

You tried to stiffle a laugh but failed. "It does sound ridiculous."

Lockwood chanced a glance at you, catching your faulty smile before a scream shook the Earth.

"Lucy?"

"Lucy!"

"Ms. Carlyle?"

She came bursting out of the lavatory, two fingers pinching the mummified hand, and looking quite disgruntled before she stood in the boy's protective circle.

"We might need Little Miss Doctor to stand in the iron circle," Lucy said, fumbling for her rapier and holding the source a ways from her body. Frost was gripping at her gloves.

The plan was scraped with one glance to the circle. It had been thrashed by Griffith from the time Lucy came tumbling out of the lavatory.

"Type two," all three of them agreed.

"What happened?" asked George. His eyes darted down the hallway with more apprehension than before.

"She got angrier and angrier the more names I mentioned," she answered. "I felt like she was about to drown me."

You took the mummified hand from her grasp. The sigh she let out was laughable. "Did she say who killed her?"

Lucy shook her head as she readied herself. Miasma was building. Fear gripped you like nothing you'd experienced before. When you touched the hand, that feeling multiplied. You heard murmurs but nothing substantial.

Shell...

Kill me...

Secret...

You couldn't stitch those words together to come to any conclusion. You were crossing your fingers that Lucy could. The possibilities kept you up at night. If you weren't thinking about your estranged friendship with Lockwood, you were thinking of getting justice for this woman you didn't even know. The cold pinching your skin from the source was a reminder that it wasn't over.

Like a light in the dark, Lucy looked at you and said, "She kept nodding her head whenever I asked if some person killed her; She said yes to Rodney. She said yes to Gasley—"

"So even she doesn't know who killed her?" George laughed emptily. "Brilliant."

"We might have to investigate more on our own to find more details." Lockwood nudged your side. You thought it was to shield you from the cold but that would be too presumptuous. He had bumped into you to swipe away the apparition of Iris Griffith.

She came and went like a zap of electricity. Frantic and unpredictable. Every time you caught sight of her mauled face, your heart picked up. How these three hadn't double over from heart failure was a mystery. Your knees gave up when she'd appeared beside you.

Your eyes watched her in slow motion. The rippling gashes in her plasma, her sneering face, her slashed dress... She was a hairsbreadth away from you before your instincts kicked in.

Your blood fell to your feet but your hand reached into your pocket in a panic, saving yourself as you pulled out a silver button. You threw it at her face and, fortunately, it was enough to disperse her ghost.

Lockwood let out a loud breath of relief but jumped back into the rhythm when her apparition reappeared. "Was that my mother's button? Nevermind. Time to make our exit! Luce, where's the chain net?"

She clicked her tongue. "Dropped it. Her manifestation appeared right in front of me."

"Go get it then!" George rushed, swiping at the air and setting off the first salt-bomb of the night.

"I would if I could," Lucy replied with a bite in her tone. She grimaced at the hand in your vice. "It's in the toilet."

"Pick it up! You've held worse." George backed into Lucy. They switched places.

"It's best if you don't," you advised. "This place has been deserted for years. Who knows what kind of bacteria's been growing in the bowl."

"Oh, you have to know everything, don't you?" George hissed.

Lucy didn't snap at you this time. "Listen to the doctor, George! Did we bring any more chain nets?"

Lockwood reached for your shirt, tugging you towards him as Griffith bit the air where your head would have been. He held you between his arms as blood rushed to your ears and cheeks. Lockwood's breath tickled your ear. The warmth of your face was a juxtaposition to the cold encasing your hands. "My bag! It's a bit away. We'll have to split up."

"Try not to die," George said with false sweetness. He and Lucy ran the opposite way you and Lockwood had.

Griffith chased them. The farther she got, the more you remembered how to breath.

"Calm down, cherry cheeks, ghosts can feed off of your fear," he tried to pacify you. The rasp of his voice evened your heart rate enough for you to get your brain turning again.

"Right. You're right..." You looked ahead, through the darkness and could barely make out the lumps on the ground. "Chain, we have to get the chain net."

"I've got you," he assured.

Even if your pivotal functions had returned to normal, your legs hadn't gotten the memo. Getting up made your knees buckle and legs feel like cooked pasta. As if the cold eating your fingers weren't bad enough.

Lockwood caught you around the waist, holding your weight while he held his rapier at the ready. "Hold on to the source and remember the salt-bomb."

You nodded firmly, clutching both to your chest as you two made a joint effort to get to the bags.

You were almost there, just passed the iron circle that Griffith had broken through, when she appeared above you like an unwanted mistletoe.

You screamed, Lockwood said something to console you, you threw the salt-bomb without taking off the clip, and Lockwood quickly sliced off the top to set it off. Salt sprayed over you two. His body folded over yours as it showered down.

Griffith's yells faded for a moment, a moment long enough for you to slide forward and grab the chain net that clung onto the side pocket of Lockwood's kit. Your hand wrapped around it, Iris's spectral glow kissed your skin, you felt the chill of it — she was colder than her source.

Suddenly, Lockwood had tugged you back towards him. His pull was strong enough to knock you onto your side. It would bruise but at least you weren't ghost-touched.

You wrapped the mummified hand in the net and sighed as the glow faded away and the screaming ceased. The frostbite on your fingers were worth the pain. You were alive.

Silence and heavy breathing ensued.

You rolled the rest of the way on your back, heaving for breath you won't get back. Not while Lockwood remained hovering over you.

The candles had been blown out in the earlier attack. The only light came from the ghost-lamps that sifted through the broken windows. Everything was in that ugly shade of bottle green... but that didn't make him any less magnificent.

Sweat collected on his brow, his mouth was agape—chasing for breath, and his lips were curled in that kind of smirk you could only dream about. Holding your breath did little for your racing heart.

"You okay, cherry cheeks?" His lips moved like their one purpose was to enrapture you.

You nodded dumbly, unable to find your words.

—

Portland Row was cloaked by the night when you four made your escape.

The three of them headed for the 35th while you bound up the steps to your parents' place. George and Lucy gained enough respect for you to wish you a good night before heading in, successfully tuckered out. Lockwood remained, staring at you with his hands in his trouser pockets.

He raised his brows at you then motioned to your front door. "Head on in. It would weigh on my conscience if I don't see you home safe. Your parents would have my head."

"You..." you paused at the fog before you. It was colder out than you thought. "You called me cherry cheeks earlier."

His stance turned tense. He rocked on his heels before he mustered a smile. "Old habits die hard... Sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

"It's okay," you reassured, returning the smile. "I missed it."

"You don't mind then?"

You shook your head. "Never did."

His smile broadened, teasing a glimpse of his pearly whites before he looked at his shoes to hide it. "See you tomorrow then, cherry."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him. These days, both of you were tall enough to see each other clearly over the wrought-iron fencing. You missed the days you had to tiptoe to show him a smile.

You had no problems shooting him a smile from over the fence. You had no problems coming home to your perfectionist parents. You had no problems imagining your world without Lockwood in it... but you missed him.

Now that the events kept replaying in your head, all you could think while you looked at him was I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry.

Lockwood had the talent of knowing when you wanted to say something but couldn't bring yourself to. He forgot how when you had grown apart. Now, in the quiet of the night and the privacy of the stars, it came back to him like the memories he tamped down by closing his window.

"What's wrong?" He asked, setting his hands on the freezing iron fence.

You feel the knot in your throat and the tears in your eyes. It hurts to hold back. Your lungs are lined with spikes as you take a breath. It feels like you're cracking your ribs open as you cave and admit to him, "I don't want to go home to them."

It may have been a trick of the light, but you swear there were tears in his eyes, too. His smile had changed. It was the same one you were accustomed to—the one he used to welcome you into his parents's house all those years ago. Like no time had passed at all, he beckons you. "Come on in then. 35 Portland Row is always open for you. It's your home, too."

—

One night's sleep on 35 Portland Row's most uncomfortable couch was worlds better than the comfy bed in your own cold home. You stretch like a cat to work out all the kinks in your joints, smiling at the air for no reason other than the happiness that filled you the moment you realized you were at the Lockwoods'. Your frosted hands had been wrapped up over a very sleepy catch-up the night before.

Ambient music was playing in your head as you took in your surroundings. The browned books and the disarray of trinkets left all around you were more home than anything you were used to.

It felt like you were wading through the most pleasant dream.

It all screeched to a halt the moment you swung your foot down and stepped on something squishy and loud—it groaned like a beast.

Terror clawed out of your throat in the form of a scream. Juttery legs hopped onto the back of the couch to gain height, and weary eyes looked down at the monster under the bed— er, sofa.

The lump inflated, made of patchwork quilt... until that fell away to reveal a very disheveled and very grumpy Anthony Lockwood.

"Ow," he simply said.

Your soul returned to your body. You offered a little laugh as you eased back down on the couch. "Sorry, Anthony."

"Don't worry yourself," he assured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I was the one who snuck down here."

You were a kid when you admitted to being afraid of being alone. It was thoughtful of him to come down here to keep you company when he had a perfectly good bed upstairs.

With a fluttering belly and a sheepish smile, you reached out and patted his sleepy head. "You've always been good to me. I should be more grateful."

He opened one eye to look at you while he rubbed the sleep out of the other. A corner of his lip tipped up into a lazy smile. "You can start with a 'thank you', darling."

"Thank you," you said all too quickly. The deeper octave and the rasp in his voice had finally hit home. It made your cheeks warm.

Judging by the growing smile on his face, he had accomplished what he was intending to.

Your shoulders jumped. A knock broke through the calmness of the air. You turned and saw George in an apron and kitchen mitts. "Are you two going to give each other goo-goo eyes all morning or are you joining us for breakfast?"

—

The investigation resumed as soon as the breakfast plates had been cleaned.

You split into two groups. George and Lucy were off to the archives to work out all of Griffith's social connections, and you and Lockwood were off to the hospital to look for documents that contained the same M.O. or similar timeline to Griffith's case.

"I thought police were the only ones allowed to hold information like this," Lockwood admitted as you two shuffled through files upon files in the hospital archives.

"Most of it, they do. I just hope there's something here relevant to our case," you reply. "If we have to hand this off to detectives, DEPRAC will get involved. They'll just close the case and leave it be."

He nudges up to you after a good three hours of finding absolutely nothing. "Let's look at the last few cases she solved. Could have a clue."

"All of those are solved though," you respond. You were biting your nails at this point. You had to find something before questioning Griffith's ghost again—for Lucy's sanity and for the group's safety.

Lockwood took you by the shoulders just as you began to imagine the worst. "Cherry," he said to snap your attention to him. "If we can't find anything, I don't want you joining us on this one."

"What?" You back away from him in your incredulity. "I helped last night, didn't I? This is my investigation as much as it is yours, Anthony."

"This visitor is a type two, cher. It's not as simple as solving a case. This means lives are in the balance—"

"I'm aware." You put your foot down. You slapped his hands away and shimmy a thick stack from under the desk. "I'm aware of the risks and I consent to them." You pick up the one at the top of the stack and shove it into his chest. He had always liked the curiosity in your eyes, so he was taken aback by the void in them as you looked at him. "I have enough people treating me like I belong at home or behind the safety of iron fences—I do not need you to coddle me like that. My parents do it enough."

He watched your back as you look through the second file in the stack. "You know I don't mean to coddle you..."

"You're doing it right now." Your tone carries a point. "You're telling me to sit this one out because it's too dangerous."

"It's risk assessment—"

"You're underestimating me—"

He slams his hand down on the paper you're idly reading. Bringing your attention to him. "I do this because I don't want to lose you."

Your anger falls away.

The reminder of how how much he'd lost occurs to you. It makes your arms grow limp and your heart to shrink. You can only stare at him with those same eyes he can't unsee even when his are closed. He hates the way he's made sadness swim in them. "Anthony..."

He said your name with the same caution. "You want to know why I became distant?"

"People grow apart when they grow up, Anthony. It's not your fault—"

He knelt beside you, laying his heart out right then and there. "I couldn't stand watching you with your perfect family. They always said any field tampering with the supernatural was a death sentence. I hated how they were right. I hated how they made you so small. I couldn't watch you like that. I hated that you turned into a doctor, just like them. I hated how they were so bad and so cruel, but they were always right."

