#I may have left nose prints on one of the other shop windows though

[ashfae]

So, uh. I got to do a thing last weekend.

Yes, that's the set in Bathgate. I was one of 75 people who won a contest to go visit. We had an amazing afternoon getting shown around. The level of detail was beyond even my wildest dreams. We had drinks inside Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death and got to sit inside the Dirty Donkey pub to be shown episode 2.1. I very very much want to babble about all of it but have been threatened with Extreme Sanctions and am restraining myself until after Friday at least.

...but after that I am going to babble so much about that record shop in particular because it's FANTASTIC. Not even in spoilery ways, just in "Ohhhh they had so much fun making this and I love it" ways.

The Amazon Prime and Good Omens crew who were there that day were absolutely amazing, they took incredible care of us and had so much enthusiasm for the show. We met up with the set designer Michael (edit: had his last name wrong) (in the bookshop! I've been in the bookshop!!!), costume designer Kate Carin, lead decorator Bronwyn Franklin, the head of the graphics design whose name I can't remember for certain which kills me because talking to them was the highlight of the day and I want to sing their praises (Edit: Mickey!), and several of the producers, as well as numerous unnamed generally helpful awesome people who were there to keep us from licking the books (sigh). If any of them spot this from @goodomensonprime: thank you!!

And yes, for those of you who've been following stories of my 8yo the comic-drawing fellow GO addict, she's never going to forgive me for doing this without her. Sorry, sweetheart, but it was 18+. (I'm getting her one of the t-shirts to make up for it)

[jawllines]

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?”

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .”

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing.

or

Harry and Y/N are witches, they hate each other, and something’s coming

19K+ words

(A/N: Hiii!! So, I’ll be honest I know absolutely nothing about real witches at all, so what is in this story is not fact! it’s just an AU and doesn’t speak toward any of my real witches out there unless i accidentally got some things right. Happy reading, I really liked writing these guys I hope you like them just as much!!)

i.

It was dark. 

Both in the state of the sky and the feeling that slithered through Y/N’s body while she tended to the Brugmansia finally flowering in her garden. The shift in the air could have easily been inculpated by the cool breeze that blew past her face, shepherding clouds thick and heavy with autumn rain, but Y/N knew better than that. Those feelings typically bring her peace; the rattle of thunder soothes her aching bones while fat drops paint the pavement, wet the dirt to mud, and feed the drying grass.

This feeling made her bones rattle. It crawled beneath her skin like billions of tiny beetles unearthed within her vessels; her stomach churned, her shoulders were weighed down, there was a gnawing pain at her temples, so fierce she held her hand to them. The cold brass of her ring cools her heated skin. This feeling was vile, it was awful, for fuck sake what was causing it? 

She stood from her crouched position and slid back into her store. Technically, she’d closed about three hours prior so she should have been home well by now, but when she’d finally gathered her things in her duffle at 12, she looked out the back window and noticed some of her moonflowers had begun to bloom. There was a small part of her that had been reluctant to step outside at all, but she needed to greet them and water them, no matter the odd, unfamiliar troubling sense that had initially confused her. She ignored it -- she thought maybe she was just nervous to say hi to them, sometimes she was. 

(Flowers and plants hold a special connection with their caretaker, from a tiny seed to a flourishing garden, they place their lives in the care of the earth or a human. If not properly nursed, their wilted petals appear so quickly, a silent plea for water, or sun, or even a little attention -- Y/N found that plants liked a little attention. That’s why she spoke to them, she cooed and gave them well-wishes when she left them alone. They felt just a part of her family as any blood relative had, from the moment she had sliced the tip of her finger in a torn brush and the petal she’d touched afterward fused together her tiny wound. Her nan had always told her that maybe she was a bit closer to plants than others were, so she probably shouldn’t share this with kids in her class because they might be jealous of her (Y/N knows now her nan just didn’t want her getting picked on.) 

It was clear to her now that this feeling was a bit more than that when her goose pimples sunk back into her skin after stepping into the warmth of her store. Though it was not just because she had been keeping her shop pleasantly warm as the nights grow colder and longer; she kept herself protected in here. In between these walls lied a sanctitude that kept all evil out, in all manners, of all species, besides two. 

One of which is her bunny, Thumper, who in all ways but emotionally was her familiar. He was a ghostly white Holland lop, with big dopey ears that she slid her fingers beneath and flipped up and down in spare moments. She accuses him of being evil because he’s always nipping at her fingertips, demanding food with a stomp of his foot, and gives the silent threat that he’ll nibble on her plants if she really pisses him off (he stands by them, twitches his little nose and shows his two front teeth until she gives him what he wants -- it’s usually more hay). He’s nothing but a little, greedy nuisance that showed up on her step one day and hadn’t left since.

The other. . .well, the other was Harry Styles. 

Y/N liked most witches, no matter their point of interest. She knew that there could be a certain level of distrust amongst the syndicate -- hexes, and curses placed upon one another, but she tried to stay out of that -- she held no disfavor toward most of the others either. Everyone connected with things very differently, what she may connect with might not be that of what her neighbor connected with and that was okay. Her nan’s emotions had been in accord with the sea, and even though Y/N spent most of her life fearing water, she bore no judgment. 

What she does is done in the mind of good favor, of bettering oneself with the world around them in a way that would beneficial to not only them but the people in their lives. Open up otherwise closed eyes to the beauty of the spirit and soul they possess, and the beauty and soul that the world around them held. The town she had moved to at 20 was so rich in natural beauty, ponderosa pine and hemlock trees grew tall in an extensive, juniper green forest almost always clouded with thick fog, the soil was soft and fertile, the air was crisp and clean. She felt happy here and wanted the others around her to recognize how lucky they were to be in an area so free of sordidity. 

There was an empty shop up the brick road of the older part of town, that had been crowded in cobwebs, leaves that had blown in from the broken window, and animal droppings. Her nan came to help her clean it up (her mum had too, but she was dog tired after her workweek so spent most of the visit asleep on Y/N’s couch), and did something short of absolving the land so that she could grow a garden behind the store, in the clearing of 200 or so meters before it meets the mouth of the forest. She sold herbs, people came to her for intricate, meaningful bouquets with flowers that could not be found in just any store (and she was good to her plants, so if she asked very kindly, and sent them with a packet that produced a very special brew when dumped in the water, they would live very, very, suspiciously long), plants that would liberate people of their aches and pains so long as they tended to them, journals of reused paper, scrubs, oils. . .there were many things. She offered classes too, to help people learn how to better cater to their flowers.

That had been a year ago, so she was still finding her footing, but not six months into this happy reality she had created for herself, Harry Styles had come to town. It took nothing but a few minutes of coming to contact with him that he was a bad apple, and when the once sweet-tempered town had begun mottling with dark splotches, she knew for sure. Harry was like her, but his book of shadows had pages filled with wicked words of revenge, conjuring demons and letting them wreak havoc. His business was more under the cuff -- he posed as a writer who needed a scenery change for his work, but Y/N knew it had to be more than that -- but he did his bidding in the night, seeding through clubs, in alleyways, in the forest. . .if someone knew about Harry, it was because they knew a guy who knows a guy. 

And for some reason, unbeknownst to her, he refused to leave her be. 

This is why it almost makes sense that the bell of her store would jingle brightly no matter the fact she’d locked the doors hours ago, and her attention would be brought to the pest himself. He wore a sweater that threatened to swallow him whole, and baggy, holey jeans he rolled at the cuff showing off his bat printed socks, stuffed into grandpa-Esque loafers. The necklace he always wears around his neck (a small pendant that she had never gotten close enough to make out) is sat atop of his sweater today rather than hidden beneath it as it usually is. His hair is getting longer, more unruly with his warm brown curls than it had been when she first met him -- she really hadn’t known he’d had curly hair until the more recent months when it had started growing out. 

His eyes were always the same soft, crystal green that matched his character none, and a pawky smirk on his mouth as he dragged his fingers along the lavender jars placed on her shelves, “Shouldn’t you be home by now? I figure it’s past your bedtime.” He leans down like he is about to pick something up, and when Y/N peers over the counter, she sees him slide his hand beneath Thumper’s soft white belly and pull him up to his chest. That was another indicator that Harry was just no good -- he was the only human that he liked, and the little creatine didn’t even like her. 

“Shouldn’t you?” She flips it, continuing to gather her things so she could head home for the night.

“You know these are my typical hours, Babe -- everyone wants to curse someone at 1 AM, there was a study done in the east end.” He pets between Thumper’s ears as he sets him down on the counter beside the cash register, before he reaches out for the wooden crafted incense burners, “Have these cheap little things been selling any?” 

“Piss off,” she stuffs her phone into her purse, then flips through her things to make sure her wallet was tucked in there as well, “What do you want, Harry? I’m about to go home, if you wanted to come around to bother me you should have hours ago.”

Harry feigns a gasp like he does any time she curses, “Thought good little witches didn’t have such foul tongues?” He flicks the candle jar on her counter, an apple scent had been melting around the wick for the better half of the day, “I don’t want anything in particular, just passing through. You know you’re right in the way of the forest, don’t you? S’kinda of obnoxious when you’re trying to summon imps at the cave -- they hate the bloody “stench” of the flowers.” 

“Good,” she retorts, “You shouldn’t be summoning around here anyway, this area’s off-limits.”

It was barely an agreement but still an agreement nonetheless -- if Harry left her be, she would leave him be because Y/N wasn’t an idiot. If he wanted a fight, Harry could start one and he would fight dirty. All she asks him is to stay away from her store and her flat, and to keep away from certain areas of the forest where the soil was always soft -- in return, he would do his activities, sometimes he would need her flowers for different spells and she would turn a blind eye to what he was doing. She does a few gentle protection spells here and there but otherwise, he’s a free man to do as he pleases, just so long as he respects her request. He’d seemed perturbed by the conditions none -- had even chuckled and said as long as he let her keep her “pretty little flowers” he could get away with murder. 

A heavy, weary sigh leaves him, “Yes, I’m well aware,” he rolled his eyes before crossing his arms on top of the counter and tucking his face in his elbow,  “Gimme a moment though, it’s warm in here and I was freezing outside.” He muffles into his sweater. 

Y/N had almost forgotten what she had felt prior to coming back inside, but his words bring it clearly to the forefront of her mind once more. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hearing the floorboards creak beneath her as she wondered if he’d felt it too. It couldn’t have been him -- no, he was powerful but by no means powerful enough to conjure up something like that. And she’d like to ask him, but Harry has never been someone who took her seriously -- he would just make a joke of it, probably, or tease her. It wouldn’t be worth asking. 

But the feeling that she’d gotten is chewing on her memory, so she asks anyway, “Hey,” she began and the only indication that he was listening to her is the fact his fingers stopped tapping against the wood beneath them, “Did you. . .when you were outside, did you feel that?” 

He picks his head up from the crevice of his arm, “You’re gonna have to be a bit more descriptive than ‘that’,” his brows are raised as he continues, “Are you talking about the new pleasant but cold breeze we’ve gained for autumn, or the gut-twisting odious one?” 

Y/N looks at him impassively, “The latter, idiot.” 

“Yeah, I felt it,” he ignores her insult, “What about it?” 

The skin between her brows pinches, “Are you not concerned? It felt. . .bad,” she couldn’t think of a better word to describe it, “I didn’t like it at all.” 

“Are you scared?” There is delight swimming in Harry’s gaze as he stands up straighter, “Don’t tell me Glinda the Good Witch herself is scared of a little frightening feeling? I thought you were tough as nails and all that, hm?” 

“Never mind, forget I even brought it up,” she tried to dismiss it, as she slings her purse over her shoulder and plucks Thumper up to sit him in the cradle of her arms -- she knew better than to ask him like she might get any comfort at all from his words. 

He steps up and in front of her before she could start toward the door, “Oi, listen scaredy-cat, I don’t know if you’re aware but I deal with shite like this all the time, which means I’ve got a few banishments spells up my sleeve. If it’s really something that awful, I’ll cast it back to hell, easy as that.” Harry follows close behind her as she exits the door, feeling the same shiver of fear slither through her body, “I do want to see what it wants first though.” 

“Of course you do,” she utters in disappointment, “Just keep it away from my garden, please.” 

“I’ll try,” he tells her just as she reaches her car before he dips into his pocket and reveals that he’d stolen a baggy of chamomile, “If I didn’t keep your precious garden safe, then I wouldn’t have anywhere to get enchanted chamomile, and it works lovely in a sleepy time tea, I’ll tell you that -- your lavender is shit though. Never puts me to sleep like it ought to.” 

She pops open her car door, “Stop taking stuff from the store, or I’ll start lacing it with laxatives.” 

“While you’re doing that, won’t you plant them Clathrus mushrooms? I reckon the imps would prefer them way more than the mums.” He looks serious -- not a trace of a joke laced in his features and somehow that leaves Y/N more irritated than if he were laughing at her as he spoke. 

Her response is blunt, “No.” 

“Listen --”

“Harry, I’m not going to plant mushrooms for the damn imps!” 

                                                         .                             .                          .

When Y/N had met Harry, she was angry. 

She had never been a very angry person. Seldom has someone or something truly has gotten so deeply beneath her skin that she felt the need to yell or grump about it -- mild irritation was never off the table, but true, unadulterated wrath and resentment? It was rare she ever felt the need to even make a snide comment. And that wasn’t to say she was better than anyone else, she was just mild-tempered and forbearing. . .it took a little more than a remark or two to make her angry.

But when she was angry, she was an amalgamation of vexation and fire, and there was no surer way to disrupt her peaceful demeanor than to compromise her flowers. 

The day had been uneventful up to that point. It’d been a week since Harry had moved into town and Y/N was surely feeling the negativity that followed in his wake, but she was focusing on maintaining the tranquil, idyllic environment that she had around her previous. As much as she would have loved to seek him out, ready to squabble, tell him off for bringing any dark energy into such a calm place -- she had to come at it pragmatically. She and her friend Niall (who wasn’t a witch but knew about her) had both agreed that while it was aggravating, they didn’t know him. They did not understand the depth of his power, or what he was here for, nor had they understood wholly what he was capable of. Y/N had felt his presence, but Niall had confirmed it after hearing the underground chatter of a dark witch who made promises to turn glitter to gold. 

She was on her way to her store. Though she was closed on weekends, she always went by to check on the flowers, water them, tell them about her day, and with her was Thumper who would be hopping around the grassy field and gnawing on the blades. It was very peaceful -- the time she spent with her plants -- so she always looked forward to it, but that day she was filled with trepidation as she parked her car. Something was off. . .not in the air, but with her flowers -- she could feel it deep in her marrow that they were in pain. 

So she huffed it to the back of the store, and there she found Harry, two of her purple vervains nestled against his palm. He noticed her before she could even think to say anything, and something short of relief had flushed through him, “Oh thank fuck, you’re here,” he sighs, referencing her garden with a wave of his hands, “I cannot for the life of me remember what hazel looks like.” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N demanded, stomping toward him, but instead of shoving him to the ground like she wanted to, she dropped to her knees and caressed the remaining vervain, “Why would you pluck them like that? They aren’t ready!” 

“Ready? They’ve flowered haven’t they?” His brows had been tilted while his mouth dipped in a frown, “I need them for an incantation, figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed these two. Aren’t we meant to help each other out?”

 “You should have asked, you prick,” she pointed up at him, “And even if you had, I would have said no. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re really disturbing an otherwise pleasant place. I wish you would leave.’ 

Harry feigned hurt, placing a hand to his chest, “You wound me,” he mocks her, “Listen Glinda Good Witch, we all gotta get by somehow, yeah? Not all of us talk to plants or whatever it is you do. So do you want me to pay or --” 

“Those won’t work for whatever it is you’re trying to do,” she cut him off, “If it’s something with cruel intent, it won’t happen -- they were grown to do good.” 

“Which is exactly why I needed them from you,” he wiggles them in her direction, “Well, I need to get going. You’re awful in particular about a garden that is subpar at best. Wish you well, see you later.” 

Then he left. No guilt, no apology -- he just up and left, and Y/N was livid. 

(Later that night when she had explained the situation to Niall, he was nothing short of outraged, so they had tried to find out more about Harry. Anything about him, really, but he leaves a very little paper trail in his endeavors -- from public records they find that he’s 25 and from Holmes Chapel, and from a google search they find he has two books out, published online, and doing decently well. There was nothing else apart from that, he kept his socials pretty dry, and what he did post was nonsensical drivel.)

Y/N thinks about this, as she sinks into her tub, the burning water scalding against her skin. Harry had always driven her mad but he has never seemed half as angry as she was -- hell if anything he always seemed like he enjoyed it. 

He was just absolutely rotten. 

                                                           .                                  .                           .

Harry thinks Y/N is just absolutely rotten. 

There were many reasons that he had classified her as such, but namely what he was concerned about now was how she kept her shop closed on the weekends. 

Who kept their store closed the entire bloody weekend?

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see her -- Harry actually found the girl quite plaguy. Her opinions on his practice were priggish, not unlike the others like them he had met in the past. There has always been an unfaltering stigma that was carried with what he did, one that was quite hard to shake within the factions of other witches that are sprinkled across the world. He’s seen as careless, cruel, greedy, and selfish -- he doesn’t practice magic for the love of the world around him, to feel a deeper, spiritual connection with the fecund soil that covered the earth, or with the water gently slipping past rocks along a stream bank. They look at him and see someone who shakes hands with the devil and ruins lives for a cookie. 

Harry lets them think as they wish, he has no patience to attempt correcting them. If they’d bothered to learn an inch about him at all before passing their judgment then they would have a clue about his true character, but the jury had already made the decision before Harry even realized he was on trial. They never really wanted to give Harry a chance, so he knew he would be hated no matter where he decided to reside. The pack mentality that they carry is the reason he has to move around so often though (more than any 25 years old was typically doing) he gets run out of a lot of areas because a group of soft witches decides he’s no good. 

That’s what drew him to this place -- there was practically nobody. He could sense when there were more like him loitering around an area, and made an effort to keep a decently low profile so that he could stay around longer (but they always managed to find him), but here, he only sensed one. That had been good enough for him to know this was the right move -- the beautiful scenery surrounding them; the soft bed of dirt that Harry’s feet would sink into easily; the dense, damp fog that covered the forest floor in the early mornings; the lush, green trees and how life seemed to remain there when it was meant to be waning in the colder months -- all of that, had only been a plus. 

When he’d met Y/N, he knew that she disliked him, but Harry had expected as much so it disturbed him none. If anything, he was delighted to have a purer witch than himself around, all things considered. There were no others that she could develop a hive mind with to drive him out of town, but she was no competition to the businesses that he provided, and when a decoction called for an obscure plant or an unsullied petal -- well, a Garden witch was not the worst kind to have nearby. She may be devout in her notions that Harry was a disagreeable, repugnant being, but she was good at what she did. Anything done with her plants was twice as effective as any other person’s flowers he’d used in the past, so it was necessary he bothered her often. 

She refused to sell to him -- something about her doing business with a demon, or whatever she’d said -- but so long as he doesn’t go and cut them from the stem himself, she helps him out. Will give him the plants he needs, and in return, he doesn’t taint certain areas of the town and the forest that she declared were off-limits. It was a spoken commercial agreement that both of them went by and because of it, their lives near to one another were comparatively peaceful to any other situation Harry has found him in prior. 

That didn’t come without its faults. They butt heads often, their bickering is nonstop, and Harry could think of many things he would rather do than have to stay in a room with her for longer than the ten minutes it takes him to get what he needs. It was fun to fluster her -- getting beneath her skin was an easy feat that he found a lot of joy in, and sometimes she gave him a run for his money. He always kind of liked making a normally mild-tempered person grump at him a little, if not for his impish ways, then so he could get to know them as their full self. 

So he wasn’t mad that she was closed because he particularly wanted to see her, no, he was mad because he was exhausted. Absolutely drained. The business was incredible when you’re the only dark witch willing to do some questionable, immoral things, but that also meant long nights and incredible emotional toil -- it wasn’t a walk in the park to conjure up a bloody demon! 

Ever since Harry had started this path, he’d had immense trouble sleeping at appropriate times, if he could fall asleep at all. He guesses this was what he gets in return for what he practices, and it could be worse so he doesn’t mind it too much, but it was still a hassle. It had been a good four years since Harry just had a good, peaceful night of sleep. 

Up until he had moved here, of course, because the same little garden witch that thought he was the devil incarnate, made a tea he could brew that set him right to sleep. Kept him asleep the entire night too, which had always been an impossible endeavor spanning back to when he was a child, but there was something about her chamomile -- hell, it really knocked him out. 

He tested his theory -- part of him thought that maybe chamomile was suddenly working for him, but no matter the brand that he tried, or the amount of tea he drank, none of it could compare to what Y/N’s did. When he visited her store, he took what he could to hold him off to the next time he came by. He hadn’t realized how low he was though when he had seen her last and she threatened to lace it with laxatives -- he should have taken two because he used his last bit the night prior to the one he’s suffering through right now. 

And he could have gotten more this morning if she didn’t close her stupid shop on weekends!

If Harry were not positive that he needed to rest, he wouldn’t bother to be trying. There was nothing worse to him than the laying in his bed and waiting for sleep that refused to come...it felt like he was being stood up by a date. It hasn’t happened often, but enough that Harry could match the feeling low in his stomach, indicative of discontent and sadness while he waited. . . . .and waited. . . .and waited. . . .and waited. 

It was useless -- the universe’s retribution for summoning spirits to the living world left him with what a doctor might diagnose as chronic insomnia, but none of the treatments did him any good. No mortal medicinal could soothe him of this ailment. So one would think he would be smarter about keeping a hearty stock of it at his disposal rather than one at a time, but Harry never claimed to be the best at planning ahead. 

And now here he was, staring at his ceiling fan whirl, his cat at his side while he contemplated if breaking and entering her shop was against his morals (he had a few left, surprisingly). 

God, she was so rotten! 

                                               .                                     .                                 .

“Have you felt weird lately?” 

“Hm?” Niall’s face scrunches up in confusion, his mouth stuffed full of noodles he just slurpped into his mouth, “Wha’ d’ya mean?” He muffles out, reaching over to her side of the table for a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth.

The record store that Niall worked at wasn’t too far from Y/N’s shop so if her day wasn’t too busy, she would step away from the store for her lunch break and seek him out. It was never a planned ordeal; Y/N would stop off somewhere to get them something to eat and appear at his storefront, the sharp ding of the bell knotted on the door alerted him of her presence. He was always one of two places: in the back, tuning the old guitars the owner would bid on different websites, or he was in the front thumbing through the record baskets, organizing and reorganizing them by name. Sometimes he would be sat behind the counter, with his feet kicked up just beside the register but Y/N scolds him for that (he’s always wearing a dingy, scuffed pair of shoes that have no business seeing the light of day, let alone be shown off to others). 

His head would perk up, he would look toward the door, and his face would bloom into one of sheer delight as he would call over to her, “Oh, thank fuck! Thought I would go crazy if I had to listen to myself think for one more second.” 

Today was no different. She brought him ramen from the place three buildings down from his own, where she bends down a street that feels more like an alleyway and the door is hidden beneath a brassy fire escape. The owners were always very kind to her, and since she came often and tipped well, they would give her free bowls if they were in the mood. Y/N never liked the idea of a one-sided relationship with a business, so she always brought them herbs, and gardenias to plant at home (they were the husband’s favorite). She takes their fliers and posts them up in high traffic areas too, and when they have their business cards made and an extra hundred or so, she slips them in the paper baggies that she gathers her customer’s things in before sending them on their way. 

Niall was grateful. He did a little cheer, left his spot from behind the counter, and urged her to follow him to the back where the break room was located (if a customer came around he would hear the bell and duck his head out to greet them, but for the most part their Tuesdays were pretty uneventful). He told her he had sensed her coming so he already had two stools set out for them to sit on, and napkins placed in the middle of the table, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure they had been left like that last time she was here. 

Try as she might to let her mind flee from the dark, hazed feeling that had overcome her last week, she couldn’t. Even as she listened to Niall prattle about some Gibson Les Paul custom that the owner purchased a while back, she struggled not to wonder what it was that was worming itself into her brain; slick tendrils of dismay overcame her. The true, unadulterated, execrable feeling only truly hits her in the night if she is outside the safety of her home or her shop, but otherwise, it was memories of this haunting aura that struck her throughout the day.

She couldn’t place her finger on it though, what it could be. There are feelings she garners when Harry summons certain spirits, but she can typically tell when he’s doing that, and they’ve never felt so. . .evil, before. What Harry deals with is evil, sure, but this was so smothered in turpitude that she couldn’t make it out. Like spilling black ink over a letter written in blue. 

That’s why she asks Niall -- it feels too strong for it to be something only felt by her and Harry. It would also soothe her mind if someone had felt it as horribly and heavily as she did, considering it wasn’t affecting Harry enough that he would try to banish the damn thing before things went sour. 

“Like, do things just not feel. . .off, to you?” She didn’t want to feed him any impressions of what she might be speaking about -- she would like to know if it were true to him. Niall is sweet as he could be, but not always when it was appropriate; he would tell her he did just to spare her from feeling foolish. It’s why she thought berets were her thing for about a month when really she looked like a washed-up indie artist trying too hard (Niall had agreed they weren’t her best fashion venture, but he certainly didn’t think they were that bad). 

His face contorts in a pout as he mulls it over in his head, stabbing his fork into the noodles and catching a bit of pork on two of the pronks, “Hm, let’s see. . .” he looks like he’s spinning through a Rolodex, “I have not for the life of me mustered enough energy to have a wank in about a week, that’s some cause for concern,” when she responds with a blank stare, he holds his hands up, “Okay, fine -- Butternut was biting at the air when I took him on his walk the other night -- like. . .chomping at it, I was actually gonna ask you what that might be about.”  

Now, don’t get Y/N wrong, any other time Niall would have told her that his great Pyrenees puppy was yapping and chomping at the wind, she would have brushed it off. “Niall, you’re just going to have to accept that he’s going to be a big, sweet dummy when he’s older.” But she was so desperate for something, anything -- because if something felt it other than she and Harry, then she wouldn’t feel quite as crazy. 

“Sometimes it feels a bit like something’s watching me,” he tacks on at the end, taking the brown napkin from the stack in between them and dabs roughly at his mouth, “At night, when I’m walking Butternut, I get these chills but there’s no wind around.” 

Y/N leans forward, thankful, “Yeah?” she presses, “Is it like -- describe it. What does it feel like?” 

“Y’know, I do forget you’re a witch until times like these,” he leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh slides from his lips before he closes his eyes like he’s trying to place himself back at the moment, “I’ll tell ya what, it’s fuckin’ -- it’s a bit like I feel it right down to my bones, but then --” he opens his eyes, raises his closed fists and flicks his fingers out at her, “Poof, s’gone as quick as it came and I forget about it. My nan used to tell me that was the devil patting your shoulder, but if it went away quick s’because an angel kicked his arse out of there.” 

It’s enough, Y/N decides, so she nods and relaxes back in her seat, “Okay, good.” 

“Good?” His brows furrow, as he reaches for his can of soda and the aluminum can crinkles beneath his fingers, “Tell you that I get chills and you’re relieved? Should I be relieved too, or worried?” 

“It isn’t anything to concern over, I don’t think,” she explains to him, “If anything changes I’ll let you know.” 

Niall uses one of his fingernails to dig the dirt from beneath the other, “Did that Harry bloke muster some horrible demon up again?” His voice is laced with vexation. Niall wasn’t a hard guy to get along with -- he was loud and Irish, could chat up a storm about anything and everything, and while he could be scrappy at times, it was for all the right reasons. He was equanimous in most situations, even-tempered to a fair degree; if Y/N were in a situation where a cool, calm collected head would be the best approach then Niall was definitely the person she wanted on her side. 

(Like when they had to drive home from a day trip to the massive lake just north of them, but the roads hadn’t been pretreated for the icy sleet that gripped the pavement. He drove them the whole way on the windy roads with little traction from the tires to the road, and was still bobbing his head and singing along to Ed Sheeran on the radio). 

But Harry Styles? Oh, the mention of his name could dig right beneath Niall’s skin. Y/N would like to think that it was because he was so cruel to her, but she knows that there are two main reasons Niall is not too fond of him nor his craft. One of which is the fact that he slept with Liana (she happened to be one of Niall’s flings at the time -- there were plenty, but Y/N only remembered this one’s name because she shared it with a woody stem rooted to the forest soil that made for easy climbing), and the other, the fact that he had helped the captain of the opposing summer footie team with one of his enchantments to make them win. There are few things Niall cares for so deeply that he would dislike someone, but his sex life and his footie were two things a person just couldn’t mess up for him. 

“No, it wasn’t him this time,” she clears her throat, pushing the rest of her ramen around idly, “It’s a bit too strong to be his doing -- more sinister too. He conjures mostly petty demons; the little ones that don’t have much better to do anyway. This is something. . .I don’t know, it just feels different.” 

Niall sighs heavily, “Well, thanks for that, reckon I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he pushes the container away from himself to signify he’s done and when she takes a peek inside and sees nothing but a few noodles limp along the sides, “I like that you keep me in the loop, but sometimes I wish you would let me live in ignorance.” 

“You know, I would apologize, but you’ve gone into an in-depth description of your arsehole to me so I thought any boundaries and forms of secrecy were long gone by now.” 

His brows furrow features contorting into that of the same desperation he had come to her with two months ago, “Ugh, c’mon! You’re practically like a witch doctor or somethin’, I thought you would have a cream or something for it.” 

“You had a hemorrhoid, Niall, for fuck sake! Even if I were a “witch doctor” then I would never let you put anything that came from my plants on your filthy bum.” 

Niall stands, gathering their trash from the break room table but using his free hand as he passes her, he swats her shoulder, “You better be nice to me, or you’re gonna have to start eating lunch with Styles.” He steps on the level for the waste bin, throwing the trash in the bag, “Though I think you two would just end up hate fucking and the food would go cold.” 

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “I would never let that Gremlin near my naked body.” 

“Listen, I’m not saying I want the guy anywhere near your naked body,” he plops back down in his seat, “What I am saying is that you lot have such unbridled sexual tension it is practically palpable when I’m at the shop with the both of you. Maybe it’s ‘cos the two of you are the only witches, and opposites at that.” 

Y/N snorts, “Maybe if we were in some enemies to lovers film, sure.” 

   After they finish their break, and Y/N realizes that she’s been with him for a little over an hour, they make plans to meet up tomorrow for a movie and she heads out. The air was cool -- when she had made her way over here the sun had been glittering rays down that bathed the world in gold, but it was now hidden beneath an overcast of thick clouds. Rain always carried a familiar scent just before it started to pour and Y/N had forgone a jacket, so she huffed her way back, breathless by the time she made it up the hill and saw Harry leaning against her door. 

The sight of him makes her exhausted, but not in the usual way it does. He looks awful -- and typically he doesn’t! Y/N could admit that Harry was gorgeous; his hair always appeared soft, loose curls dispersed along the brunette strands, his eyes are a sea green, tender in his gaze when he wasn’t being an absolute prick and always bright (even when he was). His lips were pink, shaped perfectly, and his skin is typically smooth but even when he grows out his facial hair it still manages to look good. He had dimples. . .hell, Y/N would place a bet that he’d made a deal with the devil to look like that. 

But today, he just looked worn down, and exhausted, like he might not have slept the entire weekend. His eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets and his chin was tilted down towards his chest. If not for the way his head perked up immediately when her foot crunched into the gravel pathway leading up to her store from the small parking area (that was more so a beaten down, once grassy area now just dirt with tire tracks in it), she would have thought he was asleep standing up. There’s relief in his eyes when they meet her own, which she isn’t used to seeing from him, “Thank fuck.” 

“You look horrible,” Y/N slides her hand into her pocket, pulling out her keys so she could unlock the door, “Budge over.” 

“I feel it,” he rubs tiredly at his eyes, “Go on and open up quickly then. Why the hell do you keep your store closed on weekends?” 

Y/N fits her hand over the knob, twisting it and shoving the door open with her shoulder. Thumper greets them at the door, nudging the top of his head against her ankle, “Do you work every night?” 

“No --” 

“I keep it closed on weekends for the same reason why you don’t work every night,” she heads toward the counter, settling her things down and reaching in for Thumper’s hay stash so that she could give him some, “What’re you here for? You usually come around to bother me later.” She chances petting at Thumper’s head for a moment, and since he was preoccupied with his hay he would allow it.

“Fuck!” Y/N startles, popping up from behind the counter, looking back up only to see Harry with wide, disgruntled eyes, “Where’s your chamomile?” 

Her brows dip, “I’m out right now, so --” 

“How the hell did you run out? Shit, what am I going to do now, hm? Shouldn’t you keep up with shite like this?” He’s going a mile a minute, he’s walking closer to her, distress was written all over his face and Y/N is alarmed to a fair degree -- Harry’s always seemed very collected and calm, it was seldom she ever seen him have more emotion than pure elation to fuck with her or displeased with her presence. 

“ -- so I’m going to make more today. What’s going on with you? Why are you so pissy over it?” She finishes her previous thought, watching as he leans against the counter, propping his face up with his hand and she could now more clearly make out the bags beneath his eyes.

He rubs at his temple with the finger closest to it, “The only way I can sleep is with your bloody tea,” he grumbled, “That’s why I come around all the time -- well, that and to fuck with you, but mostly the tea.” 

“Oh?” She reaches down, plucking Thumper from where he’d been positioned by her feet and setting him on the counter. He thumps his foot at her once but eventually makes his way over to Harry, sniffing at his chin before resting right before him. Y/N wasn’t necessarily doing it to be nice, but the energy he was exuding could really dampen the growth rate of her plants, and Thumper had a soothing way about him that drew all that negativity out. It was one of those odd little familiar powers that went unexplained for the most part. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugged his shoulders, but the tension in them begins to dissipate as Thumper snuggles beneath his chin, “Reckon I pissed off some demon or summat -- usually it isn’t this bad. Without your tea, I can at least get to bed for three hours before waking up and catch cat naps during the day, but nothing was working this weekend. I think I’ve slept a total of two hours?” 

“Christ,” she tuts her tongue, but her brain starts churning, “Do you think it has anything to do with that. . .with that thing, that’s around? That feeling?” 

Harry huffs a sigh, “Fuck, here you go again -- Babe, listen, I can barely keep a coherent thought, so why don’t I just give you some money and you make that tea for me, alright?” 

“That’s no way to ask,” Y/N chastises him, and though she is already beginning to gather the supplies she needs so she could go out and harvest her leaves, she taunts him, “You’ll have to say please, or I might just decide to wait on this batch.” 

“Please,” he wastes no time in saying, “Pretty please harvest the chamomile so that I can sleep and I promise I’ll sit and theorize with you over whatever the fuck thing you’re feeling.” 

Y/N could go through the trouble of doing a blood binding with him to ensure that he wasn’t lying to her, but she felt that was a little on the extreme side so she took his word for it. She could easily harvest her chamomile here at the shop -- she had two doors behind the counter, one that led to her garden, the field, and the forest outside while the other led to a backroom that was made into a little kitchen area. It was easier for her to do things here rather than at home and have to risk tainting them in transport; for the best results to any enchanted item, one has to seal it immediately and it should only be reopened prior to use. 

She wouldn’t allow Harry to hover over her while she worked, so she sat him behind the counter and told him to not speak to any customers if they come through (“Wasn’t planning to,”) while she went to work. Y/N gave Thumper a look when he had started to follow her, and with a small thump of his foot (his way of saying Fine!) he hops himself into Harry’s lap and settles there. The tension once again eases from Harry’s features, soothing the pinch in his brow and the way his lips had been pursed in a frown. 

It was silent as she set to work, and save for a few customers who filtered in and out (at least a dozen of them, only eight purchased something but her Mondays were always pretty slow so that was expected), there wasn’t much to disturb what appeared to be a dozing Harry. He looked much more peaceful than she’s ever seen him, and for a brief moment she contemplates sending Thumper back home with him, but she shakes her head physically as if to expel the thought from her brain. What was she going on about? She would give him his tea and send the heathen on his way. No matter how empathetic she felt for him (she had struggled with issues sleeping when she was a lot younger), there was no need to go out of her way. . .even if she could admit that the sight of him cuddling with a bunny was a little too sweet not to be documented somewhere. 

She’s finished drying the leaves and carefully stirring them in the fine powder that she still had leftover from her last batch (there were many flowers from her garden ground up and enchanted with an incantation, which sounds like a simple enough task but the entire process took a little over a week -- the magic had to be purified several times, and the potential adverse effects had to be mollified. . . if she didn’t, instead of pleasant dreams of floating in clouds, her customers would be in an unsolicited astral projection) in a little over an hour. Y/N takes care to bag them delicately, adding a little extra in the two bags she would be giving Harry so that he would bother her less over it. 

By the time she’s retreated from the back preparation room, she finds that Harry is awake now, eyeballing her Intimacy and Romance section. When he sees that she’s returned to the front, he holds up the small, cardboard parcel, “I didn’t know you doubled as a Pulse and Cocktails.” 

“That’s a natural aphrodisiac,” she tells him, walking over to her empty chamomile shelf before she begins to fill it,  “You might want to take some so your partners will actually desire you for once.” 

“Oh, Honey,” he shakes his head, a look on his face almost like he pities her, “Don’ know a thing about how people desire me. Barely have to take my cock out for them to be gagging for it -- kind of how you are, but won’t admit it to yourself.” 

Y/N kisses her teeth, “Alright lecher, come and get your chamomile then,” she plucks the two remaining bags from the box she brought them in and holds them out for him, “You should look into some spells to combat that though -- if a demon is purloining your sleep, then it’s probably still hanging around and like deluging your flat with negative energy.” 

“Dunno’ if you know this, but I work with demons often, I’m always surrounded by negative energy,” he plucks the chamomile from her grasp, before reaching in his pocket and producing a small wad of cash that he places in her palm-- Y/N opens her mouth to decline it (she felt that his money was earned in a dishonest way and would not accept it for her flowers, because it felt as if she were disrespecting them. . .she would much rather give it to him for free), but he cuts her off, “Oh, hush and take the money. This is from a care package my Nan sent me, so it wasn’t earned in any rotten way, you spoiled brat.” 

She sighs, clutching the money in her hands, “You still better keep your end of the deal,” Y/N tells him, “I want to talk about this. . .whatever that feeling is, around here lately. And I want you to be serious about it!” 

Harry was already retreating, waving his hand up at her, “Yeah, sure thing, I’ll have my secretary get in contact with you --” 

“Harry --” 

“M’only joking. I’ll come around Friday.” 

                                                                     .                       .                         .

Later that night, with Thumper snuggled in her lap snoozing, Y/N looks into purging a home of sleep stealing spirits. 

She’s only curious. 

                                                             .                         .                        . 

Sleep comes gradually, then all at once, like the shift between summer and fall. 

Wind whistles past window sills singing shallow songs of change, while red apples ripen on their branches in the orchard during harvest season. The air grows colder in the mornings and at night, the day is still steeped in the sun’s benevolent kisses of heat at first until even that begins to wane. An aesthetic of reds, oranges, forest greens and golden hues occupy the minds of many as the leaves start to stain with color. Everyone waits with bated breath for true autumn to come around the corner. 

And when it does, it’s with a cold slap of air against the face when they step outside. The air carries that distinct autumn smell, the world is chilly enough for thicker jackets and long socks, rain comes in sheets during the evenings, and the colorful leaves that had drooped from the trees adhere to the concrete, or in matted piles on the forest floor.  Suddenly, the warm drink in everyone’s hand is a little less for the excitement and impatience for fall to begin, and more so to warm their cold palms from the onslaught of biting wind. 

It isn’t autumn, and then it is -- just like sleep. Harry’s awake one minute, and then he’s passed right out. 

Well, with Y/N’s help, bless her. Sure, she had been rotten before, but she made him a new batch and sent him off with two hearty bags full of tea that would soothe his worries and put his arse to bed. Plus, he had cuddled with her sweet little bunny Thumper for a while and he had a feeling the little bugger was exuding some sort of her soft magic unto him in the form of calming waves. When the rabbit sat in his lap, all the tension eased from his muscles and he sank into an otherwise uncomfortable chair like it was the softest mattress he’d ever been privy to. So by the time he came home, started the kettle, drank a mug full, and hot tailed it to his bed, he was asleep before his head could even quite hit the pillow. 

It was so good. His dreams were pleasant, his sleep was heavy, and deep, and lasted around fifteen hours -- which in the grand scheme of things, made him feel a bit like a sloth, but he knew he needed it. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened that he just couldn’t sleep even a little bit, but he has no interest in investigating now that he had a full night’s (and partially day’s) rest. Plus, there was no time to do any exploring when he needed to make up for the work he’d missed in his time exhausted -- his powers are nowhere near as strong if he is tired, and it’s incredibly dangerous to be working with little sleep. He could mess up, and a mess-up could mean someone would likely end up possessed and -- albeit how interesting they are -- Harry’s intrigue with exorcisms ended after the seventh one he performed. 

After he woke up, showered off, and ate brekkie, he sat down with his kitten and they cleaned his crystals and a few amulets before he set on preparing some of his finer elixirs, that he always waited until he was down to the last drop to begin making more canisters of considering how extensive the process was. It would be easier if he had someone else to help out, but the only other witch within 160 kilometers of him, he wouldn’t label as the type all too willing to help him break into a blood bank. 

But he did have his kitten Oat. He was his little miracle -- Harry had been so sad when he learned that witches could have familiars, but the animal would come to him and he was supposed to just know. At that point, he’d been practicing for three years and the only feelings he could sense from any animal around him were fear and disdain, so he had thought that maybe he just wasn’t meant to have one. Which felt horrible. . .he loved animals. 

One day, when the chill in the air rosied his cheeks and the cardigan he sported did little to shield him from the cold, he was taking a walk in the forest nearby. He’d left the trail, but not because he was working. . .if he were honest, he thought that the garden that Y/N kept out there was quite magnificent. It flourished even in the winter, a meadow of flowers that’s petals never frost, and the ground never grew hard. There was an air around it that made him feel warm and pleasant, so he visited often without letting her know. Which was what he was doing, walking through the small path that she had created so that she could tend to them (he’d seen her water them once when he’d come unknowing that she was there to cater to them). 

And one moment he was looking at what he believed to be an oat grass, he heard a rustle from the bushes to his left that he looked toward (it was a bird flying away), and when his gaze returned to where it had once been, there a small kitten was laying. She was the kind of small that made his heart ache, with her eyes barely open as she yawned and stretched very wide -- she wasn’t there, and then she was. Harry always liked to say she was born from the soft soil of Y/N’s garden which was why her grey fur felt like clouds and she always smelled sweet as heliotrope. . .and, well, she smelled a lot like Y/N too. He may not be all too fond of the girl, but she did always smell nice. 

She hadn’t grown bigger than one of his boots, the tiny little thing, but not because she was malnourished in any way (Harry always made sure she was well-fed), he just thinks she’s finished growing. He couldn’t tell her breed, but if he had to guess she was some mix between a munchkin and a ragamuffin cat. Harry knows all familiars have their duties and special abilities, but he wasn’t quite sure what hers was -- he just knew that he loved her to bits and pieces, and couldn’t ask for a better little ball of fur to sit on his shoulder while he made coffee in the morning. 

What Harry did know, was that none of the demon’s he had ever conjured had ever bothered her, and she loved to be rubbed behind her ears. 

So Thursday night, when the town grew quiet and the air was still, Harry ventured out with his tote bag slung over his shoulder. It was easy to move about relatively unseen in a place like this, that wasn’t so big there were people constantly looming around the corners of every nook and cranny, but wasn’t so small that everybody knew everyone’s business. It was a pleasant in between, where he could snake through the mouth of the forest, walk a trail and end up on the other side of town without having been seen by more than a few critters. He typically made this journey relatively late, without a worry or stressor in sight -- it only took him about an hour and a half to get everything done. 

Today though -- today, he felt off. It hadn’t been immediately when he’d stepped outside, but after some time in his walk, goosebumps prickled his skin and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t quite decipher what was making him feel like this when the wind hadn’t rustled the trees in a few minutes, but it put him on guard. He disliked the feeling and had only truly sensed it to this degree that night Y/N had originally questioned him about it. It was an unsavory sensation, and for it to even make him feel uneasy was saying something tremendous. 

He attempts to ignore it, even though it only grew stronger the closer he was to his destination. He weaves through the trees, stepping over the thick roots, crunching over fallen leaves, and appreciating the scent of autumn as he goes. It was a nice night, despite the chill that ran just beneath his skin. . .it was the kind of night that he might go out on his balcony and sip on his tea until he grew weary enough to step inside. Oat liked to sit outside with him, curled peacefully in his lap and resting without a care in the world (she made him feel not so lonely all the time, which he appreciated immensely). 

Harry was thinking about how that was precisely what he was going to do as soon as he returned home after he had emerged from the trees and walked through an expansive field, toward an old road that led him back into town and entered the blood bank (after melting the lock with one of his crystals). Though he sensed something strong when he was walking down the cold, dark hall. . .or someone that is, who --  before he could register their presence -- ran straight into him as they were peeling around the corner and nearly knocked him on his arse (but definitely knocked them on theirs). 

“Fuck sake!” He cried out, steadying himself, looking down at the assailant, “Watch where you’re going, mate, or you’ll -- oh, Y/N?” He pauses, confusion laces through his brain as he recognizes her, “What’re you doing here so late?” 

Y/N was on her bum, scowling at him as she gathered herself before flattening her palms to the cold, white tiled floor and pressing up to a stand, “I could ask you the same question.” 

“It would be a silly one if you did, ‘cos you and I both know what I’m doing for a living,” he watches as she swipes her bum of the dust adhering to her sweatpants -- he had never seen her so dressed down before, in a dark-colored hoodie that just about swallowed her whole. She appeared much less ferocious this way -- not that she appeared very ferocious before, but he is always intrigued to see typically put together people in their sleep clothes. . .he thinks it says a lot about a person. From Y/N’s choice of pajamas, he could tell that she probably kept her flat on the side of too cold because she liked to bundle up. . .she felt safe that way, he would guess, and he would bet 50 quid that there was bunny hair all over it because -- despite his grumpy tendencies -- Thumper loved a good cuddle.

“I felt it again,” she says after a moment, her voice only above a whisper, though there was no security here -- or anyone, for that matter since the place closes at 7 PM, but her eyes still shift around like she’s a high schooler ditching class and the headmaster's down the hall, “. . .that thing, y’know, while I was getting ready for bed, so I followed where it felt grossest and came to check it out to see if it led me anywhere.” 

Harry’s brows furrowed, “Well that was stupid,” he derides her, fixing the tote around his shoulder and shifting weight from one heel to the other, “What were you going to do if you found something, hm? Fight it off with your bunny and rose petals?”

Her scowl returns, “Piss off,” she utters before her gaze flickers to his tote and the reason he’s here becomes clearer to her than it had been before, “You shouldn’t be stealing blood. Isn’t that unethical?” 

“It’s either this or siphoning it from a live vein, Babe, and while I’m aces at plenty of things, I have not been properly trained to set up an IV. I only take the blood that’s about to expire anyway,” He nods down the hallway, toward the refrigeration where they kept all of the baggies, “You might as well continue investigating while we’re here because it’s coming from that way -- plus you can make yourself useful by keeping the door propped open for me.”

In all honesty, Harry expects more fight than he was given considering how often she seems to object to every move he makes, but she merely rolls her eyes and starts ahead of him. The feeling does grow stronger the further they descend into the hallway and he knows Y/N can feel it too, from the way she shuffles just a little closer to him, and he can hear her breathing hitch to a small halt as they stood before the door and it felt like it had all been focused just behind the door. As strong as the taste of frozen orange juice concentrate, it made his face pucker just slightly as he raised his fingers toward the keypad and began punching in the code. 

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?” 

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .” 

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing. 

Actually, as soon as they open the door, the dark, odious feeling that had been encompassing both of them disappears entirely. “Whoa,” Y/N pushes her hand against the door and keeps it open, taking one step inside of the room, “There’s a lot of blood in here.” His gaze flickers back at her, as she looks around, looking more intrigued than disgusted -- there was a lot of blood, 8 by 5-meter room just filled with it, so he could understand some of the awe. The more he returns, the less awe he feels, but he reckons that was to be expected. 

“There are about five other refrigerators in this building too,” he tells her as he lowers to his knees, cracking open his tote, “This one’s computers are easier to get into though, and doesn’t say the date and time the amount was changed so nobody knows anything is missing. Easy peasy.” 

Y/N nods, “Right. Stealing blood -- easy peasy,” she leans against the door, “What is it that you use it for?” 

“It really depends,” he murmurs as he pulls out a rack, counting out the baggies he needed, “Some demons like blood more than ash, so they come when called and are more willing to help you out when given a little gift. There are a few spells that call for it, and elixirs are twice as potent — sometimes I have to drink it, which is...unpleasant,” he hears her shiver, “—but it makes the outcome better. All in a day's work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N hummed, “That’s...different. I think the weirdest thing I’ve had to drink for a spell was doe milk and I felt guilty the whole time. Like I was taking it from a fawn that needed it.”

Harry huffed out a laugh — Y/N was a soft little thing, comparing drinking blood to milk — sometimes he forgets how sheltered her world of magic is compared to his own.  It was easy to forget with all the spiteful words she could throw his way, but to see her out of her comfort zone. . .it’s refreshing. Not because she is less confident in her surroundings, but because she is more open to his own If someone would have told Harry they would be even remotely civil with one another in a room full of blood, he would have snorted before asking what they were snorting. 

“I oughta call you Bambi then.” 

He was on his last baggy of blood, checking the expiration date, and logging it into the computer when the dreadful feeling returned. Like a fly to rotting meat, it clings back to the room they were in tenfold. From behind him, a sharp clatter and Y/N’s squeal startles him to look back at her, “Harry!” She cried, pointing ahead of her, “The walls! L-look at the walls!”  

Harry follows her finger, watching as a thick, black substance oozes from the wall’s coving. When Y/N had noticed as much, she knocked down a stray IV pole that had been left in here, and it lay at her feet where the same black ooze had begun seeping up from the trim of the floors. In all his time doing what he does, Harry had never seen something so odd, nor had he ever felt something this grotesque overcome his being. It makes him act quickly, and while he doesn’t speak, he does fix his tote over his shoulder and practically jog the short distance to Y/N, knocking her out of the room, grabbing the door by the handle, and swinging it shut. He had hoped to seal it in there, whatever it was, but when they look down at the floor, the goo bleeds beneath the door and they both take a startled step back, “Oh fuck me,” Harry mutters to himself, shaking his head. 

“What the hell is this?” Y/N is panicked -- it’s very clear in her voice, and while Harry was a tad thankful not to be dealing with this alone, he can’t say that a soft which, who planted pretty flowers and made sleepy time tea was necessarily the backing he wanted in the event he had to exorcise a demon. He didn’t even have the proper tools for it. . .he didn’t know what he was exorcising, fuck sake --  “Harry, shouldn’t we --” 

“We need to leave,” he states, pivoting on his heel and hustling down the hall, Y/N was quick to scurry behind him, though she still murmurs some protest. 

“We shouldn’t just --” 

“Listen, unless you have any idea what that is and how to clean it, let alone banish it to hell, I saw we have a better chance through those doors than we do staying in here for even a second more,” he told her, holding out his hands to the crash bar, shoving the heavy door open, only looking back to make sure that Y/N had made it through, seeing that the black ooze had been following them before he promptly slammed the door shut. 

This was one of the back doors, so it spits them out to the graveled employee parking lot that dances along one of the many mouths of the forest that surrounded them. They’re both out of breath, adrenalin zipping through their veins in a tidal wave as their chests heave and they stare at the door. They wait for it to crawl beneath these doors. . .they wait for the building to either be overcome by sludge or combust from whatever sinister being had decided to preoccupy this space. 

But nothing happens. 

The wind picks up, the leaves rustle against the branches, and as if it were a gift from the Earth, the sordid feeling blew right away with it. 

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asks for the second time. 

Harry straightens out from where he’d been crouched, inhaling the cool air, appreciative to be in it. 

“Do you think for a second, with my reaction, that I have any fucking clue?” 

                                                        .                             .                              .

Y/N doesn’t have people at her flat often. 

Actually, apart from Niall and a few maintenance men, nobody had ever really come over. Not for any particular reason, really, and not because she didn’t want them to necessarily -- the opportunity just rarely arose, or more so, she didn’t often allow it to. If she were going to meet someone then she would meet them somewhere else, and they would part ways after they were finished (again, apart from Niall, who would simply follow her home, kick his trainers off, and head toward her couch which he had told her was simply the comfiest he’d ever been on). Her home was her humble abode. . .it was where she came to destress after a long day, and where Thumper sometimes waited for her debating whether or not he wanted to nibble her bathroom rug to shreds.

Not to mention she had plants growing here too, and flowers that she held dear to her, and while people are more reluctant to go touching what isn’t their business at a store, they are much less disinclined to give that same respect to her plants. Once Y/N had a maintenance man over to fix her faucet and she’d walked out from her room to see that he was caressing her snake plant’s leaves. She couldn’t blame him -- the plant had a very encompassing presence about it and had a way of drawing people in if they weren’t careful. . .hypnotized by the way it made them feel. All of Y/N’s soil and seeds are charmed with special incantations and concoctions that took her years to perfect, she would be disappointed if they weren’t causing people to leave all semblance of professionalism to even for a moment feel as if they were in a room with such clear air, their lungs felt renewed and they deemed it necessary to get closer. 

But then she had to apologize to her snake plant for nearly two days after! It had been so upset with her, she could feel it, so she started being even more careful about who she let in.  If she was going to go out of her way to have someone over, then there was a good reason for it. . .or it was Niall. 

And a demonic, gooey substance sweating from the walls of a blood bank, was well enough a good reason to have Harry over. 

It took some coaxing on her part -- he was convinced that they needed to just go back to their respective flats and go to bed, but Y/N was adamant in vetoing the idea. “We’re supposed to talk tomorrow anyway, so we might as well just go ahead and do it tonight -- and you are not leaving me alone after whatever the fuck that was!” 

After a good ten minutes, he finally relented as long as they could stop by his flat so he could get his kitten. Y/N hadn’t known that he had a kitten and thought maybe he would bring out some ragged-looking thing, but she was surprised to see through her windshield window that Harry was approaching her car with a small grey kitten. Her face contorts in the way everyone’s face might when they see something small and cute, “Look at her,” she coos once Harry opens his door, “What’s her name?” 

“This is Oat,” he answered, holding her out for Y/N to pet, “Be careful, she’s vicious.” 

Y/N pet at her head and Oat’s eyes shut as she nuzzled into her palm, “Oh yeah, what a panther.”

 Apart from the nerves that had already materialized from what they had seen in the blood bank, she was a little worried about inviting him into her home. When she visualized her safe space, Harry was not typically who she saw sitting on her couch when she came in from the kitchen, holding mugs of warm tea. Yet there he was, introducing Thumper and Oat to one another (who merely sniffed each other, then immediately cozied against her olive throw blanket on the end of the couch), and Y/N is handing him his steamy mug. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, immediately nursing the mug between his palms and lifting it up to his mouth for a small sip -- the steam disperses around his face in plumes, “And it wouldn’t make sense for. . .for whatever that is to just be a demon.” 

“What?” She inquires, taking her seat beside him on the couch, her body twisted so she was facing him entirely. Y/N had adjusted the temperature to something that would be a bit more suited toward having a guest -- when she’s alone, she keeps it ungodly cold so she has an excuse to bundle up in her clothes and blankets. There’s nothing like feeling safe in a cocoon of various fabrics with Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the telly. 

Harry strategically places the mug between his knitted socked feet, steadying it there as he begins to play with the thick, brassy tiger ring on his index finger, “Demons are strong, sure, but if they’re gonna be that strong there’s typically two reasons for it: they have already inhabited that area, or someone is controlling them behind the scenes. I would be more inclined to believe the prior, but I’ve been going to this blood blank for about a year now and unless there were some pentagrams I’ve missed or a gruesome ordeal that never made the papers in the past two weeks -- then there’s no reason for that to have happened at the hands of a spirit. Even a blood demon isn’t strong enough to make what happened in there happen, and they literally feed off the substance in the room.” 

“So you think someone summoned it or something? I thought you were the only one around here that did that?” Y/N probes, trying to look in his eyes but she keeps getting distracted by his rings -- how many did he have? She thinks he nearly has one on each finger, and he’s plucking them off and placing them on different knuckles as he speaks. Y/N wonders if it’s something he does in response to a stressor, like how she picks at her nails. 

“I’m the only witch that summons things around here, but not even I could conjure something that feels that vile.” He explained, fitting the last ring against his knuckle before he pops the bones in his fingers, and Y/N watches as the skin stretches and moves around the muscles in his hands,  “I think someone is trying to manifest something without the proper safeguards in place. . .the lack of protection charms, crystals, and spells can invite much more heinous creatures to the living world. They feed off shite like that -- naivety. . .thinking that any person could decide they’ll have a demon carry out a job for them. It’s easier for them to take advantage of them that way.” Harry exhales, running the pad of his thumb around the rim of the mug— she’s given him the one that has intricate, realistic drawings of beluga whales on it, not for any other reason apart from that one was her favorite and she liked to see it in use, “And with a full moon coming up? Recipe for disaster.”

“Oh shit,” Y/N holds her tea closer to her being, “That’s why the feeling is so profuse and disagreeable in the air then, ‘cos they aren’t containing it right? When I was looking into a little bit of what you do, I read that there are containment spells so the demon or spirit doesn’t have free range to do as it pleases, but the spell is dependent on the demon in question and the severity of its power.” 

Harry looked pleasantly surprised, “Yeah, that’s right -- what’re ya looking up what I’m doing for?” He settles into her couch, “Have you got a crush on me or summat?” 

If Y/N rolled her eyes any further back, she thinks they would have done a 360 in her eye sockets, “I fell down a rabbit hole the other night when I was trying to figure out why you couldn’t sleep,” an impish grin slides onto his mouth, “And not because I’m “in love with you” -- I just thought it would be interesting to know if your insomnia was the reason of a demon because that would mean one of my items combats against that and wins. My. . .most of my magic is based on prevention when it comes to dark things like that, not really to fight what’s already there.” 

“So your flowers don’t like -- I dunno, Little Shop of Horrors it?” He teases, motioning to her Hoya plant that had just begun to bloom for her, “I reckon when I think of plant magic, I think of you snapping your fingers and thorned ivy whipping around to slow assailants.” 

“No, none of that,” she laughs lightly, shaking her head, “They’re much too nice and gentle. . .they only want to help. And I’m rarely in a situation where I would need thorned ivy whipping around.” Y/N locks eyes with Oat for a moment, whose eyes close nice and slow before she reopens them and Y/N thinks she might just melt, “What do we do then? How do we stop it?” 

He slides a ring with teddy bears from his pinky and spins it between his forefinger and thumb, “There’s nothing to do -- if we don’t know who the problem is, then we can’t fix anything.” Harry shrugs his shoulders, and the action makes his already loose cardigan slide down his arms, revealing more of the cream-colored shirt he wore with Smokey the Bear on the front reading Only YOU! can prevent forest fires, “All we can do is wait for the next fucked feeling and hopefully run into the person causing -- oh,” Harry pauses, motioning toward her, “You’ve got a new friend.” 

Y/N’s confused, brows knitted until she feels a paw press against her shoulder and the telltale purr of a happy kitty. When she turns her head, she finds that Oat has snuck her way up to her, and is now attempting to perch on Y/N’s shoulder. She presses closer to the back of the couch so that she had a better footing, and in return Oat bumps at her cheek with the top of her head, “You’re so cute, stop it,” she murmurs, and when she takes a breath through her nose, she smiles, “She smells like my heliotrope flowers too! How are you the familiar of such a grumpy, cruel lug, huh?” 

“Oi,” Harry mutters, “I resent that. I’m not grumpy or cruel, you’re just rotten.” 

A retort plays at Y/N’s mouth but her phone screen lights up from where it’s sat on the coffee table and strays her attention. She’s confused -- the only person who would be messaging her this late was Niall but she’s almost a hundred percent certain that he was supposed to be out at the bar tonight. It is him though. 

Fuck me, have ya looked at the news? Is this that thing we were talkin bout? 

Harry is a nosy bugger, and after reading the message with her he reaches for her remote, “You told him about it?” He turns on her telly, quick to open her TV guide, “So he knows about you?” 

“Yeah, he knows -- turn to 3,” she tells him, and soon enough the local news is playing out, big bold letters on the blue band stretched across the bottom of the screen. 

MAN TO BE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER ON GIRLFRIEND 

He turned the volume up, so they could hear the news reporter who was on site. There was yellow caution tape stripped around a house, police lights, cops walking around in the back, and frightened neighbors who had left the comfort of their homes to investigate what was happening. The woman on screen had long blonde hair that whipped when the wind blew and muffled her microphone feed, her face set stony as she recounted the events as the police had told her, “. . .has no recollection of the event, and is claiming the “walls” were dripping in blood and demanding that he do it. Jacobs is being taken in for further questioning and pending a psychiatric evaluation -- his girlfriend Amanda Wilson is being rushed to hospital that’s all anyone knows right now. Back to you Tom...” 

“Oh, fuck sake,” Harry groaned, shaking his head, “Now this is a problem, problem innit?” 

“Was it not before?” Y/N takes the remote from him, turning the volume down, “Do you -- does that sound like anything you’ve dealt with? That would try hurting someone like that?” 

He presses his knuckles to his eyes, sighing, “Not that I remember -- I’ll have to do some digging. . .this is bollocks, you know how bad this is for business? Nobody wants to mess with dark magic when shit like this is going on.”

“Aish, don’t think so selfishly. People are in danger,” she tsks at him, “And we’ll need to -- what are you doing?” She asks as he removes his feet from where they had been on the couch, reaching down for his loafers like he was about to put them on. 

“S’getting late,” he responded, “I was g’na head home --” 

“No you’re not,” she told him, her face dropping in borderline disgust as he seemed genuinely confused with her, his face twisting, “We experience something like that, then see the news, and you not only want to separate, but you want to walk all the way home, alone, in the dark? No way, that’s too stupid, you’re staying here.” 

Harry’s brows dipped in, irritated, however, he did stop reaching for his loafers,  “But --” 

“Listen, we may not be fond of each other but I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” she tells him, before adding quickly, “And you are fucking not going to leave me alone after that! Are you mad?” 

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be doing you a favor without bothering ya with my presence. Never thought Miss. Good Witch of the North would want me breathing her air for too long.” He ripostes and it reinvigorates any distaste for Harry that had been easing throughout the night the more they spoke. He always did that -- always made her feel like she was some stuck up prick who never gave him a chance, but she would have if he hadn’t started out being such an arse to her. Sure, the circumstances they had met under weren’t fantastic. . .she snapped at him for taking her flowers without asking, but he could have just apologized -- could have said sorry, and they could have started over but he was immediately put off by her she presumes, because ever since he’d been nothing but cruel to her. His knocking her out of the room in the blood bank was probably the first kind thing he’d ever done for her, and she isn’t a hundred percent certain that she wasn’t just in his way while he was trying to get out. 

So she glowers at him as she pushes from her couch, “Sod off. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He almost immediately replaces the spot that her body had been with his legs, stretching out as far as he could and his feet flop on the arm of the sofa, “Reckon you should make me some of that tea though, so I can sleep.” He called after her. Thumper hops off and follows after her, while Oat finds her spot at Harry’s side and cuddles into where his cardigan’s extra fabric bundles. Y/N goes to the closet in the hall that leads to her bedroom, pries it open, and reaches to the top shelf where she keeps her extra blankets and pillows. Despite how irritated he makes her, she grabs him one of her heavier quilts, because even with her heat kicked up higher than normal her flat has very poor insulation, and the night’s into early mornings get pretty cold. She’s about to grumble at him that he better thank her for this and the bloody tea, but when she returns to the living room. . .he’s asleep. 

Harry just fell right to sleep. 

She’s confused -- understandably, she thinks, because she remembers how much of a fit he’d thrown about her tea and how she was closed on weekends so he couldn’t have any of it. Had whined how he wasn’t able to sleep without the tea, and she had only given him peppermint tea tonight, so there was no reason that should have put him to bed. 

Yet there he was, fast asleep with his arms crossed over his chest. 

 Tutting her tongue quietly, she unrolls the blanket she had chosen for him and strategically places it over his legs. She is careful to move Oat so that she doesn’t suffocate under the covers as she pulls them over, up to Harry’s chest before replacing her in the spot she had snuggled prior. She pauses for a moment before she leaves them, taking in a completely relaxed Harry -- not that he doesn’t seem relaxed all the time, but he’s just. . .calm. His muscles have melted against her couch cushions, his brow has soothed and his amaranth pink lips are soft and parted. Gentle, easy breaths slip through his mouth. . .Y/N thinks that she likes him like this. Not spiteful, or crass -- this Harry doesn’t seem to hate her. This Harry is warm and comfortable enough to just fall asleep on her couch. 

Thumper thumps his foot against the floor, his not-so-silent request that they go to bed and Y/N snaps out of whatever hypnotic state she’d been in watching him rest. She feels creepy but shakes it off, reaching down to pick up Thumper by his belly and cradling him to her chest as she leaves the living room, keeping her lamp on for him in case he wakes up to have a wee or anything. 

It’s when she goes to the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water to leave at the coffee table for him, that she can feel Thumper judging her. This is only confirmed by the way he is looking up at her when she looks down at him, his small, pink nose twitching, and she can just sense him repeating Harry’s tease of have you got a crush on me or summat? -- it’s not like he hasn’t questioned her before. She reckons if Thumper could actually speak and not just implant little thoughts of his in her head through whatever little bond they have, he would be very free with his accusations about who she might have feelings for. 

Y/N rolls her eyes. 

“No, I don’t,” she disagrees with him quietly, “What do you know about crushes, hm? You’re just a bunny.” 

                                                         .                               .                              .

It had been a while since Harry had worked. 

Though he was always hesitant to call it work, all things considered. Y/N had once described to him that what he did was lurk around seedy clubs and wait to be recognized by a sorry sap that wanted something they didn’t want to put much effort towards, and Harry can’t necessarily say she’s wrong.  He preyed on the lazy; men and women who couldn’t be arsed to obtain a goal without the help of a little magic no matter how negative, and Harry couldn’t really fault them for it. One, because sometimes goals are unattainable with literally anything other than a demon's help, and two because he gets a hefty wad of cash in his pocket for his trouble. How hypocritical could he be to deprecate their usage of dark magic when he is doing the same thing. . .when he relies on that more than anything, even the silly little romance novels he writes so that nobody questions where his money’s coming from. 