You were quelled into silence. Biting your lip to keep the tears in. He held your hands delicately, careful of your injury. His touch was light but you knew you would feel it for hours. You held his hands with as much strength as you could muster, even as your skin burned and screeched for reprieve, you did not let go. "They are wrong about you..." you whisper to him.

He went on, plastering on a smile you knew was fake. It sheared your heart to know that. "I knew they were right when they said you would do great things... But they said so many other things that hurt. I couldn't stand being around. It just made me remember that no one was around to defend me anymore. I'm sorry that I had to leave you out, too. Seeing you reminded me of everything they said and I... I couldn't shake it."

Your eyes hurt so much. You gave up somewhere along the way and let the tears fall. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to fight them. I wanted to say so many things but they've always been so- so..."

"Scary?" he supplied with a pathetic laugh. "I know. Don't blame yourself."

You bobbed your head, sniffing as tears went. "You don't have to apologize for all that, Anthony. I'm so sorry, I didn't stand by you when you needed me. But I am going to see this case through to the end, I've dedicated my life to it."

Even when you were hiccuping and heaving for air, you wiped away the tear that tracked down his cheek. His heart surrendered to you then.

"Okay... And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ignored you like I did," he said again, just because he felt like you needed to hear it.

"No. I'm sorry," you reply. Vehemently wiping his eyes. "Anthony, come on. Don't cry. I'm not worth crying for."

"Oh, don't say that," he said lightly. "You're worth everything, cher."

Both of you manage a smile but neither of you are well enough to hold it. You laugh at each other's attempts.

You came clean to him too: How your parents had made you the sun of their solar system; How they poured their knowledge into you like you were a cup meant to hold their images in vivid color; How they moulded you into being the projection of a golden girl—their magnum opus. You carried the weight of their world. Most days, they acted more like teachers than parents. It got worse the older you got. Trophies and medals took the places of photographs until all you became was your achievements.

"They were so hard on you..." he said slowly. It was just sinking I just how trapped you were. You were cornered in a place that was supposed to covet you.

"Still, I should have defended you. I hate that I didn't," you said, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve. It was the most ungraceful thing he'd seen you do but it brought him back to the cherry pie incident, and he found that he couldn't even think of you in a bad light.

"It's water under the bridge. I hate your parents, but there is one thing we can agree on," Lockwood said, cracking a semblance of a smile.

You cocked your brow at him. Teary eyes and all, he still found you as cute as a button.

"I would make you the sun of my solar system, too. They got that right."

With a snort, you said, "You're good at buttering people up, you know that?" You shoved his shoulder to shut him up but he caught the red on your ears and the smile you hid with a tilt of your head.

—

When you rendezvoused with George and Lucy, it was around 5:40 in the afternoon. The sun was dipping and the ghoulish were about to walk the earth. If George or Lucy noticed the redness in your eyes, they said nothing of it. You hurried along inside the stranded house and relayed newfound information.

"The last case Griffith reviewed involved a woman named Shelly Carson. She immigrated from America and died at 17 while she was interning for Hayes Inc." You flipped the file open on the kitchen table over tea. "They profiled the case to be a suicide but I don't think Griffith agreed." Your finger pointed to the lower left corner where Griffith would put her stamp of approval. The line was void of it. "She wrote 'Garrote not rope??' on the unofficial report. Carson's case could have been a murder."

The information set off a spark in George. He was rubbing invisible dirt from his glasses and finished doing so as you concluded your assessment. "We found a Shelly Carson in our search too," he said. Everyone lent their ears. "She was friends with Griffith in childhood. Alongside Rodney and Gasley. The four of them were close friends from well-off families."

"Ah, they're rich. Explains a lot," Lucy snorted. George ignored her quip.

"Turns out Rodney and Carson were both interested in Gasley. Rodney moved on with some bloke named Jerome Holt, but she suspected him of having an affair with Carson. Holt proposed to prove her wrong."

Lockwood tilted his head. "Sounds like gossip, Georgie."

George brandished an old leather diary. "We tracked down Howard Gasley. He gave us this."

Lockwood lit up. Sitting up with renewed energy. "How did you manage that?"

Lucy grinned. "The death of his girlfriend weighed on his conscience. All I had to do was tell him that her ghost can't be put to rest. Spilled like a waterfall after that."

"So, he did kill her?" You asked.

"Well, that's the difficult bit... The rest of the pages were ripped out and he didn't explicitly say he did. Maybe he did do it, he likes ripping things." George revealed, pointing the diary at the mummified hand in the net. "I think he's involved, one way or another."

Lockwood looked at it, then looked at Lucy. "What do you think, Luce?"

She looked at all three of you with a gleam in her eye. "I think we're about to find our killer."

—

The set-up was same as last night, except the iron circle had been extra fortified to fit all four of you in case things get out of hand. Lockwood stuffed lavenders into your pockets as Lucy lit the the candles.

"If you die tonight, I will not forgive you," Lockwood said as he put a salt-bomb in your hand.

"Same goes for you," you retort with a smile.

He returns your grin, tapping your sides and making your heart flutter before he sets off to help George with inventory.

You cross the chains to help Lucy in the lucky room chosen to host the seance in. With all the furniture pushed to the walls, the sitting room was the epitome of morbid. The carpet was patterned in a way that made it perfect for summoning and the cobwebs embellishing the place contributed to the unsettling ambiance. Lucy herself was lighting candles around the source. You took a pack of matches and helped light the rest of them.

"How are you feeling?" you asked as you lit the last candle and killed the match.

"Confident," she replied. She even spared you a smile. "And you?"

"Scared. Excited, mostly."

She bobs her head. She had a far-away look in her eye before she asked, "Your room is an attic room, correct?"

The nature of the question surprised you. "Yes. Why?"

A smile teased her lips. "I knew it." She looked at you like she saw right through you. "Lockwood was loitering near the window this morning. Just thought it was odd."

You hear him in your mind then — cherry cheeks. Warmth crawled up your neck as Lockwood and George entered the room.

"What are you two blabbering about?" George questioned, off-put by Lucy's smile and your flushed face.

"Nothing," you said together, one more pitched than the other.

George didn't look convinced.

Lockwood spoke up. " You ladies ready? Let's catch ourselves a killer."

The door was left open with an heavy stopper, giving you ample room to run to the iron circle in case things took a turn for the worst. Though, you doubted it would. The other three shared the sentiment. Some kind of energy buzzed between you four and livened the room, something that wasn't there the night before.

Lucy looked between you and Lockwood with a knowing expression you only ever saw from Jessica Lockwood. It was gone as quick as it came but the brief blast from the past made you dizzy. The resemblance must have been what made Lockwood so comfortable with her.

Lockwood had crossed the room and stood by you. Close enough to catch you if you stumbled forward in your daze.

He glanced at his wrist to check the time. "7:30's a good time. Ready, Lucy?"

"Ready," she confirmed. With a tug, the iron net came off of Griffith's mummified hand.

George and Lockwood reconsidered their stances with their rapiers as warmth was immediately sapped from the room. It was akin to jumping into a lake without testing the waters. Blood rushed to your ears. The whispering began again.

"We're here to help you," Lucy said calmly.

Wind began to pick up despite the windows being closed. Lucy persevered. "Iris Griffith, I know that you're experiencing a great injustice. Let me help you. Talk to me."

Lucy closed her eyes. You trust that she was establishing a connection with Griffith. The chill subsided by a fraction, her eyes were moving rapidly like you do when you're in the middle of a dream.

"There's a spectral glow behind you, George." Lockwood caught that faster than you. He was glaring down at the opposite corner of the room.

George's face remained impassive. "You'll tell me if she gets too close."

"Shush!" Lucy threw a hand up in the air. "Shell... Shelly? Yes, what about Shelly Carson? She died before you. You saw her case. They got the autopsy wrong, didn't they?"

A faraway scream interrupted the silence. You fumbled forward. Lockwood caught your arm. "Careful there, cherry cheeks." You lived up to your nickname.

"They all kept... Secret...?" Lucy murmured. "They all killed you to keep a secret?"

If this were a cartoon, you imagine everyone to have exclamation marks above their heads. Finally, some of the mystery began to come into focus. Who are 'they' and what secret were they so desperate to keep?

"Secret... Shelly Carson?" Lucy's expression lightened and the room grew slightly warmer. "Yes! Their secret is Shelly Carson. No? Oh, then what— They killed her to keep the secret... then paid people to say they were innocent."

"Rich people," George tutted.

The anticipation was killing you. All those nights of research, pouring over case files and autopsies were boiling down to this. You gripped Lockwood's sleeve to ground yourself. He glanced at your hand, worried you were seeing something he wasn't, but felt a smile twitching on his lips when he noticed the elation on yours.

Lucy'a voice pierced the air. "They killed her to keep what secret?"

The silence, the anticipation, and the chill in the room melded.

"Rodney pregnant? With Gasley's—" Lucy shut herself up. It was like a bad episode of a telenovela, but this was real, and someone had died because of it. "And when you were about to uncover the truth about Shelly... Rodney and Gasley they got you, too? I'm sorry to hear that. Gasley must have regrets. He had left a diary and... your, ah, hand so we could uncover your story."

It wasn't the most peaceful way to end a talk with a ghost. As soon as Lucy finished the conversation, the apparition of Iris Griffith had appeared once more. Contrary to your hypothesis, finding out the motive and her killers did not put her to rest at all.

She wailed louder than the previous night and zipped about even faster than before. Nothing Lockwood & Co. couldn't handle though. You showered the room with lavender and salt as Lockwood & Co. danced with a ghost.

—

You all appreciated a bit of silence after getting your ears blown off by a visitor. The world clearly didn't like you enough to grant the request, judging by the hunched and fuming figures of your parents blocking the door to 35 Portland Row. They sported crossed arms and crossed expressions. Your mother, specifically, was blowing steam from her ears.

Seeing your sweaty and worn form only confirmed their suspicions: You'd been running around with ghost hunters.

"You ungrateful brat..." your mother muttered.

Lucy stepped forward, blocking her way to you. She was hardened by her own experiences and least expected the horrid woman to turn on her own daughter for simply doing something outside of white-tiled establishments. You were grateful for it.

That only stirred the pot for your parents.

"We sheltered you, spoiled you, and educated you to be the lady you are today. You are our legacy." Your father harumphs forward. "We made you what you are and you would throw that all away by risking your stupid little life for some miniscule ghost adventure!"

George is the next to block their way. He wasn't that protective type, but he did look the part when he wanted to. "It was her childhood dream. Let her live." Leave it to George to be forward.

Your mother stamped her feet. The display was so awfully childish you had to look away. "You are children who don't know a single thing about building a foundation for a good life! You are going to run my daughter to ruin!"

Because of her display, Lockwood & Co. weren't so intimidated by her anymore.

Lockwood had stepped ahead, completing the wall that prevented your iron-fisted parents from getting to you ever again. "We're the best psychical agents in London. We expect a little more respect, doctor."

You could hear the smile in his voice. You couldn't help but smile, too.

With a last burst of anger, your father yelled to you. "You either come home or you find your own way. I'd rather live without a daughter than live with a disappointing one."

It shouldn't hurt as much as it did, but you had given your whole life to live up to the version of you they were dreaming of. Even if you had achieved all that, all it took was having a moment of autonomy for them to turn against you and disregard your sacrifices.

Lockwood had turned to you with a face so full of hope, it brought you back to the other night at the horrid dinner party and the night you snuck out to pick apples. After all that's happened, you found it in yourself to steel your resolve and face your father with bravery that felt unnatural but oh-so addicting.

"I'm going home," you told them.

You walked passed a stunned George and a speechless Lucy. Lockwood was far bluer than the two, but you shot him a smile that put all his worries to rest.

When you were kids, he was the one to take you by the hand and drag you off on a new adventure. This time, it was you so took his hand and pulled him passed your parents's skyscraping figures and into the comforts of 35 Portland Row.

Home, at last.