It was a Friday night, and since he was no longer tied to the commitment of meeting Y/N to discuss the horrible, no good, terrible thing that was slithering its way through town and apparently spurring bouts of attempted murder -- he was able to visit a club. Though Y/N had made him lock pinkies with her that morning, telling him to keep his eye out for anything suspicious that may or may not have led to the events from the night prior. 

Promise me that you’ll keep informed on what’s going on there, okay? And promise me that you’ll tell me about it. 

The club he’d visited was one of the more popular of the four he frequented, and within the walls, amongst the gyrating bodies in scant clothing and sweat-drenched skin, were many of his regular clients. One of which had been blowing up his phone for the past week telling him how he desperately needed help, and he needed it ASAP. Harry finally replied to his message with a simple time that he would meet him, and that they would discuss the cost once he’s explained what is being asked of him. This guy, in particular, wanted many frivolous things, and typically his requests revolved around wealth, though Harry thought he had more than enough. And while Harry could do a few simple spells that would bring the money gradually and don’t come with the dangers that a demon will, he refuses. Harry has always told each of his clients that a spell and a demon could do the same thing, but demons brought faster results, albeit potentially precarious consequences.

And when it comes to summoning, things can get a bit tricky. If the person who is summoning is the person who will benefit from the demon’s will directly, then it may come with a price, and that price may or may not be hidden between the lines. Especially when it is someone who has no clue about the actual process, offerings that could be made without including their soul for the taking, and spells that could be done that would protect them. After doing this for so long, Harry had developed and harnessed enough power that it was rare a spell every backfired or a demon ever bested him, but if Bradley Evans tried this himself, he’d be good as dead. 

This is why, no matter how this man grates every open end of his nerves with a dull blade, he continues to help him. Again, Harry gets paid an obscene amount of money for what he does, so he sucks it right up -- and it’s not as if this money is just for him. He has people to take care of, his own personal gripes with the smarmy, rich, meat-headed pricks that want him to summon Clauneck for a trip to the Bahamas matter very little in the grand scheme of things. 

He’s leaning against the far back corner, at a table that he’d claimed for the night and a cherry mango cocktail that wets his lips and stains them red. He really isn’t scouting for suspicious behavior like he had promised to, only because his mind had floated elsewhere entirely. Like how, after so long of only ever being able to rest with help of Y/N’s chamomile, he was able to fall asleep without the help of anything. He had asked her about the tea that she and he drank prior to him passing out unprompted on her couch, but she told him it was just a store-bought strawberry tea that was a guilty pleasure. 

It perplexed him greatly. He only remembers her demanding him to stay the night because she didn’t want to be alone (and if he’s honest, neither had he after the night they had), he remembers her standing and him stretching out on her couch, and he remembers asking her for the tea that would help him sleep. 

And then he remembers waking, feeling refreshed, and renewed. Confused, but reinvigorated, he had a wee before poking around in her kitchen for something to satiate his grumbly stomach. Y/N was still asleep -- he’d peeked his head into her cracked open door only to find her dreaming peacefully, relaxed, and content. As creepy as it felt to stare at her as she slept, he did watch for a moment. It was different to see her without the accompanied scowl he usually coaxed upon her face -- the blissful gleam that exudes from her now is the same that he sees when she’s tending to one of her gardens. 

He brewed two chai lattes in her Keurig with Oat on his shoulder like a bird and she woke as he was taking the second mug, setting it on her kitchen counter, “G’morning,” she yawned, Thumper hopping behind her, looking just as sleepy, “Did you sleep through the night? I made you a cuppa and kept it in the microwave in case you woke up.” 

His heart had lurched. . .a genuine clench that Harry had not felt in a while.

“Oh,” he blinked at her owlishly, “I slept just fine, but thank you.” 

“Mm, good,” she was so sleepy still, Harry remembers wondering if she was even fully awake speaking to him, “I  have sliced fruit in the fridge if you want, for brekkie.” 

It was a domesticated scenario that Harry had not been privy to.  

Had it been her flat? Maybe the plants that she had strewn about the room were all enchanted, singing sweet songs of sleep that lulled him to sleep without him knowing. All he could recall was feeling so unbelievably comforted and no matter how cold it was in that damn flat, he felt so warm. . .so warm, and it smelled so good, and Oat was snoozing happily at his side. Plus she had wrapped him in this quilt that was heavy and smelled nice -- he thinks, in that moment, he finally understood why babies liked feeling contained in a swaddle blanket. Regardless of what happened at the blood bank, and what they found out on the news, Harry felt safe in her flat. And he probably wouldn’t have left either, if he didn’t have to work. 

He’s so caught in his reverie, that Bradley’s arrival truly startled him. A clearing of his throat catches his attention, dragging his unfocused gaze from the crowd of dancers to Bradly, dressed in a Lacoste polo that thought was ugly but he would never say it aloud, “Oh,” he straightened up, bringing the rim of his glass to his mouth and taking a small sip of it, “Right then, what can I do for you? Another trip to Barbados?” 

Bradley shakes his head a little frantically, and it's only then that Harry takes in the actual appearance of him, that surpasses the Lacoste and zeros in on the panic that decorates his face, “I need like -- like a demon protector or some kinda spell or -- I don’t fucking know, or something.” 

“Oh --” his brows dip, “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” 

He starts to nod, then switches it to a shake of his head, and that morphs into a shrug of his shoulders, “I don’t know man, I just don’t feel -- I don’t feel safe. I wondered if one of those demons from before were like. . .after my soul or summat.” 

“Not possible,” Harry dismisses the idea, setting his glass down on the high round table, “When I work with them we make a spiritual, contractual agreement that they are bound to. If your soul was not on the table, then it will never be on the table -- it must be something else,” he thinks for a moment before a slither of realization stokes the fire in his brain, that sets the coals aflame and heats the cogs to a churn, “What -- explain to me what you’re feeling?” 

“Like something is watching me,” he blinked, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning most of his weight onto it, the scent of liquor wafts over Harry’s face when Bradly breathes, “It’s heavy and. . .it’s like swimming in ink. It’s horrible and frightening, and I’ve never -- I’ve never been one to rely on vibes, but mate, they were bad. . .they were like -- vile. Vile vibes, man.” 

Harry thinks, while his description is repugnant, he knows exactly what he’s talking about, but there wasn’t much he could do. Harry can make protection spells that are generalized but he doesn’t believe that any of them are strong enough to fend off whatever this thing is. In cases like this one, sometimes dark magic is not good to fight dark magic, it can only make it grow and fester like a nasty, infected wound. He really did not want to try that out on Bradley. . .he may not be fond of the guy, but he didn’t wish anything ill on him. 

“You wouldn’t come to me for a protection spell, for something like that,” Harry begins, “You would need --” You would need Y/N -- is what is about to leave his lips, but it drops away. As much as it’s true -- as much as Harry knows that the reason he felt the safest he’s ever had in Y/N’s presence was whatever protection spells she had put in place and strengthened -- he couldn’t. The thought of sending someone like Bradley to someone like Y/N, makes him feel sick. “Give me one second, yeah? Stay here.” 

Y/N gave him her number that morning, telling him that it was silly for them to be unable to contact one another. Harry saved it into his phone and sent her a picture of Oat so that she would have his, but left it at that -- he had assumed, until this moment, that he would never have a reason to have her number. If he ever wanted anything from her he would just show up at her store. 

But here he was, scrolling through his contact list to find her, pressing her number and holding his phone up to his ear. It only rings twice before she’s answered it, “Hello? Is everything okay Harry, did you get a lead?” 

Harry laughs in disbelief, “What’re you, a detective?” He cleared his throat so he could speak over the music clearly, “I need you for something, and I’ll give you half. And before you get all high and mighty, it isn’t for anything bad -- one of my regulars is experiencing the same fucked thing we have only it’s more vile vibes opposed to blood seeping from the walls. Need a protection spell -- whatever you use for your flat and store.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, long enough that Harry questions if his service dropped, but her voice reappears.

 “Where are you?” 

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is flagging Y/N down to his spot in the club where he stood next to Bradley whose friends kept coming around wondering if Harry was his pull for the night. Her jumper with a printed bunny right in the center made him chuckle to himself -- it was more than clear that she had not planned on coming out tonight, and if not for Harry, he thinks she would have spent three more hours at her store tending to the garden there if not for him. When she sees him, noticeable relief makes her shoulders slump, and as she gets closer, she reaches into her pocket, “Thank god,” she called over the music, “I’ve been in here for three minutes and if I got knocked into one more time I was going to lose it.” 

She produces two things -- one is a tiny vial, with an unidentified green liquid, and the other is a small baggie of her tea. Harry takes both from her hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs, before dipping down closer to her ear, “Go over to that empty table near the bar, I don’t want this guy seeing you clear enough that he could ask you for anything ever again.” 

Though she was confused, she listened to him, slinking her way over to the table while Harry turned to Bradley who had been looking at his phone, before both were placed in front of them, “Thank you,” he tells him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. How much?” 

“850,” Harry says without batting an eyelash. Typically his business runs closer to the thousands but he cuts the guy a break since he’s scared.

“Each or what?” Bradley asks as he fishes his wallet from his pocket, flipping the leather open and beginning to thumb through his bills. 

“No, just 850,” he takes the bills from him, folding it between his fingers, “I shipped your crystals last week, did they come?” 

Bradley nods, a big grin on his face, “Oh, fuck yeah dude, I almost forgot! I already transferred you the money for them right?” 

Harry thinks it’s a shame that he doesn’t keep track -- he could really scam him if he wanted to, with these black crystals bathed in the water of Asmodeus (they increases stamina and aids them in not being shit in bed; it was a fucking full-day event to get Asmodeus to recognize the clear stream water, in an incubator that he checks every 15 minutes or so to see if the water has been touched red)  “Yeah, you sent double the amount ‘cos your buddy wanted some too, right?” 

“He loved them, mate,  he’s way less narky too now that he’s getting his dick wet.” 

Harry holds back a grimace, “Alright then, stay safe. You know how to contact me if you need anything.” 

Bradley bids his goodbye and Harry seeks out Y/N, who is picking idly at her fingernails and bobbing her head slightly to the music. When he gets close enough to her, he starts on his spiel as he waves the money toward her,

“Listen, Babe, you used your plants to help him, honestly you deserve way more than this -- a fucking Nobel Prize probably,” he holds it out to her, “Here.” 

She shakes her head, but not in the way she would if she were refusing it because she was disgusted by him -- no, instead she closes his hand around it again and presses it closer to his body, “No, no, you keep it, he’s your guy or whatever.” 

Harry tilts his head, brows knitted, “But they’re your plants.” 

“Yeah, but I would just feel guilty taking it from you so --” 

He sighs, counting out 450 of it, taking her hand, opening her fingers, and sliding the bills into her palm, “Even split then. If you’re going to utilize something precious to you to help someone like that fucker, you deserve a little compensation for it. “ 

Y/N must realize that he wasn’t going to let it go, because she finally folds it in her hands, slipping it into her pocket, “What’s with that guy then? Why do you not like him?” 

Harry can see it clearly; the image of his childhood self, his family struggling to make ends meet but going to primary school with the wealthier kids. The ones who laughed at his faded shirts, and holed winter coats -- who would ask him to their birthday parties and talk shit about the gift he’d scraped up coins for doing miscellaneous work around the neighborhood. He thinks about how he knew they would go home to kitchens full of food, and bountiful dinners that they would never appreciate, while Harry never took seconds because no matter how hungry he was, he made sure their bellies were as full as they could be. And Harry remembers how the headmaster did nothing to quell his worries because those kid’s parents could buy out the school if they wanted to. 

He sees it all, and he hears it all, and for a moment -- selfishly -- it makes Harry wish he had never given Bradley the protection spell at all. 

But he only shakes his head, “He’s just a prick,” he answers simply, before nodding his head toward the door, “Reckon we should get out of here, it smells like piss.” 

It’s always a little easier to leave the club than it is to enter it, so they’re out in the cool air soon enough. A small line had formed outside since Harry had been in there last, and as they step out, a group of three is let in through the rope chain that the bouncer is policing. This part of town is always bustling late into the night, so neither feel the cold brush of fear they have been when they’re out in the dark -- or at least the relaxed way Y/N is looking around tells him that she’s pretty content. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” She asks him, pointing at the 24-hour diner right across the street, that had been strategically placed there because people who are drunk and high who just sweat out half their body weight love greasy food, “I skipped dinner today.” 

“What a coincidence -- so did I.” 

They got a booth in the far back corner, where the white and maroon tilted floor glistened wet from a recent scrub from the mop, and the air smells of lemon pine-sol. This along with the fact that the black leather seats were dusted of the crumbs that usually mottles them, Harry would assume that they had come just in time for their 12 AM clean up, where the first batch of besotted clubbers had left a mess and they were waiting for the second wave to come through. He didn’t miss the eye that the waitress had given them, looking them up and down like she was trying to decipher what state they were both in, but when neither of them wobbles in their stance, or slur through their words asking for a table, she relaxes and asks them where they’d like to sit. 

After they get settled and order their food (Harry convinces her to get one of their malted milkshakes with him -- his favorite was strawberry and after she confessed that she never had their strawberry malt, he was insistent on her trying it), Harry’s curiosity is suddenly piqued as he thinks of something he hadn’t thought of before, “How did you make it over to the club so fast, hm? Do you just have jars of this stuff made laying around?” 

Y/N sticks her clear straw in the icy glass of water she’d been poured, stirring it like there was anything to mix, and the ice cubes clink together soundly, “No, no, I actually don’t make protection spells unless I’m asked directly -- or usually that’s the case, but I was already in the middle of making some for you and me, so I had a little leftover.” 

“For me too?” Harry inquires, genuinely surprised by the concept that she would make him something to keep him safe. She nods though, like it was silly that he thought she wouldn’t have, only this time she reaches into her purse and retrieves two much larger vials with little cork tops, and one bigger bag of the dried leaves, accompanied by a smaller one tied with red ribbon. 

“I was doing some research while I was at work --” 

“You do a lot of research, don’t you?” He cuts her off and she nods. 

“Mhm -- and there’s this like. . .there’s this elder witch who lives an hour or so drive away from us who I think might be immortal, but that’s beside the point. She has this blog that I was scrolling through and she linked her email, so I messaged her and she sent me her number and told me to call her immediately.” She slides one of the vials over to him, along with the tree leaves, “When I did, she told us that we were in a little more danger than everyone else ‘cos like -- whatever this thing is could start trying to feed off of us, especially you. Said that we needed a potent protection spell, and I told her about mine. You feel safe in my store and in my flat right? Like -- like whatever that thing is couldn’t get to us?” He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, “So this is a version of that suitable for our bodies. The tea leaves are for your flat, and then this little bag here --” she points at the one tied closed with the small strip of red ribbon, “-- this is a tea version of it safe for Oat to drink.” 

Not only had she made him some, but she also made Oat some too? As much as he disliked her before, he can’t help how this warms his heart, zipping through his body and makes him feel just as safe as he did when he was wrapped in her quilt snug on her couch. Harry wonders if this is what she’s like all the time with her friends. . .he wonders if this side of her, that researches and makes protection goodies, brews him a cuppa just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and comes out in the depth of night to the seedy clubs she despises just because he called and asked -- if that’s what they get to see. If that’s what he would have seen had their meeting been any different. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking the vial and the bags, looking at them against his palm, “A lot. You didn’t have to do this for me.” 

“I did though,” she takes a drink of the water through her straw, “I may not agree with what you do but we’re the only two witches here and there is power in unity, even if our versions of magic are different. We have to be there for each other -- Thumper agrees, and that’s a lot coming from him because he doesn’t like much of anybody. . .he barely likes me,” she holds her hand up, the index finger of her other going from finger to finger as she lists off the ingredients, “So we’ve got fern, anise, leaves from the ash tree in the forest, fennel -- the nice old woman told me to hold off on the mugwort unless we’re planning on astral projecting or doing anything with divination, but if we felt that it was necessary we could wear a wreath of it around her necks. That’s an old wives tale though, I’m pretty sure.” She wiggles her fingers, “All that and a little bit of moon water, and we have ourselves a little protection spell! I dipped my finger in for a taste test and I’ll be honest, it’s awful and plant-y but I reckon we can toss them back like a shot and chase it with a sweet drink like juice or something.” 

It hits Harry that he gave Y/N very little credit for what she did, but now as he’s looking at something that she’d made specifically with him in mind, that wasn’t just a glorified sleepy time tea, it puts some things in perspective for him. Sure, she’s been a dick to him in the past, but he was a dick too, about her magic. While he isn’t going to start kissing the ground she walks on, he decides then that he’ll be more mindful of her craft. Plus, from the amount of time that they’ve had to spend together in the past two days, she’s tolerable when she isn’t on her high horse about him summoning spirits and ruining the town. She’s even helpful. 

“Thank you,” he repeats, “I really mean it, I appreciate this a lot.” 

Y/N smiles at him and it’s a smile that he’s never been gifted before. A smile that makes him smile back, as she places her elbow on the table and holds out her pinky toward him -- she’s big on pinky swears, he’s finding. 

“We’re looking out for each other, okay? I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine. . .I swear it.” 

Harry locks his pinky with hers without a second thought. 

[a-smile-hides]

A WARM CUP OF COFFEE - A.H.A.

Pairing: Alex x reader

Warnings: none, just ... not really - that great?

Sum: This was a request (thank you for that!) and I would like to apologize because it took so long and.. Yeah. The request:

"Hi 🥰 do you still take request for Alex Andersen? Something like the OC is alex teacher at university and they fall in love with each other but the age gap is a problem so she broke up with him but BOOM they really love each other!! With some fighting and fluffy 🤤🥲hahah sorry if its bad 🥰 thank you!"

A soft ‘thing’alerted the old man behind the desk, making him look up from today’s newspaper and push his glasses further back on his nose. The small café he owned was somewhat concealed from the busy streets, tucked away in between two large buildings. It created the perfect escape for the chaos of life. Oh, how he was proud to own this little palace. A simple, ‘back to basics’ coffee shop where people could enjoy a good cup of coffee. Where people could talk or just relax, or in your case, find some inspiration to prepare for a new class.

Returning his friendly smile, you easily manoeuvred between the mismatched tables and chairs until you reached the one next to a small window. As usual, a silver sign stood on the table reading ‘reserved’ in a beautiful font. And as usual, you plopped down on the chair that gave you a look out on the street, sliding the sign to the end of the table so that it could be picked up by one of the staff members. Throwing a notebook and different prints out on the table, you breathed in deeply.

It had been a long day already... And it was like... what? – 11 a.m.?

“There you go, honey.”

Without even looking up you already knew who stood next to your side, presenting a large cup of coffee with one of those delicious self-made biscuits.

“Jer, I can’t thank you enough”.

The man laughed, seemingly pleased with himself after seeing the frown on your eyebrows clear up for a second. He waved your gratitude off and returned to his kitchen.

He had grown used to your visits over time. It wasn’t hard to miss you, sitting stressed in the corner of his little café, browsing through pictures and notes trying to decide which was the best one.

It hurt him every time he saw a lost soul enter his little café, in a rush and completely lost to the world around them. In you, he saw one of those lost souls. Busy, busy, busy... Overloading themselves with work.

It seemed as today would bring no exception. And you once again would ignore the beauty and comfort his café hoped to give to its customers. Especially when he saw you fiddling with a large package, no doubt filled to the brim with new photos for a possible lecture, he knew you only came here to work even more. Sighing, the old man turned around, reaching towards the different treats and cakes his little shop offered. He knew you would be there for a while and figured that the need for sweets may come soon. In the background, he could hear the familiar sound of your papers falling onto the ground. Accompanied by some swear words, immediately followed by mumbled apologies. And he could not hold himself back as a laugh passed his lips. It became a routine really...

Still chuckling, he turned around and placed a large piece of cake on a plate, decorating it with an extra piece of dark chocolate. The sound of someone entering his café made him look up momentarily, greeting the young man who just entered with his signature smile. The young man returned his smile warmly, before letting his eyes wander over the place. He had clearly never been in here before. His eyes narrowed once he focused on something in the back of the café, furrowing his eyebrows in worry. Skilfully, he walked between the tables and chairs as if he had decorated the place himself. To a small table next to the big window, where you were still mumbling under your breath about how life seemed to hate your guts. And it made the young man chuckle. Loudly.

Freezing for a second, you immediately collected all the pictures that had fallen off the table, carelessly throwing them back on the table. Refusing to meet the eye of whoever found enjoyment in your clumsiness, you side stepped back to your table. Hoping and praying that they would just go away. But they stayed.

“It’s good to see you’re still as clumsy...”

It was a good thing you were leaning against the table, otherwise you would have been knocked to ground right now.

“Mister Anderssen.” You nodded your head.

The young man pressed his lips together in a tight smile at the greeting, feeling a sting in his heart that he believed to have been long gone by now.

The long silence that followed felt dense and awkward. He was trying to make eye contact, his lips were turned up in a little, comforting smile. He did not know what to say or feel as he looked at how your body seemed to turn away from him. Your arms were wrapped around your middle, your eyes glued to the pictures on the table without truly looking at them. And then, his gaze fell on the smallest amongst them. He could recognize that gloomy setting from anywhere. His heart jumped, he felt overjoyed and the smile on his face grew larger.

“You kept it?” He breathed out, making it sound more like a question.

Slowly, he crouched down, careful not to make you run away. As he took the card from under one of the chairs, brushing some dust of it. Looking up, he waved with the picture he once offered you to use in your classes.

Nodding to himself, he kept his eyes locked with yours as he slowly came up. “You kept it.”

“I did” You spoke out softly.

***

“Fuck”

The curse had left your mouth before you could hold it back, as you watch yet another one of your cards fall on the ground.

It was good that none of your students had the habit of arriving in time for your class. Choosing to rather arrive just in time for the lecture to begin instead of showing some interest and being there before it began. Otherwise, they could enjoy this little comedy show as you desperately tried to stick those cards on a timeline.

You had never thought that one day, you would stand in front of class, as a teacher. Talking about something that had been a passion for so many years. Movies are a piece of art, a way to express and communicate. And now, you had the power to let others see that as well.

And even thought the path of being a teacher had crossed yours rather unexpectedly, it had made you happier than you’ve ever been.

And it had let you to some beautiful and interesting moments.

Looking down at the picture in your hands, a warm feeling overcame you, painting a very small smile on your face. It was a simple photo of a man standing alone in the street. The sky was pitch black; the only light provided by a single streetlight on the far right. The yellow light cast dark shadows on the ground. And on the left, almost completely hidden in the shadows, you could see the silhouette of another man. His back was turned to the man he had left behind under the streetlight. And thus, he missed how the other reached his hand out in a desperate attempt to call him back.

Every year you would collect pictures to show off how a simple setting can bring out different emotions to an audience. This scene would often bring feelings of sadness, grief, loss, misery and heartbreak to your students. Ironically, this scene brought you only a warm feeling. The beauty of the shot together with the memory of how you had come across this movie, cancelled out those unhappy emotions.

Completely lost in the moment, you almost jumped up when two hands sneaked around your hips.

“Morning”

His voice was raspy as he failed to conceal the chuckle that passed his lips.

“Morning, mister Anderssen”

He laughed, rubbing his nose in the crook of your neck. He found it almost amusing how you spoke so formerly to him now when at night...

“Mister?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting your way out of his grip. Without giving one look to the young man behind you, you picked up the card that fell out of your hands. Looking down at it again, you sighed and returned to your desk. The classroom needed to be ready before the students would arrive.

“I thought we made an agreement; you would not visit me this early to avoid suspicion, right?”

Alex smacked his lips, nodding his head slowly. He played with the straps of his backpack as his mind brought him back to that memory. It was around three weeks ago; you were collecting everything to go home after a long day when the young man suddenly sneaked in to share some ‘alone time’. Sadly enough, another student had forgotten her scarf that day and ran back to retrieve it. Even though you tried your hardest to not succumb to his advances, his willpower was way too strong. And the poor girl had almost walked in on you and him kissing. He had pushed his luck too far that time.

Still, if he could, he would not take that moment back. Every second spend with you was worth it.

“It’s nice to see you still like that picture...” He said, pointing to the card in an attempt to effort to change the subject. “After you told me what subjects we would discuss in the future, I immediately thought of that movie and-”

Alex’ voice died once your eyes met his. He was always the first to enter your classroom. In those moments you always could be yourselves. There was no reason to hold back. In that way, these few minutes of privacy would always be filled with love and jokes, stolen kisses and hugs. He couldn’t really recall the precise moment his dream came true, and you returned his affection. The way to earn it had been long and filled with obstacles. The boundaries that needed to be crossed were great. And it felt unlawful, disgusting, wrong... And still, so right.

Now, as he stood only a few feet away from you, it felt like a mile. Your eyes danced across the room, only meeting his for a mere second before quickly darting away again. Your hands brushed some imaginary dust of the picture, while you tried your hardest to breath normally. Little signs of how the nerves started to creep up.

“If you want other recommendations...” He tried, but again... The strength in his voice died before he even finished his sentence. Alex grew concerned as he watched you turn around and hung up the card. The whole thread portraying different scenery throughout film history over the last 50 years shook as you clumsily pined it next to a very bright photo, depicting two children running around at a fair.

Alex frowned when you still did not respond to him. Softly, he moved his hands to rest on your shoulders, trying to turn your body towards him. His head was lowered down a bit, a friendly look on his face as he shakily asked: “What’s on your mind?”. Hoping that whatever bothered you, he could help you solve it.

You didn’t need to see his face to know how his eyebrows were scrunched up with concern. Or how his mouth was slightly twisted as he pondered over who or what could have made you behave so coldly.

But the reason was crystal clear to you.

The adoration you had received from the man in front of you was overwhelming. These past months have been a dream. Almost indescribable. Just as all those sappy quotes on Pinterest say: some things just need to be felt. And this, this felt great.

It had been great.

Felt.

Had.

You bite your lip, feeling nervous all the sudden. Turning around, you tried your best to avoid his blue eyes. They were hypnotizing, demanding for a reason, an explanation.

“Mister Anderssen-” You started again.

“You know, we never did that kind of play, but I am open to anything.” He tried. His attempt to lighten the mood was only met with silence. A silence that felt deafening. And it made his stomach turn.

With his finger and thumb, he slowly lifted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eye. He was a bit taller than you, and he loved that. He used it to his advantage on every occasion he got.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked again.

You sighed, feeling it was better to speak the truth. “This.” You answered, “Us.”

Alex lifted one of his eyebrows, scratching the back of his neck. “Us? What's wrong with us?”

“You’re smart, Alex.” You answered. “Deep down, you know.”

Alex eyes widened. He was speechless, dumbfounded.

“I am a teacher, your teacher to be exact.”

“And you’ve been teaching me amazing things.” He snickered, wiggling his eyebrows.

You snorted, shaking your head. Until you remembered what you wanted to share with him, and your face went blank again. It was almost impossible to not give in, to hold back your laughter when he was around. But you had to.

“Alex.” You said, pushing him lightly away. “The age gap is way too big.”

His hands tightened their grip on your hips as he turned your body more towards him. His eyes narrowed. And although they still sparkled, the hurt he felt could not be hid. The time he could hold back secrets had long passed.

“What made you start doubting us?” He asked.

You sighed, looking down at the ground.

“What if I said... What if the doubt never left? What if it was a thought that always bugged me?”

That made him halter. His muscles stiffened for a second. A millisecond in which he let the guard down and his pain became visible. But just as quick as it fell, the wall was back up again. He stood upright, the hands on your hips now slowly making their way up towards your shoulders. The corner of his lips was pulled up, a fine grin that silently asked you to laugh or say it was just a joke. That it wasn’t the truth.

Alas, it was the truth.

The lingering thought that had been filling your mind with doubts and questions for a while now. Making you question yourself and your choices, but above all, the day on which you gave into his charm.

He was a young, handsome man filled with life and chances. He was almost at the end of the first big chapter in his life, ready to begin a new one, to step into an adventure. After this... Did he want to work somewhere? Move back in with his parents? Maybe he wanted to travel? See the world after being closed off from it after keeping his nose in his books all the time. He could explore, try to discover who he really was. And... Fall in love with someone else. Someone … more of… his age.

How could you hold him back from that?

His thumbs started to stroke small circles of comfort on your neck, while he kept on trying to make eye contact with you. With each passing second, he felt himself grow more uneasy and lost.

“Little one... Love.” Alex winced as he saw you flinch with each nickname that passed his lips. His voice pitched and he sounded in a rush, as he wanted to find a way to ease those doubts. “Y/N, what...?”

The corner of your lip twitched in a weak effort in making a smile appear on your face. It failed horribly, as you felt yourself get overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow. “We have to stop this now, Alex.” You managed to make out. “It’s done.”

In the back of the room, he could hear the slow ticking of the big silvery clock. It was only five minutes until the lecture would begin. Any time now, someone could enter the room and walk in on their teacher standing in a, what they would think, romantic embrace with her own student. It only made you more nervous and desperate to get out of his hold. To just say goodbye. To leave this all behind and start new.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head widely. “The age gap is just a number, not even a high one. You want me as much as I want you, right?”

“I do- I- I did. And now, I am ending it.” You said, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the stinging feeling in your eyes. “I am letting you go.” you whispered, finally pushing his arms away.

Alex breathed in deeply, stepping forward as you took a step back. Again, and again, you shoved his hands away. He tried to make contact, to touch your arms, to hold your hands, but every time you slapped his hand away. And his heart broke as you kept on avoiding him. He grew frustrated.

“What do you want, Y/N? Since when are you afraid? So, what if they say something? We- We are the ones in love! They-”

“Alex! It’s done! I don’t want this anymore. I don't want- I-”

At this point, he felt the blood in his veins boiling. His heart clenched. His stomach turned. “So, we-this meant nothing to you?”

“That’s a low blow, Alex” You bit back.

“What do you want, Y/N?!”

“I don’t want this. I don’t want you anymore, Alex! This is done! Over!”

He scoffed, his fists clenched at his sides while his chest went up and down with every heavy breath.

“Over? Why are you acting like this? When have you turned into this scarred shell of-”

“I don’t care if you don’t see the problem. Someday you will. And you will understand I made the right call.”

The clearing of a throat ended the discussion sooner than Alex would have wanted. Another student had entered the classroom. Her eyes were wide open as she stared at her teacher and the class top student. Her mouth was slightly open as she tried to form a sentence, but no sound seemed to pass her lips.

You swallowed, quickly wiping a fallen tear off your cheek, stepping even further away from Alex, whose eyes were still glued to you.

“Good afternoon, miss Tuffin. Please take a seat.”

Alex slightly shook his head from side to side, unable to comprehend the situation.

“So, mister Anderssen. Now that you know your answer, please take a seat.” You said quietly, flinching as your voice cracked a bit. Your eyes did not meet his anymore, even though he was hoping you would look him in the eyes again. He knew deep down you did not mean one word of the things you had said. "Class will begin soon.”

***

The silence that had formed was killing the both of you. No one knew what to say or do. The awkward tension held him back from taking the first step, the fear mixed with the embarrassment from a few moments earlier made it impossible for you to move. It felt strange to be in each other’s presence without having the ability to look each other in the eye for longer than a few seconds. And even stranger to know how different this was only a few months back. You had resorted to dust off the pictures that had fallen onto the ground while Alex let his eyes wander around. He did not know what overcame him as he walked up to you. The little café had never come to his attention before. He blamed the big buildings that flanked the warm place for that. As he stepped in, looking for a place to enjoy a good cup of coffee, he wished he had discovered it a long time ago. The mismatched tables and chairs, the hanging lightbulbs, the old paintings decorating the flower wallpaper… Everything breathed out comfort and safety.

The older looking man had greeted Alex with a warming smile, until both men were distracted by the loud curses of a woman in the far back of the café who had dropped her papers all over the floor. Alex did not know whether to laugh or run away when he saw that you were the poor soul collecting all the different photos of the ground. And before he even knew it himself, he stood in front of you. Trying his best to make a casual conversation, without losing his cool.

He was failing miserably.

He really wished the sudden urge of confidence hadn’t left so suddenly.

Jeremy frowned upon the sight in front of him from his place behind the counter. The large piece of cake he had prepared for you earlier stood abandoned next to him. He had never seen that young man in your presence before. Every day you visited his little café alone. Never were you accompanied by a friend, nor had you ever invited one. He could not help the chuckle that passed his lips as he saw the strange boy fumble his way towards your table. But by the way his steps slowed down with each second and how he now stood before you as if he had committed a crime, the old man could not help but wonder what your relationship had damaged to become so uncomfortable.

“Y/N…” Alex started, sighing as he noticed you close your eyes for a second, turning your body slightly away from him.

“Y/N.” He tried again; his voice sounded a bit stronger, more certain. As if he had found his courage and willpower again. But then it crumpled again, his shoulders dropped as he frantically tried to make eye contact. “I am happy to see you again.”

This made you look up. “Me too.” You nodded. “How are you?”

Alex snorted, looking around the café as he tried to find words. Why had it become difficult to speak to you? “Good?” He nodded, more to convince himself than you, “Yeah, I have been good. Taking pictures, trying to improve my photography-“

This made you laugh, the sound making his heart jump for a second. “As if you needed any more improvement.”

Alex bit his lip, glad that you weren’t paying attention to his red flushing cheeks. He breathed out deeply as he looked down at the different cards. His eyes glided over the different pictures depicting scenes of romance, hope, grief and so on. Without saying anything, he sat down, flipping through them one by one. Some of the pictures made the corners of his lips slowly turn up, while others made his brows furrow.

This gave you the opportunity to finally take a look at him. His hair had gotten longer since the last time you saw him. Back then it was cut short, but now his long locks were held together in a little man bun. His jaw was accented by a subtle beard. It’s crazy how much he changed in a few months time… Yet he still looked as dashing as back then.

“I still think this one is the best.” He smiled, showing you the gloomy picture from earlier.

His words made you snap out of your daze, clearing your throat as you took a seat opposite from him after he arched one eyebrow, pointing to the empty chair.

“That’s a shocker,” you shrugged, “You came to me with that movie.”

Alex nodded, the confident smile on his lips reached his eyes for the first time, making them shine bright. However, that light quickly died. Absent-mindedly, he let his finger wander over the picture, contemplating if he should speak up about the shared past or not.

“I… I knew we would meet again, you know? Well, I hoped”

You looked down at your coffee, once again escaping his eyes while wrapping your hands around the lukewarm beverage. It didn’t offer you much comfort anymore.

“Now that I am older,” He lightly joked, “More mature, more-“

“Alex” You interrupted his train of thoughts. “Don’t- Don’t do that.”

“Maybe now you can give me the real reason as to why you gave up on us so easily.” He continued, his voice was low, almost a whisper but the sneer in it could not be ignored. All of the sudden, it felt as if you were on the artic. The blood in your veins ran cold as he had backed you up in a corner. Alex knew he could have pushed you even further away from him, but simply needed to know. The young man sat there before you with his heart beating loudly in his throat. His jaw was clenched, and his fingers lightly drummed on the table.

You sighed, not daring to look into his eyes. Before you even opened your mouth to answer his burning question, he softly spoke up again. “The truth, please.”

You laughed dryly, now really feeling trapped under his demanding stare and the growing tension between the two of you. “I did not want to.” You confessed, feeling your eyes well up. “I really… I really loved you, you know? The time I shared with you was wonderful, and I want you to know that it wasn’t your fault or anything… I just let myself get carried away by my feeling for you, Alex.”

“And why is that a bad thing?” He asked, not understanding your motive.

You grinned, looking at his confused face. “I was your teacher, Alex. We had this conversation before, I wasn’t-“

His hand immediately flew towards your hand, making you fall quiet. “So what? I never cared. Not then, not now. I am no longer your student, there is no reason anymore to hold back anymore.”

You snorted; he would never change. He would always be this cocky little brat and-

“Wait. What do you mean… ‘no reason to hold back anymore’?”

He grinned, squeezing your hand a bit. “I always hoped we could meet again, so I could tell you should not be afraid of our relationship anymore. Or your feelings. Or… us. Don’t say anything because I know that fear held you back. We can be together, Y/N! Please, just-just leave behind your doubts for once. Don’t give a fuck about other people!” He said, his voice becoming louder with each word, growing with passion. “Put yourself first…” His face sprouted a smile, but it was not one of happiness or relief, no, it was because he felt helpless. He could feel you slipping right through his fingers again as he saw you shaking your head. He saw the doubts written all over your face. The questions rummaging through your mind. Was he being truthful? Was it unethical? Could you just start over again and continue this relationship? Was it worth the risk? “Just, choose with your heart for once. You know my feelings for you, but I am waiting for you.”

His words warmed your heart and made the corners of your lips turn upwards slightly. The worries clouding your minds made it hard to really focus on his words, still… You could no longer deny how he made you feel deep down.

As you licked your lips, the both of you suddenly got shaken out of your little bubble by a friendly voice complimenting the handsome man in front of you.

“My dear boy, you could not have a better timing. She really needs someone to make her laugh and escape that world of hers full of work and deadlines she dares to call a life.” Jeremy laughed, waving off your shocked expression, knowing you were about to contradict him. “You both need each other, children.” He paused, placing down two cups of coffee, accompanied with two large slices of one of his famous cakes. “Listen to an old man’s wise words.” Without any further words, and still ignoring your shocked face and Alex’ gestures that he had not ordered anything yet, he left the table to go back to his counter.

From there, he watched how you both broke into a fit of laughter, figuring it was better to enjoy the food and drinks than let them spoil. As Alex shrugged his shoulders and took a careful first bite of the pie, you took a first sip of your new and cup of coffee, never breaking eye contact with him. And… it felt good.

The old man behind the counter watched proudly as the two of you slowly picked up a conversation, sharing what you had been up to these past months to the finest details. The words suddenly came easily and talking felt comfortable again. Laughs, giggles, and loud exclaims of shock and delight were audible throughout the whole café, often making the other customers look up from their spot in the far back of the café. But you couldn’t be bothered by them. No, you were far off in your bubble. A bubble that was warm and joyful, filled with light and love now that Alex was in it.

And as the hours passed and the second slice of pie had been devoured, Jeremy’s heart filled with joy as he saw how your hand was still in the hands of that handsome boy.

Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed! xxx

[sinisterlyhan]

01. lee minho / 9486 words

fwb!minho, oral (f & m receiving), unprotexted sex, female reader, slight angst and fluff, romance, lots of kissing, mc being kind of a brat, minho being kinda dominant 

a/n: ahh, i finally wrote for minho! i hope this is good ;;

the thee bags of sugar you poured into your cup of hot coffee have probably been completely dissolved by now, considering the obsessive way you kept stirring the liquid with your teaspoon and not actually drinking it.

keeping your eyes out the glass window by the coffee booth, you allowed your mind to drift off to a familiarly foreign place as you mindlessly watched the passersby.

your lashes fluttered along with each shift of your eyes, your gaze jumping from one insignificant person to another as you accessed the idea that people are literally everywhere around you—annoying kids, depressed students, tired parents, and the slow folks.

the concept, more than often, flies past you on a daily. therefore, when you sit down and truly acknowledge the number of people you brush past every day, it is quite a staggering fact.

but what’s more bewildering than that, though, was the fact that out of all these people you could meet and think about, the only person who has ever really been on your mind was lee minho—a nice classmate, a good friend, and a few quick fucks.

a few. you heaved a lonesome sigh and replaced it with a bitter huff of laughter.

you wished it was only a few quick fucks. you should have stopped after a few of them and you should have never picked your hand up and sealed his ‘fuck buddy?’ deal with a firm handshake. but you were lonely back then, dry and lonely.

you had wanted love, genuine or not, and minho’s seductive kisses down your body were the closest thing you could get to feeling appreciated, so you made the biggest mistake of agreeing to be friends with benefits with him.

it has been half a year since you two established the relationship; the sex was frequent during the first few weeks, and then the passionate nights started to space out a little until you two spent more time with plans to hang out than to fuck each other.

your immature mind hadn’t been smart enough to fathom the idea of you ever falling in love with somebody like minho, because you knew you weren’t the type to blatantly fall for someone out of your league. it was the kick that got your to seal the contract.

but alas, minho has been more than irresistible the past few months.

he wasn’t just a fuck buddy, he has never been just that from the start of it all. nothing about your new relationship was awkward despite you two being silent classmates for so long until a house party came and messed it all up. and unlike what you expected, he never tried to distance himself to keep that sole status.

he wasn’t aloof, nor did he act like a stranger. minho was a good friend, a good classmate, and a good fuck if you may say so.

he has helped you with your classes numerous times; printing assignments last minute for you in the library because you were too sleepy to do so last night, scanning his thorough notes for you unprompted because he noticed you struggling during class, reading through your materials out of his class time just so he could further explain something to you.

he’s also been the best emotional support you’ve had; he has never complained when you unreasonably snapped at him because of too much stress, he puts up with your constant overthinking and temper tantrums, and he gets you snacks on his own grocery run because he thought you might get some cravings sometime during the day.

and, of course, the sex has never once been dull ever since you met him, but it was in a lot of the little things he does that makes your heart ache the most; it was him always making sure you’re okay, and him constantly giving you praises. how he loves to make eye contact and hold your hands. how he knows exactly when to be soft and when to be hard.

when did he stop being just minho to you, you haven’t the faintest idea. but your feelings for him have changed drastically over these amazing months, and it became your downfall because he has not contacted you for weeks.

just complete radio silence, nothing, gone.

“i’m telling you he likes you, okay?”

you rolled your eyes as you snapped out of your trance. turning your head to look at jisung, you pursed your lips and shrugged in bland disbelief. “shut up.“

“no, you shut up and listen to me,” he leaned forward on his seat, his eyes glaring because he was sick and tired of being ignored by both of his friends. but now he’s got a fifty-fifty chance of being a matchmaker, so he planned to go all out. “i have known minho for as long as my fat baby legs can waddle to the sandbox in the park, okay. and not once have i seen him run away like this.”

“this, this thing that he is doing?” his finger excitedly jammed against the surface of the table as he stared at you pointedly, emphasizing his words with each jut of his jaw. “this is serious, and what serious thing can he be afraid of?“

you waited for him to speak, but the silence he purposefully left out was urging to be filled in. you looked away, baffled, and you scrambled your mind to think of something to say.

“i don’t know? faili–“

“wrong!”

“a dise–“

“terrible answer!”

“ma–“

“zero points for yo–ow!”

“knock it off, jisung!” you scolded with annoyance after you flicked his forehead with your fingers, shoving his head back to the cushion of the booth seat. “i know what you want me to say… i just won’t say it.”

“he loves you, (name),” jisung said, hiding every bit of uncertainty behind his persuasive facade—his presentation face, as he calls it. “i really think he does.”

and he wasn’t lying. jisung gave the situation a fair share of analyzing, and he concluded with the fact that minho might just have fallen in love with you. because one thing he knew about minho was that while he is kind, he is not nice.

there is a distinctive difference; kindness is selective, it is earned, it is given by choice. nice is blind, it is a mindless thought, a moral conscious.

anything that goes between minho and his goal, or his dignity, or some dramatic factors as such, minho will not hesitate to lash out. he is kind, not nice.

and you—you’ve been plucking the kindness out of him like he was a river that could never run dry.

disrupting his study schedule to tutor you? ditching his long-term friends to keep you company? apologizing first and being the bigger person in petty arguments?

minho was good to you when he didn’t have to, and he still was kind to you when he didn’t want to. he wanted to keep you happy, he gets the thrill of being able to take care of you, and you can feel comfortable around him.

jisung would even go so far to say minho was head over heels for you now, with his heart bleeding dry for your sake. and he’s running away from it because the concept, the feeling was foreign to him.

“just go to his house, find him. he probably misses you like crazy,” he urged tentatively. “talk it out, or fuck it out if that’s what you guys are used to.”

“do you think it’s that easy? like i can just go up to his home and kiss him?“ you asked, exasperated that jisung didn’t seem to understand the limitation of your tolerance for humiliation and appearing desperate to other people.

“sure, why not! i’d totally do that if i were you!” he boasted, clapping his fist to his chest as he huffed through his nose. “it’s not like he isn’t jerking off to the thought of you anyway! it’s either that or he’s crying himself to sleep at night!”

“that’s…” your voice awkwardly trailed off.

“too much?”

“no, no, just…” you hummed with a slight shake of your head, unable to break through his innocent gaze and not sure how to tell him you missed seeing minho in his naked glory. so instead, you chose to back down. “nothing.”

you blinked, still processing his previous words in your head as you finally brought your coffee up to your mouth to take a short sip.

the sugary taste was barely seeping into the bitterness of your coffee, the last three bags of sugar you added having done nothing to help you savor the taste. and you thought about how minho would probably switch his drink with you or offer to order you a new one if he was here.

jisung watched as you put down your cup and reached for another bag of sugar. he laughed, shifting his legs and leaning against the back of the booth. “the sugar is bad for you.”

“i know,” you muttered as you shook the bag and let the content spill all over your drink.

jisung watched with nonchalance as you picked up your metal spoon and started stirring your coffee again. and he didn’t say a single word.

minho pushed his glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose, and he continued with his note-taking as his eyes focused on the massive text displayed on his laptop screen.

it was all he has done this day. right after morning classes, he headed out for lunch by himself and simply went home. he tried to ignore the stubborn unfamiliarity of spending most of his time alone, hoping the ghost of your voice would eventually stop haunting his heavy steps into the local boba shop, or even just to the edge of his bed when he decided to take a short nap.

he woke up alone, dazed and annoyed. but he was mostly tired; tired of being alone when he knew you were a call away, tired of drowning in chosen solidarity because he wasn’t brave enough to confront his feelings, tired of being scared that you wouldn’t return the affection his heart discreetly held for you.

it was very unlike him, and the change was frustrating. minho never thought himself to succumb to romance yet here he was, making bad decisions and pushing you away when all he wanted was to hold your body close.

the uneven grip on his pen caused him a sudden scrape across the lined-paper. he glanced down the rogue tweak of the letter 'r’ and he clicked his tongue. dropping the pen, he rummaged through his crowded pencil case for a white-out, just in time as the doorbell to his apartment rang.

he furrowed his brows as he perked up, his head turning to look behind his shoulder at the door. discarding the matter at hand, he stood up and made his way to the front door, where he sung the door open and immediately revealed you standing before him.

“hi,” you breathed out when you met eyes with him, your gaze hardening slightly in sudden timidity.

minho gave you a quick scan before he nodded. he, too, feeling rather awkward at what felt like a confrontation to him. “hey.“

“can i come in, or are you going to keep shutting me out?” you laughed meekly, pointing into his apartment and letting your eyes move away from him briefly before returning to his face. “i’m already here anyway, you might as well.”

“i… yeah, sure, come in,” he said, taking a step aside as he opened the door for you. he watched you head inside, kicking your shoes off and shoving them to the side. he eyed the plastic cup in your hand, and he attempted to make light conversation out of it. “you got coffee?”

“oh, yeah. i was hanging out with jisung just then,” you said, turning to face him. you stuck your hand out, giving him the cup. “do you wanna try some?”

“no, i’m good.” he waved his hand.

you looked at him, a faint pout forming on your face before you shrugged and brought the straw up to your mouth. “okay then, it’s probably better for you anyway,” you sipped the coffee, “i dumped like… six bags of sugar in it.”

the change of facial expressions on his face was priceless. he went from processing your words in confusion, then his eyes widened in surprise, and at last his brows furrowed in dismay that you were still sipping the drink like you didn’t just turn it into a liquefied candy cane.

“okay, no, i’m confiscating it,” he said after allowing you a few more obnoxious sip. he grabbed the cup away from you and held it out of your reach, ignoring your continuous protest. “do you know how unhealthy that is?”

“yes, but it’s sweet!“ you complained.

“it’s sweet until you get type-two diabetes.” He rolled his eyes, turning around and heading over to the fridge located in the open area where the kitchen was. “especially when you don’t just drink one cup of coffee every other week, you drink it several times a week, which can toll up to a lot of sugar intake and i am not about to let you run around self-sabotaging your health–”

he stopped talking when he turned away from the fridge and immediately saw you standing before him. the proximity of your faces was a little too close for his liking—not his subconscious, just his stubbornness—and he didn’t know what to do when he was confronted with it so abruptly.

he hasn’t seen you in some time, which gave him no opportunity to create such intimacy. and even though he had missed being able to feel comfortable with you being close, he suddenly didn’t know what to do. he would love to keep his emotions in check, and he would love to not spill secrets he had no intention to tell.

you glanced down to his lips and automatically huffed. jisung’s words flew back into your mind then, telling you to just kiss him now that you’ve made a mistake of stepping into his personal bubble. it wasn’t like minho was actively pushing you out anyway. you could just try, and if it doesn’t work out in your favor, you could just play it off.

a gasp left his chest when you suddenly leaned in and kissed him. your hands went up to cup his jaw, bringing him closer to you when you felt him starting to reciprocate the kiss. you have longed to do this for so long, sometimes it felt like you’d forget the way his lips feel if you go without it for one more day.

the nervousness within was slowly started to vanish, but part of your brain registered how minho wasn’t kissing you with the same vigor he used to whenever you two share a kiss. it felt out of place to feel his mouth move so slowly against your own, and it was not in a harmonious way.

his lips slacked against yours because his brain wasn’t functioning well. minho has missed you more than ever and this—this was practically a dream come true! he was finally kissing you again, and he wanted nothing more than to keep going, to put roam his hands all over you again.

but he couldn’t. he couldn’t allow himself more depths to fall for you, he couldn’t keep digging his own grave with uncertainty and doubt.

he would rather guarantee he can still be friends with you after sorting out his feelings, than risk you not returning his affection and jeopardizing your comfortable relationship.

“w–wait, (name)–stop–” he pulled away from you, taking in a breath of fresh air when his lips detached from yours. the air was eerily cold, he didn’t like it at all.

your hands dropped from his face, your heart sinking to your stomach the same way. that was enough indication—him pushing you off pretty much told you everything you needed to know about how he felt, and god, you felt so conflicted at the discovery.

you were mad at yourself for letting him allow so much control over you. the sheer anger that bubbled in your chest when you felt tears brimming at the back of your eyes was immeasurable. you warned yourself about this, you warned yourself about him, yet you still fell. and now you felt weak and hopeless because he didn’t love you back.

you also felt wronged somehow. the fact that minho has been such a kind friend to you has given you the false assumption that he would at least give you an explanation. if he didn’t want to keep the sexual relationship, he should have just been truthful to you instead of trying to ghost you for weeks and leaving you to your lonely thoughts.

but you wouldn’t have cared if you didn’t like him. him ignoring you wouldn’t have been a problem if you didn’t fall for him.

“what is your fucking problem, minho?” you asked, your anger boiling up. but despite that, your voice was more leveled than ever, as if you were exhausted. it was all being suppressed in your chest, burning and rotting away.

you smiled at him a little, the forced kind of smile, and you sarcastically laughed when you spoke, “if you got bored of me, you could have just said so.”

minho opened his mouth, surprised. but the light glimmer behind your eyes created a new kind of chaos in his head. he has seen you cry before, and this time it was all him.

“i–no, that wasn’t the problem, i just–”

“did i do something then? are you mad at me, or something like that?“ you cut him off with a scoff, shaking your head slightly as you frowned at him. “because you left me alone for weeks. you were a terrible friend to me, and i had no idea if it was me or you.”

“i’m not bored of you, (name). neither am i mad at you,” he replied quickly, sighing as he looked at you with softened eyes. “it's—something personal happened, nothing was your fault.”

you pursed your lips together, feeling slightly less agitated as your questions slowly got resolved one by one. “what is it, then? what happened to you?“

“i…” i fell in love with you.

you waited for seconds for him to talk but all minho could do was look down at the floor, fearing for what would happen to you and him if he ever told the truth. a sigh left your lips at his silence, disappointed that he couldn’t give you a proper answer.

“fine, don’t tell me,” you said, turning around to leave the kitchen area.

“hey, wait, where are you going?” he followed suit, panic flooding into his eyes.

“away from you,” you muttered as you put on your shoes. “don’t worry about seeing me again, i won’t bother you anymore.”

minho hasn’t realized he was unintentionally ruining the relationship until this point. in his attempt to keep his feelings secured and hidden, all to prevent the breakage of your friendship, he failed to notice the damage all the avoiding did to it.

now you were planning to leave him forever, to walk out and completely cut him out of your life. and oh, he was scared. he could not bear to never seeing you again, or even just to stomach the thought of you hating him because of his stupidity.

“wait, no, hold on–” he grabbed ahold of your hand when you grabbed the doorknob. before you could fling him away, he turned you around to face him and, impulsively, grabbed your face to crash his lips against yours.

yes, crash. with the amount of force he was using, the word crash would deem fit. you tried to push him away from you, but your little fists were futile to his broad chest, and soon enough he had you weak at the weeks with the exasperating way he was kissing you.

you could taste this one, his emotions were vivid at the tip of his tongue as he finally learned to surrender himself into you. he was desperate, he was lustful, he was burning at the tips of his skin just to kiss you like there is nothing else he could mean more than this exact moment.

when he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes. it was intimidating and confrontational, everything he thought he couldn’t handle now being pierced through his action so he could prove a point.

“i didn’t…” he shook his head. “i’m so sorry for ignoring you, i did it because i… i didn’t want to ruin our friendship… because i realize i won’t be able to fall out of love with you if we keep being friends, if we keep sleeping together.”

that took such a drastic turn. you never thought things would turn out this way for you, but here minho was, looking so deeply into your eyes and telling you he avoided you because he was scared his love would ruin your friendship. what a damned miracle!

“you… you coward, stupid, dumb, annoying–” you lightly punched him across the chest, feeling such staggering relief that you felt like crying. “you didn’t even give me a fighting chance, you just assumed i won’t like you back.”

“i know, i’m sorry.”

“you didn’t even try to drop hints, how was i suppose to let you know i love you back?”

“i know, baby girl, i’m sorry.”

the shock within him vanished quickly. he didn’t have the time to express his delight the way he would want to. you were standing before him in all your glory—beautiful, genuine, emotional.

and he wanted you with him in a way that was much closer than this.

nudging his nose against yours, minho let his lips meet yours at a slower pace this time. he was gentle with you, his arms holding at the side of your waist to pull you closer as you two kissed.

your hands flew to circle his neck as you stumbled out of your untied shoes and into his chest. minho let himself linger on your lips for a while before he started to trail his kisses down your jaw.

your neck was a territory he has marked many times before, and he never fails to make sure he adds something new every time his lips touch the skin. his teeth grazed past your neck before he met at the crook of it, and he obnoxiously sucked a dark bruise on your skin just so you would whimper in surprise.

sigh—how he missed that whimsical little sound. it was always so heavenly to hear, even when the action that caused it was more than devilish.

he marked his way back up to your lips when his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. he slipped his hand under it, his palm touching your bare skin for a brief second before he retreated them to clutch at the fabric of your shirt.

“can i take your shirt off, baby?” he mumbled into your mouth, his hand already raising slightly in anticipation.

you nodded, raising your arms as he complied and pulled your shirt up. you two broke apart to allow it to go through before leaning back toward each again. minho discarded your shirt off to the ground, his hands couldn’t wait to finally meet with your torso.

he kissed you fervently, his fingers holding the same amount of enthusiasm as they glided past the small curve of your waist. up and down, a faint squeeze to hold you in place, and then he pushed you forward so your back hit the door.

putting a hand between the back of your head and the hard surface, minho reluctantly pulled away from you, this time with no intention to dive back to your lips again because of all the other access to your body you’ve given him.

he breathed heavily, his voice growing raspy. “i’m gonna make it up to you.”

“i expect you to,” you replied boldly, causing him to raise his brow.

that was not something you would otherwise say in a situation like this. minho would have put you in your place if you ever attempted to give him an attitude. but he planned to let it slide this time, after all, he did hurt your feelings and he was at fault here.

“good.” was all he said before he started to move down your body.

his lips met at your collarbones, then to your chest where he skipped over your bra and went straight down to your stomach. he planted light kisses all over your skin, his tongue occasionally swiping across to wet up your body a little more.

he was kneeling before you by the time his hands met the waist of your pants, and he looked up with brows raising teasingly at you as his hands circled to the front. his fingers carefully popped open the button before they hooked through the belt loops and slowly pulled them down to your ankle.

your knees trembled at the touch of his hands, gliding up and down the back of your thighs and ever so slightly tugging you toward him. your breath hitched in your throat when he leaned up to kiss your clothed core, the sudden touch sending a surprise jolt across your mind.

foreign but familiar—it just came too sudden. you hadn’t realized this was actually happening until your panties were dragged past your thighs, the cold air a stinging proof that you’re with minho right now, and his lips were getting dangerously close to where you’ve been aching to have him these past weeks.

his hands curled around your legs, gripping your flesh firmly to keep them apart as he liked it. he moved up your inner-thighs. he continued to send tingly sensations all over your body until he stopped for a second, as if waiting for a dramatic effect, for a lingering thought to vanish before he latched his lips to your pussy.

his tongue darted out to lick between your folds, feeling the wetness gathering at your entrance upon the pleasuring stimulation. your moan went straight into ears, lighting up the delight inside him, and he continued to lather himself all over your cunt, wasting no time to poke his tongue in and out of you rhythmically.

you grabbed a messy chunk of his hair, pulling at it as you desperately tried to rust against his face, taunting him to shove his tongue deeper inside your heat. the position made your legs feel sore, and the mere attempt to grind down on him was just difficult, but you could take none of those into mind that when his mouth mercilessly sucked at your clit until it was red and swollen.

he was luxuriating himself in you—in your taste, in your voice, in your movement. your essence dripping past his tongue in a slurpy motion, your walls clenching at the digits he had graciously slipped into your heat, and ecstasy took your voice up into a milky whine when his teeth barely grazed past your clit as he sucked at you.

the heat in your chest expanded and engulfed itself all over your body. without yourself even realizing, your legs have moved apart to give minho more access to touch you even more.

“fuck, minho, please!” you exclaimed, your head hitting against the door.

ahh, you still know how to beg. perhaps not as profusely as he would have wanted you to but you were polite nonetheless. not to mention, your fingers scratching through his soft locks was enough indication that he was doing a splendid job. and he couldn’t wait to hear more of you, to feel more of you.

moving his face down to your heat, he drove his tongue inside you once again while his thumb went to press circles on your throbbing clit. you let out a choked moan, the sudden change of stimulation a very pleasant surprise, and he has your climax pinned at his mouth in no time.

gathering up your juices into his mouth, minho finally pulled away from you and stood up. he didn’t bother to wipe your essence off his lips, he just went straight for your mouth as he pressed his lips against yours. and you were in too big of a haze to distinguish the taste of yourself and his saliva, still trying to come down from the orgasm you’ve missed having from him.

minho brought his hand up to your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb carefully as he contemplated his next move. perhaps he was putting a little pressure on himself to make sure this encounter would be perfect, because he thought it somehow needed to be after hurting your feelings.

but part of him also ached for a good fuck after so long. not just with anybody but with you. the scorching desire in his chest would ultimately fuel his instincts today, and maybe he’d not be able to keep his cool when he could finally be inside you.

just the thought of it made his insides burst. he should have never distanced himself from you. it was such a stupid idea.

“up,” minho commanded as he leaned down to tug at your thighs. and you listened to him, jumping up so he could catch you around his waist, your arms going around his neck as your lips moved past his face to run freely down his neck.

you were enjoying the feeling of his skin, kissing him all over in ways you wished you had been able to. your teeth bit down harder when you heard his tiny giggle at your almost amateur attempt on leaving him a hickey, a frown appearing on your face at the fact that he wasn’t taking you seriously.

he brought both of you over to the couch and he dropped you down on the surface, his body quickly hovering over yours as he got onto the couch as well. you looked up at him, your eyes smiling funnily in a way that made him pause his movement. 

this was supposed to be a heated moment, yet somehow a single quirk of your lips was able to make his walls crumble.

“what’s so funny?” he asked, pinching your waist and causing you to squeal at the itch.

“nothing! it’s just…” you reached down for his hand and brought it up to your face, kissing his rough knuckles as you smiled at him. “i’ve missed you, that’s all.”

minho wavered, the glint behind his eyes dimming with a sense of being completely enamored. at the way your lips would smile, at the way your gaze held all of him, even just at how your smaller hand gripped his own. he was so infatuated, he could see no end to it.

“i’m sorry for suddenly leaving you,” he said, leaning down by dropping onto his forearm. your fingers still clung into his palm when he moved it up to your chin, his thumb tracing the tip of it before it moved up to your lips. “i promise i won’t do it again.”

his thumb traced your lower lip, a movement so sensual that you couldn’t think about much of anything else. just the mere fact that you got him back, and that he too has fallen in love with you, was enough to make you drop every ounce of your sanity.

you felt like you’ve got all you need already.

“kiss me, minho,” you pleaded quietly, opening your mouth more so his thumb would shift across your teeth.

he felt your legs move underneath his body, pressing together in a squirm. and he knew you wanted him between them, he knew you were waiting for him to pull them apart instead of doing it on your own. because everything needs to be done by his hands, that has always been the way you two worked, and you would obey him with ease.

flashes of your naked body came before his face. flashes he imagined when he was alone at night, trying miserably to replace you with a toy, or sometimes even himself. his lids dropped as he shifted to look down at your body, soft and awaiting his instructions, and he lightly growled to himself.

impatience suddenly took over him then, the previous moment gone in a blink of an eye. he leaned down to capture your lips, his hands going to your knees to spread them apart so he could place himself right in the middle.

you complied with him, kissing him back and tugging at his shirt as a signal that you wanted it off his body. minho huffed through his nose, slightly annoyed that he has to break away from you but he quickly yanked the collar of the shirt and pulled it over his head.

the flex of his arms was visible as he did so, and your eyes widened shyly without looking away. god, you’ve always loved the way he was built—just muscular enough to ogle at and not too much that they become uncomfortably distracting.

having second thoughts after seeing his toned chest, you decided to sit up from your spot and pushed your hands against him. minho frowned at you, his voice silent but his head-tilt asking a thousand questions. he was going to kiss you, why have you stopped him!

you grinned as you pushed him back, using your body weight to make him fall to the other side of the couch until he was under you this time. you laid on top of him, your small frame trapped between his legs as your head right at the crook of his neck.

minho was about to verbally ask you for your intention, but his eyes rolled up into a close when you kissed his neck. your hands roamed across his chest, your nails dragging ghostly against his skin in an unrecognized pattern as you peppered your kisses and kitten licks all over him.

he sighed in content, feeling your lips on every inch of his body, hot and loving. and he loved being treated this way, like he was being worshipped, like he was a god and you some mere peasant who had to rely on him for a living.

“(name),” he said, his voice sharp as he opened his eyes.

you perked up at him from the waist of his pants, your hands teasingly located near the middle. they had been scattered all over his abdomen, touch here and rubbing there, but never once did they meet at the middle where the obvious bulge of his pants was.

looking at his unsatisfied expression, you could only feel a sense of amusement as you pouted. your lashes fluttered up at him as you scooted back a little for better access. your smile was unfading when you leaned the lower side of your cheek right on top of his clothed member.

“what?” you asked, your smile widening at the hiss he let out.

“stop teasing me,” he said.

“hmm…” you pursed your lips, your finger dragging past his thigh to your face, then you palmed down on the shape of his member. “but it’s so fun.”

for someone with a waterfall dripping past your lips, you sure could find some time to be bratty like this.

rolling his eyes, his tongue poked at his inner-cheek as he turned away for a brief moment. when he looked at you again, his gaze was less hooded than it was amused. but it wasn’t your kind of amused. it wasn’t playful but degrading, the glimmer of it making you shiver.

“you want to say that again, baby?” he asked, his hand moving down to your head. he gently ran his fingers through your hair before he tugged at your scalp, his action light but not without harshness in it.

you whimpered under your breath, your brows furrowing helplessly as your head tilted to the side. “no.”

“good girl.” he released your hair then, gesturing toward himself. he nodded at you, smirking, “keep going.”

you didn’t mess around this time. your hand reached to the rubber waistband and easily pulled his sweats down to his thighs. you scooted your body up, your mouth salivating at the mere sight of his clothed member. you quickly tugged down his boxers, letting his cock spring out before you carefully grabbed its base.

minho sucked in a deep breath at your touch, your small hand covering around the base of his shaft. he closed his eyes with a blissful sigh when your lips finally touched his tip, giving him a little kiss before pressing them against him to dart your tongue over his slit.

licking past his red tip, you trailed your tongue over his shaft once before you went back up to his tip. then you finally took him in your mouth, your head bobbing up and down at regular speed as your hand rubbed the uncovered area.

minho groaned, his hand quickly flying down to your head. he let it lay there, only wanting something for him to hold onto as you sucked him off. great pleasure released from his abdomen, spreading all across his body as you hollowed your cheeks and licked him up as your head moved.

he opened his eyes to look down at you. for a second, you were focused on keeping him in your mouth, but you seemed to have felt his eyes on you so you glanced up at him.

he cursed at your wide-eyed, innocent—well, as innocent as you could look with his dick in your mouth, at least—expression then. his chest doing a flip as you slowly dragged your lips up to his tip to add stimulation to it, the smooching sounds you let out deafening to his ears.

there was something about your facade. it was the way he knew you were just putting up a naive front to rile him up, looking as pure as possible as your lips printed a smile on the top of his shaft, your tongue still poking out to lick him irregularly as if you get to be in control here.

(and, yes, to a certain level you do have control. to a maximum level, you have his utmost attention and all of his heart.)

holding onto the base of his cock, you tilted your head to the side and squinted your eyes mischievously at him. dragging the side of his tip against your cheek slowly, you let out a lewd hum, something like a relieved moan but it didn’t lack a tinge of questioning noise in it, and you watched him as if waiting for his patience to crack, waiting for his tough walls to fall beneath your feet.

he was falling. his face didn’t much show it, and either did his muscles tense under your body weight. but minho was completely surrendered to you; how could he not? you’re such a pretty thing, your warm mouth feeling heavenly as they moved up and down his shaft in an agonizingly slow pace.

his breathing was elevated now, he could feel his chest suffocating with deep arousal, and he wanted nothing more to have your walls wrapped around him now. forget your lips, he needed the tightness around him.