The first thing you saw as you pulled Lockwood through the threshold was his smile, radiant as ever. He didn't give you much time to admire it. He swooped down and stole your first kiss before you could even blink.

You could hear Lucy and George laugh over your parents plights. You were tired, sweaty, and covered in salt but all you could think of was; you should have done this sooner.

The next morning, you submitted the evidence and psychical report to the relevant authorities, convicting Celia Rodney and Howard Gasley for their crimes. Griffith's source was relinquished from your possession and burned at the Fittes Furnaces, marking the end of Griffith's case. It was the best thing you could do to bring her peace.

Shortly after, Lockwood and Co. welcomed you as the company's official forensic consultant, and in 35 Portland Row, you were finally comfortable in your own skin.

You and Lockwood now stand on the same side of the fence. There is no need shyly avoid your peering eyes when he could have the satisfaction of seeing them flutter close as he kisses you.

Thought, it is nice to remember that all this started with those peering eyes over wrought-iron fences. You and Lockwood reminisce those days over a cherry pie with extra ice cream or an afternoon picking apples from the backyard.

Every now and again, Lockwood would toss an apple over to your parents's side of the fence to scare them.

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

LOVELOCKED (PEOWIF BONUS CHAPTER)

NOTE ➺ Thank you to everyone who made it through to the end! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. It's the first time I completed a project this big so I hope it brings you some joy. To everyone mourning the seasons we'll never get, I'm with you. To my fellow writers, I'd appreciate a tip or two to improve my stories. To everyone in general, may you continue finding fics that comfort you 💙

#— ❨ 🌺 ❩ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀 ₊˚.༄#anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #anthony lockwood angst

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aura2023 · 8 months

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👉👈 do you have more content from your DW/Hijack crossover?

[ Edit January 2024 -> This was an ask from june 2023. I didn't realized that I left this ask in the drafts for more than 7 months and didn't post it. I'm so sorry anon :,( ]

Hello! And yes i do! Here are some of the sketches :D I don't have written down how i want the interactions between the characters to be yet. I choose the 10th doctor for now but i'm still in doubt of which regeneration i want hiccup to meet

I don't have like an AU or a story planned (? but i can share some little ideas under the cut.

The first time they meet is by accident. Hiccup and toothless got separated. It's the night fury the one that hears a strange sound. Following it into a cave there were dragons in cages along with a man with strange clothes opening those cages. The man sees the dragon and greets it, He calls himself The doctor. And tells toothless to get away before the dragon trappers get back to the cave.

The doctor invites hiccup and toothless to travel with him. Promising an adventure not only far away from the archipielago, but far away in the stars. When they see the tardis for the first time hiccup couldn't believe that it was bigger inside. He even started to take measures and making notes.

Hiccup learns that the doctor can speak dragon. He watches as the doctor and toothless hold a very long conversation. When he asks about it the doctor just says "Isn't it obvious? I speak dragon. Don't worry toothless was just saying good things. " Hiccup wants to learn dragon speech.

Hipo at first goes traveling with the doctor without telling anyone since they can go back home 5 minutes after leaving, time travel stuff. This is perfect for hiccup, he can go and have this crazy adventures without compromising his duties as the son of the chief.

Of course if you are observant you would notice that the boy started to became more taller really fast, and when asked about things that happened in the day he wouldn't remember those very well. This starts making problems.

- Hiccup and toothless go with the doctor and see different worlds, space whales and dragons surfing through the stars. The technology and the change of scenery can be too much but they are de terminated to explore and learn.

For the hiccup and jack ship in this Doctor who crossover.

This is in our time present (2023). When jack first appears, he is like a ghost. Can't be seen so he is always alone. Like a wind. He spends his time doing pranks and helping missing kids go back home.

His body is trapped in an old alien machine but his mind is " roaming free" in the world. That machine is inside an alien spaceship that fell into the earth many years ago. Jack "found it" when he fell into the frozen lake +/- 300 years ago. Jack like in the movie has seen the world go forward.

Jack can't go time travel into the TARDIS since his connection with his body will be broken. They can still travel around the globe.

In between adventures Hiccup and the doctor visit Jack. It's the most "normal life adventures" they can get lol. Jack teaches Hiccup about the technology and what the 21st century has to offer. Videogames, comics, how he spooks people in old buildings. Hell they can even go and urban exploration. Stop the typical alien invasion with the doctor. Jack meeting toothless. Hiccup talking about his life back at berk and his adventures with the doctor.

One day a group of aliens attacks a city searching for this machine. The doctor alongside Hiccup, Toothless and Jack try to stop the enemies plan. They discover the machine and that jack's body is inside of it. If the enemy finds it they will kill jack in order to use it themselves, the doctor wanted to destroy the machine but now they now is the only thing that is keeping jack "alive."

Now i don't know what they will do after that. Haven't thought much about it. But i know that i want Hiccup to meet both jack in the future, and in the past (before getting trapped in the machine) Maybe he does time after jack is gone. The doctor takes Hiccup 300 years in the past and meets Jackson Overland the week before he falls into the lake and into the machine.

He can´t stop what's going to happen to Jack but he can prolong it. So one day he asks him if he would like to join them. He does. Until jack decides to go back with his family and the day after that he falls into the ice.

I'm sorry that Jack/Hiccup doesn't have a happy ending. My friends told me that i can be a little angst machine.

Edit January 2024 -> I kinda remember that i made another ending but i can't remember where i wrote it. I'm so sorry anon, perdoname por las tardanzas y las respuestas largas. And please forgive me if there are grammatical mistakes and not correct use of words. Tried my best.

#hijack #fanart #my art #frostcup #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #jack frost #el anon :0 #ask #doctor who au

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aziraphales-library · 4 months

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Hi there everyone! Thank you so much for everything that you do~

I was wondering if you could please recommend some fics that have absolutely beautiful prose? I couldn't find a tag for it but similar to A portrait in synesthesia or The Injury Of Finally Knowing You (unpack_my_heart_with_words).

Thank you and hope you're all having a lovely day❤

Here are some fics from my bookmarks that I have tagged "beautiful"...

Strawberry Wine by GaryOldman (NR)

Human AU Ineffable Husbands one shot. "You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you." - Richard Siken

Empty and Desolate, The Air by asparkofgoodness (M)

Ever a guardian, Aziraphale kept watch. Sliver-shafts of moonlight sliced ribbons across Crowley’s face. The emptiness of it unnerved the angel. Even in slumber, his expressive face had always told stories. Syllables shifted in the corners of his mouth; sentences found themselves punctuated with the movement of an eyebrow. Now, only still silence, even in sleep. Heavenly forces decide the best way to get their once-dutiful soldier back is to slaughter his only real reason for rebellion. Their attempt leaves Crowley wounded and voiceless. Aziraphale tries his best to heal him and accept the soundlessness of this new verse of their song.

You Said Go Slow (I Fall Behind) by BlackUnicorn (G)

Further up, still, half-hidden by the branches of the trees and the leaves of the hedges, stood a cottage. It looked like any other cottage, really, with a thatched roof and a fainted paintjob and a garden out back. However, anyone who took a closer look would agree that this particular cottage was, in fact, quite extraordinary – the roses ranking up the stone arch in the front bloomed more lustrous than any roses ever seen on earth, the car in the driveway was almost antique and yet looked like it had rolled out of the factory no longer than a few weeks ago, the shelves inside held more books than should be physically possible, and the Mona Lisa sketch in the hallway was said to have been signed by dear old Leo himself. And there, in the first-floor bedroom, covered by piles of duvets and blankets, lay the Demon Crowley, alone, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling from behind his sunglasses, waiting for dawn. *** Sometimes healing and moving on is the hardest part.

Exit Wounds by racketghost (T)

“At least they were together for a time,” Crowley says, staring at the lit end of his cigarette, “maybe that’s enough.” Part 1 of Strange Moons series (G-E)

l’esprit de l’escalier by seekwill (M)

l’esprit de l’escalier: that feeling you get when you leave a conversation and think of all the things you should have said With his books and his clothes and other curiosities he’d collected since beginning his time in London, Aziraphale considered himself a curator of beautiful things. He found beauty in people too, in the way they moved and spoke and laughed. This man, who was very nearly past him now, almost gone, shook him. He couldn’t understand why. There was an impulse to reach out, to wrap his blunt fingers around the man’s skinny wrist on his handlebars, say “Hello there, might you have a moment to explore why I’ve fallen in love with you just now?” An adaptation of Jean-Pierre Jeunet's 2001 film Amélie, as part of the GO Romantic Comedy Event

Not a Human AU by maniacalmole (G)

Aziraphale knows Crowley has a crush and doesn't know what to do about it. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he considered himself ‘alive’ or not. What would he do if he had to live a life? We may not be people, Crowley thought. But I do—I do want.

And the two you mentioned...

The Injury Of Finally Knowing You by unpack_my_heart_with_words (T)

Once in heaven, the angels do what they always do— a kindness. The only blessing is that without his memories, Aziraphale has no idea what he has lost. It will end, as it began, in a garden.

A Portrait in Synesthesia by DiminishingReturns (M)

In the innocent time before the Fall complicated everything, one shy, studious chronicler and one curious, chaotic starmaker fell in love. They were left with no memory of each other, but the soul remembers what the mind forgets, and their experiences together left them with a unique kind of synesthesia— the emotional state, mannerisms, and voice of one having a paired physical response (smell, taste, or color) in the other. Follow Aziraphale and Crowley from the pre-Fall times to the Apocalypse as these heightened earthly senses continually pull them back together. At first, they meet tentatively under Halley’s Comet, the last thing Crowley created as a starmaker and an excuse to keep returning to one another’s orbit. But over the millennia, their relationship deepens and they find new reasons to seek each other’s company.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #prose #beautiful #mod d

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thewomanwhoboughttheworld · 1 year

Text

I reckon it is widely accepted that Crowley and Freddie Mercury were, at the very least, besties, sometimes lovers, sometimes had a fling or dated. But I have feelings and headcanons nobody asked for that I have to share.

They met while Freddie was still in college. Freddie saw Crowley, drew a quick sketch of him and got up and gave it to Crowley. "I promise I will draw you a better one, dear." He never did, but Crowley still keeps the drawing and miracled it to always look like just made.

Crowley never really liked Mary Austin. He didn't like her when she was Freddie's girlfriend and always found a way to inconvenience her. He still doesn't like her, especially after she put Freddie's belongings up for auction. He liked Jim Hutton, however.

Freddie kissed Crowley first. It was after a rehearsal of one of Freddie's early bands, Crowley was giving him his feedback. Freddie just leaned in and kissed him. He avoided the demon for the following two weeks as he was confused (he still hadn't realised he liked boys) and felt embarrassed.

Even though they were both adamant that there were no feelings involved, they both deeply cared for each other. Neither would admit it, saying they were only friends who (more than) occasionally hooked up, but they both knew there was more. However, Freddie fell a bit harder even though he knew Crowley wasn't in love with him. It did hurt a bit, but he was eventually fine with it.

Freddie actually knew about Crowley and Aziraphale being a demon and an angel. Crowley told him one night while they were both drunk and then Freddie remembered and asked him. Crowley tried to deny it, but Freddie insisted so much that in the end, he decided to tell him everything as he knew Freddie wouldn't tell anybody. And he never did, he treated this like his own secret.

The first time Freddie saw Crowley's eyes, Crowley thought he would be scared. But Freddie just said: "I know they're snake eyes, but they remind me of my cats. And what a lovely colour, darling. Yellow's my favourite, you know?".

Crowley ranted A LOT about Aziraphale to Freddie. He was always going on about how much he hated his being a goody-two-shoes, how infuriating his constant reminding him that he was actually a good person and how the fuck can 6000 years be too fast? Freddie just smiled because he knew. He could see how much Crowley loved that angel. It broke his own heart, because he knew he could never be loved that much, but never said a word.

Freddie did write a lot of songs about Crowley and Aziraphale. Obviously Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy, but also Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Somebody to Love and many more. Spread Your Wings is specifically about Crowley and he knew. But what Freddie would never tell anyone, a secret that he brought to the tomb with him, is that he wrote Love of My Life and You Take my Breath Away for him. (told you that Freddie was in love, my poor baby suffered too much in his life).

Freddie taught Crowley how to play the piano.

Crowley auctioned for some of Freddie's belongings. He got some kimonos, some handwritten sheets and his piano. He couldn't let anyone else have it.

Crowley never really left Freddie's side. He was always that mysterious, dark and handsome man showing up especially when Freddie needed someone. People eventually accepted it as part of Freddie's charm as he was always so secretive about his personal life.

Freddie let himself be vulnerable only around Crowley. Just as Crowley took off his glasses with him, Freddie allowed himself to cry only those times in which they were alone. He cried in Crowley's arms so much when his illness was worsening, when he was scared of how much he would have suffered. One night it got so bad that Freddie was basically begging Crowley to end his suffering and Crowley had to perform a miracle so that he could sleep. Neither brought it up ever again.

When Freddie died, Crowley was there with him. He gave Freddie just enough life to allow him to say some words. "You promised me you wouldn't come," Freddie told him. "I'm a demon, I lied" replied Crowley with a broken voice. He then sat on the bed and stayed with him until the very last moment. Aziraphale was there too. He followed Crowley without telling him because he felt he needed him. Aziraphale took away Freddie's suffering so that he could go without pain.

That same night, Aziraphale tried to persuade Crowley to stay at his library because he thought Crowley needed a friend. Crowley refused, hopped on his Bentley and drove away. He parked in front of his apartment building and found a used packet of cigarettes and an old pair of sunglasses that belonged to Freddie in his car. As the radio passed Love of my life, he couldn't hold it anymore and burst into tears. He cried hard, really hard. He felt a familiar hand on his back but didn't look and didn't ask. Aziraphale never said anything either and didn't leave until Crowley stopped crying but before he could be seen. He remembered how much it hurt and didn't want Crowley to grieve alone.

Master post: here

#I am deeply sorry for the last ones #Or maybe I'm not that sorry #I just love the idea of them together for a while #I mean Freddie and Aziraphale have some things in common #And Aziraphale would be friends with Brian May #Good omens #good omens headcanons #crowley #good omens s2 #good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #freddie mercury #crowley angst #good omens season 2 #queen #good omens spoilers

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thedenofravenpuff · 22 days

Note

How do you draw the metal shine on your animatronics?

Oh geez

Honestly?

I have no frigging idea! Couldn't start to explain what I'm doing, as I just draw and add shine and shading as I work. At least if yer talking about my robot shine in my sketches.

But alright, let's see if I can try and make examples for this..

Fig. 1

As said above, I usually shade and shine as I go, so leaving this one mostly blank was bit of a toll on me.

But yeh, just a flat sketch of our favourite Sun guy just happy to be here

Fig. 2

Alright, this is a very simple example for how I do most shine on areas meant to be a light colour. Can't be too drastic and risk making it look like the casing is supposed to be darker.

Best way I can explain the "shine lines", hmmm.. I'm not smart enough to have the words, I guess. I just learn from observing art and things around me to try get an idea what gives the right effect with the tools given..

Fig. 3

Let's try with more detailing by adding soft shading.

I really do just add these things based on feel and vibe, as I go.

Do pay attention that whether it's metal shine or shading on non-metal parts, it rarely goes all the way to the art lines. Gotta preserve white space for effect, it helps giving the needed illusion of light when ye only got pencil to work with. Is the best way I can put any instructions on this.

Fig. 4

Of course matters on the shape and desired effect on what you are drawing. There are many ways to draw shading and shine on different materials, for the right feel. This is just some basic and simple examples I can think of to try and illustrate.

I'm sure you can find plenty of better tutorials out there to explain this concept in deeper detail than I'm able to.

I never really looked it up myself, I just experimented with my techniques as I went. Even trying to set it up in separate parts have me unsure if this gonna help ya understand how I do my work.

Best I can tell ya, is I mostly tribute the backgrounds of Hollow Knight some credit for my shading techniques today. Some arts done attempting to copy the style of the game's backgrounds and detailing gave me some pointers to work from.

(Moth character my old OC Grave Keeper)

So, yeah, that's the best I can give ya on the subject of how I do metal shine in pencil. Best I can offer is ya look up examples that work for you, to try draw from as you figure out your own technique and vibes for it.

I do hope that was any help!

Enjoy!

The Roan RPG Project ScreeCon Server on Discord Leave a Tip on Ko-Fi

#PuffBlog #MyArt #AChickenNamedCheese #Art Tips #Metal Shine #I have no clue what I'm doing #FNAF #DCA #Daycare Attendant #Sun #Hollow Knight #Grave Keeper #Old Art #Sketch #Traditional Art #Tutorial

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bopbopstyles · 2 years

Text

I JUST WANT A LOVER PT.2

RATING: R/smut (graphic sex, nipple play, lil holding of wrists above head)

WORD COUNT: 4.3k (and like 90% smut just for y'all b/c i couldn't stop myself i'm a slut <3 also i did not edit this sorry not sorry)

CATEGORIES: one night stand!harry

PT. 1 | MASTERLIST | TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK

a/n: SURPRISE BITCHES!!!!!! y'all loved pt1 so much that i just couldn't help myself. perhaps not my finest work, but banged this out in like two hours for you all. luv u bunches, hope this is the happy ending you wanted (plus 95% smut including some JUICY lil thangs) XOXO thank you so much for the support of IJWAL — missed y'all <3

“I have a secret.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled, slotting his lower body between yours. You could feel his cock brush against your center deliciously, and it’s like it hadn’t been inside you less than twelve hours ago from the way your body lit up. “I might tell you, but only if you’re really, really nice to me.”

He nosed at your forehead with his nose, tilting your head back slightly so he could look directly into your eyes. You loved when guys could match you with banter, could be all fun and playful after a hookup. Otherwise it was just awkward. So, you played along. “Nice, hmm?” You said, lifting your hands from their spot on the sheets and trailing your fingertips up his sides.

The way Harry’s body tensed immediately caught your eye, and you loved it. The fact that you had the same effect on him that he had on you did wonders for your self esteem, and encouraged the playful fire burning in your stomach.

“Wonder how I could be nice to you,” you teased, splaying your fingers across his torso and and pressing gently into the skin, watching his abdomen muscles ripple under your pressure.

“I could think of a few ways,” he breathed out, eyes darting all over your face.

It's the morning after and they're both really into each other (still)

In the morning, you learned, Harry was far too chipper. You were usually a gremlin until you’d had at least one cup of coffee, at which point you reached everyone’s-favorite-neighborhood-grump status, and after at least two hours of being awake you were usually finally able to have a conversation without grimacing repeatedly at how much you didn’t want to speaking.

So therefore, waking up to find Harry stretched out next to you scrolling TikTok with a smile on his face was not quite your favorite start to the morning. At least, on paper. But for some reason, when he looked over and smiled at you, you couldn’t help but think you might reach your nice stage a little faster this morning.

“Morning,” Harry said, locking his phone and placing it on his bedside table. “Sleep okay?”

You pushed your hair out of your face and sat up, scooting backward until your back hit his headboard. “Apart from you being the hottest human known to man and roasting the whole night, yeah.”

He grinned at you. “Hottest, eh?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “I meant temperature-wise, you idiot.”

Harry chuckled and reached over to the bedside table, grabbing a glass of water. “Here, got this for ya.” He passed it to you, fingers brushing yours as you took the glass from his grip. Even though the two of you had sex last night, you couldn’t help but notice how warm and soft his hands were, and how they sent a shiver ripping down your body.

“Thank you,” you told him, glancing around the room. Last night you’d only seen in the partial darkness, the only light while you’d been having sex coming in from the street—which was enough to see Harry in all of his glory, but not enough to make out the intricate details of his room.

It was covered in art, you quickly noticed. Not framed, valuable, and hung art, but sheets of drafting paper with sketches on them, little napkins with drawings, and smaller watercolors. You could tell that there was a recurring style of drawing and painting across the papers, but not necessarily all the same—they could’ve been done by multiple people. In the corner was a record player, an old and nice one, you thought, and a set of speakers with too many records to fit in the storage unit he had. They were in stacks on the ground next to the turntable, spines out so you could see the name of the record. That, you thought, tracked with what he’d told you—that he was a musician and worked in a record store.

At the end of the bed was his dresser, with the hem of shirts poking out from drawers and the top scattered with various items. Nail polish, a dish of tons of vintage rings, a couple of necklaces hanging from pins in the wall. A couple bottles of cologne, and a stack of books with a photo frame on top. Above the dresser was a circular mirror, and in it you could see yourself and Harry perfectly. In fact, a little too perfectly—your hair was sticking in all directions after having gotten wet in the shower and there was a rim of black from old mascara under your eyes you’d been too lazy to scrub off last night. Harry, on the other hand, looked perfect with his five o’clock shadow and pink lips begging to be kissed, hair tousled like it was meant to be like that.

You ignored your reflections, enjoying your perusal of his room, and turned to see his desk on the other wall of the room, where two large windows by New York City standards stood, letting in morning light through heavy curtains. There were papers all over the desk, black ink scribbles scattered across them, and a stack of black leather notebooks in the corner next to a cup of black pens (all the same kind, he must have a type). A computer sat on the desk, covered by paper, as well as a very fun mushroom lamp that make you smile.

“So?” You turned back to Harry, confused. “What’s your assessment?”

“Of what?”

“My room you were obviously just investigating.”

Oh. He had been watching you explore his space. “That you’re very artistic?”

He smiled, and then replied with a nod. “That’s true.”

“Are those drawings all yours?”

He shook his head. “A lot of them are my sister’s. She’s older, and sends them to me in a care package once a month. Her way of showing me the world around her. Been doing it since she was at university, so what’s up in a mixture of stuff from years. The others are mine.”

It was sweet, you thought, how close he seemed to be with his sister. “Is she an artist?”

“Nah, she’s teaching history. Unlike me, she decided that it was better to keep her artistic passions just for herself. She told me once that she didn’t believe in that whole idea that if you do something you love for your job you never work a day in your life. She told me’ It’s still work at the end of the day,’ so she just does it in her free time. Kind of jealous she can do that.”

You rotated slightly onto your side, able to look at him better “You can’t?”

“It’s funny, for a long time I never thought I’d do anything related to music. But then it was like it kept begging me to try it out. For a while I thought that my friends were playing a joke on me because every pub night I went to there was an open mic night.” You laughed at that, and he smiled at you. “And there was this feeling that the music was just spilling out of me. It would come to me at the funniest times, especially on the subway or when I was walking home, and I’d have to write it down or it’d never get out of my head. So I finally just decided to take it as a sign.”

“That’s really amazing,” You told him, meaning every word. He looked suspicious of your statement though. “To have something that you are that passionate about. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way about something. Always wanted to. Thought there was something wrong with me, even, that I didn’t have a passion like all my other friends.”

Then, Harry did the sweetest thing you’d ever had happen to you during a one night stand. He reached up and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear that had escaped, his fingertips trailing down your neck as he withdrew his hand. It was like he craved your skin as much as you where craving touching his, with his chest exposed, his many tattoos on display.

Finally, he spoke, and when he did, his voice was rougher than it had been before. “You’re not missing out,” he said. “Sometimes I wish I could shut it off. Would make life a hell of a lot easier.”

His words were so raw, so honest.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Isn’t this intimate for a morning after conversation.”

You laughed, pushing gently against his shoulder. “Hey, I thought it was cute.”

“Just what every man wants to hear first thing in the morning,” he answered, rolling towards you and propping himself up on his wrists so he was hovering over you. “I have a secret.”

“Oh?”

“Wonder how I could be nice to you,” you teased, splaying your fingers across his torso and and pressing gently into the skin, watching his abdomen muscles ripple under your pressure.

“I could think of a few ways,” he breathed out, eyes darting all over your face.

“Oh yeah?” You pushed at his right shoulder, forcing him back to his pillow and onto his back. With ease, you sat up and slotted your knees on either side of his hips. But you didn’t rest yourself on his body, instead you hovered above him, suddenly thankful for the pilates you’d become obsessed with lately, because your legs didn’t shake immediately. “Wonder if I could guess a couple of them.”