“okay, no,” minho spoke after a moment of thought. he attempted to sit up, his hands moving out to grab at your elbows. “you, get up, now.”

you listened to him, sitting up from your spot while he pulled at your arm. you followed his lead, letting him bring you onto his lap where you heat met with his hardened member. The confusion that once lingered in your head immediately faded away when you felt his girth snug between your folds, a whimper leaving your lips excitedly as you grind down on his member, wanting more friction out of a mere touch.

minho huffed, a tingly sensation fixated at his abdomen. his movements were beginning to get hasty but he has a general direction of what he wanted to do. he wanted you, that was all he knew. and with you sitting prettily on top of him, his mind knew exactly what he had to do despite the pitter-pattering of his heart.

although clumsy, he was precise when he gabbed you by your waist and hoisted you up with your help. he moved his hand down to hold up his dick, angling it right at your entrance before he glanced up at you through his tousled hair.

his eyes were striking, dazzling you as he waited for permission to handle you. you weren’t able to say much, a knot present at the back of your throat that could only be released when you could finally feel full again, full of him. so instead of talking, you brought your hands to your sides where his laid, and you lightly spread your knees further apart to drop onto his cock.

minho moaned lowly, feeling the warmth of your entrance as his tip got lathered up with your essence. he took that as a green light, and with a tightened grip on your skin, he guided you to sink on his length by pushing your body lower and lower until you were sat with him stuck within your walls.

your eyes shut when you felt his stretch, opening you up so deliciously that you needed a moment to breathe. you took all of him in you, his length a pleasantly erotic sensation inside your cunt that even a small scratch of friction could get your head all fuzzed up in a dream.

you felt full, oh so very full, in the most delightful way possible. you felt like smiling when you adoringly looked at him, because you loved him so and you didn’t think you could get this back again. your walls unconsciously clenched around him when you felt like shifting your position a little, and the little breathy sounds he let out a kind of music you adored.

he stared back at you after the sudden commotion and his heart melted. your faint smile was an undeserved treasure you somehow decided to grant him on a daily, and the fact that you always made him feel so snug and good, both chastely and sexually, was nothing short of a miracle.

his hand slipped from your waist to lace through yours, holding you softly as lust blossomed in his eyes.

it has always been the two of you who could make each other feel this way. the thrill of first love, the nostalgia of being intimate, the fear of losing one another—no wonder you two fell in love, it was a match made in heaven.

he brought you down to kiss him, and your arms instinctively flew around his neck. you allowed him a second of solace before pulling away just enough to speak, your voice small with praise. “fuck, you feel so good.”

he laughed, biting at your jaw where his face got draped over by the falling of your hair. “good, but i’m about to feel even better,” he whispered before reattaching his lips to yours. between the tangled lips, you could hear a needy whine sounding from the back of his threat, and you giggled into his mouth. he wanted you to move.

you carefully brought yourself up, your walls scraping past his cock in the process and catching up a burn. then, slowly but still at a non-torturous pace, you lowered yourself back down on him. you kept up with the speed, going up and down on his lap and moaning with every new stretch of your walls.

minho’s hands slipped from yours to caress all over your body, touching you gingerly as if you were his pretty porcelain doll. when his hands met your chest, he gave a small frown at the bra that was still attached to your body, and he quickly unhooked it to expose you completely.

your thighs stuttered when you felt him clamp his palm over your breast, the sudden jolt of pleasure hitting your head. his hands moved to cup your side, his thumbs reaching to press against your nipples and twirling circles with it. then he leaned forward to take your perky bud into his mouth after kissing around the bouncy area, licking your milky smooth skin before his tongue swiped across your nipple.

he kissed across your chest, his lips unable to remove from your skin as you relentlessly moved up and down on him. the plethora of pleasure, the immeasurable amount of enjoyment manifesting into this electrifying sensation all across your veins. it was all from the way minho felt so good inside you, and the passionate touch of his mouth on your everywhere.

“ahh–min–” you hugged him close with a sudden scream, only able to utter his name halfway. the jolt had knocked the air out of your lungs when his cock brushed against your sweet spot, making your knees buckle weakly and your movement halting to a messy rhythm.

minho raised a brow, feeling playful upon seeing your drastic reaction. he pulled away from your face, his eyes searching for your face. “hmm? min–what?”

you furrowed your brows then, a blush escaping to your cheeks at his seductive voice. as you struggled to keep up with the thrusts, you pursed your lips together and flashed minho a soft grimace before you squeezed your eyes shut again at the sensation. you didn’t plan on finishing your cut off sentence and you just wanted to keep hitting the sweet spot over and over again, because god, it made you feel so, so good.

but minho wanted otherwise. unfortunately, he has the upper hand here. he wasn’t the one who’s been moving rigorously the past minutes, he still got lots of stamina stored up for him to hold you in place. you whined when he did, his hands pushing down on your hips to prevent you from sliding up his dick.

you looked at him, your eyes wide as sweat glistened on your forehead, sticking the hair to your pretty skin. the arousal was dripping inside you, aching to be moved around, longing to be penetrated.

hoping to gain an ounce of sympathy, you pouted with a slump of your shoulders and pleaded, “minho, please.”

“hmm,” he squinted his eyes, lightly snapping his hips deeper into you. “please…? please what, baby.”

you clenched your fists, feeling the annoying pain of his slow, slow thrusts. part of you wanted to see how long he could keep up with this, this burningly slow pace. but hellish ache at your pussy overshadowed your tendency to be bratty and childish. all you wanted was to feel the pleasure again, so you begged as he wanted you to.

“please fuck me, minho,” you asked, desperation pumping out of your mouth like gold, “please fuck me–your cock feels good, i–i want more!”

minho laughed lowly, the moany sound hiding under the edge of his voice when he saw how you struggled to speak. the heat on your cheeks adding to the overall flair of his sight, your bare appearance the greatest art he’s ever laid his eyes on. and your words made him soar off the moon, you needy little thing! you’d break yourself with embarrassment to keep feeling the euphoric feeling only he could make you feel, wouldn’t you?

how pathetically adorable. maybe he should help you out a little, the moment a silent fulfillment to his own desire to pound himself quicker into you.

he gripped your hips tighter by digging his nails into your skin and he helped you up on his length. he waited for a moment before he forced your fragile body down on his cock, earning a chocked strangled whimper from you. he continued in a regular rhythm. occasionally, he would push his hips up to meet with your pussy, adding to the strength of the pound and making your moan louder with the strike.

you let loose of your muscles when you felt that you’ve lost the control, and you pressed yourself closer to him in hopes to regain the previous position. the magnified gratification came unknowingly like a ghost, his dick finally able to find your g-spot again, and this time stayed haunting you with every slick thrust.

as your pussy started to salivate more with each snap of your hips, the squelching noise was also becoming harder to ignore. it mixed in with your heavy breaths, the sound of sex reverberating around you both, and you could feel your orgasm approaching inch by inch, threatening your release.

minho was watching you carefully, his eyes fixated on your face as he observed every little movement. your jaw hung open at the constant moaning, your eyes barely able to open clearly because of the overwhelming sensation—everything about you made him feel confident, possibly even narcissistic at some point.

but he really enjoyed the fact that you succumb to him so easily, and you shamelessly showed it through your body without even knowing.

he wondered if you knew you were clenching incredibly tightly around his cock. it didn’t seem to be a conscious action, considering how you could barely string a coherent sentence together. judging by that, though, minho knew your climax was approaching close, and he planned to get you to it with as much care as possible.

pulling you off him suddenly, he sat up quickly and pushed you on your back. he hovered over your body, only laying on top of you after he re-inserted himself inside of you. your legs went around his hips, bringing him closer by the back while he leaned his head down to briefly kiss your neck.

“hey,” he smiled, his hand caressing through your hair as he looked down at you with soft eyes.

you raised your brows at him, silent breathes huffing in and out of your nose as he started to thrust into you again. you touched his face, squeezing his cheeks with a smile. “what?”

minho was right. he does feel closer to you like this.

his eyes shifted down to your lips and back up into your eyes. affection engulfed him quickly, it does every time he stares into your eyes. he gets reminded of the way he fell in love with you again and again whenever he does.

and he never minded the constant reminder. he enjoyed the process. it was a lot of emotional talks, playful banter, and a lot of good sex. all of which he felt like he could have with you for the rest of his life, he wanted to have with you for the remaining of his stupid lifetime.

he unconsciously pounded deeper into you then, his mind wanting you to feel all of him to the rawest sense. you moaned at the sudden change of force but you welcomed it by opening your legs a little more for him.

your toes were curling after a few more hard thrusts, your stomach churning impossibly at the way his cock felt sliding in and out of you. when you felt the tightening feeling in your chest, you looked up at minho and grabbed his hand, huffing out hastily, “min–minho, i’m close.”

“i know,” he hummed loving at you, picking up his pace to bring you over the edge.

you arched your back at the feeling, a silent scream leaving your mouth. he pinned your hands to the side of your head, his hands hugging your small ones, and when your head moved back down to face him, he wasted no time to put his lips on yours again.

god, it was like he literally cannot keep himself off you.

your mind was getting foggy. you weren’t sure whether it was from the passionately way he kissed or from the burn between your legs, but you felt like you couldn’t quite process anything clearly anymore. well, anything except for one thing.

when minho pulled away, he kept himself close. his lips were grazing against yours but he wasn’t close enough to kiss you. and you could feel his lips move against yours ghostly when he whispered, “i love you.”

you processed that one. the words hit you really strongly too, your heart practically sunk up to your throat at them. you wanted to say it back, you planned to say it back, but you only sucked in a strong breath when minho rammed against the sweet spot in you. your eyes rolled back at the unprecedented attack and your back lifted off the couch once again.

“oh fuck–minho, please, please–ahh!”

he continued with a few more harsh thrusts before you released around his cock with a whine, your hands tightening around his at the pleasure. he had his head buried at the crook of your neck, his hips continued to move as he drowned himself in the scent of your body. he was chasing his own high now, his cock twitching inside your warm hold as he pounded into you.

your walls slurped him up, tightening around him to add stimulation. and when he felt like he was about to come undone, he quickly pulled out of you and sat up. his hand moved to his cock, quickly pumping along his length as his eyes trained on your sweaty, delicate body.

you looked at him before slowly sitting up, you went on all fours and crawled closer to him before positioning your face before his cock. minho shakily breathed out a sigh when you nudged your face against his tip, then you stopped at your opened mouth, waiting for him to pour himself over your tongue.

“ugh, you’re gonna swallow me, baby girl?” he hissed out, and he bit his lower lip when you nodded, widening your eyes naively at him.

he groaned, his abdomen tightening at the mere sight of you, hot cum sprouting out of his slit and landing on your stuck-out tongue. you held your breath, feeling the liquid dripping past your tongue before taking it back into your mouth and rolling it around. when you looked back up at minho, you grinned a little and stuck your tongue out at him.

his lips twitted at the sticky substance lingered on the tip, little lines stretching from your lips to your tongue. fuck, you filthy thing! how dare you make his heart all disheveled and gone.

“fuck, you’re so hot,” he muttered under his breath as you sat back on your heels.

you laughed, wiping your mouth and swallowing the last of him. “thank you, you’re not so bad yourself.”

he rolled his eyes then, the corner of his lips turning up into a graceful smile. he tackled you to the couch then, your hot body pressed against yours, but the atmosphere was more romantically chaste than sexual this time. you two were just two lovers naked in each others’ arms, putting complete and utter faith in each other that you would be held safe.

you two went quiet, basking in the silence. but you could hear him, his heart and his skin, pumping and brushing along yours.

would you have thought of this months ago when you first met minho? no. you have dreamt of it, but you never thought it could be true. and the dream was shattered when he suddenly decided to ghost you weeks ago.

but it didn’t matter now. you were here with him, he was holding you tightly like it was the only thing he knew to do.

“i meant to say it back,” you broke the silence first, “i love you too.”

despite knowing the answer already, minho still breathed out a sigh of relief anyway. he pressed a kiss to your head, his eyes closing calmly as he nodded. “i know.”

you smiled. minho has been a lot of things—a nice classmate, a good friend, and a few quick fucks. but you never indulged in the idea of you and him together. the idea that minho could be you and him together, that he could be a partner, a boyfriend.

the idea that minho could be an ‘us.’

[yerawizardjulia]

Too Rich for a McNugget (Wolfstar)

A university student enters an antique shop in a panic. How do you buy a wedding gift for a cousin you hate? 

Sirius wouldn’t have looked twice at the dusty shop if he wasn’t stupidly, desperately late. The high street itself was laughing at him and he was uncomfortably aware of the scrubby guy on the bench that had definitely seen him walk past the same shop window three times in a desperate attempt to see anything other than tea towels and obnoxiously cheerful decorated mugs with ‘World’s best dad’ printed on the sides in Comic Sans. His fingers were slippery in anxious sweat as he pressed the home button on his phone, his iPhone six, another reason his presence would be scorned at this godforsaken gathering. The smudgy screen blinked into life and displayed, seemingly smugly after Sirius’ growing resentment towards the device, 12:42.

Twenty fucking minutes. If he didn’t show up with a gift he might as well not show up at all, an option he would have embraced wholeheartedly if his mother hadn’t pincered him into a corner at their last, regularly depressing routine coffee catch up and told him the deeds to his inheritance were under considerable threat if he did not attend. He wouldn’t have minded, but being twenty grand in debt to an English degree in a rented apartment with black mould creeping onto the ceiling made him reconsider his options.

Fucking Narcissa.

He wouldn’t have been looking forward to the wedding even if she wasn’t marrying a right wing, Eton-educated, ‘can’t control these blasted immigrants’ CEO of whateverthefuck that looked as though he’d never even touched an item of clothing that didn’t come from Armani. It was so typical of his cousin to find a man who deferred so minimally from their shared families’ frankly alarmingly consistent Tory heritage that Sirius had had to do some extensive Googling to confirm that Lucius Malfoy was not in fact, a not-so-distant relative.

A text buzzed in his hand, the little green notification welcome on the screen. At least it was an excuse to loiter outside this shop window for another minute or so without looking like a genuine psychopath.

‘Just get her a toaster or something idk.’

Sirius hadn’t really expected James’ solution to his predicament to be helpful, but his flatmate’s response nevertheless sent the hopeless feeling in his stomach a few inches lower. He had never expected for his future to be balanced on the purchase of a wedding gift, but he would almost prefer to sit his first-year exams, which he had taken with a hangover so severe it felt like he was going to vomit out of his eyeballs, all over again than have to look at this shop window for a second longer. He pictured sitting in a gutter in London, like the tramps that his mother refused to make eye contact with during their trips out during his childhood, drinking from a bottle wrapped in brown paper and thinking; if only I had gone with the luxury jam set. He had discarded the idea after noticing the Tesco’s Finest logo above the barcode, but it was beginning to look like his best option.

Another text. No, a call. Sirius shoved the phone back into his hoodie he was using to mask the aristocratic wedding attire beneath. Keepers of pretentious little shops such as the ones lining this dusty high street tended to bump their prices through the roof if they saw someone of his blood walk in. Old blood. Old money. It was unfair, really, because Sirius didn’t actually have any. If he did, he probably wouldn’t mind paying the exorbitant prices; James spent half his life agonising over how independent businesses were being suffocated by Amazon. But Sirius had nothing to his name until his dear grandparents decided to snuff it. The phone ceased buzzing waspishly in his pocket, and he decided he had better check who he was ignoring. 

Typical fucking Regulus. 

Probably the only human being under twenty that actually went out of his way to call people, rather than text. He would be there already, exchanging pleasantries in the foyer of the Malfoy’s third manor home. Checking to see whether the Black family disappointment was showing his face, or if he’d have to rely on his six predicted A* grades and brand new Porsche that probably cost more to insure than it did to buy to present himself as the golden child. He’d probably have a stupid little flower in his stupid little button hole. Being a cousin of the bride and a groomsman of the groom, Regulus had firmly nestled himself already into this hideous conjunction of families. He had a job lined up for him in Malfoy’s London branch. In six months, he’d probably have his own office.

Sirius had diluted his shampoo with water for the second time this morning.

He scowled and kicked a bottle cap along the pavement as he stumped, once again, down the row of shops. The circular metal projectile skittered across the tarmac and bounced off a door frame. He stopped, staring suddenly at the sign swinging on a pair of metal hooks like it was a medieval fucking tavern.

Fletcher’s Quality Gifts and Trinkets.

Somehow, inexplicably, Sirius’ eyes had slid over this shop four times as he’d panicked his way up and down this stretch of pavement. There was no window display, that was why. The door fit seamlessly between Bobbin’s Haberdashery and a derelict Cafe Nero. Sirius felt his phone buzz again and suppressed the urge to throw it into the path of the lazy, midday traffic crawling its way up the high street. He stared at the chipped paint and begged silently, to whatever entities may have been listening, that he would find something, anything to take to this fucking wedding.

The door jammed awkwardly on the floor as Sirius pushed it open. It made a juddering, dry squeak, scuffing on the splintery wood. Sirius winced, and half thought about just turning tail and walking out again, going back to pick up that cheap-as-shit jam set. Narcissa probably didn’t even eat jam. Was jam vegan?

He had to push his way in sideways, and as he did so, the door unstuck, swinging open and leaving him standing, pointlessly squashed back against the door frame. Sirius closed his eyes and wondered whether anything was going to go right today.

When he opened them, a guy was blinking at him from behind a checkout desk. A book was open on the surface before him and his long legs with too short trousers that showed a few inches of garishly coloured socks were rested upon the desk next to the till. He removed them hastily to the floor as Sirius stared.

“Sorry, the door- It gets stuck- you have to like-“ He mimed something that Sirius couldn’t even begin to relate to unsticking a door. “Sorry,” he finished, lamely. He bent over his book. Sirius peeled himself from the frame, not taking in the low beams that he would probably hit his head on or the items grouped together in nonsensical piles on the shelves and stacked on the floor.

This guy was gorgeous. He had an odd collection of features that were nothing special, when you looked at them individually- a nose that listed to the left, a thin top lip, a smattering of pigmentation on his cheeks that suggested acne that had been grown out of- but together... Sirius couldn’t stop staring at him. That tawny hair- fucking tawny, who am I, William pissing Wordsworth?- That sharp chin, those long fingers that teased the edge of the paper as he finished reading his page.

He was absolutely, fundamentally, not Sirius’ type. Any romantic entanglements he had had- and granted, it was not a long list (he and James had one sellotaped to the fridge)- involved men so deep in the closet they were practically choking on mothballs. They were footballers, mostly, insecure, ‘just experimenting’. Sirius didn’t know why his gaydar was sounding off so strongly. Was it the deeply uncool granddad jumper that somehow looked like it belonged in Men’s Vogue when draped over his long torso? Sirius was hardly modest about his own looks, but if he tried that jumper on he would look like the kid that forgot his P.E. kit. The same went for the not-skinny, not-baggy jeans that looked as though they were made for literally anyone other than him but somehow, looked really cool and why did Sirius love those hideous socks so much? Did they have pineapples on them? 

The guy, seemingly unaware of Sirius lurking behind the shelf closest to the door, propped the book up in his hands, and Sirius read the title- The Picture of Dorian Grey.

Well, there it is.

“IneedapresentforacousinIhatewho’smarryingaguythathasprobablynevereatenaMcDonald’schickennugget.” Sirius was hardly more aware of the words projectile vomiting from his mouth than he was of the way he was sidling towards the checkout desk with his hands wringing in front of him like he was expecting this guy to stand up and shout at him.

Brown eyes emerged from behind the finest work of Oscar Wilde, carrying a look of mild alarm.

“Because, he’s rich, not a vegetarian.” Sirius finished. His mouth seemed a long way behind his brain, but perhaps that was a good thing, because his brain was currently screaming FUCK ME and Sirius was not willing to be barred from any more establishments for hedonistic behaviour.

“A wedding present?” His voice was mild, like Sirius had just asked a perfectly normal question for a stranger to ask a shop employee.

“Uh, yeah.” Why was he blushing? He never blushed. He stepped back needlessly as the guy rose from behind the desk. He was tall. Proportionately tall, with long limbs and a long neck and long god knows what else. Sirius nearly fell to his knees in reverence when the guy cracked a smile that caused a dimple to poke in his cheek and exposed sharp canines that Sirius never considered worth noticing in anyone before but holy fuck he would be now.

“You know what, I think I’ve got something.” He was walking away down one of the dark-ish isles, stooping considerably to avoid the beams and Sirius was trailing after him, awkward and out of place and acting so drastically not like himself he wondered if he had sustained a concussion at some point. Maybe when he was forcing his way through that rude fucking door. The hair at the nape of this guy’s neck curled slightly like he was due a haircut. His trainers were really beat up and old, and Sirius was sure he could see one of the laces fraying and considered whether he should warn him he was about to trip.

“When is this wedding?” His voice was still mild and almost disconcertingly polite; he had stopped and was rummaging among a pile of objects on a shelf-seriously, how was anyone supposed to find anything in here?- and Sirius was still staring at his trailing shoelace.

“Well, sort of now.”

He stood up a bit straighter as the brown eyes widened, and he was looking at him, properly, for the first time and Jesus Christ, how were you supposed to stand normally? Where were your arms supposed to go? Eyebrows, light brown and shapeless and a bit sparse at the ends, furrowed and he let out a small huff of amusement. It was the politest expression of ‘this dude’s a complete disaster’ that Sirius had ever seen. “I’ve been putting it off,” he added needlessly. Something about the way this guy was now looking him up and down as if he could read his life story just from Sirius’ tailored trousers that he’d forgotten to get dry cleaned and his hoodie that was actually James’ and his shoes that looked expensive but were actually from TKMaxx was making him need to offer increasingly poor explanations for his shambles of a life. “I don’t want to go, but I have to, and I hate weddings anyway, but especially this one, and I-‘

The look of curious amusement on the guy’s face- god, Sirius really wanted to know his name- halted his rambling. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I’m not normally this stressed.”

“That’s okay,” he replied, as if it was his job to tolerate a load of garbled nonsense from strangers, like he did it regularly, in fact, which made him wonder what kind of people actually came into this shop that you could barely tell existed. He was still rummaging through the shelves, Sirius was pretty sure a couple of things had fallen off the back and were now in the dark recesses of the between-shelf-and-wall space where things went to die. God, did anyone ever actually buy anything in here? He found it easier to control himself when the guy stopped x-raying him with his eyes, so he said “er, how long’s this shop been here?”

“Oh, I’ve only worked here six weeks. No idea, ages, probably.” He picked up a remarkably creepy porcelain figure of a shepherdess that was covered with so much dust that at first glance, Sirius thought it was some kind of radioactively-deformed elephant.

“I see what you mean,” said Sirius, staring at the figurine reproachfully. “How does anyone find anything in here?” The questions were not what he actually wanted to ask, which involved something along the lines of are you gay-are you single-are you safe from asbestos in this shop and do you think I’m a complete weirdo. He perked up when the guy let out another polite huff of laughter.

“Most customers have been coming in here for years,” he said, “I don’t see a lot of new people.” His eyes flickered to Sirius and back again and Sirius felt as if he was preparing to dive from a very large boat into a sea that was very cold.

“What’s your name?” Sirius asked, louder than he had meant to. He cringed inwardly and for the second time, considered legging it out of the door when he was once again regarded by a pair of searching brown eyes.

“Remus,” he said. Sirius could tell he was waiting for him to laugh. When he didn’t, because how the fuck could this man get any more attractive, and somehow the name Remus suited him down to his shredded laces, he turned to face him, as if in defiance.

“Hilarious, I know. Remus Lupin, which makes it even better.” Sirius’ resolve cracked at this.

“What?” He squawked, dragging his eyes over Remus again, because he looked like any novelist's wet dream and his name was Remus fucking Lupin... “Mine’s worse.” Sirius said, straightening again. Remus Lupin was rolling his eyes as if in grim acceptance of the barrage of snide jibes that had yet to tumble from Sirius’ mouth, but his eyebrows had disappeared into his hair at Sirius’ response and his arms were folded across his chest, which pulled the loose neck of his jumper down and exposed a few inches of pale sternum.

“I don’t believe you.”

Sirius grinned at this. He cleared his throat and pulled his hand out of the pouch/pocket/thing on the front of his hoodie which was definitely not a secure place for his phone, wallet and keys, and held it out.

“Sirius Black. Pleasure to meet you.” Remus’ mouth had fallen slightly open and a smile was touching at the corners of his lips as he took Sirius’ hand. Sirius was almost surprised that there was no jolt of electricity from all the built up static in his woollen jumper, but his skin was cool and his fingers were thin and twiggy and the knuckles were surprisingly big, and he didn’t drop it straight away, which made Sirius wonder if it was intentional, like a sort of gay signal, and then he remembered the Oscar Wilde book on the checkout desk and stopped trying to look for gay signals.

“Holy shit,” Remus spluttered. The profanity rolled masterfully from his lips; Sirius had never quite got the hang of swearing after his stuffy, conservative upbringing. Remus made it sound graceful.

“What a pair, eh?” said Sirius, and then cringed inwardly again because they weren’t a pair, they were complete strangers but somehow it felt like they’d known each other forever and fuck when did it get so hot in here? He looked at the shelves where Remus’ other hand still rested, and tried to ignore the eyes that were sliding up and down his body as Remus Lupin gave him what Sirius recognised as ‘the gay once-over.’ Dressed in the odd assortment of James’ secondary school football hoodie that had been surpassed by the frankly unnatural growth of James’ shoulders, pretentious shoes and crinkled dress trousers, Sirius was acutely aware that he was not looking his whole and considerable best. Christ, he might even look straight.

“There’s um-you said you might have something?” Sirius said, after another twenty five seconds in which Remus’ gaze had lingered on the rings Sirius had forgotten to take off (his mum would kill him if he turned up to a wedding looking like anything other than a Conservative Straight Man) and then drifted to his hair which was probably fried from all the sweating and running about and cheap shampoo. Remus blinked at these words, and whipped his head back to the shelves as if startled he had been caught in the act.

“Yes! Sorry, it’s-erm-can you hold this?” He plonked a cast iron sewing machine into Sirius’ arms who sagged beneath the weight, wheezing as he tried to lock his knees without Remus noticing. What the hell kind of Hulk body was hiding under that jumper? Eyes streaming, he balanced it on top of a pile of ancient National Geographic magazines and prayed it would not succumb to the inevitable force of gravity. Remus was deep into the recesses of the shelf, standing on tiptoe to reach the very back. His socks were visible again and Sirius could see now that they were not pineapples, but durians. Cute. His jumper was riding up as he stretched to whatever unknown artefacts lurked at the very rear and now it was Sirius’ turn to stare, because there was some pale midriff exposed above the waist of his jeans and he was skinny, but not skinny, kind of-lean? Was that the word? He had that vee of muscle above his hip and Sirius was suddenly struggling not to choke on his own tongue.

"Here it is!", came Remus' muffled voice, and Sirius took a step back hurriedly. He was pretty certain he had been gazing glassy eyed at the shop-keeper's navel where a delicate line of dark brown hair descended below his belt, and pinched his own wrist hard behind his back as Remus' head emerged, and he shook some cobwebs out of his curly hair. He was holding a small box, and Sirius’ first thought was that if something covered in that much dust came within eight feet of Narcissa, her immune system would likely spontaneously combust due to overexposure. People like her didn’t have immune systems, they just loaded themselves up with fucking multivitamins and avoided any establishments without at least two Michelin stars. 

“Sorry it’s a bit-“ Remus blew a cloud of dust off the top of the box, coughed, and wiped it off on the back of his jeans, muttering ‘need to stop smoking.’ 

Sirius almost went feral at the image of his lips pursed around a Marlboro, but managed to pull his face into a socially acceptable frame in time for Remus to pass the box to him. “What do you think?” 

Squatting in a bed of midnight blue velvet, sat a pair of silver napkin rings. They were ornate, and completely hideous. Sirius started to grin. He picked one up to examine it. It was decorated with a stag, and the other with a doe. It was likely the engraver had never seen these animals in the flesh, which would account for their mildly horrifying humanoid faces. 

“Perfect,” muttered Sirius, turning the ugly silver object over in his hand. It was heavy and looked antique, and Sirius knew it would fit right in with the future Mrs. Malfoy’s entirely tasteless kitchen decor. He looked up at Remus, disbelieving in the way he had absolutely nailed Sirius’ mission. “Absolutely bloody perfect.” 

Remus grinned back, a wondrous sight, his hands half in the pockets of his faded jeans. Sirius returned the napkin ring to its box, and then thought of something that made his smile falter. 

“Are these solid silver?” 

“Yep,” Remus said happily. “Nineteenth century antiques, I believe.” But Sirius was pushing the box back into his hands, shaking his head. 

“I can’t afford that, sorry I-“ 

“Five quid.” The box flew back into Sirius’ hands before he could blink. 

“Come again?”

The shopkeeper shrugged. “I’m the only person who knew they were there, and I doubt anyone else would want to bestow something that vile on a newly wedded couple.” 

Was this guy even real? Sirius couldn’t quite fathom what he had done to deserve this act of kindness, but he wasn’t about to turn it down. 

“Thank you,” he said, earnestly. Remus shrugged again, but the smile remained. He took Sirius back to the counter, where he took the box back from him and, while Sirius dug in his pocket for some change, produced some silvery wrapping paper and parcelled it. Sirius stole a surreptitious glance at him as he tied it off with a navy ribbon. His eyelashes were sandy like his eyebrows, but they were thick and almost touched his cheeks when his eyes were cast down on his work. 

Sirius was having a crisis. He had never asked for anyone’s number before, but the thought of walking out of this shop and never seeing this god-sent individual again was criminal. His mouth felt dry. What if he had misread this interaction completely, and Remus was just a friendly, helpful guy? He glanced at the book, now balanced on top of the till while Remus rang up, and took a breath. 

“Good book, that” he said, indicating The Picture of Dorian Grey awkwardly. Remus looked from him, to the book, and back again. While Sirius experienced a burning sensation in the base of his chest, Remus nodded non commitantly, and swept the stack of pound coins Sirius had placed on the desk into the till. He looked away, agonising, kicking himself internally at his own ineptness, as he pulled a receipt from the till and passed it and the neatly-wrapped box across the table. 

“All done.” 

“Thanks.” Sirius could feel his cheeks burning, and decided a clean getaway was well overdue. He had picked up the items and had half turned away when he heard- “I wrote my number on that receipt, you know.” 

The burning in his chest now felt like a slowly inflating balloon. He looked down at the smooth piece of paper and saw a number scribbled in biro on its surface. Eleven numbers. Definitely a phone number. He turned hastily back to Remus, who was- Sirius was pleased to see- also looking slightly bashful. 

“Thought my gaydar had malfunctioned for a minute there,” Sirius said. Remus laughed. 

“It was really great to meet you.” He said, placing his feet up on the desk again. 

“And you,” Sirius replied. Elated, he headed for the door before Remus could change his mind. He dreaded to think how late he was now, but he couldn’t think of a situation more worth a bollocking from his mother than this one. He had yanked the reluctant door open when- 

“Hey, Sirius?” 

“Yeah?” He looked over his shoulder. Remus was peering over the top of his book at him again. 

“Let me know how the wedding goes.” 

[robmacz]

Lockdown to lock-up

I jumped as the cell door slammed shut behind me. I looked around the cell, it was no bigger than my bathroom, it contained only a bed, a chair and small table, a toilet and a sink. On the wall there was a small window, high up on the wall with bars imbedded in the glass. I sat down on my bed and put my head in my hands. I was so angry. Angry with myself for being such a twat; angry with the cops for being such a bunch of arses; angry with the system, because I was going to jail from the very start. How had it all come to this?

A little over three weeks before I had been sitting at my desk working from home. We were now in the fourth week of the latest lockdown and unlike the long lockdown of the summer, it was now cold and wet outside. Going for a walk to get rid of built up tension only seemed to make matters worse. I had just finished a tense zoom call with my boss and a client and I had frankly had enough. I needed a drink! I went into the living room to poor myself a scotch, but the bottle was practically empty. 'I thought you were going to top up on scotch when you went shopping' I snapped at Greg, my partner of 8 years. 'I didn't manage to get out today' he replied 'and anyway it will do you good to cut down a bit, you've been drinking a bit too much lately'. That led to a blazing row, which had been on the verge of happening for a few days now. Both of us stuck in the same house for most of the day was beginning to irritate, for him as well as me. In the end I told him I would do as I liked, I grabbed a jacket and the car keys and slammed the door of the house behind me.

I drove down the road for about half a mile to our local petrol station, which had a small supermarket attached. You know the sort of thing, ready meals, milk, a few essentials and alcohol. It also sold fresh coffee, which wasn't at all bad. I pulled the car into the small car park at the side of the petrol station and got out. I walked along the path leading to the door, it was quite busy and there was a queue to get in as only so many people were allowed in at once. This meant that there were a number of cars waiting to get to the pumps. Entering and exiting the building was controlled by a traffic light system, it all seemed so over the top.