Harry’s eyes were wide, staring at you. His gaze was locked on your tits, which were uncovered and bare for him to see, and you loved the attention, the feeling of warm from his gaze on your body. “I think you might be onto something.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, gently lowering onto his bare cock and brushing delicately up and down on him, the friction making both of you moan. Then, you lifted right back up, hovering on your knees, with Harry staring up at you in disbelief. However, he didn’t make a sound, just watched you, mesmerized.

You reached below you and held his length in your hand, running your hand up and down, watching the muscles in his jaw clench with every stroke. Then, you lifted his tip and brushed him against your slit, which by this point was most definitely wet. And you knew he could feel it.

The sound that left his throat as you ran his tip along you slit but not inside it sent your brain into overdrive. You barely resisted the temptation to slip him inside, but you wanted to tease him, to make him beg to fuck you. That desire managed to help you hold onto your sanity as you slipped just the very smallest amount of his tip inside of you and then rose up out of reach.

The man below you whined when you lifted up, his hands curling around your thighs and tightening. “Fuck,” he breathed out. “Fuck.”

But you weren’t done. You rested his cock flat on his hips and lowered yourself down, rubbing your pussy back and forth on his length, and letting yourself get lost in the feeling. Because you could come to this feeling alone—the feeling of his skin, the warmth of him, the way his tip notched in your clit and made you bite your lip delicately. Your head dropped back and your hands crept up your body, fingers pulling and kneading at your breasts. At this point any semblance of self-consciousness had left you and you were consumed in your own pleasure, in chasing your own orgasm regardless of who was there to witness it.

In fact, if Harry’s hands hadn’t slipped under yours, you could’ve forgotten he was even there. But then his fingers crept under yours and pushed your hands off your breasts, and his own replaced yours. His fingers were rougher than yours, the tip of his thumb calloused from pressing down on his guitar strings, and you loved how it felt on your skin. The rough graze of skin on yours, and the way his hands were larger than yours and could hold more of your breasts in his hands. And then he started to knead them and your mouth dropped open a tad, just enough for a whimper to escape your throat.

“Feel good, baby?” He asked, the pet name dropping from his mouth and melting into your veins, filed away for your fantasies later, once you were truly on your own. The way it sounded coming from his lips, the way the syllable left his tongue.

His tongue. Your head perked up and you found his eyes, which were already staring at you. You wanted his tongue. You bent your head and down and his lips rose to meet yours, crashing together in the press of need and desire. His lips parted with ease when you brushed against them with the tip of your tongue, and then you had access to what you wanted. When his tongue touched yours, you curled your fingers in his hair and pulled gently, the feeling of being consumed by him taking over. Your hips were still moving back and forth, and you just needed more and more of him. It wasn’t enough.

“More,” you mumbled, pressing your forehead to his, hands on his shoulders for leverage.

“What do you want, angel?” A new pet name that you filed away.

What did you want? You thought about it for a split second and let the first thought that flashed into your mind take hold. When you needed to finish, the thing that always put you over the edge was a tad bit of pain. Your favorite, by far, when you were like this—touch starved and needy—was on your nipples, though.

So you grabbed his hands, and maneuvered them so his thumbs and forefingers caught around your nipple, and pressed the together. The pain shot through you in a delicious way—not too intense, but enough to make your pussy tighten at the sensation.

Harry let out a sound that you couldn’t place. Somewhere between a groan and a whine and the sound of your name. “That, hmm, baby? Like a bit of pain?”

You nodded so fast, not wanting him to stop.

“Fuck, okay. Tell me if it’s too much, yeah?” You nodded once more, and then you lost yourself in the feeling.

He varied the pressure, giving your nipples a break but then pressing harshly so it always felt like a jolt of pain—which is exactly what you liked. The surprise. It made your hips speed up in time, head lolling from side to side as breathy moans escaped your mouth, sounding something like his name.

You hadn’t had this feeling in a minute, and you missed it. The all-consuming feeling of chasing an orgasm with someone else, of the combination of friction and pain, your absolute favorite that never failed you.

“You are so hot,” he mumbled, quietly and almost to himself. But you heard it.

And it happened to toss you right over the edge. The pressure on your nipples was too much and you could feel how hard he was, and the wetness of you made you slide right along his ridges and fuck it was too much. You crashed into an orgasm, a fire of glory that left your body quivering, fingers tightening on Harry’s shoulders. “Fuck,” you breathed out shakily, eyes opening after the shocks quieted in your system.

They found Harry immediately, his gaze on yours. “Good?”

“Mhmm,” you answered, twirling your fingers at the nape of his neck where his hair was. “You’re good at that.”

He chuckled. “I think you’re better—nearly came watching that.”

“Yeah?” You reached down and brushed your fingertip over his tip.

His hips jolted at the touch, hands tightening from their new location on your hips. “Good lord, woman, gonna kill me.”

You cocked your head to the side. “I hope not. Was hoping to have another round.” You don’t think he realized he did it, but his tongue slipped out and wiped across his lips.

“I’d be—fucking hell.”

You’d slipped him inside of you mid-sentence, so fast he didn’t realize it. And the feeling of him inside of you was absolute fucking heaven. You were still tight from your orgasm and dripping, and he was rock hard—the triple threat meant that your body shook ever so slightly at the feeling, your sensitivity making how good he felt send you into overdrive. Gently, you rose up, slipping your ankles onto the tops of his thighs to gain leverage, and then back down.

The way he bore so deep inside of you made you groan, low and deep. And with that, you were moving without even realizing it—and then Harry was above you.

He’d flipped you on your back.

And with one look at his eyes, you knew there was no way he was going to let you move an inch. His gaze was ravenous, like a caged animal just freed. His eyes were devouring you, taking every morsel of you.

Then, he started to move.

His hips snapped forward and you cried out from how intense it was, the cry quickly turning into a flurry of moans and his name, falling from your mouth without pause as he fucked you hard. It was intense and delicious. His cock brushed so deep inside of you that it made your eyes roll back (not that you’d admit that to him), the pace he set forcing your hands to scramble across his skin to find something to hold onto. You ended up deciding on the duvet cover you’d slept under, hands above your head and fingers curled in the material, mouth dropped open in a silent scream that you couldn’t quite find the air for in your lungs because he was fucking it all out of you.

“You feel so good,” he mumbled, yet another phrase in the mess of words leaving his mouth in that low, gravely, delectable voice of his. That was quickly followed by, “Your pussy feels like heaven” and “Never leaving, I swear to God”.

Somewhere in that train of words, you realized that he was bare inside of you.

You had been the one to put him inside of you, but you had obviously been to fucked out of your mind to even realize it, because now he was completely bare inside of your pussy.

“Harry,” you said. “You forgot a condom.”

The man, to his credit, immediately stilled inside of you. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Didn’t—how the fuck didn’t I realize that? Would like to at least be conscious when I get to feel your pussy bare for the first time.” He looked at your face. “Now I understand why you feel so good. Fuck—um, can you grab one? In the drawer on your right side.”

You looked at him, looking at you, and felt the clench of your walls around his bare cock, and made an incredibly impulsive decision. “You clean?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately. “You?”

“Yes. And have an IUD. Keep going, please—just don’t come inside.”

“Fuck,” he said, and then he resumed his relentless pace. “Promise, angel—promise I won’t. Where do you want me to come, baby?”

“My tits,” you replied without a pause, and that made the gorgeous man above you groan harshly, one of his hands traveling up your body to tweak your nipple. You let out a squeak and then a moan as he continued, obviously using his newfound novel of your kinks to his advantage.

“I love your breasts, goddamn,” he said, each word enunciated by a separate thrust.

You could feel droplets of sweat dropping onto your skin, the sign of his exertion, and you loved the feeling. Loved watching him come undone above you. Craving him deeper, you lifted your legs and curved your calves around his hips, tugging him higher up your body and deeper inside you. Both of you groaned deeply, and then he did something you didn’t expect, but were immediately intoxicated by.

He reached up to where your hands were curled in the duvet, and pushed your wrists together, and then wrapped his hand around them, holding your hands above your head. Most of his weight was in his other hand which was on the bed, so it didn’t put too much pressure on your wrists, but just enough to where you knew he was using the leverage to keep you in place. And it made your eyes flutter shut and hips arch up into him.

The combination of all of this made his pace pick up, a stream of words falling from his mouth as he fucked you hard and fast and deep, just how you wanted it. You loved how talkative he was while he fucked you, something most men weren’t.

Your second orgasm was rising quickly, rippling through your body and you couldn’t do a thing to stop it. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, those green eyes finding yours immediately. “Gonna come,” you informed him, pussy tightening as if on command.

His grip on your wrists tightened and he fucked you harder, a brutal pace that had you calling out his name, not even thinking about the fact that he definitely had roommates, because all you wanted was your orgasm, and you wanted everyone to know he gave it to you.

Just as you came, your orgasm ripping through you like an unstoppable wave, Harry pulled himself out of you and you dropped your legs immediately, knowing he was going to come. He moved up the length of you and you scooted down, out of breath and panting from your orgasm but wanting his come on your breasts anyway. He tugged twice on his length and then come was painting stripes on your skin, warm on your clammy skin.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, hovering above you, panting.

You smiled up at him, and when his hands released your wrists you reached down, pushing a forefinger through the streaks of come on your chest. Harry watched in awe as you brought your finger to your mouth, savoring his taste—salty and delicious.

“You,” he said, eyes on your mouth. “You are amazing.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you replied, gazing up at him, wondering how you would be able to give him up. You were addicted.

Two hours later, after an Uber Eats delivery for some coffee and bagels which were consumed in bed before Harry went down on you again, pulling yet another orgasm from you, and a very heated makeout session, you were tugging on your coat in his room. Harry was pulling on a pair of pajama pants, and when he placed a pair of glasses on his nose you smiled.

“Didn’t know you wore glasses,” you told him.

“Lots of things you don’t know about me.” He moved toward you and wrapped his hands around your hips, tugging your body into his. Your mouth met his with ease, a kiss more gentle than the previous ones dancing across your lips that made you smile.

Stepping back, you said, “Thanks for breakfast.”

He nodded, and with another glance around his room, you followed him out of the bedroom and into the living room of his apartment. It was quiet—most likely his friends were either not awake still or hiding in their bedrooms. If you were his roommate, you’d definitely be hiding right now.

The apartment was cramped, like every other New York apartment, but homey. Knick knacks and proof of life were scattered across all surfaces, random scraps of paper, a guitar pick here and there, some books, a plant or two. For a couple of guys, it wasn’t too bad.

“So,” he said when you two reached the door. “I—uh—I had a lot of fun with you.”

You smiled at him, taking sincere joy in the awkwardness in his stance. He was so confident and forward all night and this morning, so seeing him like this made you grin. “I had fun too, Harry.”

He returned your smile, and reached down to curl his fingers in the top of your skirt. “Would you want to learn all those things about me?” You cocked your head at his statement, and then he quickly clarified. “That you don’t know. Like, over coffee.”

This man was asking you out on a date. A rarity for a one night stand.

Even though you’d only gotten out of a relationship relatively recently, this man intrigued you. He was funny, kind, creative, and an absolute dream in bed. And he was fucking gorgeous. The banter helped too. You looked at him, studying the gleam in his eyes, and then nodded.

“I’d love to.”

That made his smile grow even wider, and then he leaned down, attaching his lips to you in a kiss somewhere between sweet and full of desire, like he was remembering what your night held and was curious for the future. When he pulled away, he reached into his pocket for his phone. “Number, please.”

You typed in the digits as requested, and took it upon yourself to slide the phone back into his pocket, taking the opportunity to squeeze gently at his ass. It made him laugh, that laugh that lit up your body. “See you soon,” you told him, stealing one more kiss before opening the door and walking into his hallway.

He stood in the doorway, shirtless in just a pair of pajama pants, hair beautifully ruffled, and watched you walk down the hall. The whole way you could feel his eyes on you, and it made your skin sing.

Once you stepped onto the street, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Pulling it out, you glanced down to find an unknown number on your screen.

“Free at 2?”

It was noon.

You laughed into the streets of New York before replying with a Yes. The future, you thought to yourself before setting off for your own apartment, was full of possibility.

tell me what you think!!!!!! XOXO LOVE Y'ALL

#harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles masterlist #harry styles

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yazthebookish · 1 year

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I just reread the bonus chapter and I'm just, as always, struck by how fucking obvious Gwyn and Azriel's set up is.

✨ He found it already occupied. His shadows had not warned him. It was too late to bank without appearing like he was running, Azriel landed in the ring a few feet from where Gwyn practiced in the chill night, her sword glimmering like ice in the moonlight.

I'm telling you those shadows are going to play wingmen for Az.

✨ His shadows peered over his wings at her. The young priestess smiled--and Azriel thought it might have been directed at his curious shadows.

Does anyone ever really smile at his shadows except for Gwyn 😭

✨ "Happy Solstice," she said, as much a dismissal as it was a holiday blessing. -- He snorted. "Are you kicking me out?" -- Gwyn's teal eyes flashed with alarm. "No! I mean, I don't mind sharing the ring. I just...I know you like to be alone." Her mouth quirked to the side, crinkling the freckles on her nose. "Is that why you came up here?"

Gwyn really indirectly said he was going to be a brooding ass so let's wish him a happy solstice and let him go and he still teased her back instead of taking the opening she gave him. Also, no one pays enough attention to this detail but SHE KNOWS he likes to be alone 👀 girl is paying close attention to him alright 👀

✨ Sort of. "I forgot something," he reminded her. -- "At two in the morning?" Pure amusement glittered in her stare. Better than the pain and grief he'd spied a moment before. So he offered her a crooked smile. "I can't sleep without my favorite dagger."-- "A comfort to every growing child." -- Azriel's lips twitched.

Gwyn has no filters on I love her 😂😂😂 she really indirectly called his lying ass out.

✨ "How was the party?" Her breath curled in front of her mouth, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music. -- "Fine," he said, and realized a heartbeat later that it wasn’t a socially acceptable answer. "It was nice." Not much better. So he asked, "Did you and the priestesses have a celebration?"

For a 500+ year old immortal Az you should've been better at this game, but I'm proud of you for at least being self-aware and trying to have a normal conversation. 2/5 on the effort but still appreciated.

✨ She angled her head, hair shining like molten metal. "Do you sing?” -- He blinked. It wasn't every day that people took him by surprise, but..."Why do you ask?" -- "They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?" -- “I am a shadowsinger--it's not a title that someone just made.” -- She shrugged again, irreverently. Az narrowed his eyes, studying her. "Do you, though?" she pressed. "Sing?" -- Azriel couldn't help his soft chuckle. "Yes."

1. Not many people take him by surprise but she did. -- 2. I wouldn't be surprised because it's funny as hell if she asked him because of shadowSINGER -- 3. Azriel taking offense and reaffirming he is, in fact, a SHADOWSINGER. -- 4. Sarah confirmed there will be a scene of him singing, as far as we know Gwyn is likely the only character who knows he does, also the fact that SJM created something common between the two of them and it's that they both sing? -- 5. It's sweet to think that Gwyn wanted to know something about him and asked him about something she herself loves to do, which is sing.

✨ "I blame Cassian for this. He's too busy making eyes at Nesta to notice such mistakes these days." Azriel laughed. "I’ll give you that."

Gwyn complaining about Nessian and Az is like "I can relate " 😂

✨ Gwyn smiled broadly. "Thank you." -- Azriel dipped his head in a sketch of a bow, something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed. As if content to lounge on his shoulders and watch.

She smiled at him and both him and his shadows felt calm 🥹 like compare how aloof and depressed he was at the start of his scene with Gwyn to him feeling this just after one conversation with her 😭😭 it's so 😭😭 I love them so fucking much.

✨ Gwyn nodded her farewell, again facing the ribbon. A warrior sizing up an opponent, all traces of that charming irreverence gone. Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer.

"That charming irreverence" Gwyn is so unapologetic about that irreverence I love her for it -- also, that's a clear, in-your-face, clue about a mating bond. I stand by that and my opinion remains unchanged since I first read the bonus chapter in 2021.

✨ Clotho was smart enough to see through his deflection. She wrote, "I’ll give it to Gwyneth, Tell her a friend left it for her". -- He wouldn't go so far as to call Gwyn a friend, but... "Fine. Thank you."

I don't really find this alarming when people try to push into my face. It's obvious they're not in love "yet" and Azriel doesn't have any friends outside the IC, he doesn't know how to label it. It's still early to even label it. That "but..." leaves an opening there.

✨ Clotho's pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her. -- Something sparked in Azriel's chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to the House proper. How Gwyn's teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason... he could see it. -- But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly. -- A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

When Clotho thanked him for the joy the gift wil bring to Gwyn that's when something sparked in him. That's when he started to picture that joy. "For whatever reason" she's likely your mate bro that's why but we'll save that for later. He was aware and conscious enough to erase his smile yet bury the image of Gwyn's joy in his chest. He had a DAMN SMILE on his face while thinking of Gwyn's joy, like, that's so precious 😭 and Clotho is 100% true, she deserves all the joy the world has to offer for her (I just wish it wasn't a necklace meant for someone else). I get the kindness behind the act but it can bite him in the ass if SJM brings it up in the main book.

That's only a teaser for what's to come and that's the purpose of the bonus chapter. I can see why Sarah was more excited for readers to read Azriel's chapter than Feysand's chapter. She knew what she was doing here and what she's setting up. I didn't want to post the earlier scenes since I don't want to deal with people showing up with pitchforks and I don't need to talk about other ships I'm happy and content to gush about my own.

Every time I reread this chapter it just reminds me of how obvious Gwyn and Azriel's set up is and you don't need a pairing to bang or make out to create a set up. We didn't even get much but they are going to be such a fun couple, I need more of funny and easy-going Azriel.

#gwynriel #acosf #I'm reminded of the first time I read it #I was not spoiled by anything so I didn't know Gwyn was in it #when she showed up I SQUEALED #how much I fucking adore her #she really brought some light into what was a dark and depressing chapter #an absolute angel #I already was picking up clues from ACOSF but the bonus chapter confirmed what's coming #and I am fucking ready

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y0ncan · 12 days

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the description fits this sukuna drawn by @cuviz . i'll commission (they're open!) a fitting piece to this story, so stay tuned.

"…field worker of food enterprise »yūjiocha« has collapsed on the 24th of this august. health officials have shared that the 52-year-old suffered from breathing difficulties up to a heat stroke. following this shocking incident, the company has been under fire due to its low payment of field and indoor workers in rural sendai. the company's domicile in tokyo has been blocked by strikers as we speak, demanding fair working conditions. what makes citizens worry is the CEO-"

"anotha day with the same ol' stories," the taxi-driver mumbles, his head cowering under the windshield to examine the billboards.

you follow his direction and are greeted with the shiny exterior of ads over ads, raging from fashion brands to promotional thumbnails for upcoming movies. they contrast wonderfully with the grey and damp weather, the vividness too intense for this early traffic jam.

orange plus green letters of the said brand appear with a 3d animation of a rotating matcha tea packet. the name alone makes you swallow, your shoulders knotted as rain drops glide down the window. "hm, unfortunately."

"headin' there, aren't ya? ya're with dose devils?" you are quick to pick out his sarcasm but don't hold back from covering your chest with sweaty hands. "no, no! i'm here for the press conference! have to step in for my colleague, that's why."

"ya nervous?" from the backseat you hear the lightness in his tone. if he can sense it, than what's the point of trying to make excuses? really, it was a mixture of both excitement and nauseau. if it weren't for your co-worker telling you last minute, you would've had to wait for the next blue moon. it couldn't be compared to the never-ending online researches at home - this was a once in a life time opportunity for your career.

your thoughts come to an abrupt stop when the car pulls over. "kick their asses, yeah?"

"… queries are only allowed within your designated time. please refrain from shouting out," after half an hour of a protracted introduction with the help of a slide-show, the lady in glasses puts the microphone down - especially painful when your view is blocked by loads of technical equipment and tall backs of men in suits.

"good morning, shibuya network speaking here. we're interested in hearing the opinion of the CEO himself." the reporter sits down and the action builds anticipation in you with how swift this already works. nothing like what's shown on edited broadcasts or 30 pages of transcript for homework.

you raise your chin from the back of the spacious room. the two men at the podium exchange expressions. at first you don't understand their worrisome looks, until a screeching vibration echoes in the hall, as if an object is being dragged along something sharp. you squeeze your eyes open to the third person in the middle.

"you wanna hear my opinion?" your gaze dances across the room, trying to search for a reaction in the several women and men around you. have they just heard the exact same thing as you or are you caught in the sketch of some sadistic comedian?

"yes sir, your opinion."

the silence doesn't drag on for long, "of what?"

"sir, one of your worker-"

"i'm aware of that."

"after he collapsed-"

"yeah?"

"what exactly are you-"

"what are you aiming at?" a quasy feeling settles in your stomach.

"sir, what measures are you going to take?" the man finally snaps with rushed words, as anyone else would naturally do so.

"doin' as always." his face is cold, his movements solid.

"next question please," the spokesperson on the left side states.

you mouth goes dry. you recall why you've been hesitant when you got the call from your fever-plagued office partner, nobara kugisaki.

a few journalists and news outlets survey general questions relating to the company itself which makes your legs bounce with thin patience. can't they postpone these for another public gathering? at this state you weren't even sure if everyone would get a turn.

"in the last five years ryomen sukuna has held back from providing the public with clarifications on the many rumors he has been involved in… mr ryomen, would you be so kind and enlighten us?" a tall, white-haired woman sits down. some part of your brain tells you that she is grinning, although her voice has been stagnant despite some alarmed countenances on the stage.

the addressed man leans back - not without a chuckle though.

the next participant takes the mic. you are confused.

you reread your notes. is it worth asking when this conference has either denied or made fun of the press inquiries this far? you aren't one to defend gossip magazines who survive off his or anyone's questionable past, but this was too out-of-place for your own liking. simply put: it is disrespectful.

"good stories osaka, mr ryomen, please tell us about your alco-"

"we don't entertain this type of output from here on. please focus on recent activities or refrain from speaking."

you follow the white bow. "good morning, kyoto today here. sir, have you already been in contact with the victim's family? and how will you compensate your workers in the future? thank you for your cooperation." your ears perk up and you immediately cross out one scribbled line.

"that man is out of the hospital. i don't see a need to compensate anyone."

gasps and whispers spread throughout the tense air. right now, you can observe the only positive: the reporter's stance - how she confidently protrudes among the hushed outbreak, her grip on the microphone unwavering.

"so i'll take you don't intend on raising the standard of your worker's conditions anytime soon?"

"never planned to."

honestly, you aren't sure what to do when the room errupts with audible complaints and writers violently pressing down on their keyboards. "is this legal?" a reporter with a green notepad wants to know. others demand their camera men to "get everything on camera! no, zoom in!" and give them a slap on the back to get closer.

"please keep it quiet for the last contendors - if not, we are obligated to cancel this session."

your heart picks up at an uncomfortable frequency. you take deep breaths.

"from the daily press - mr ryomen, how will you deal with the recent protest in front of this very building?"

the men around him have long ago loosened their ties, sitting back in their chairs, handkerchiefs pressed against their red temples. by reading them you understand their missing courage to talk some sense into the CEO. even if, is this man capable of seeing his own faults?

"i'd like to see how long they'll drag this out - prolly not long."

the lady's arm points upward, "but sir! you are aware the people outside are your employees, right?!" it wasn't the first time during this knot garden that an interviewer has sounded like they are on the edge of insanity.

"so? there are enough volunteers who will take their places."

the woman near you sinks down without another word. your wrinkly page has ended up as a muddy ball of paper. you could theoratically get up and leave at any given time but with the cramped up space around you, you'd have to sit through this until the end.

thanks to your inner monologue you almost miss the black object pocking into your panorama.

now or never.

when you take the mic into your hand, you wince at the short self-noise. "kanagawa news… sir, i'll be brief: what's your purpose at yūjiocha?"

you can't unsee the way his knuckles push against the side of his cheek with the most uninterested glare - pierced brow not moving an ounce while you are mentally fluctuating for his answer.