Eventually I got to the front of the queue and was waiting for the light to change to green when I realised that I did not have my mask. 'Oh Fuck it' I said to myself. I wasn't prepared to go back to the car to get my mask. I'd have to start to queue all over again. Just as I was thinking this the light changed to green and I walked in. The alcohol was behind the counter and there were three people queuing, all safely at 2 meter intervals, to pay either for their shopping or for their fuel. At the other end of the counter there were five cops getting their coffee, it wasn't unusual to see cops in here, before lockdown you would more often than not see them occupying the two tables in the corner for their coffee and doughnut break, which usually seemed to last quite some time.

The person at the front of the queue moved away and we all moved forward. As we did so the cops, who all now seemed to have their coffee started to move towards the exit. I wasn't too worried as the one way system meant that they would not cross my path. But as I was looking at them I saw one of them look over towards me and catch my eye. I quickly looked away, but within seconds I could feel his presence. 'Excuse me sir, but why are you not wearing a mask?' 'I'm exempt' I said rather rashly and which I regretted almost immediately. 'Could I see your exemption sir?'

'No, I don't have it on me right now officer.'

'Could you please give me your name and address then sir.'

'I don't have to, I've done nothing wrong.'

'You'd be well advised to sir.'

By now his four colleagues had joined him, but I was getting indignant, though I now wished I had not brought up any stuff about exemption and wondered whether I should just admit to this or try and make him back down, though I didn't think he would.

'Okay, I'm not exempt, I just forgot my mask. It's not like they make any difference anyway, in fact they are quite pointless.'

'So, you've just lied to me sir. I'm going to issue with a fixed penalty notice for £100 for not wearing a mask when required to do so'.

'You must be fucking joking'.

'Don't swear at me sir or you will be arrested. Now what is your name and address'.

Then without thinking about it I said 'No, I'm not telling you'. This was not the best thing to say under the circumstances and I regretted it almost immediately, but it was too late.

'You are under arrest. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.'

As he was saying this he was unclipping his handcuffs from his belt and before he had even finished his sentence the cuffs were snapping round my right wrist. Instinctively I pulled my hand from him with some force and the cuffs came out of his grasp, though still attached to my wrist. What happened next was a million to one, but as my wrist flew up the handcuffs caught one of the other cops on his nose. Within seconds though I was forced to the floor and the cuffs were now attached to both hands behind my back and they were on tight. Holy Fuck! I thought. I've never been in trouble with the police before, I've never been in handcuffs. The cops pulled me to my feet, which was when I noticed that one of the cops had a heavy nose blead. Before I could say anything I was frog marched outside in front of all the waiting customers, including one of my neighbours. Oh crap, the gossips are going to love this.

There were three police cars parked at the far side of the petrol pumps. I was pushed into the back of one and the door slammed shut. The cops stood talking outside for a few minutes, no doubt finishing their coffees. I sat their wondering what was going to happen next, what sort of trouble was I in? When eventually two of them, including the one who arrested me, got into the front. I said 'Look, I'm sorry, I acted like a jerk back there and I'm sorry about your colleague, but it was an accident'. One of the cops turned round to look at me and said. 'Yeah, you were a complete jerk and you will be sorry. I'm also arresting you for assaulting a police officer, now shut up'

I was stunned, this was now getting serious. We drove along in silence to the police station where we drove round the back into a car park full of police vehicles. The car came to a stop and the cops got out and one of them came to the back and opened the door. He grabbed me by the arm and led me into the police station. Not the front door, but through a back door into a brightly lit room but no windows. There were various rooms to the side which seemed to have various equipment, but I was taken straight ahead to a desk where there was another officer waiting. 'What you got here?’ he said.

'Arrested for breaking Covid regulations, refusing to provide his name and address and assaulting a police officer. Mike got hit in the nose as this guy tried to escape, he is down at A&E now.'

'Oh really, Mr Wise Guy' said the cop behind the desk. 'Right, name and address now!' I thought it best to comply so I did. I was clearly in trouble but thought I should cooperate in order to get it over with. 'Okay, get him processed, have you checked for weapons? He is clearly violent.'

The arresting officer unlocked my cuffs and I immediately rubbed my wrists like they do in the movies. I was then told to empty my pockets. I only had my wallet and car keys, which I put on the desk. They told me to put my hands on my head while they frisked me. 'I' think he's clean Sarge' one of them said. 'Okay, but you'd better give him a full search once you have processed him.' The arresting officer then grabbed my arm and took me to have a mugshot taken and then my finger prints. I felt like a criminal and really ashamed. Then he took me to another room, where he told me that he suspected I may be concealing an offensive weapon and that he needed to carry out a full strip search. 'You're joking!' I said. 'Where am I going to conceal anything?' 'That's just what we need to find out.'

I was ordered to start to undress and pass each item of clothing to one of the officers. I just had on a jacket, casual check shirt, blue chinos and casual shoes. I took them all off and passed them to the officer, he inspected them and then put them on a table. 'And those too' he said pointing to my boxers. 'Seriously?' I replied. 'Get them off now!' I did as I was told and was standing there bollock naked. I didn't mind being naked around other guys, like in the gym changing rooms, I've got quite a good body, but this was humiliating!

After the strip search I was allowed to make a phone call to Greg, probably one of the most difficult calls I have ever had to make. I could hear the anger and disappointment in his voice as I tried to explain what had happened. As soon as I put the receiver down I was taken to a cell and told to take my belt and shoes off. These were left outside as I went inside. The door slammed and I felt scared. Scared of what was going to happen to me, scared of what my fiends and neighbours would think, scared of what would happen to my job, scared of what Greg would think.

I stayed in the cell all night, I didn't sleep at all and nor could I face any of the food they brought me. The next morning I was formally charged with breaching Covid regulations and assaulting a police officer. I was bailed and had to appear in court just over three weeks later. I was taken through to the reception area where I was released. Greg was there and he came and gave me a hug. 'You've been a complete wanker' he said, 'but you're my wanker'. I could have cried.

The next three weeks proceeded very slowly. I had to confess to my boss, who was not impressed but said that while it would not look good it would not affect my job, providing there was no custodial sentence. I told him there wouldn't be, but I kept thinking about that word “custodial,” which didn’t sound good. I’d heard it before, but I didn’t like thinking that it might apply to me. Greg was very supportive and for once we were not at each other’s throats, it was almost as if things were getting back to normal. When I met with my solicitor, he advised that I should plead guilty to both charges. Even if the assault was an accident, there would be five police officers to testify against me, so I was never going to win on that. He warned me that I could get a jail sentence, though he said a fine and community service was much more likely. This shook me, but I like to look on the positive side and I was assured by my solicitor that my previous good character would work in my favour. I’d never been in any kind of trouble, for God’s sake.

The day of my hearing arrived. I had taken a day's leave from work, I didn't think I would need more. I made sure I dressed in my best grey suit. Greg had ordered me a new white shirt and a sober tie for the occasion. 'You need to make a good impression' he said as he sat and shined my shoes. Greg was good like that, always making sure I looked presentable. We started on the journey with plenty of time to spare. I was getting more and more nervous by the minute, but we didn't talk much. As he pulled up outside the court he leaned over and kissed me. 'Good luck' he said. I'll be waiting round the corner so just give me a call when you are done. Of course, he couldn't come into court due to the Covid regs. 'Have you got your mask?' he asked as I was getting out of the car 'Oh yes, I won't forget that'.

I was kept waiting outside of the building for some time before I was allowed in, Covid regs again! But as soon as I entered I was taken almost immediately into the courtroom, I hadn't expected this, I thought there would be more waiting around. Once in the court room I was told to stand in the dock and when the magistrates appeared I was asked how I would plead 'Guilty or Not Guilty'. 'Guilty' I said. The senior magistrate then asked my solicitor if there was anything to be said in mitigation. He responded by saying that I was a fine upstanding citizen, listing a number of things I had done. He went on to say that this was a one off, totally out of character and brought on by the effects of lockdown. The Magistrates consulted and then asked me to stand.

'Mr Bassett, we have heard what your solicitor has said in mitigation and we accept that you have taken responsibility for your actions by admitting guilt. However, we cannot condone your behaviour in any way which has put members of the public at risk. In addition in the course of your actions you seriously injured a police officer carrying out his lawful duty. It is therefore the opinion of this court that you should go to prison for six months.'

WTF! wake me up, this can't be happening to me! An officer appeared behind me. He told me to put my mask on, then he pulled my hands behind my back and handcuffed me. He led me down some steps and asked me to take off my belt and tie, fortunately I was wearing loafers so had no shoe laces to hand over. He then walked me to a cell and opened the door, I walked in and the door slammed shut. This time for six months! I just didn't know what to think, my life was ruined. What is Greg going to think? Oh Shit!

I was in that cell for most of the day before being transported to prison in one of those large prison vans with several other prisoners. Many looked like they were the sort of people who were in and out of prison all the time. I felt like a fish out of water. Once we arrived at the prison we were unlocked from the small cubicles they keep you locked up in within the van, they call them sweat boxes, because that’s more or less what they are. Small, plastic with only a small window. As we entered the prison one of the guards was yelling at us to get a move on and we did as he said. I for one was scared stiff of him.

Once there we were told to line up while the guard told us some rules and what we were supposed to do. I'm not sure I took any of it in, I still could not comprehend what had just happened. Soon we were taken to some cubicles and told to strip off. I started to take off my clothes and put them into the box that was provided, folding them neatly as I always did. 'Come on lad, we haven't got all day,’ one of the guards said to me. I finally took my boxers off and then I was given a full inspection before being told to bend over and spread my cheeks. I did as I was told and then felt a finger go into my arse. Fuck! This was such a violation. 'Okay, you're clean' he said. then throwing me some clothes he said 'get dressed'. I put on my new attire. Pale blue boxer shorts, nothing like the designer underwear that I had just placed in the box. next a pale blue T-shirt, then grey socks, grey jogging bottoms and a grey sweat shirt. All had been worn before and smelt musty, and none of them was what I would call designer athletic gear. I was then given some beat-up old trainers with Velcro fastenings. I'd always been someone who took pride in his appearance so this new outfit was just horrible. When I looked down at myself I saw clothes that I would never have dreamt of wearing, they were truly horrible. I felt like one of those dropouts you see on the street.

Later we were taken to the induction wing, which is where I arrived about 30 minutes ago, before being assigned to my cell. I guess I will find out tomorrow what induction actually consists of and what the next six months hold in store for me. One thing is for certain, this will change my life forever.

[alpaca-writes]

I have this habit of being very detailed in writing- hopefully not too much that it bores anyone to death. Personally, I love detailing OC's and as many aspects of them as I can before exposing these poor things to pain- almost like a slow-burn for torture, I suppose?

But then it occurs to me as well that maybe I'm just writing a normal story, with villians and heroes and anti-heroes but with more emphasis on the pains they go through.

Oh well, here is my newest creation-

CW: None quite yet. Some strong language, I suppose

MYSTICS

CHAPTER ONE: A NEW JOB

Lyrem Nomadus busied himself, flipping through resumes that bored him half to death and then a little more. Usually, he wouldn’t dare to look for anyone to share his space with. The business of curating, refurbishing and selling occultic items was dreadfully interesting to the general public and the last thing he was looking for was someone new to devalue it with their own useless knowledge and presumed ‘psychic’ abilities. The last two days were full of just that. He pinched the bridge of his wide nose as a mild headache came on- the last interview was a particularly painful thought.

A young man, with a heavily freckled, pale face, and round framed glasses poured over his collection of rocks near the front entrance, started spouting nonsense that Lyrem had little patience for.

“Ooh, malachite. I heard that stuff’s toxic, y’know,” he spoke with little regard for Lyrem standing near the cash register- an old charcoal grey thing with large buttons and made a noise like a classic ‘ka-ching’ just before the receipts printed out and the drawer popped open.

“Hm,” Lyrem hummed unamused, hoping it would prompt some style of professionalism from his prospective interviewee. It did not.

The young man continued to look around the store, finding one hematite pendulum specifically fascinating. Then he found his attention drawn to a display of elegantly designed tarot cards. The young man picked one of them up, studying the hierophant with mild interest.

“Please do not touch the merchandise.” Lyrem cut in.

The young man placed the card back down on the glass shelf, slightly askew to the rest on display. He cleared his throat and approached the register, finally.

“Did you bring a copy of your resume?” Lyrem asked him, knowing what the answer likely was, as there was nothing in his hands. He wore a long black trench coat over ratted, torn jeans and a plain tee shirt. There was one chain dangling from a pocket somewhere.

“Yessir,” he answered.

Oh, perhaps this boy had a hope after all.

After reaching into his back pants pocket with effort, the resume was presented, folded into six sections as a single piece of paper. A folded and clearly used napkin fell out onto the floor. Lyrem breathed deeply, took the folded resume, and smiled.

“Thank you for applying, but I am afraid you are not quite the right fit for this position,” Lyrem didn’t bother opening the paper, and instead tossed it over his own shoulder. It landed directly into the bin behind him.

“I-I’m sorry? You haven’t interviewed me yet”- his eyes widened with the confusion of the sudden rejection.

“Hm. I have interviewed you plenty, and I tell you now, I’d have a mangey dog run my store before you.” He didn’t mean for his tone to be so casual. Lyrem blinked.

The poor boy took a moment to process the insult before glaring across at the owner of Mystics ruthlessly. Suddenly, his fist pounded the desk, sending a short tremor through the wood.

“Anybody with half a brain could do this job! For fuck sake’s, man!”

Lyrem looked at him with a simple eyebrow raised and cocked his head toward the door. He was tired these days. The less he chose to care about children’s tantrums, the better. The boy left in a huff, and clearly, he tried slamming the jingling door behind him as he stepped out onto the street, but the spring against the top disallowed such havoc, and bounced slowly back. It closed finally with a light click, and the young man was gone.

Releasing the pinch from his nose, Lyrem sighed. He didn’t know which one was worse, that boy who left a trail of disrespect in his wake, or the woman from the previous day who was convinced that she could speak with his mother in the afterlife. The sullen woman wore gems aplenty on her fingers and hanging from ropes and chains around her neck. The wire wrapped amethysts in particular, caused her to look like an easter egg more than a living person. She didn’t take it too kindly when he explained that the stones around her finger were not a genuine turquoise either. By the end of it all, she was rather happy to be finished.

He shuddered, remembering the strong scent of patchouli she left that seemed to linger within his store, even now.. He didn’t have an aversion to patchouli, or to amethyst or turquoise, or even easter eggs… at least he hadn’t one before two days ago.

The rest of the applicants were all the same. Wanted a job, wanted something easy, and for experience- and all the time, Lyrem would ask himself: “experience for what, exactly?” Instead of asking the question aloud, he’d thank the person, and politely send them on their way out, with a promise to call them when he had made a decision.

He wasn’t planning to call anyone.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. The streets would be bustling past four, and if he wanted to avoid it and give himself a break from the eye strain, he would need to go for his coffee now, or not have one until after six. The horror.

He flipped over the sign on the door. It was one of those apologetic ones- as though it would stop a person from throwing a brick through a window for being closed on a weekday. Lyrem locked the door and turned to his right. There was a small local place not far from the corner of the intersection that he had grown accustomed to. If they had the raspberry scones today, he decided he may take one of those as a treat. Lost in thought, he crossed in front of a small white car making its left turn. The car stopped, though no horn was sounded as the engine suddenly died inexplicably next to him.

Lyrem walked around the car and poked his head through the passenger-side window which was open for the cool breeze. The driver looked back at him, his hands gripping the wheel too tightly.

“Pedestrians have the right of way, you know,” he mentioned calmly. Then, he tapped the top of the car twice. It restarted. “Drive a little safer, now.”

The driver suddenly remembered that the car was still in gear, and he moved along, crossing the intersection and left Lyrem behind like everything he had just done was part of some fever dream. He chuckled lightly and turned back down the block.

It was a sun-filled day, without a cloud in the sky, and it was a warm one too. Despite the fact that it was still early April, and the city had only just started waking from its hibernation from the cold, the streets were filling quickly with people.

His coffee took a while, which he forgave only because the end result was quite often a perfection, but he was nearly pouting at the counter as the spot for raspberry scones were replaced with one with blueberries instead. Losing his appetite, his eyes drifted around the rustic establishment. The sounds of a classical guitar filled the room with the unmistakable talents of the virtuoso, Andrés Segovia. It was a nice change from the sounds of folk rock and boy bands. The coffee shop was only getting better and better with age, it seemed.

Against the wall, a cork board was decorated in haphazardly placed notes. Some notes were simply inspirational or funny, some were searching for students for taekwondo or guitar, advertisements for plays and musicals at the local theatre were spread along the outer edges begging to be noticed, and there were a few job postings as well from other nearby establishments, restaurants, including one from a pet store.

He shouldn’t have tried putting an ad on Kijiji at all- not when the perfect people were right here all along. Like Icarus, Lyrem flew too close to the sun, and was burned by the troubling rays of stupidity that came through his door from delving into the ruddy depths of online job hunting. Never again would he make such a mistake.

“Lyre!”

Nodding, he retrieved his cup, and turned back toward the door. He nearly collided with another person, standing close up to the cork board and huffed, not spilling a drop.

“Excuse me,” he muttered.

“Apologies.” The person gave him little notice, but moved off to the side with ease to allow him through.

He furrowed his brows. What was it that was causing him to pause just before reaching the door? There was just… something… off.

It took him a moment before hearing it- the faintest humming to Segovia’s España, Spanish Dance No.10 in G coming from the person who apologized to him for being in the way. Each note timed perfectly to the sound from the speakers in the corner. He turned his head, to a particularly high note, the humming stopped to be replaced with fingers tapping in unison to the notes against their thigh.

“Guitar?” He asked, suddenly beside them. He studied the board also.

“No,” they replied. “Just looking for a job.”

He nodded, grimacing. Raising his hopes one final time, he ventured.

“I have potential work for you. I am hiring at my store’s location down the street. If you are interested.”

“That seems coincidental.” They replied unemphatically sifting through the other job postings there, knowing they were not currently dressed for success. “What store?”

“Mystics. It’s along twenty-third and”-

“-seventeenth, yes, I know the place.”

“Then you’re hired.”

They stopped, and brought their hands down from the board, and turned to stare their deep brown eyes into his of deep hazel- to finally spare a glance to the person wanting their attention.

“I don’t have time for practical jokes- or human trafficking, for that matter,” they said with insistence.

“I’m not joking, and I am definitely not in the business of human trafficking”- Lyrem stuttered incredulously. “I thought you said you knew the place.”

“I do.” They replied. “I’ve just never been in. It’s just one of those ridiculous shops for people to waste their money on colourful rocks. There’s literally a river just under the bridge half a mile from here- infinite supply for none of the coin.”

Taking them by surprise, he laughed.

“You will be the worst salesperson.” He said. More seriously, he added, “look, I really am in need of a person to take care of a few evening shifts and the weekends, I pay well above the average rate for any local retail store, and I’d be able to supply you with health benefits.”

This sudden bargain seemed to be interesting enough for the person to distance themselves from the cork board.

“I’m still finishing high school- under eighteen- is that a problem?” They asked. “It’s been a problem everywhere else”-

“Not a problem.”

They nodded.

“When do I start?”

[moon-stars01]

~Sugar Rush~

Hoshi x Reader

Author:pseudomint

Summary: Kwon soonyoung finds himself becoming a regular customer in a local ice cream shop after meeting mingyu’s cute co-worker. Sounds normal—unless you leave out the fact that he dislikes sweets.

Pairing:Hoshi(Svt) x reader

Gene:Collage/University,Ice Cream polar,attempt at humor,flirting,Smitten Hoshi,Mingyu third wheeling,Jun and his pick up lines

Rating:Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count:6100

———————-

~SUGAR RUSH~

Hoshi stares at the cute, pastel building, decorated with stickers of ice cream illustrations on the big, glass windows and door. He checks his phone screen once again, only to see the exact picture of the building he found on the internet glaring back at him mockingly.

This is the place. He finally knows where Mingyu’s secret workplace is. Don’t ask him where he got the address from (he might have.. owed a certain pink haired devil named Jeonghan). All he has to do now is to storm inside the ice cream shop and make fun of Mingyu for all it’s worth.

Being friends with that guy for a long time, Hoshi has a vague idea of why would Mingyu hide his workplace. The guy has always been vocal about his worship for anything hip-related, evident by his love for classic Pop, several ear piercings, and fashion style. He’s studying art so that he can become a tattoo artist. Moreover, he has a history as a delinquent back in middle school.

So, working in a local, cute ice cream shop near their campus might not be included in Mingyu’s list of Top 10 Dream Jobs, even as a part-timer.

Hoshi stifles a grin as he pushes the door open, earning a chime from the bell above. The shop is quite vacant, save for three customers, minding their own businesses in three different seats, the ice cream on their plates or cups half-eaten. One of them is bobbing their head to the popular pop song that is heard through the wall speakers. As Hoshi continues to scan the pastel themed shop, his eyes finally land on the glass display, filled with various flavors and colors of ice cream.Hoshi can already feel a toothache—he’s never been a fan of sweets, after all.

Noticing the absence of the employees behind the counters, Hoshi spots a bell placed beside the cash register. His hand hovers above it, uncertain whether calling the shop clerk with a damn bell is even polite—obviously, this isn’t some kind of five-star gourmet restaurant. Not that Hoshi has ever been into one.

Thankfully, before Hoshi could dive further into his impromptu crisis, an employee emerges from the back door. He’s wearing a pastel blue uniform shirt and a pink apron with the shop’s logo on the left side of his chest. Such soft colors, contrast with the dark scowl on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here, bastard?” Mingyu snarls, clearly aggravated by the mere of Hoshi’s presence alone.

And Hoshi can’t hold it back anymore. He laughs, folding his body in half, one hand clutching his gut as the other supports himself by gripping the counter. Fuck, this is funnier than he initially thought. No matter how he imagined it, the image of Mingyu and a cute ice cream shop just can’t be merged. Yet, here he is—the reality presented right before Hoshi’s eyes.Hoshi wheezes again.

“Stop fucking laughing,” Mingyu hisses, hands clenching on both of his sides. His face is flushed from anger with a mixture of embarassment. “This is why I’d never fucking tell you about this place!”

“Oh, it’s never about the place, ‘Mingyu,”Hoshi replies, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes. “It’s always been about you.”

Mingyu growls. “I’m seriously gonna kick you out.”

“I’m a paying customer,” Hoshi smirks back. “Treat me like one.”

“Then act like one,” Mingyu snaps, folding his arms across his chest, frown deepening. “Though I bet you can’t even handle the sweetness.”“Gimme the menu.”

“There’s one behind me, written on the chalkboard, asshole.”

“Wow, brilliant customer service,” Hoshi deadpans. “Don’t you have the printed one or something?”

“Aren’t you spoiled?” the hipster grumbles as he magically pulls out a menu, printed on a laminated paper from behind the counter. He doesn’t miss the opportunity to slap it against Hoshi’s chest.The act, however, is caught by one of Mingyu’s co-worker who’s suddenly coming out of the back room.

“Mingyu-oppa! Why did you do that to a customer?!” She screeches, horrified at her oppa’s rude behavior. She’s way shorter than Mingyu, and shorter than Kazuya. She has a (h/s) (h/c) hair that somehow looks soft and fluffy as the strands bounce everytime she moves.When their eyes finally meet,Hoshi’s lost the ability to speak.

Now, Hoshi’s never been one to believe in love at first sight, albeit having heard the idea of it in many sappy romance films. Hoshi’s also met many girls he considers as good-looking, but that’s it. There were no imaginary flowers or love-shaped bubbles or sprinkles of glitters around them, like a typical page of shoujo mangas. He didn’t feel his heart pounding harshly against his ribcages. He’s positive that he had never blushed at someone without any good reason.But his cheeks have never felt warmer than this moment.

The girl in front of him is unbelievably cute; she has an air of innocence around her that makes Hoshi want to scoop her up (no ice cream puns intended) in his arms and pinch those slightly chubby, round cheeks. Her cute button nose is perfect for a nose boop, and oh, how Hoshi wishes to nip her pink, plump lips.The girl’s tongue darts out to lick the very same lips, before she opens her mouth.

“Um.. are you okay? Is my co-worker hurting you?” She asks, brows furrowing in worry. Hoshi forces himself to look at her in the eyes, which is apparently a bad decision, because for the love of baseball, he’s never seen someone having such beautiful, molten e/c eyes—

“He’s fine,” Mingyu answers, shooting Hoshi a knowing look. “Sadly, I gotta admit that he’s a friend of mine, so don’t worry about him, y/n.”

“Oh!” Y/n brightens up, giving Hoshi an impression of a cute dog perking up its ears and wagging its tail. “Finally this l/n y/n gets to meet one of Mingyu-oppa’s friends!” She says joyfully with a voice a bit too loud. “May I also have the honor of knowing your name?”

Hoshi briefly glances at Mingyu, as if asking whether he should be concerned of Y/n’s odd, archaic way of speaking, but Mingyu’s expression works as a wordless assurance that it’s nothing to be worried about.Then, after eyeing Y/n’s extended arm as an offer for a handshake, Hoshi takes it firmly with a smirk.

“The name’s Kwon Soonyoung but you can call me Hoshi,” he purrs, his thumb tracing a circle on the back of Y/n’s hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Y/n.”His smirk broadens when a blush blooms on the girl’s cheeks.

“Uh—likewise!” Y/n retracts her hand too quickly. “Um, I’ll let you proceed with your order with Mingyu-oppa—“

“The thing is,” Hoshi cuts her off, leaning on the counter, showing a feigned, saddest expression on his face. “Mingyu was bullying me,” he sighs. The said guy promptly sputters a series of denials. “And this is my first time here. I think I deserve a discount for the bad customer service, don’t you think?”

Y/n lets out a scandalized gasp, giving Mingyu a nasty, chiding glare for treating their customer poorly, even if they’re ‘friends.’ “Then you have my approval!” She declares, jabbing a proud thumb at her own chin. “Don’t worry! I’ll tell boss about the discount later! Now, please pick any flavors!”Hoshi’s mouth twitches as a bubble of laughter arises from his chest. This kid is so gullible, so genuine, so interesting. He almost feels bad for tricking him.Mingyu kicks Y/n’s legs, “Idiot! Can’t you see that he’s tricking you?!”

When y/n shoots a puzzled look at Hoshi, Hoshi’s laughter breaks free from his mouth. In return, he gets a bristling y/n who goes out of her way to be on the other side of the counter just to shake Hoshi’s collar and send him colorful insults. Not the most professional thing an employee should do to a customer, but it’s worth for Hoshi’s own entertainment.In the end, Hoshi’s the one who gets kicked out of the shop before he causes more commotions.

Hoshi comes back at Mingyu’s next shift, mentally convincing himself that he’s here to annoy the hell out of the hipster, not because Mingyu accidentally reveals the fact that y/n has the same schedule with him.Yeah, right.

He peeks over the big windows, and hesitates. The shop is more crowded than his last visit, as expected from weekends. It’s mostly filled with couples and giggling high school girls. Hoshi decides to sit on the unoccupied outdoor seats by the window, waiting for the beeline to lessen.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for the patrons to decrease. By the time he enters the shop, the jingle of the doorbell earns him an automatic response from y/n who’s not even looking at the door. “Welcome to—“ she glances at Hoshi, then frowns. “—oh, it’s you.”

“Oh? Do I see another bad customer service?” Hoshi smirks, strutting closer the counter.

“I’ll show you customer service,” Mingyu threatens, glowering at him.

Hoshi holds up his hands in defense, grinning, “easy there, ‘Mingyu”

“So, are you going to order, Kwon Soonyoung?” Y/n squints at him in suspicion. Pushing aside his inner glee of noticing a mundane detail such as Y/n remembering his full name, Hoshi ponders of giving her an honest reply or not. Will they kick him out once again if he admits that he can barely handle sweet things?

“Hoshi?” Y/n’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and his previous scorn is replaced with an owlish blinking. It makes Kazuya more aware of how y/n’s long eyelashes brush her cheeks whenever she closes her eyelids for a brief second.Pretty.“Hoshi!”Hoshi coughs and answers distractedly. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll order something.”

Mingyu stares at him like he’s grown a pair of horns, but it’s more like that he can’t seem to grasp that Hoshi, of all people, agrees to order something sweet.

“You sound uncertain, but worry not! The ice cream here will change your mind,” Y/n chirps with an eye smile. Hoshi can feel a thousand of cupid arrows piercing through his fragile, gay heart.

“Right, because Hoshi absolutely loves ice cream,” Mingyu mutters under his breath beside his co-worker with a blatant sarcastic tone.Y/n doesn’t seem to hear it, much to Hoshi’s relief.

“So...” Hoshi drawls, scrutinizing the menu near the cash register. “Do you have a flavor that isn’t too...” he grimaces at the next word, “sweet?”

“That’s impossible, go home.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Mingyu.”

“I can recommend you some,” Y/n replies, ignoring Mingyu and Hoshi’s glaring contest. “We have wasabi flavor, bitter melon flavor—“

“Some extreme recommendations you have there,” Hoshi sweatdrops.

“Hey! They taste fine, I guess,” Y/n looks hesitant herself. Hoshi wonders if the girl even understands basic marketing strategies—she could’ve at least pretended to be confident with her promotion. “I mean, I’m sure they’re better than natto flavored ice cream or anything.”

“You hate natto?” Hoshi smiles in amusement, inwardly happy to know one fact about Y/n.

“I despise it!” Y/n huffs, not even bothering to conceal her disgust. “Anyway! If you’re not interested with our out-of-the-world flavors, maybe you’d love our triple shot espresso ice cream! If you’re still not convinced, we still have a variety of diet frozen yogurts that are guaranteed to be low-sugar!”Hoshi hums at the mention of anything caffeine-related, “triple shot espresso ice cream doesn’t sound bad. Get me the smallest cup, y/n.”

“Roger!” Y/n beams, giving a military salute before she busies herself with Hoshi’s order. Her moves behind the counter are swift, practiced, and surprisingly not clumsy. Her hips sway a little to the beat of the music—whose great idea it is to play a suggestive jazz music at a fucking ice cream shop in Saturday afternoon?—but Hoshi’s not really complaining. In fact, he enjoys the show a bit too much; he doesn’t even realize that he’s been propping one arm on the counter to support his chin while watching y/n with a mushy smile.“Wipe that disgusting expression off your face,” Mingyu comments, unimpressed.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah? As if I could overlook someone who looks like they’re seconds away from jumping my co-worker in public!” Mingyu hisses this time, still considerate enough to lower his volume.“Don’t worry, I’ll do that in private,” Hoshi winks.

“That’s not what I—“

“Do you want any additional toppings, Hoshi?” Y/n unintentionally interrupts their bickering. She’s now holding a small paper cup of a coffee-colored ice cream, head slightly to the side in an adorable manner, waiting for Hoshi’s response.

Although Hoshi’s brain is already short-circuited due to the amount of metaphorical sweetness that Y/n radiates, he still manages to croak out a reply of “almonds are fine”, in hoping that if the ice cream is still too sweet for his liking, the almonds would be able to balance the sugar.

Mingyu handles the payment without initiating any arguments with Hoshi for once, probably wanting to speed up the process of Hoshi leaving the shop. Either way, Hoshi has to leave indeed. He has other things to do, too.

“Thank you for purchasing, please come again~” come a chorus of synchronized phrase from Mingyu and Y/n; the former sounding bored and forced, while the latter sounding more cheerful.“I will,” Hoshi retorts jocosely, then flicks his gaze over Y/n, “if Y/n calls me her oppa, too.”

“Okay, Hoshi-oppa,” y/n breathes out without missing a beat. Her face instantly bursts into a myriad shades of red, complemented by a small, shy smile etched on her lips, and-Hoshi suddenly thinks he has a severe case of heart palpitations.

He inhales sharply, and turns his heels towards the door. “It’s decided, then,” he chuckles over his shoulder, giving his last smirk towards y/n, and exits the shop.

(He eats his ice cream on the way to his apartment and is genuinely surprised at the rich taste of coffee instead of sugar.It adds one more reason to visit the shop again.)

 Hoshi’s next visit includes an unwanted guest, much to Hoshi’s distaste.

For a better term, he was following Hoshi in secret. Usually, Hoshi would easily sense something behind his back, but the particular street that the ice cream shop is located at is always busy. It’s to be expected from a street that connects commercial, academic and several residential buildings. That being said, the crowd of people makes it hard for Hoshi to notice whether someone is following him or not.In the end, Jun makes his presence known loudly by the time he enters the shop.

“Oi, Hoshi! You refused to hang out with me just to buy some ice cream?!” he stomps his foot on the ground. “Wait, I thought you don’t like ice—“

Hoshi, who’s currently leaning on the counter right in front of Y/n, automatically massages the bridge of his nose and quickly interjects the purple haired before he spouts something unnecessary. “Jun, did you really follow me all the way here?”

“Does it matter?” the purple haired shrugs, sticking his nose up in the air. “I’m here now. That’s what you get from ditching me.”

Hoshi sighs in exasperation, “I did not ditch you. I told you to reschedule our hang out.”

“Same thing,” Jun scoffs stubbornly.

Mingyu bashes his forehead on the counter, emitting a depressed aura all over the shop. “Great. There goes all of my peace at work.”

“Oh, Mingyu! Fancy meeting you here!” Jun greets with a grin. “So you’re the reason why Hoshi’s here?”

“No,” both Mingyu and Hoshi say flatly.