"you tell me what my purpose is. you journalists love to pretend to know everything. isn't that so…"

you raise your brows. his derisive layer of throwing you and other hard-working writers into the same pot with gossipers leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.

"sir, i didn't assume anything. my question is: what's your personal ambition - you don't give the impression of having a goal as the chairman of your own company." you're at loss for words by none other than your own self. from the edges of your vista you find heads sticking together. the camera directed at you doesn't go unnoticed either.

that was the harmless part - not when his eyelids drop at your comment. in a flash, you question your own professionality. are you wrong?

"oh, so now you're telling me what to do?"

you huff. "that is not my intention, sir. i'm wondering why this - when you're acting reckless with the company of your-"

"a nobody from the gutter press is seriously teaching me about my business? tch."

"next one," the spokesperson moves on.

you remember the prominent throb in your throat, blurring out the last back-and-forths until everyone, one by one, started to exit the hall. his team is the first one to do so and you fear that this belittling memory will never fully dissolve.

the next day doesn't reward you for your rookie service either. the brown-haired woman walks up and down, prior to sitting down and repeating the same pattern anew.

"…means i can't use it?"

nobara, your senior of two years with more experience in the world of critical writing supports her head with her right palm. "hold on," the corner of her mouth twists in annoyance as she analyzes the screen of her pink tablet.

"these sons of bitches have not only imposed a copyright restriction because of a goddamn power point presentation but also threaten us with cutting our money!?" it was only a question of time when she would go berserk. you weren't going to risk calming her down when she had all the right in the world - unfortunately copyrights excluded - to complain about the supergiant's legal terms.

as you found out - just hours ago after terrible five hours of sleep - the press is not allowed to share the conference recording on any platform. on top of that, the financial pressure of withdrawing advertising money is pushed down your throats in case companies release a - as quoted - smear campaign against their precious CEO.

"i don't get it… why attempt hiding it? the media already knows," you chew on your lip at the thought of having to let your very first citation go to waste. you weren't going to allow your own sweat and (almost) tears go down the drain. not when they are the ones in the wrong on so many levels.

"i'll tell you why… these pigs can't risk more damage! knuckles-deep in the mud and they still have the audacity to stop journalism! over my dead body!" the aroma of berries floats your nostrils when she raises her steamy mug.

"what's the plan?"

"(name). see this as your first main quest from your kugisaki girl herself, 'kay? WE'RE GOING TO FINISH THIS NO MATTER WHAT! EVEN IF THEY WERE TO FLOAT THIS OFFICE! those recordings aren't going anywhere!" her arm cramps up when the coughing fit returns.

you immediately begin your text, fueled with fire from her motivational speech. as your job requires, you are here in the first place because you've promised to reveal the shady side of the business world. you wouldn't want to let your partner in crime down - not when you were entrusted with this important task.

"thank you, nobara-san."

"that's the spirit, rookie. let's end those wretched capitalists! they better be grateful that i had a fever… i would've jumped them all!"

the yellowish light of your overly bright display blinds you in the shades. the blue logo of the daily press dissapears. your thumb enters the key words and urgently scrolls down the black on white.

user8653346

another nepo baby who gets away with THEIR usual egotistic IDIOCITY. we live in a rich man's world everyone!

anonymous

I'm dissapointed with the amount televison and CO publicize. Why do they downplay the traumatizing event of a victim and make traces of the protest dissapear.... inhumane. Thank you and anyone else who has covered this evil crime for us.

z.9999

Why act surprised? He has a bunch of illegal acts held against him yet he gets away!!? I'm more concerned for the people who've lost their jobs!

anonymous

threathening journalists shocks me the least... what has daddy’s company become? ヾ(´∀｀)

a notification from nobara pops up, showing screenshots of hilarious responses under other tokyo-based publications over the last days. it's quite a relief they haven't held back either.

but the happiness wouldn't last long of course.

"utahime-senpai just emailed me. (name), you can't imagine how enraged i am. meet me at the office." the green and red symbols dissapear along her name.

your heart pounds as you run down the busy streets. no time to take a bite or look in the mirror. at the crosswalk, you weigh if you should get a quick meal and later hop into a taxi or train.

the neon green window display of the convenience store finds you at the right time. after paying for food and a bottle of water you're about to run to the next station, however, the magazine stand catches your attention instead. you should sprint to your office as soon as possible yet you're curious about one thing.

you turn the pages and eventually find your own article. you quiver at the touch of the physical copy. it hasn't vanished. you let out a relieved groan and with the satisfied exploration, you flee through the automatic doors.

"i would like to have a word with the manager regarding the supply of non-updated newspaper in here."

"nobara…"

the said woman is leaning her arms against the top of her cluttered desk. without any remark you place your bag down.

her lids are shut.

minutes pass.

"these fuckers have taken down utahime-senpai's entry," striking back this early? "legal protection for copyright violation! copyright violation?! - they can't be serious!" her skin slams against the wood, twice. she lets out another yell, "gahhh!"

"she hasn't inserted the entire video material on her website," you can't find a reason why on god's green earth there should be any dilemma with her senior's article. it's not like writers aren't familiar with the rules in connection to giving credits, likewise with how and when to use correct quotations and other sources.

"ah you see, three minutes out of 2 hours crisis communication is too long! hah! how dare we forget about proprietary visuals! that half-assed presentation and ugly logo are allegedly commercialization!" she clears her throat in a dramatic manner, "now they limit distributions unless certain parts are changed. exploitation of underlying speech my ass!"

you curse under your breath. "what about us? have we exploited proprietary materials?" you cringe at the terms.

she shares the same sentiment, although now more wearisome. "that's why i've invited you over. just got a message from the pitiful sons themselves," she rolls the computer mouse with her index. "i'm not surprised anymore," she lets out. "we consider filing for legal action regarding the article written and published by your media press journalist (fn) (name) in case it is not taken offline within the next 12 hours,"

you bump into her side and continue to read out loud, "the content of the article titled »fair payment for hard labour: executive ryomen sukuna's biggest income or greatest weakness?« on the 28th of this month includes reputation-damaging conspiracy on behalf of CEO ryomen sukuna's private and professional credibility. our chief executive officer has suffered great harm to his public image in recent days through burgeoning cyber harassment and thus financial destabilization.

the usage of »[…] he's shamelessly open about his lacking empathy for his own work force.«, »[...] getting his position handed (and maintained) on a silver platter […]« and the last paragraph in your text, »what does mr ryomen intend to achieve? one can only look at the priviliged offspring with the empathy he seems to miss whenever he makes an appearance on national TV […]« are missleading accusations without official proof. throughout his career as an executive chief, ryomen sukuna has worked hard for his responsibilities no matter what grand force he is facing.

we must also remind you that mr ryomen has fairly earned his position as the heir of the late wasuke itadori. his accomplishments as a widely-accepted humanitarian representative can be reached via the links provided below. we request you take your article offline or we are duty-bound to take legal proceedings against your company »kanagawa news« and journalist (fn). we are looking forward to a quick response."

you are torn between laughing and touching grass outside. "isn't that funny?" the brunette turns to you but you shake your head in disbelief. "this must be a sick joke."

"not gonna lie, i was a click away from sharing this on my socials. should've send it to every single media channel in this damn prefecture. hah… what a circus… humanitarian? pff…"

your fingers poke at your forehead. you never had to deal with this before, not when you had already covered big names once or twice without any backlash on how angelic their respective nepo babies are. a brat disguised as a grown man… making his minions do the dirty job while he is getting payed millions for exploiting farmers and factory workers.

you can't believe it.

the difficultty of trying to swallow is suffocating. besides just giving up and doing as they preach, this is surrendering - falling down on your knees to get spared by his hierarchic superiority. is this how the rest gets treated behind the scenes? - getting their own principals deranged by some power-hungry maniacs? oh, you have truly underestimated them.

another pause befalls the small office. you see colleagues from the other department pass by the huge pane. the broken light bulb above is twitching. you huff in exhaustion. nobara should tell you what to do since any decisison today will be regretted in one way or another.

"we can't give those bastards the satisfaction," she finally breaks the silence, "let's make them shake longer and solve this pile of shit in the evening, i'm too tired for this freak show. also… we can't delete your oscar-worthy exposure just yet, can we?"

purples and oranges bleed between the mild blue patches. when you step out, the town is dipped in a desaturated shade. at least the sun isn't fully up so you can escape the heat in the confinement of your four walls.

with every step you fall deeper into a spiral: a dark abyss of humiliation and utter disgust in the face of your new reality. what wong-doing outside of wanting to serve justice have you commited? you want to scream to your heart's content but even that is prohibited to you.

damned be that disgusting man.

what makes his horrible soul deserving of power when he's shamelessly spitting at workers? just because he doesn't consider them worth his while?

your skin burns with anger whenever you revisit his responses. a nobody. you shouldn't let it get to you but experiencing it first hand leaves you with wishing him the absolute worst. your article could only express one-sixth of your honest opinion on a self-centered bitch like him. you can't wrap your head around the fact that he still stands proud as the official CEO. no consequences for him.

"ahh!"

the numbness is abruptly replaced by a mild ache in your nose.

"oh i'm sorry!" you are still busy holding your face when you catch a glimpse of your opposite. the novelty of the stranger's face feels weirdly soothing the exact moment you meet his blue orbs.

"my bad! hey, are you hurt?" his limbs spread out with a respectful distance, his concern tangible.

"it's okay!" you wave your hand, "should've looked where i go and not space out, hih," you try to lighten the situation with a chuckle. it does its wonder as he drops his long arms to his sides.

"you're from here?" you are taken back by the asudden quizzing. "uh, yes," you manage to respond back after just starting to slip by him. you are not in the mood to start a conversation with a male stranger so you stride with the same heaviness again.

"(fn) (name). i quite enjoyed reading your article. what was it again? - big executive who doesn't pay his employees?"

you throw a glance over your shoulder. should you be on high alert in his presence? who is this white-haired man and how does he know it's you? you don't have any official pictures- oh. the press conference. don't tell me he's one of his men? as expected, a pinch of fear gets in your way, yet you can't let that stop you.

"yeah, that's me. want to enlighten me to whom i owe the pleasure of speaking?" your arms stick to your body like magnets. as much as you want to appear strong, on the inside you try your best to not freak out.

white teeth manifest as he lets out a playful laugh at your irony. "huh, if you insist this early - gojo satoru," he does a slight bow which you accept with rolling eyes. what a player. "hope your majesty is in a joyful mood," he goes on. shouldn't you feel threatened like you've preached seconds ago?

"oh, don't escape me!" he launches forward and you pick up your pace. "what?!"

"but you didn't let me finish!" he puffs his cheeks out and you don't know how to reply to that. is he being serious? are you trapped in a money laundering scheme from nearby, perhaps?

"nuh uh, i don't need your money! on the contrary, give me a minute to introduce myself!" you try your best to stand your ground despite his childish antics. "you have to trust me for that though…" his index beckons you, "would you do a favour for me? - with recompensation, of course," he grins.

commissions, support: ko-fi 🍥

#proshippers dni #WARNING !!#sukuna ryomen x female reader #ceo!sukuna x journalist!reader #tw corrupt ceo . cursing . mysoginy . power imbalance .#ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk ff #and slow burn #b word lol #ryomen x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna x reader #gojo satoru #mention of alcohol consumption

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6rookie-writer0110 · 5 months

Text

Afternoon Sketch

Cora Herrera x Male Reader

Request - where y/n is Adan's brother who meets her before the events of the movie. Y/n met her after she dropped out of college, and they became friends for a while before they started dating. Cora wanted to have their relationship a secret from her dad since Billy is already on her ass about dropping out from college and is stuck in his old ways. Y/n meet Billy before he meets Cora, he notice that Billy is a more traditional type of person as well as saw similarities of his brother in Billy, even though his a hard ass.