“Um, are you going to order?” Y/n, who’s been observing the situation, speaks up, attracting a pair of black orbs towards him. Then, Jun regards Hoshi and Y/n, back and forth, in a thoughtful manner.

“Oh ho? I see now,” he grins wickedly, elbowing Hoshi to the side and takes over his place, resulting in the dancer stumbling and hitting the glass display of ice cream. Paying no attention to Hoshi’s heated glare, Jun leans over the counter and brings his face closer to Y/n. “You’re pretty cute, I guess. Hoshi has a good taste.”Y/n makes a choking noise from her throat, and Hoshi’s left eye twitches.

“Who the heck are you?” Y/n scrunches her nose, taking one step backwards defensively.

“Wen Junhui, but you can call me darling,” Jun smiles flirtatiously. Y/n only stares back with a palpable discomfort on her face.

“...Then, are you going to order?” She repeats hesitantly.

“Sure. As long as you’re included as the bonus.”

“Uh,” y/n frowns deeper. “May I know the flavor of your choice?”

“Anything would do,” Jun answers, “but if you were an ice cream, you’d be my favorite flavor.”

“What?”

“And I know you’d like me too,” jun then lowers his voice into a whisper, like he’s going to tell the world’s deepest secret, “because I have an 8” popsicle down there.”

Mingyu’s shoulders are shaking from laughter, finding the whole situation amusing and ridiculous. Any other day, Hoshi would, too, but right now, he only feels a second-hand embarassment from Jun’s abhorrent pick-up lines. Even y/n looks utterly unimpressed by Jun’s flirting.

“Alright, Jun, that’s enough,” Hoshi interjects impatiently. “No one wants to know about your nonexistent 8” popsicle dick.”Mingyu laughs louder.

“Tch, you’re no fun, Hoshi,” Jun glares at him childishly, then whirls his body towards Y/n crossing his arms in his usual bossy manner. “Fine, I’ll order something. Get me a big cup of butterscotch and vanilla ice cream with marshmallows and oreos on top.”

“...Coming right up,” slightly taken aback by the change of attitude, y/n mutters and wordlessly scoops the ice cream into the cup, while Hoshi is inwardly cringing from the amount of sugar Jun’s order has.

The purple haired pays and finally leaves the shop, not before gesturing a V-sign to his eyes and then to Hoshi’s—indicating that their conversation isn’t over.

Hoshi shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be discussed in the first place,” he mumbles under his breath. Jun dragged himself into this situation. Then again, Hoshi’s known Jun long enough to tell that the purple haired wasn’t seriously flirting with Y/n. The dancer could properly make his fangirls swoon if he wanted to.

Looking back to his prior act, however... it’s almost as if he was testing Hoshi, because his eyes were holding a familiar knowing gleam—the exact glint in Mingyu ’s eyes when Hoshi first met y/n.

“But seriously, who is he?!” Y/n fumes. “I can’t believe he made a dick joke straight to my face!”

“He’s Hoshi’s ex,” Mingyu grins, nudging

y/n with his elbow. The younger blanches, mouth gaping upon hearing the information.

“Yup, and I’m totally dating you, Mingyu,” Hoshi rolls his eyes.

“R-really?!” Y/n’s eyes grow as wide as a saucer. Hoshi bites back a grin, almost forgetting how gullible Y/n is.

“Relax, we’re lying,” he snorts. “Can I take my order now?”

“Oh, right!” Y/n straightens her back, although she doesn’t seem to be convinced by Hoshi’s reassurance.

Hoshi selects the exact menu he ordered on his last visit, although this time he chooses a cone rather than a paper cup. He also makes a mental note to try another variety of topping next time.

“You two looks close,” y/n comments all of a sudden as she works behind the counter. It doesn’t take a genius to know who Y/n is talking about.“Jun’s my childhood friend,” Hoshi

smiles, quirking an eyebrow at Y/n’s pout. She’s sulking, for some unknown reason, albeit Hoshi has a silly, vague (and hopeful) idea of it. “Rest assured, there’s nothing between us,” Hoshi continues, watching how Y/n subtly relaxes her shoulders. “That goes for me and Mingyu, too,” she adds as an afterthought. Mingyu has never nodded so aggresively.

“That explains why you guys are on a first name basis,” Y/n says abashedly, avoiding Hoshi’s gaze. “B-but! Your relationship is none of my business, of course! This

l/n y/n was just curious, please forgive me for prying!”

Still blushing, she shoves the cone under Hoshi’s nose. Hoshi chuckles and takes it, purposely brushing their fingers together, deepening y/n’s blush. Satisfaction sprouts inside his chest—even without any cheesy pick-up lines, y/n’s naturally a blushing mess around him.Adorable.

“This is sickening to watch,” Mingyu groans, “now pay up, bastard.”

Out of reflex, Hoshi gives him another snide remarks about bad customer service (again), to which Mingyu retaliates with another empty threats.

The doorbell jingles as two chatting customers enter the shop, and at the same time, it’s Hoshi’s cue to leave. He looks back at Y/n, who’s unexpectedly staring at him in silence, and grins cheekily when Y/n flinches due to being caught.“See you next time,” Hoshi says in soft tone, before he playfully boops y/n’s on the nose.

Y/n doesn’t—can’t—reply because she has to serve the next customers, but she manages to send a meek smile towards Hoshi’s direction.