You and your brother Adan want to open a cafe shop. Adan hired an architect named Billy Herrera and you are going to meet with him. But Billy saw you argue over the phone with your dad and you hung up on him.

“Yelling at your father is a sign of disrespect,” Billy said.

“Well, he is acting like a kid,” You said.

You look at Billy up and down, you can tell that he is old-school when it comes to respect. Then you started to text your brother Adan and he isn't replying. You called him and left him an angry voicemail. It feels like you are doing everything on your own instead of working together like you two talked about.

“Older brother?” Billy asked.

“Yes. What, you are going talk about how I need to respect my older brother?” You said.

“Is a must, that you have to respect your older brother, everyone knows that” Billy said.

“Let’s talk about the blueprint, please,” You said.

“Of course,” Billy said.

He showed you the blueprint of the building and he started to talk about it.

———

You went to a restaurant for lunch. When you sat down you noticed a sketchbook on the table. You open the sketchbook and it's sketches of clothes like wedding dresses and party dresses. You are impressed and you keep looking at every page. Cora is down the block and she notices that she forgot her sketchbook, she rushes back to the restaurant. She noticed you looking at her sketchbook, then she walked towards you. And she snatched her book away from you

“That is rude to do,” You said.

“That is my sketchbook and you shouldn't have been looking through it,” Cora said.

“It’s still rude but I don't see your name on it,” You said.

“It's right here inside the book, it's Cora,” Cora said.

“That’s a beautiful name, Cora. I like your sketches, you are very talented” You said.

“Oh… thank you. What’s your name?” Cora said.

“My name is, Y/n. So are you a fashion designer?” You smiled.

She sits down and she starts to smile back at you.

“I’m getting there but it's hard. We just met I’m not going to tell you my whole life story,” Cora said.

“I understand. But we could be friends first” You said.

“Yeah, I think we can,” Cora said.

You and Cora start to talk about university, fashion, and food.

——-

You went to a party for your brother’s Adan and it's his birthday. But he hasn't arrived at the party just yet. You see Cora and she seems mad and she cleans her dress with a napkin.

“Cora, what happened?” You asked.

“Some jerk bumped into me and ruined my dress. I didn't know you were going to be here” Cora said.

“Me either. That is a huge stain” You said.

“I came here for my sister but she hasn't arrived yet. Ugh!”’Cora said.

You take off your blazer and gave it to her.

“The stain won't come out with the napkin. Wear my jacket and no one will notice, think of it as a fashion statement” You said.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Cora said.

She puts on the blazer. You walk Cora home, she has her arm around your arm. You and Cora are making each other laugh and talk about everything.

“You didn't have to walk me home,” Cora said.

“I couldn't let you go home by yourself at this time. You still look beautiful even with the stain on the dress” You said.

You and Cora stare into each other's eyes, she can't stop smiling. She slowly leaned in and kissed you on the lips.

“I really like you, Y/n,” Cora said.

“I feel the same way. Do you want to go on a date?” You said.

“Yes,” Cora smiled.

You smiled and kissed her on the lips.

✬ ✬ ✬ ✬

For the past few days, you and Cora have been texting each other every day. You can see how passionate she is when she talks about fashion and owning her own studio.

You are in your apartment when you hear someone knocking. You opened the door and it was Cora you let her inside your apartment.

“I didn't know you were coming, Cora. I would have picked you up” You said.

“I did it, Y/N!” Cora smiled.

“Did what?” You asked.

“I dropped out of college. I took your advice and I’m going to follow my dreams of being a fashion designer” Cora smiled.

You can see how happy she is feeling right now, it is a huge step for her.

“I’m proud of you, Cora,” You said.

She puts her hands behind your neck And she starts to kiss you. Then you pull her closer to you and you start to kiss her back.

“Wait… did you tell your parents?” You asked.

“Don’t ruin the moment, babe” Cora smiled.

You have a feeling she didn't tell them, but you won't pressure her to do it. You take your girlfriend to her favorite restaurant for dinner. She starts to talk about the clothes she wants to design and then you talk about your brother, who doesn't help with the cafe shop.

After dinner, she goes back to your place. She puts on your shirt then she cuddles with you in bed.

“My dad will be angry that I dropped out. He wants me to be perfect like my sister” Cora sighed.

You put her hair behind her ear.

“You don't have to be perfect, Cora. It will take him a while to understand but you have to make what makes you happy” You said.

“You always know what to say, Y/N” Cora said.

“I had to grow up fast. Yeah, my parents are rich, but my dad was always at a party” You said.

You haven't met her family and she hasn't met yours. Sometimes, you and Cora would talk about family and how they are.

——-

Sofia went to see her fiance, Adan, then she met his younger brother. This is the first time you have met her.

“Wait, you proposed to my brother? Wow, I find that hard to believe” You said.

“Times are different, little bro. We are happy and this feels right” Adan smiled.

“Welcome, to the family Sofia,” You said.

“Thank you!” Sofia smiled.

Your girlfriend called you on Facetime and you smiled at her. Sofia recognized the voice and said something

“Cora?” Sofia said.

She is standing next to you.

“You know her?” You asked.

“She is my little sister Cora. How do you know her?” Sofia said.

“She is my girlfriend,” You said.

“Wait, you are dating his brother!? Wow, this is a small world” Cora said.

“I agree with her,” Adan said.

“I can't believe I just met your secret boyfriend. She told me that she was in a relationship but she never showed me how you looked” Sofia said

“He was the same way with me. He would be smiling at his phone but he never told me who she was” Adan said.

Everyone started to talk at the same time.

———

You and Adan went to visit Sofia’s family. You are mainly happy to see your girlfriend but she is feeling nervous. She hasn't told them that she dropped out of college. You and Billy are in shock, he told his daughters that he is working with you. And he isn't happy that you are dating Cora or that Adan is with Sofia.

“You knew about them dating and didn't tell me!?” Billy said to his wife.

“I told mom two days ago. And he is a really nice guy” Cora smiled.

You brought flowers for her mom and wine for her dad.

“Dad, just to get to know them, please,” Sofia said.

“Fine. This is your weekend and we have a wedding to plan. Cora, how’s college going? I'm still waiting to see your grades” Billy Said.

Cora starts to panic.

“Well, dad… -” Cora said.

“Cora told me that you used to live in Cuba” You quickly said.

“Yes, I came to America for a better life for my family and me” Billy rambled.

Cora is glad you changed the subject. During dinner, you noticed how Billy wasn't happy that Sofia proposed to Adan.

“A man should propose to the woman, not the other way around,” Billy said unhappily

“Dad, times are different now” Sofia Said.

“In my time, that would be embarrassing,” Billy said.

“Let’s talk about the wedding” Ingrid said.

Sofia and Adan started to talk about the wedding, but Billy wasn't happy about the idea. Sofia wants Cora to design the wedding dress and Cora Said yes.

✬ ✬ ✬ ✬

The last few days, have been stressful for everyone. Your parents arrived and Billy didn't get along with them. Cora is feeling stressed out, trying to design The dress.

“Babe?” You said

She fell asleep and you gently wake her up.

“Oh, no! I fell asleep. What time is it?” Cora said.

“Baby, come down. You need to eat and I got coffee and a muffin for you” You said.

“I didn't even start to put the other materials together. Y/N, I need to finish the dress and everything is moving so fast” Cora said.

She stands up to grab the fabric, but you gently pull it towards you. You caress her cheek and put her hair behind her ear.

“Cora, breathe. You got this. Don't put a lot of pressure on yourself, you are not a robot. You are a great designer” You said.

She kissed you on the lips. She lays her head on your chest and you gently rub her back.

“I’m glad you are here right now, Y/N. Let's run away, Y/N” Cora said.

“No. Because I know you wouldn't want to miss your sister’s wedding” You said.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Cora said.

You help Cora move the heavy fabric around.

———

Your father Hernan is laid back and just enjoys life without stress.

“We must follow traditions. For luck, they must get married on that date” Billy said.

“What tradition is that? As for the music, i know this great DJ. I went to his party and he knows how to move the crowd” Hernan said.

“There will be no dance techno or whatever it's called at the wedding. There must be traditional Cuban music at the wedding” Billy said.

“I don't think they would want both,” You said.

“Sofia And I talked about it. We don't want a big wedding or a huge party-” Adan tried to talk

“Nonese, you and Sofia don't know how to throw a party,” Hernan said.

“Dad, we know what we want,” Adan said.

Billy, Hernan, and Adan started to argue. No one is actually listening to each other, everyone is yelling. Adan just walked away and you sighed. Billy And Hernan continued to argue they were so loud, that Ingrid had to walk in and tell them to stop fighting. Your dad left the room and you left but you heard what he said about you…

“I don’t approve of my girl marrying that boy, and I don't approve of Cora dating Y/N!” Billy yelled.

Sofia walked in and she yelled at her father.

“Stop it! I love, Adan and I'm going to marry him. You are going to be like this then I don't want you at the wedding” Sofia said.

She walked away angry. Much later, Billy heard you and Cora talking about her dropping out of college. Then he started to blame you and he grabbed You by the shirt.

“Dad!” Cora yelled.

You don't hit him and he doesn't let go of your shirt. But Ingrid, Adan, and everyone pulled Billy away from you.

“Because of you, she dropped out of college! Cora why you didn't tell me!?” Billy yelled.

“I was going to you, but I didn't want to ruin Sofia’s wedding,” Cora said.

“She was going to tell you after the wedding. I only told her to follow her dreams” You said.

“Dreams don't pay the bills. I don't approve of you dating my daughter” Billy said.

“Dad, I’m not a kid anymore. I will do what makes me happy” Cora said.

“Everyone, calm down especially you, Billy. Y/N go take Cora for a walk, I need to speak with her father alone” Ingrid said.

You leave with Cora and you take her away from the house. You start to comfort her and You listen to her talk.

———

You are at the bachelor party for your brother. You are alone with Billy at the bar. Everyone else is dancing and having a good time.

“Since I got here, you have been tough on Cora and Sofia. It's like you are hiding something” You said.

He doesn't say anything and you wait for a reply. He drinks his liquor and you continue to wait.

“How do you feel Adan And Sofia moving to Mexico?” Billy asked.

“It sucks, but it makes him happy. I want him and Sofia to be happy” You said.

“Ingrid and I, are getting a divorce. I wanted to wait until after the wedding” Billy said.

“Cora told me. When my parents got divorced everything changed rapidly. I don't like my dad’s wife and I try to avoid them” You said.

“I don't want Sofia and Cora to pick sides,” Billy said

“Don’t push them away. Cora doesn't like it when you compare her to Sofia. Cora is her own person and she is very talented” You said.

“You are right, Y/N. I'm sorry for the way I acted towards you and Adan,” Billy said.

“I accept your apology,” You said

✬ ✬ ✬ ✬

Sofia loved the dress that Cora designed. After the wedding, Adan and Sofia moved to Mexico. But you worked with Billy to design the cafe shop into a fashion studio. Ingrid and Billy got divorced, and you had to comfort Cora through the process.

“Y/N, can I take off the blindfold now?” Cora asked

You took her to the studio and put a blindfold on her.

“Okay, relax babe” You smiled.

You take off the blindfold and she looks around.

“Why are we here?” Cora asked

“This is your fashion studio. Do you like it? Your father helped me design the place” You said

“Wait, my dad!? No, this can't belong to me. I can't afford the rent or the furniture” Cora said.

You grabbed her hands and you are smiling at her.

“This place belongs to you and you don't have to pay rent, because I own the place. You are talented, Cora, and I know people will want you to design their clothes. Do you really like the place?” You said

She hugged you tight then she started to kiss you.

“I love it, Y/N. Oh, this is the best gift ever, I'm speechless. I don't know what else to say besides Thank you” Cora smiled.

You start to kiss her again.

“You can repay me back by making a suit for me. I have a business meeting next week” You smiled.

“Of course!” Cora smiled.

She hugged you again and she couldn't stop smiling.

#Cora Herrera x male reader #Cora Herrera x reader #x male reader #male!reader #male reader #male reader insert #male reader fanfic

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