Fuck, Hoshi thinks later, as he ambles back to his place. He can’t believe he finally had the balls to nose boop y/n. He can’t erase y/n’s blushing face from his mind. He can’t stop smiling giddily right now—passersby are probably whispering about him, but he couldn’t care less.All he cares is that he’s honestly in some deep shit.

~~~~~~

 Hoshi spends the next few weeks coming to the ice cream shop. He sometimes misses a day or two, partially due to being exhausted by dancing practice or just college in general. Another reason is because he’s fed up with eating ice cream (no matter how much he’s come to tolerate it a little ever since coming to the shop) and his diet as an athlete doesn’t allow him to overeat anything sweet. Which is ridiculous, since he doesn’t have other excuses to see Y/n; visiting the shop frequently without buying anything would be weird. Though, as days go by, he becomes more creative with his orders, like switching to low-sugar frozen yogurts or an iced Americano float (with the float being removed, much to Y/n’s confusion). Soon, he also finds out the existence of food—such as toasts and grilled sausages—in the shop’s menu.(“You need to stop ogling at Y/n and pay attention to our menu instead,” Mingyu once chastised wryly.)

Regardless, Hoshi enjoys most of his visits. Y/n is a fun person to talk to; Hoshi is often swayed by her personality and ends up being more talkative than he actually is, earning a frown from Mingyu. Later, Y/n reveals that she’s a dancer at Hoshi and Mingyu’s rival college, and she has jokingly asked Hoshi several times to dance against her.Hoshi’s never given an outright answer, however. As much as he wants to meet up with Y/n outside of the shop, he wants it as a date.

And that’s where the problem lies. He doesn’t know how to properly bring it up. He could ask Y/n in the shop, right beside Mingyu, but getting rejected in public would be awkward. In the end, that thought is always buried to the back of his mind.

Today is no different. Hoshi visits the the shop again—after being absent for a week prior—with no intentions of bringing up the date. As usual, he only wants to see the dancer. Even before stepping his feet inside, his heart thumps in anticipation to Y/n’s welcoming smile. So, as soon as he pushes the door open only to notice the absence of one of the workers behind the counters, his face falls.

“Asshole, I should’ve gotten offended of how disappointed your face is when you saw me instead of Y/n,” Mingyu scowls, to which Hoshi grins sheepishly. “She’s gonna be late today. I know what you’re thinking—she’s fine. There aren’t any dangerous emergencies or something like that, calm down.”

“I am calm,” Hoshi replies, burying his hands into his pockets. “I know she’s gonna be fine. She has such a caring co-worker after all,” he smirks at Kuramochi, who huffs in slight embarassment.

“Shut up. Who knows what stupid thing she’s gonna do,” the hipster’s lips curl downwards, an attempt to hold back his smile. “Anyway, since she’s not here yet, I can finally interrogate you.”

“What is there to interrogate?”

“What is y/n to you?” Mingyu ignores his words, giving him a pointed look instead. “If you’re only playing with her, Hoshi, I swear – “

“Oi, can’t you trust me a little?” Hoshi sweatdrops. “Do I look like some kind of heartthrob? You know me better than that, ‘Mingyu.”

“With your face, it’s easy to become one.”

“Very flattering.”

“Anyway, I’m being fucking serious right now,” Mingyu glowers at the dancer solemnly. “Tell me what you want from her.”

Hoshi eventually sighs, and briefly scans the whole shop. Luckily, it’s one of the weekdays, so there aren’t many customers inside. Besides, they’re too engrossed in their conversations or electronical devices to eavesdrop on Hoshi and Mingyu.

“Look, I don’t want anything from her,” Hoshi begins slowly, but he’s only rewarded with a skeptical look from Mingyu. “Okay, maybe I’ve been meaning to ask her on a date, but—“ he narrows his eyes at the hipster. “Wait, she’s single, right?”

“Isn’t it a bit too late to be asking that?” Mingyu purses his lips into a thin line.

“Oh, Hoshi, you’re here!”

Both the hipster and the dancer whip their head alarmingly to the familiar voice. There stands y/n with her trademark grin, her bag slung around her shoulder. Panic blossoms inside of Hoshi’s chest—he didn’t hear the jingle of the doorbell, and judging from Mingyu’s startled response, he didn’t, too. They don’t know how long has the dancer been standing there. It’d be bad if Y/n managed to hear their conversation.

So, Hoshi studies y/n’s facial expression, searching for something, but the dancer only looks perplexed—probably due to Hoshi’s sudden stillness.

“Hoshi?” Y/n blinks up at him, making Hoshi more conscious of their height difference. Eyes trailing down to her neck, the pastel-colored collar of the shop’s uniform peeks out of her oversized sweater that falls until her mid-thigh, with the sleeves covering up her whole hands.

Sweater paws, Hoshi’s mind shuts down as tiny Hoshi’s inside his brain run in circles, screaming “ABORT! ABORT!” with high-pitched voices. She’s fucking wearing sweater paws.

“Hoshi-oppa!” Y/n frowns, successfully drawing Hoshi’s attention. “Don’t zone out like that, you’re scaring me.”

“Right, sorry,” the dancer mutters as he watches Y/n disappearing into the back room, before she shows up again without her sweater while tying the apron on her lower back.

“I see that you haven’t ordered something!” Y/n grins brightly, this time placing both of her hands on her hips. “So, what are you here for today, Hoshi?”

Hoshi, still distracted, racks his brain to all of the menu he’s ordered in the past. Triple shots espresso ice cream with almonds. Iced americano float, but without the float. Wasabi ice cream because he was feeling adventurous. Hazelnut spread and sliced banana on toast—

No, that’s not What hoshi wants all of this time. He wants—

“You,” he blurts out, mumbling, unaware of Mingyu choking in the background. However, when he notices the lack of response from the dancer, the haze in his brain suddenly dissipates, and everything becomes crystal clear again. “Shit, I mean—“

“Okay,” Y/n says, e/c orbs shyly peeking from underneath her lashes towards Hoshi.

“I was—huh, what?” Hoshi pauses, dumbfounded.

“I said okay,” Y/n averts her eyes, playing with the hem of her apron. “You can have me.”

Hoshi stares and stares, trying to process Y/n’s affirmation. That sounds too suggestive—too good to be true. Maybe his brain is tricking him. Maybe this is only a scene that he unconsciously creates inside his mind which is brought to life in a form of hallucination.

But when Y/n starts to fidget under his gaze, Hoshi lets his brain register the fact that this is, indeed, a reality.

As the gears inside him begin to work again, Hoshi doesn’t pass the chance to poke some fun at Y/n’s answer which basically serves as a free teasing material for Hoshi to use.

“Oh? How bold,” he then comments, smirking in satisfaction as he observes how realization gradually dawns on Y/n’s face.

“I didn’t mean to phrase it like that!” the dancer exclaims defensively, her cheeks now tainted with red. “Y-you were the one who blurted out weird things in the first place!”

“Sorry, sorry~” Hoshi grins unapologetically, to which Y/n pouts at. “But, as tempting as it sounds, you should let me take you on a date first, y’know,” he continues, his playful grin faltering a little due to slight nervousness.

To his relief, Y/n utters a timid “okay” and nods, a tint of pink still decorating her cheeks. At that, Hoshi doesn’t bother to hide the ever-growing smile on his lips and an excited glance to Mingyu who’s pretending to read a magazine and acting all disinterested, albeit the small curl on the corner of his mouth tells otherwise.

The next thing Hoshi knows is him exchanging phone numbers with the dancer and discussing their date in a short stretch of time due to the arrival of a group of customers.

Hoshi doesn’t get any ice cream that day, but he does get something—someone—sweeter in return.

 ~Three months later~

 Hoshi sips on his hot, black coffee, the steam fogging up the lenses of his glasses. He steps aside when a patron comes out of the shop hurriedly, but he manages to halt the door from closing with his right knee. Hoshi then opens the door big enough for his body to get inside as the familiar chime of the doorbell greets his ears. The shop is silent, empty without customers, highly caused by the “CLOSED” sign on the door with a red, thick font.“I’m sorry, we’re already closed—“ Y/n says from Hoshi’s left side while stacking some brochures. When she finally turns her head towards the door, a beatific smile appears on her face. “Oh! Hoshi.”

Hoshi smiles back, placing his coffee on the counter and leans towards Y/n, to which the latter eagerly closes the gap between their mouths. They share a quick kiss as a greeting, before Hoshi withdraws slightly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, lips brushing over

y/n’s. He steals one or two more kisses, just because he can’t help himself.

“Hi to you too,” Y/n whispers, giggling. Hoshi cradles his lover’s cheeks with one of his palms, prompting Y/n to nuzzle against it. From here, he can also make out Y/n’s e/c eyes twinkling in delight—so captivating and blinding that it stupefies him.

“For someone who’s on her last day of work, you sure look happy,” Hoshi comments, arching an amused brow.

“I am happy!” Y/n replies, pulling away fully to finish her tidying duty. She moves swiftly behind the counters, the sole of her shoes creating noisy sounds against the tiled floor. “But not in a way you’re thinking.”

“Enlighten me, then,” Hoshi says, bringing the paper cup of his half-drunk coffee to his mouth and takes a sip.

“I like this job,” Y/n confesses, finishing her work and untying her apron. “My co-workers are nice, and my boss is generous to give me discounted ice cream.”

“I think the latter plays a bigger part,” Hoshi teases, knowing Y/n’s sweet tooth.

“Shut up,” the dancer juts her tongue out. “Meeting you here is what makes this job more special,” Y/n casually states, offering a smug smirk at Hoshi’s flabbergasted expression.

“Wow, Y/n,” he breathes out, before whistling with a shake of head. “You sure become bolder with your words nowadays.”

“Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?!”Y/n questions, pupils turning cat-like.Hoshi hums. “Well, you used to blush so much around me—“

“That’s – “ as if on cue, red creeps up to y/n’s cheek. “That’s because you always gave me those kind of eyes and used that kind of voice—!”

“What about now?”hoshi smirks, revelling in the way Y/n gets all worked up because of him. A nasty personality he has, indeed.

“Ugh, I’m not gonna talk about it!” the dancer scrunches her nose, a habit that Hoshi’s taken to notice whenever Y/n is frustrated. “Anyway! I was talking why I feel happy to quit work! It’s because I can spend more time with you now!”If Hoshi’s heart pulsates rapidly due to the abrupt swarm of affections in his veins, he does a great job of hiding it. “The real reason why you quit is because of the upcoming dancer season. We’d still be busy, either way,” he points out instead.

“Must you be so pessimistic, Hoshi?” Y/n pouts, looking a little dejected. Hoshi exhales guiltily.

“My bad,” he chuckles, ruffling the crown of Y/n’s head. “You know that I’d always try to make time for you, right, Y/n?”

“Of course you do, you whipped asshole. Only you would come to a shop that sells something you dislike.”

“Mingyu-oppa!” Y/n jumps due to

Mingyu’s unannounced appearance from the back room, before gawking at his revelation. “Wait, what? Does Hoshi not like ice cream?”

“Ask him yourself,” Mingyu shrugs.

Y/n immediately whirls towards Hoshi, displaying her best puppy face to lure the truth out of her boyfriend. And concede Hoshi does, not before shooting daggers at a snickering Mingyu.

“Yes, y/n, I don’t eat much sweets. You happy now?” he admits reluctantly, tugging the collar of his jacket in embarassment.

“Oh my god, Hoshi!” Sawamura bounces on her feet. “After all of this time, you didn’t come here for the ice cream?!”

Hoshi sighs, not before downing the remnant of his coffee and throwing it in the nearest trash bin. “I don’t see what the issue is. It’s not like I exactly loathe ice cream, I just can’t handle it if it’s too sweet—“Y/n, however, wastes no time to approach Hoshi on the other side of the counter, circling her arms around Hoshi’s neck and kisses him hard on the mouth.

The hipster groans in agony, covering his face with his right palm. “This isn’t the outcome that I wanted,” he bemoans, lamenting in his misery.

Hoshi laughs nasally, eyes closing in pure mirth as Y/n continues to pepper kisses on his face. It eggs Mingyu even more as he seethes in irritation.“Okay, stop it, Y/n! Why the fuck are you so pleased at the idea of Hoshi trying to get himself diabetes for you?”

“Oi, that’s too exaggerating, don’t you think?” Hoshi sweatdrops.

Y/n ends her ministration and frowns at Mingyu. “But Mingyu-oppa! If I were in Hoshi’s shoes, I’d do the same! But currently he’s not working in a natto-based restaurant or something, so I shall reward his bravery in some other way!”

“Don’t do it here,” Mingyu snaps, “I’ve cleaned and locked all shit in the back room while you were busy with that idiot. Grab your bag and sweater and just go home.”Teary-eyed, Y/n beams brightly, “I express my sincerest gratitude for you,

Mingyu-oppa!” She exclaims, before dashing to the back room to collect her belongings.“Yeah, yeah,” Mingyu waves her off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t read too much into it. It’s my last day too, figures I’d do more than usual.”

“Aw, it wouldn’t hurt to admit that you care for her, ‘Mingyu,” Hoshi coos.

“And you!” Mingyu then throws the dancer a resentful look. “You owe me for all of the time you’ve made me into a fucking thirdwheel, bastard!”

At that moment, Y/n has come back, already clad in her warm, oversized sweater, and proceeds to stand next to Hoshi. That’s when an idea strikes him.

“Thirdwheel?” Hoshi asks, tilting his head at Mingyu in a faux innocuousness. He pulls his unsuspecting girlfriend closer by the waist, to which Y/n lets out a soft gasp. “Whatever do you mean by that, Mingyu?”

“Huh?” Mingyu croaks out, widening his eyes when Hoshi lowers his head to Y/n’s face with a shit-eating grin.

“What are you – shit, don’t you two dare making out again – give me a damn break, I’m trying to close the shop here! If you two don’t stop right now, I’m gonna kick out both of you with a fucking broom – oi, did you hear me?! Alright, for fuck’s sake, Y/n, save the moan for later and GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE—“

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

linger like a tattoo kiss

chapter two of the peter losing wendy series

*inspired by Taylor Swift’s Folklore*

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Original Character (Liz Walker)

Warnings: mentions of suicide, PLEASE proceed with caution, drinking/partying, smoking, mentions of emotional abuse, does not follow the plot of the canon material

Word Count: 5.4K

Summary: Liz has a run-in with a Kook at a party. JJ, strangely, shows up late.

May 4, 2019

With a headache, Liz awoke, scrunching up her nose at the sound of the rooster out in the chicken coop. The sky was just barely alight with the rising sun, and a chilly morning breeze blew through the screens in the windows. Early May, and summer had still yet to set in. Not a problem to Liz, though. She was always glad to go a few extra weeks without the thick blanket of humidity which began to suffocate the Outer Banks every year by June. Debating whether or not to move, she stared up at the ceiling with tired eyes. There were cracks on the white surface, and a couple brownish water stains from the last tropical storm.

Despite the open windows, John B’s house still smelled stale after a night of debauchery. Empty bags of chips, green glass bottles, and rolling papers littered the rickety dining table. After the party at the Boneyard, the Pogues had migrated back to the Chateau and continued into the darkest hours of the night. Judging from the orangey hue of the sky, they couldn’t have gone to bed more than a couple hours prior. Of course, Kie and Pope had gone back to the Carrera residence, claiming to want to sleep in a ‘real’ bed. Kie could never stand the uncomfortable springs sticking out of the pullout couch mattress, or the mattress in the spare bedroom.

JJ usually got the spare, but both he and Liz had ended up sprawled out on the pullout instead. She would have worried about John B suspecting something fishy going on, but she could hear his faint snores coming from the direction of his bedroom. Not that he would’ve ever raised an eyebrow at seeing them share a bed. Liz was just a textbook worrywart. Besides, the living room was empty save for the two of them after everyone else had gone to bed, when they’d stayed up talking and sharing a final blunt to take the edge off and kissing softly. No; they’d had the whole world to themselves, it had seemed, in the living room of the Chateau in the wee hours of the new spring day. Though she felt silly, Liz couldn’t help letting a small smirk ghost over her lips at the memory of only hours earlier.

After a moment more indecision, she found herself doing her best to rise from the bed without waking JJ. It took more than a few seconds to pluck his arm from where it was draped over her stomach. Drool leaked from the corner of his mouth where his face was smashed up against the pillow. Liz’s smile widened just a bit at the sight. Noticing the goosebumps which rose on her arms at the lack of JJ’s body heat, she grabbed the crumpled gray cardigan from under the pullout mattress. She’d noticed it under there the night before as JJ was sucking on her neck.

Grimacing at the light from the back windows, Liz went up to the kitchen sink and got herself a glass of tap water. There was simply no way she was getting back to sleep with the hangover throbbing behind her eyes. But she didn’t particularly mind with such a beautiful sunrise. She had seen it so many times over the course of her life, on daybreak fishing trips and in the aftermath of long nights, but it always felt like the first time. Through the windows above the sink, she could see the reflection of the warmly painted sky against the water in the marsh. It glistened in small, glowing pearls on the dewy blades of tall grass in John B’s backyard.

As she was setting the emptied glass down in the sink, she felt a pair of arms snake around her waist. She startled, but relaxed into JJ’s touch after a moment. He had barely made any noise at all while padding over to her in his socked feet.

“Fuck, JJ!” she exclaimed quietly, letting out an anxious, breathy chuckle. “Announce yourself, sunshine.”

Not quite yet awake, JJ leaned against her. His head was on her shoulder, eyes closed as he spoke in drowsy slurs.

“Jesus, what time is it?” he asked.

“My name’s Liz, not Jesus. But, hey, we’ve only known each other since we were seven, after all,” she quipped, teasing.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, eager to lay back down. The flashes across his memory of all the alcohol he’d downed the night before made him a little nauseous. “Gimme a break, Lizzie.”

She snickered, but relented, looking over at the clock on the microwave. “Half past five.”

He groaned in response, shaking his head a bit. “I have to leave for work in like twenty minutes.”

“Shit. Why?”

“Early bird breakfast,” he grumbled.

“That sucks ass,” Liz said. “There’s some aspirin left in the medicine cabinet, I think. If you want to take some before you leave.”

He hummed in acknowledgement. The tank top Liz wore slipped down over her right arm just a bit. JJ pressed a kiss to the exposed skin of her shoulder, on which her small, black and white tattoo of a betta fish peeked out from the neckline of the cardigan. She’d gotten it the day after turning sixteen, with a forged signature on the parental release form. It was the only tattoo she had. Since JJ had begun kissing her, it had become one of his favorite spots. Hers, too. The feather-light pressure of his lips reminded her of the night before, when she’d touched him just as gingerly.

.   .   .

Rarely did Liz arrive at a party before JJ. He was usually the first to run down the beach, leading the way as he helped carry the keg. As he shouted in excitement, she could normally only manage a nervous half-grimace. But JJ was still nowhere to be found fifteen minutes after they’d finished setting up shop. Even the bonfire was lit. The past few days had been dry, and Liz hadn’t encountered too much trouble getting the logs to ignite. She was a former girl scout, and had slowly become the honorary firestarter of the group. She stood next to her creation, a red solo cup in her hand. John B had gone all out, supplying not just a keg but also the materials for mixed drinks. Liz was nursing a vodka-cranberry, taking slow, small sips. She was being careful to pace herself after the sloppy table dance she’d performed a few weeks back.

The late afternoon had just begun bleeding into evening, and the sky had darkened to a strange mixture of pinks and blues. A chilly breeze blew past her as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, and she took a couple more steps towards the heat of the bonfire. Still, she kept a careful distance from the main crowd. Kie had gotten into a conversation with Pope about use of fracking on the mainland as they sat next to each other in the circle around the fire. Liz could see how completely engrossed Pope was in Kie’s words, and if JJ had been there, she would have faked a gag at how cute they were. John B and Sarah, too, were lost in their own world, sharing flirty touches and lingering looks as they manned the keg. Though it had been months since the two had started dating, Liz still wasn’t sure how she felt about Sarah. The ice had melted between the Kook princess and the rest of the Pogues, but Liz just couldn’t bring herself to feel comfortable. Not around a girl who wore necklaces made of solid gold and got her highlights professionally done. The most Liz could afford was a seven-dollar box of dye, but years of practice had served her well. She’d started dying her auburn hair a fiery shade of copper during freshman year, just after her father died, and never looked back.

While she’d been getting ready for the party, she’d decided to channel Halloween, even though it was May. John B and Pope had watched curiously as she donned her black lipstick and smudged eyeliner. Sarah had extended the offer for Liz to come and get ready with her and Kie. But Liz brushed it off. Most of her makeup was at John B’s house, anyway, considering how often she stayed there. Why bring it all the way to the Figure Eight? Liz couldn’t imagine stepping into Sarah Cameron’s room, seeing the closet filled to the brim with designer dresses; velvet and silk and tulle. Especially not when the best Liz could do for a party outfit was an ancient Jimi Hendrix t-shirt and a semi-clean polka dot skirt.

Before she could spiral deeper into the bitter storm in her mind, Liz was pulled from her reverie when someone bumped hard into her shoulder. Liz barely registered what had happened until she felt the lukewarm drink spill down the front of her shirt. The gray fabric on which Jimi Hendrix’s face was printed was splashed right down the front with a deep, pinkish-red stain. Furrowing her brows, Liz looked up to see the Kook girl who had walked into her retreating, barely casting Liz a glance. The girl, who Liz recognized eventually as being called Ally, was struggling to walk on her high heels in the sand, while also typing away on her brand new phone, adorned with a sequined case. Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal. Maybe it didn’t matter that Ally hadn’t said a word, hadn’t looked Liz’s way, hadn’t apologized. But Liz looked around and found almost no one had seen what happened. John B and Sarah were all the way across the beach, and Liz could see Pope and Kie in a lively debate. JJ had still yet to arrive, it seemed. The t-shirt had been Liz’s father’s, vintage from his youth. And Liz knew it was unlikely such a stain would come out. She saw a flash of red and gripped the plastic cup so hard in her hand that it crumpled.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, as her stomach swirled with nerves and her hands began to shake. She knew she should have just let it go, as she always did. The idea of starting something with a Kook had her heart in her throat. But it was her father’s shirt. Sometimes, she thought she could still smell him when she wore it.

Ally didn’t turn around until Liz called out to her a couple more times. She spun around slowly on her heel, just barely looking up from her phone. Confusion painted her face as she realized who was addressing her. “Yeah?”

“Do you see what you just did to my shirt?” Liz asked, gesturing down at herself, voice raised over the blaring music and the chatter of fellow partygoers. A few people at the edges of the bonfire circle, where Ally had been headed, began to look up at the commotion.

Ally stared blankly at Liz’s shirt for a moment and then shrugged in disinterest. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

Scoffing, Liz let an angry, sardonic smirk cross her face. “Damn, someone should give you an Oscar for that acting.”

“What’s your problem?” Ally asked, finally giving Liz her full attention as her face twisted in disgust.

“My problem is my shirt is ruined,” Liz continued, not knowing exactly what she wanted to get out of the exchange. She only knew that she was pissed, and she hadn’t felt quite so pissed in a long time. It confused her, but the few sips of vodka she’d downed were apparently making her more courageous already.

Ally looked at Liz’s shirt for another moment. “I don’t know. I’d say I did you a favor.”

Liz narrowed her eyes at Ally, who appeared to think the exchange was over and began turning away again. But before she could disappear into the small crowd of onlookers which had formed, Liz grabbed the drink from Ally’s left hand and tossed the mixture onto the girl’s white crop top and mini skirt set. The color was even more vivid against such a light fabric, and it looked like a scene out of a horror movie. A chorus of cliché gasps erupted from the voyeurs standing around, and Pope and Kie had finally gotten wind of the situation. They had yet to intervene, standing with hesitation. It wasn’t like Liz to start fights. Usually, she was the one who ended them. Pope always called her the dependent variable, but she was certainly deviating from the norm tonight.

“Pogue bitch!” Ally shrieked, looking down at her ruined outfit.

Liz only smirked, feigning innocence and shrugging in a mock imitation. She couldn’t help but feel instant satisfaction. “You could always buy new, right?”

Ally’s face grew red with anger at the sound of Liz’s aloof tone. “This was two hundred dollars in New York, you cunt!”

“Tragic,” Liz replied coolly. “You poor baby.”

Ally took a couple threatening steps forward and Liz let out a bark of laughter. She threw the cups in her hands to the side (which she would be picking up as soon as she could, knowing how upset Kie would be if she didn’t). She advanced to Ally and met her eyes. Without the heels, Ally would have been significantly shorter than Liz. With them, she was almost as tall. But it didn’t matter. Liz stared her down like she was a bug about to be squashed.

“You gonna fight me, princess?” Liz asked huskily, feeling the lively fire in her stomach rising in her throat. Her smirk was ever-present, joyless. “Do it. Fight the Pogue cunt. See how that works out for you.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Ally said. She wasn’t quite scared, only surprised. Her brow was crinkled analytically. All this over a t-shirt.

“Oh, am I?” Liz asked, eyes wide in askance and mocking.

“Yeah. Just like your daddy,” Ally replied viciously, letting a smugness come over her face. She had recognized Liz only a few moments prior. On such a small island, word of tragedy got around. Most everyone knew about the girl whose father was found dangling from a beam in the attic. The audience made a sound of shock and awe.

Feeling her stomach do another flip, Liz clenched her hands into tight fists at her sides. Her nails began to cut into her palms. Just as she was launching herself forward, ready to hit someone for the first time in many years, she felt herself being pulled clumsily away by the shoulders and the waist. She struggled in the hold for only a moment, before she saw Ally retreating back to her friends and heard Kie yelling in her ear to calm the hell down. Sarah and John B were running over, the entire beach now aware something was going on.

“Let me go, Pope! I’m fine!” Liz yelled, tearing his arms from her sides and feeling freer at the release. Even though it was Pope, she still couldn’t help the panic which bubbled up within her from being restrained.

“What the hell was that?” John B asked as he came over, Sarah trailing behind.

“Why do you care? Why don’t you go fuck your girlfriend?” Liz snapped coldly.

A pit of regret immediately sank in her stomach. Her entire body was flushed and adrenaline pulsed through her. Even if John B was pretty much her brother, she couldn’t help but let all her negative feelings about everyone mix into an indecipherable rage. Not her father’s shirt. Not some lousy Kook calling her father crazy. She simply couldn’t handle it. Sure, she knew people whispered comments to each other when she walked down the street. She knew the Kooks talked shit about her behind her back. But to her face was something else entirely.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John B said, taken aback by the outburst.

“Just forget it, alright?” Liz sighed, breathing harshly. “I’m sorry...I’m just...my fucking shirt!”

Kie tilted her head at Liz in confusion, bringing a gentle hand to her shoulder. “Why-“

Liz shrugged her off. “I said forget it! Can someone please just get me a new drink?!”

Recoiling, Kie stepped away and plucked the cups from where Liz had tossed them in the sand. Liz wanted so badly to make a full apology. She really did. And she would, once they got back to the Chateau. But she felt almost incapable at the moment, stewing with such uncharacteristic rage.

Silence and doubtful looks were exchanged, but eventually Sarah volunteered to go get Liz the drink and John B followed, tossing concerned glances over his shoulder at Liz as they went. She thanked them quietly, embarrassed, but then yelled after them, requesting they keep the cranberry juice to a minimum. Not much more than a chaser.

“Are you sure-” Pope began, but he stopped immediately when Liz locked eyes with him. She meant business. No more fun and games.

“Not tonight, okay, Pope?” she asked, a pleading, tired crack in her voice. It made Pope want to say more, but Liz cut him off again with another exclamation as she began walking away. “Where the fuck is JJ?!”

.   .   .

Down the beach from the party, Liz could barely see the orange glow of the fire past the crowd. She was still nursing her vodka-cranberry, a bit buzzed but not nearly enough to forget what had happened. Her eyes were burning with tears, but whenever she felt herself truly welling up, she would stop it. She’d sniff and look up at the sky until her eyes were dry. It was clear, and she could see the swirl of the stars so vividly against the pitch-black sky. Humming a Nirvana song under her breath, she sat with her arms on her knees, one hand clasped around the opposite wrist. The drink on her shirt had long since dried, but she was still chilly in the ocean wind. She’d thought about going back to the Chateau, but decided she didn’t have the energy to make the walk alone. Instead, she’d gone a good distance down the shore, and sat a few inches up from where the tide was coming in. The moon shone silver on the waves, and the sight of it almost made her feel better. But it didn’t.

She was only sad and tipsy. In her solitude, her mind wandered to her mother and father. To her siblings. She wondered what her mother was doing, probably already asleep. A bottle of Jack somewhere near the bed. It made Liz feel guilty for getting buzzed, but she only downed more of the drink in an effort to get the feeling to disappear. Her sisters, too, she wondered about. They didn’t call much, and she didn’t blame them. The oldest two were off at college on the mainland, living separate lives with their scholarships. The other, Nicole, checked in even less reilably. Last Liz heard, she was somewhere in New Mexico finding herself. And Liz was where she had always been, spending her nights at home cleaning up after her mother, sitting through tearful diatribes about what a saint her father had been. Biting her tongue through her mother’s lies. She was glad the Chateau had become the place to rest her head since her father’s death. Had she been forced to stay at home every night, she imagined she would have run off long ago.

JJ strode up to her with his hands in his pockets, hat backwards on his head as usual. He sat down next to her without a word, carrying his own cup. Liz didn’t startle at his presence. Instead, she only breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure exactly what time it was, but he was more than late.

“Contemplating the mysteries of the universe?” he asked, a small smile on his face.

She chuckled humorlessly, clearing her throat and sniffing. “Not quite. Just thinking about Kurt Cobain.”

“Well, no wonder you’re down here all angsty and alone, hot stuff,” he teased, but when he spoke again his voice was more solemn. “JB said you got in a fight with a Kook.”

“He’s a drama queen. I didn’t fight her,” Liz said, staring out at the ocean still. The breeze was cold but welcome, clarifying, and she took in a deep breath through her nose. “Ally spilled her drink on me. And then she said some shit about my dad...it was nothing.”

“Sure doesn’t look like nothing,” JJ said, eyeing the stain across Jimi Hendrix’s face in the dimness.

She snorted a laugh, looking down at herself. “Maybe not. But I was going for a Patrick Bateman thing tonight, anyway.”

JJ sighed, licking at his lips. He debated arguing, maybe even getting fired up enough to go find some random Kook in retaliation. But he didn’t. He knew how she hated when he fought. Instead, he only took off his hat, pulled his sweatshirt over his head and went to hand it to her.

“You’re cold,” he said insistently, watching her shiver in the nighttime wind. She still hadn’t looked over at him, only staring out blankly at the waves. “And your shirt looks like you just went all Mrs. Crain on someone.”

After a long moment, she nodded, taking a final sip of her drink and then placing the cup down on the sand beside her. She still didn’t look over at him as she put it on. It warmed her up instantly.  The smell of JJ, Old Spice and weed and smoke, mixed with the ocean breeze. The wind blew past her again, the tips of her red hair just brushing her shoulders. She would have to cut it again soon. Since she was little, she could never handle her hair getting longer than her collarbones. It was just too much effort.

With JJ’s sweatshirt on, she wasn’t nearly as freezing.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, red,” he replied easily, taking another sip of his drink.

“Where’ve you been?” she asked quietly, trying her best not to sound needy. “We got here, like, three hours ago.”

“Oh, you know. Just robbing a bank or two,” he quipped.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. Her face fell, though, when she finally ventured a full glance at him. In the moonlight and the distant glow of the bonfire, she could see the cut on his cheek which was still oozing blood.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed, placing gingerly fingers on his jaw so he would face her. But his eyes didn’t quite meet hers.

“I’m fine, Lizzie,” he muttered, swatting her hand away.

“Who did that to you?” she asked softly, tilting her head at him.

JJ shrugged. “Just ran into Rafe on the way over. I would’ve called, but I figured I should clean up a little so you wouldn’t freak out when you saw me. I guess that was a waste.”

She shook her head a little. “That motherfucker.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. You should see the other guy,” JJ continued, smirking though it didn’t reach his eyes.

Liz breathed out a sigh and thought about asking more, but didn’t. Instead, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on the apple of his cheek, the skin around the cut already bruising a deep purple. Her black lipstick had long since been wiped off, after her scuffle with Ally. Before JJ had arrived, she’d used the inside of her shirt to rub furiously at her face. Her lips were sore and pinkish, but soft against JJ’s skin.

Fighting to keep the shine of tears from his blue eyes, JJ let a small giggle slip. If his father’s fist had been a scream, her kiss was a whisper. It was so gentle he could barely contain himself, his heart skipping a beat. “Feels better already.”

“Does it?” she asked, pulling away with a tiny smile.

He hummed in confirmation. Tossing a glance over his shoulder at the party, he shifted closer to her. The kiss that followed was heated and hungry, both tasting vodka on each other’s tongues. Liz wasn’t surprised JJ was a bit buzzed as well. If she knew John B, he had shoved a drink in JJ’s hand as soon as he saw his eye. JJ was hard to read at times, but alcohol or weed were always surefire ways to cheer him up. And John B always made himself the captain of the party and the guests’ happiness.

Liz was out of breath, but she still smiled against JJ’s  lips. As fishy as his late arrival was, she was just happy to see him. Simple as that. In the weeks since they’d gone from friends to something more, she’d found herself thinking of him always. What he was doing, how he was feeling, whether he was thinking of her too. Usually, he was.

Away from the party, she could kiss him like she meant to, nowhere near the lingering eyes of her friends. No one else in the world knew but the two of them, not even the other Pogues. While the inter-group macking rule had long since been broken, there were other reasons to keep the secret. Sure, everyone had always said they belonged together. But neither of them were ready to let it be known to the world. Truthfully, Liz feared the pit of dread in her stomach, worrying over what would happen to their friendship if whatever they were doing fizzled out, would only grow heavier if everyone knew. JJ’s hand slipped beneath the soft sweatshirt and the stained t-shirt as they kissed, though. And, for the moment, Liz forgot all of her worries.

.   .   .

Despite everything, Liz found herself laughing wildly in the back of Twinkie, the rear doors opened. As she sat on the edge of the car’s floor, the carpeting plush against the backs of her thighs, she watched JJ dancing beneath the streetlight. They’d decided to head back to the Chateau, not particularly in the mood to deal with the Kooks who had ventured over to the other side of the island for the rest of the night. John B had thrown JJ the keys while they were still on the beach, instructing his friend to head to the car while he gathered Sarah, Kie, and Pope up. Liz looked more freezing by the minute, and while Twinkie’s heating wasn’t optimal, it was better than braving the ocean wind. John B was partial to being the designated driver, especially on the night of such a big bash. And, of course, especially when they already had supplies for an after party set out on his kitchen table.

Instead of huddling down in the trunk with Liz though, JJ took advantage of the pleasant, alcohol-induced flush warming his skin. He danced along to the Elvis tune playing from the radio in his cutoff Levis. The keys were in the ignition while the car sat in park, the heat blasting and the engine whirring quietly. Liz had heard the song many times on her father’s records. JJ gyrated his hips, ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to create a sloppy pompadour. He wasn’t very drunk, still coordinated enough to make a real show of it.

“Just take a walk down lonely street, to the heartbreak hotel,” JJ sang along, curling his lip in a decent imitation.

Liz snorted and rolled her eyes at his theatrics, but giggled along. Ever since they were little, JJ was always performing, mostly for her. A strange sense of nostalgia washed over her as he watched him, under the makeshift spotlight in the inky blue midnight. Down below, the party raged on, but neither Liz nor JJ took notice any longer. For the moment, it was just the two of them. Eventually, the song faded away and JJ finished his impression. Liz clapped a few times, slow and almost mocking. Pouting at the lackluster response, JJ sat down heavily next to her and put his head on her shoulder. The laughter would suffice to please him; he’d only done the dance to cheer her up, after all, guilty he hadn’t been at the party earlier, when she’d needed him. But he whined playfully, nonetheless.

“Tough fucking crowd.”

“I’m just kidding, sunshine. You were just like the king, alright?” she said, starting to sober up but still focusing on the tingling of her skin at the drinks and his touch. Slinging an arm around his shoulders, she brought him closer and kissed the crown of his head affectionately.

.   .   .

Rolling to a stop, Liz leaned her bike against the oak tree and ran her hands through her hair. It was greasy, and she decided she needed to shower before her lunchtime shift at the Wreck. It was a double, but she’d be back at John B’s by nine, with plans for a chill movie night. Kie and Pope probably wouldn’t make it, more eager for alone time in recent months. But there would still be the four of them. After they all went to bed, Liz could pad over from the pullout couch in the living room to JJ’s bed, as she’d made a habit of doing in the past few weeks. Though she was always annoyed with such a long shift, especially when the damn Tourons were starting their vacation season, it was good to know there was something to look forward to at the end of the day.

The sun was high in the sky, having risen fully, as she ascended the creaky porch steps into her house. The wind chimes near the door jingled quietly in the slight breeze. Doing her best to shut the rusty screen door silently behind her, Liz jumped when she saw her mother already up and having her coffee at the kitchen table. Usually, she was still out cold.

“Hey, mom,” Liz said, forcing a weak smile on her lips. She slipped her backpack from her shoulders and set it down next to the door. Then, she tugged her shoes off and went towards the kitchen.

“Oh, hi,” her mother muttered, yawning, looking up from her paper and over the reading glasses on her nose at her daughter.

Ruth Walker was lately a quiet woman, but still remained every bit as incisive as she had been before her husband died. She watched as Liz poured herself a mug of black coffee, dressed in her cardigan and one of JJ’s t-shirts. Only her skirt was the same from the night before. Liz had been careful to make sure she left her ruined t-shirt at John B’s. The sight of it might have been enough to make her mother burst into tears. Liz’s hair was back in a low ponytail, and Ruth immediately noticed the dark mark peeking out from the neckline of the t-shirt.

“Guess it was a fun party,” Ruth said, eyebrows raised but voice mostly disinterested.

Liz furrowed her brows at her mother’s tone, taking a sip of the coffee and turning to face her. “Hm?”

“That love bite on your neck,” Ruth explained, staring at the hickey.

Immediately, Liz flushed scarlet. She was glad she had left just after JJ, as the rest of the Pogues were still snoring. Certainly, someone would have noticed. They were usually careful, but as high as she and JJ were, she wasn’t entirely surprised they had gotten a bit carried away. She didn’t have time to stutter out a response before her mother continued.

“Just make sure he’s clean. And please don’t get pregnant,” Ruth said, sighing slightly. “Girls your age know nothing about nothing. We can’t add another mouth to feed into the mix. I don’t need that right now.”

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Liz looked down into her coffee and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I won’t. You know I won’t.”

Shrugging, Ruth went back to her paper. From her spot leaning against the sink, Liz couldn’t quite make out what her mother was reading, but she knew what it was anyway. Especially since her mother held a red pen in her left hand. She was circling real estate listings from the Figure Eight. Houses they could never even dream of living in. Swallowing harshly, Liz tried not to think too hard about what her mother was doing and instead straightened her back, about to head to the bathroom.

“So, mom, I’m gonna shower and then head to work. I’m probably gonna stay at John B’s again tonight. And maybe a few more nights after, since John has-”

“Fine,” Ruth said flippantly, not bothering to listen to her daughter’s rambled reasonings. “Make good choices.”

Ruth didn’t look up from her paper as she spoke. Liz waited a minute for more, then finally made her way towards the small hallway when her mother kept silent.

[mxsinistir]

May I request a Good Omens Gabriel x Human! Reader please?

Pairing: Gabriel x [y/n]

Warnings: n/a besides the fact that the bad writing ™ becomes worse writing ™ towards the end bc it’s 2 am while I’m writing this. 

Summary: Freelance London Photographer [y/n] is friends with the bookshop owner Aziraphale, and happens to be sitting in one day when a mysterious stranger enters to have a meeting with her friend. Suspicious, this artist is ready to find out as much as she can about the man. 

Word Count: 2390

(tried to keep this gender-neutral but tell me if I screwed this up anywhere bc I probably did)

Hope you enjoy!

***

The first time you met him was whenever you were inside A.Z. Fell & Co., discussing a book you’d just read and returned (since you were aware he despised the permanent purchasing of his collection) over two cups of hot chocolate.

The moment he entered, you were intrigued. You turned your head to watch him saunter in, and some part of you screamed deafeningly that whatever he was, he did not belong here. That was saying something since unusual people were not uncommon in the little London bookshop. You’d known Aziraphale’s eccentric friend Crowley for quite some time now. 

“Aziraphale,” His voice was hearty, one you should have taken comfort in hearing. But in addition to his picture-perfect, incredibly fake smile, it set your nerves on end. “May I have a word?” Part of you decided this was your chance to run from the off-setting visitor, but that would leave your friend alone with him.

“Hi, I’m [Y/n],” You shoved a hand into space between you, “I don’t believe we’ve met before.” He looked you up and down, your eyes unwavering until he met your stare. His eyes - your stomach flipped, oh god his eyes - bore into yours, and you nearly recoiled when you noticed the color. A glassy purple with no signs of contacts. Just unexplainably rich violet that made the hair stand up on the back of your neck. 

“Gabriel,” He said, shaking your hand with a grip that was just a little too strong. You were too proud to coddle your sore hand, though. “I need a moment with Aziraphale.”

“Sorry, can’t,” You couldn’t leave Aziraphale with him! What if something happened? You’d picked up that Aziraphale had been involved with some sketchy people before, and what if this guy happened to be a well-dressed gang member? Well . . . well dressed wasn’t exactly the way to put it. You didn’t know what look Gabriel was going for, but it just added to his overall wrongness. 

Besides, Aziraphale and Crowley had always remarked on your excellent intuition. Warning Aziraphale about bad customers, giving Crowley advice on problems he hadn’t explicitly explained, knowing that both your friends were thinking at a given time - and at this time, Aziraphale felt very, very anxious about Gabriel waltzing into his shop.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” He half-snarled, his fake smile faltering. 

“My bike got stolen earlier,” You explained, casually turning to drink the rest of your cocoa before it went cold. You also needed something to hide your growing smile. “I told the police to drop it off here when they found it.”“Are you sure you didn’t miss them during your chat?” He said, “I swore I saw a bike parked in the front.” You stepped past him, putting your nose against Aziraphale’s window. Sure enough, a blue bike was leaned against the glass pane. 

“Well, silly me - Guess they just left it and had better things to do.” You laughed, turning back to smile at Aziraphale and Gabriel. “See you later, Zira!”

You walked outside, planning on walking home. You weren’t going to take some random bike from in front of the bookshop just because some guy had snapped and made it appear for you.

You didn’t own a bike. 

***

The next morning, before you even had the chance to ask questions about the purple-eyed man, Crowley had come into your studio, mentioning that he was bored, due to Aziraphale’s sudden occupation with work. Aziraphale had never been truly busy since you’d known him. 

“Crowley, do you know a Gabriel?” You asked, not looking up from the photo you were currently editing the lighting of, trying to decide if you could amend the conflict between the clashing color palettes. If anything, Crowley just hoped that you were too occupied with your work to even notice that you opened your mouth to ask the question. A few seconds ticked by, and then you stared up at the redhead. 

“Yeah, I know him.” He said under his breath, “He’s a friend of Aziraphale’s. Definitely not a friend fo mine. I’d keep your distance.” 

“What does he do?” Even without being able to see his eyes through the glasses, you sensed the panic in them as he proceeded to mumble out an answer. 

“Paperwork,” He steadied himself, easing into the lie now. “Some company Aziraphale used to work for. I think he’s kind of a jerk, but he and Zira go way back, so I don’t intrude.” 

“Funny, I thought the bookshop had been family owned for a hundred years?” 

“Part-time job, maybe?” Crowley stammered out. You just rolled your eyes.

“Is Aziraphale in . . . is he in any danger with this guy?”“What? No, no, [Y/n], you’re just being paranoid.” You weren’t so sure. You’d never heard Crowley so nervous about the subject of someone, and you’d certainly never heard of him willing staying out of Aziraphale’s affairs. It was common knowledge that he was the nosiest man in London, especially when it came to his friends. “Seriously, Just stay out of his way and it should be fine.” He had a certain voice he used when he wanted you to believe things were fine, even if they weren’t.

“I’ll just ask Aziraphale since apparently, you won’t explain.” That little taunt was usually enough to make Crowley spill everything. Not for this, apparently. “He listens to you, Crowley. Just make sure he doesn’t get hurt.” 

Just because he didn’t say the promise doesn’t mean she didn’t see him make it.

***

The second time you saw Gabriel wasn’t at the bookshop, but on a bench in St. James’ Park. You were currently looking over some pictures you’d taken of the vibrant area, the photographs dotted with jogging passersby and fluffy ducks that reminded you of Aziraphale. You stood up to walk by, snapping a few more when your camera focused in on a not-quite-familiar face.

“Gabriel,” You said, curiously approaching the benched man. “Fancy seeing you here,”

“[Y/n], is it? Aziraphale’s . . . acquaintance.” Who the hell used the word acquaintance anymore? You thought. “Is there something you need?”

“Just came to clear my eyes - I’ve been staring at this one picture I took for Aziraphale last week.” You briefly explained how one of the customers had split their coffee on one of Aziraphale’s old wall paintings, which he had sat on the table to clean the walls behind it. He had been furious, and though you knew you couldn’t possibly replace the expertly preserved painting - ruined by only human clumsiness - you’d offered to gift a photograph to him. Though he was obviously still disgruntled over the lost air, he did say that even something modern would eventually become history. You’d gotten to work. “I’m supposed to bring it to him this evening.”

“I was planning to speak with him this evening as well, actually.” The man remarked.

“Well, if you wanted, you could com toe hang out at my studio for a while.” You had a feeling that no matter what, this man would try to keep up appearances. Meaning he would accept your offer, even if only not to appear rude. Thanks to some information you’d gotten out of Crowley, you now knew that you wouldn’t be in any real danger as a human inviting him to your studio. He, on the other hand, wouldn’t be expecting the onslaught of questions you had for him. 

“That sounds great,” He said with clenched teeth, and so you just smiled and packed up your laptop and camera equipment, making sure to walk beside him all the way back to your flat. 

The square footage wasn’t much - you were honestly surprised you could manage to fit two people inside at once. Beyond that, every inch of the place was stacked high with frames and camera equipment and printed portraits. Your bed was usually just the couch by the window, and even then, you more often than not just fell asleep at your work desk, head draped over crossed arms. 

“I’m gonna be a little bit - I’ve gotta play with some finishing touches, and then I’ve got to print it.” You explained - Aziraphale had given you a faux-gold 18 x 21 frame, nearly identical to the one bordering the ruined painting. “You can sit on the couch if you still want to hang out. You okay with music?” You asked casually, bringing him a glass of water. You may be suspicious of him, but your mother had always stressed the importance of hospitality. 

“Do you like music?” He thought for a moment, staring blankly before nodding as if he’d been assessing whether or not it was the correct response to say so. “Queen?” He looked even more confused but nodded again. You synced your Spotify to a small speaker and set it to shuffle, sliding into your chair as We Are the Champions began to play. You snuck a glance over at Gabriel while mouthing the words and concluded he was possibly the only person in the world who didn’t know the lyrics. If anything, that just confirmed your suspicions of the man. 

Gabriel, on the other hand, was just as confused by you as you were by him. When you’d first met, he hadn’t known how to react to you. You’d stood up to him with no background knowledge, purely because you thought he had ill intentions towards your friend. Humans were always willing to throw themselves at things for no reason, but you were different - you had a reason, and that reason was nothing more than intuition to protect those you care about. 

And now, you’d carelessly brought him into your apartment - if he could even call it that. It was a glorified storage closet, filled to the brim with art and junk and beauty. He’d never been exposed to such a mess; heaven would have never tolerated it. He couldn’t even imagine that Hell was this chaotically organized. 

He could barely focus on that. How could he anymore, when there was you to look at? Smiling truly and losing yourself in the music blaring, snapping your fingers with bad timing, singing the guitar riffs, and constantly standing up just to pace around while mouthing the lyrics. 

You walked around him more than a few times, asking him random questions while leaning far back to see what your photo looked like from afar. He eventually saw that it was of an eggshell white duck in St. James, curiously floating alongside a dark goose that had landed in the waters. He could have scoffed at the symbolism, wondering if you understood the irony of it all yourself. 

Gabriel had never seen so much life in one plac.e It radiated from you, from your camera, from your fingers. It felt raw and unexplainably human, and not in the way that disgusted him with its mediocrity. There was nothing mediocre about you. You oozed with some sort of high that no angel could ever dream of finding themselves on. Angels were too flawless for something as uncontained as the day-to-day life you lead.

During the middle of one of your lyrical outbursts, you glanced over at Gabriel. He was drinking tea now, staring out into London from your window, sunbeams casting over his dusty hair and stunning eyes. Without a word, you pulled your camera in front of you and stepped towards him, snapping photos of him a quick succession. He whipped around at the sound, just quick enough to see you smiling. 

“Stay where you are - the lighting’s amazing.” You said, steadily walking closer to the man. He truly was a vision in an element like this. You leaned back to observe the picture he’d found himself in. “Do you think you could give me one with your wings?” 

And just like that, you watched the Archangel Gabriel freeze to the core as you shuttered a few more photographs. 

“Come on, everyone knows Aziraphale isn’t human.” And of course, there was no way Crowley could keep a secret like that once he was sufficiently drunk. “And besides, humans don’t usually make this pretty of muses.” 

He unfurled his wings gently, being careful not to knock over anything. All three pairs appeared in pristine, white condition, though when the window light scattered them, they reflected a spectrum of glistening violet. 

He nearly asked to confirm that you were human, though he knew the answer. No one but a human could accomplish this - a demon nor an angel could live in such harmonious chaos with their own little world, dancing to the raw beauty of it all and flourishing in the flaws you did not perceive as such. 

Gabriel had never felt love - a sort of ‘love for all humanity’, of course, but not the thrumming in his heart he felt now, looking at you in your element, high on the artistry of what you saw in him. On what no one else had ever seen in him. 

“I could have a photoshoot with you, you know.” You said, looking at your camera screen. “You look great on camera.” 

“There’s still a few hours before I need to meet with Aziraphale,” He lied - he was two hours behind schedule, not that that mattered. “He’d told me about this bakery beside his bookshop that he apparently adores.” He didn’t even like food. It didn’t matter - he figured you would. 

“Am I being asked out by the Archangel Gabriel?”“That’s strong wording-”“I’m famished,” You smiled, and as you walked over to your computer, he expected you to print and frame your imperfect perfection. Instead, you just saved the photo and eased your computer shut. “I can make something here, though. I don’t want to leave. Does the Archangel Gabriel want to watch a movie?”

He was about to make a snarky comment about your sarcastically calling him that, but he paused as you did the unexpected. You settled down on your couch right next to him and smiled. That was enough for him to decide that his meeting with Aziraphale could wait till morning. To hell with Heaven questioning him - him of all people - being off schedule. He would deal with that in time.

Right now, all that mattered was that he was sharing in on an artist’s high, and he wasn’t ever coming off.

[omg-baeyoung-baeran]

Maybe I Should Resign: Chapter 3

For easier reading, try this link.

Jumin Han was known for being a very busy man. His interest was easiest to pique when it involved their company’s profit and reputation—excluding his hobby formulating cat-related projects. Given his position as the heir of the famous C&R International company, each day was a working day to him.

It was difficult for any business man to approach him, since his schedule was mostly filled with appointments and business trips… so imagine how odd it was for people to see the heir allot an entire day per week for something unrelated to company matters.

“Mr. Han will no longer accept business-related calls every Saturday due to a shift in schedule. Any emergency call will be forwarded to the person speaking, Jaehee Kang, his chief assistant. Again, we apologize for the sudden changes.”  With that, she hung up the phone and sighed.

Things had been hectic as usual, but she was not happy with the additional task. If her boss was not accepting anything concerning the company on Saturdays, that meant there would be an extra load on her shoulders.

 “Assistant Kang,” the last voice she wanted to hear for the day called from behind her.

She turned to look at him and gave a slight nod. “Yes, Mr. Han?” she acknowledged. The words had not even left his lips, and she can already feel the psychological stress his words were gonna cause her.

“Ah,” he spoke while she mentally embraced what was about to come.

There was silence for a few seconds as he continued tapping on his phone

“Make sure to only accept calls coming from the emergency line. Unless a call is made from that line, you will be free on Saturdays.”

“Understood,” she answered abruptly, her focus immediately going back to the computer on her table when her boss turned to leave. Slowly, her exhausted mind processed the information she heard. 

Wait, I thought I heard “free” for a second.

“Eh?” She thought she heard something crack when her head forcefully snapped to look at the door behind her. It was like her head was the only part that understood the situation while her body remained facing the workload before her.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but Jumin thought he heard a noblewoman’s laugh from the other side of the door he just exited.

Dark eyes squinted at the sound. 

Strange….

Well, he had no time to delve deeper into it. He had a day to prepare for, and he promised a certain person he would get a contract  of agreement signed within the afternoon. “Let’s get this over with.”

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

The days quickly passed by, she noticed.

“I guess time really flies when you’re having a good day.”

Ever since the incident, her neighbours began to leave them alone. Most were even sucking up in hopes to appeal to the man they thought was her suitor. It astonished her how people can quickly turn into a new leaf the moment they realize they might need the person they used to abuse. 

“Sister, will the fabulous man be visiting our home again?” Riri asked, her hands diving into the bag of chips she bought using the money she gained from doing errands. 

Hannah pondered, her gaze glued on the old, wooden ceiling. There were small cracks all over them, but their ceiling and walls were much more sturdy than the floor they walked on. It may look worn, still… she was happy to have a home.

“I don’t think so. I think we’ll only meet such a person once. It’s even a miracle he was here in the first place.” 

“What do you think was he doing here ? Do you think he’s a politician who wanted to pretend he’s helping people to get votes?”

“What? How do you even know that? And no, I don’t think so. He would have dressed poorly to convince people he can empathize.”

Hannah continued with her cooking while Riri returned to her bag of chips. It was certainly peaceful; it was peaceful before Sana ran into the room, flailing her arms around happily and squealing.

“How was your date, Big Sis? We never got to ask!”

Hannah giggled at the youngest’s antics. 

“It’s not a date, Sana, and it went surprisingly fine to be honest. I was expecting him to make a bit of fuss, since most rich people don’t like the market.”

“Do you want to see him again?”

Hannah contemplated Sana’s question. Remembering the time they spent together, she can clearly recall having a good laugh with the man during their wayfaring. However, would they even meet again?

Where does he even live? Does he work near their place?

“I don’t mind, I guess. Though! Next time, I won’t forget to ask his name.”

It seemed like fate got rid of her troubles of doing just that.

It was an early Saturday morning when she finally embraced the fact that she had the mental capacity of a guinea pig. She was standing in front of the counter where her childhood friend was working as the barista, hoping to get a job as a waitress or a dishwasher in the small yet packed cafe. Less customers usually came in the morning, so the atmosphere and the scent of brewed coffee gave her a sense of serenity.

“So you’re saying… you left your job because you’ve been sending love letters to the wrong person?”

“No, no, I resigned before I got a bad performance evaluation. I don’t want my mistake to affect my job application once I switch work.”

Her friend stared at her incredulously. “What?” she exclaimed, “Were you not getting paid enough for your job? Why were you planning to switch jobs?”

Hannah shook her head, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “My goodness… every time I talk about this, I am reminded of how idiotic I am. Salary was great, but I felt like choking in my sweat and tears each time I went to work.”

As they were waiting for the boss to arrive, the conversation of two middle aged women caught their attention.

“I think the CEO of C&R made the right choice in creating a cemetery business if they have already bought the Life Care hospital.”

Hannah’s ears perked up at the mention of her former boss.

“Agreed. Hospitals and pharmacies are necessities, but none of us can escape death. But that aside, when do you think will the heir of C&R replace his father?”

She discreetly watched the two women converse on the table near her. They were mindlessly talking about the current news written on the newspaper they were holding; and when they tossed the paper on the table, Hannah could not help locking her eyes on the cover of the newspaper.

It was a familiar face…

…it was that familiar face.

“Jennie! Quick! Hand me a newspaper!” She wildly pointed at the stack of newspapers displayed over the counter.

Jennie knit her brows but did so anyway. She calmly handed her the rolled paper whereas Hannah seized it from her grasp, and this caused her to look at her friend in an offended manner with her hand on her chest. “Okay, I demand an explanation.”

Hannah’s eyes bore a hole on the headline as she gaped at the face of the man printed on the paper.

Ju-Jumin… Han?

Like how Seven once told her to shout his name and he would come to her in 0.1 seconds, an expensive-looking car suddenly crashed against a tree just outside the coffee shop. Everyone inside gawked at the accident, but their jaws did not drop further until a classy man in a formal attire casually stepped out of the car, seeming like nothing ever happened.

“Woah, who’s that guy?”

“I guess rich people park their cars by crashing it.”

“What a waste! That car could have bought me a good wife.”

“Are they shooting a movie? It looks so cool!”

From the huge glass windows of the place, they can see the man approaching the entrance door of the cafe, which was enough to create ruckus among the customers. Hannah squinted her eyes to get a better view of the man from the distance. He was barely visible from all the people blocking the way; yet the second she saw his hair, her body immediately made a quick turn and swooped under the table where the middle aged women sat.

They did not notice her move for they were busy observing the man that just entered the room.

He stood by the door, towering over the people who went to surround him. Many of them asked for a photo whilst some asked for an autograph, but none of them were spared a glance.

“Are you perhaps the suitor of Mei’s daughter? Hannah?” an elderly asked, effectively distracting him from his search.

He bowed politely at the older woman. “My apologies. I didn’t notice you, Ma’am.”

She waved at him dismissively and laughed, “It is fine! You are quite a tall man and I have aged terribly, so it is natural for you to not see me.”

He smiled, and Hannah was a hundred percent sure she heard dreamy sighs all over the room.

“Yes, I did come here to see Hannah. Have you seen her?”

“Ah, yes! She was just over…” she trailed off as she pointed at the empty spot where she had last seen the girl, “there?”

Jumin blinked. 

“Oh, my… I swear I saw her there just a few moments ago.”

After a few seconds of silence, a woman screamed from the table near the counter. “Ah! What is that?” She stood and stepped away from the table with her companion.

Jumin decided to ignore them and headed towards the barista. “Excuse me,” he started, “have you seen a woman with long brown hair and brown eyes? Her mother told me she came here looking for a job.” 

While they were busy chatting, Hannah took the opportunity to switch hiding spots. Unfortunately, before she could crawl out, the previous women lifted the tablecloth, revealing her hunched figure hidden under the table.

Everyone fell silent.

Black slacks and black leather shoes soon entered Hannah’s line of sight, followed by a gorgeous face that blinded the darkest part of her soul.

Jumin kneeled on the floor, one knee touching the ground and one supporting his arm. She had never witnessed such a serious face appear so innocent and child-like. His typical aura of mystery was now replaced by a glimmer of curiosity.

“Why are you there?” he asked in a soft voice.

I feel like a terrified kitten getting coaxed to come closer to him.  “I… I-I was just,” she squeaked and patted the floor out of the blue, “checking if the floor here is sturdy.” She laughed awkwardly.

He stared at her for a moment then offered her his hand. Once she placed her hand in his, he pulled her up and gently grasped her arm to support her balance. “I was hoping we could go somewhere today.” 

Hannah’s cheeks burned red when he even crouched to brush the dust off her jeans. “Oh, thank you,” she muttered. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s alright.”

She can smell it. The scent of jealousy was so potent that she could literally see the dark atmosphere around them...

...or maybe it was from the smoke the car crash was emitting.

“I think we should get your car fixed.”

“It’s fine. My butler has ordered a new one prior to my departure. He somehow predicted this will happen.”

Okay, it’s either his butler is a psychic or he’s just a terrible driver.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

She had no idea how they ended up this way. 

Jumin sat next to her inside a cab. He was whispering to her—albeit blatantly—if they were supposed to give the driver a tip or if that would be insulting to his profession. Hannah felt like dying inside from embarrassment, because she was certain the driver can hear their supposedly inaudible conversation.

“Wait, I am not sure if this is a good idea.” She lightly nudged his elbow.

“What is not a good idea?”

“You know… hanging out with me.”

He took a glimpse at her fidgeting fingers, his face blank as he watched the passing scenery slowly change from a disorganized place to a clean environment. “So you’re aware of who I am? And next time, don’t just go with a person you just met for a day,” he stated apathetically.

“Sorry… Sir… I didn’t know until today. If I had known earlier, I wouldn’t have told those people you were my suitor—and! I wouldn’t have brought you to the market. I… it is not my intention… I mean, I don’t want to involve you in a scandal.”

She knew she was blabbering, and she did not have a clue if he was listening either. All he was doing was having his arms crossed with his gaze up ahead. This was creating a debate in her head between jumping off the car or pretending she never said anything; she was leaning on choosing the former.

“It is nice that you worry about my reputation, and I appreciate it,” he began, “but tell me... were you the one who had been attaching sticky notes on my cup of….” He turned to look at her but then paused.

He wondered what she was doing, since she was slowly and quietly opening the car door…

...while the car was moving.

“What are you doing?” he bellowed. He quickly pulled her waist and shut the door, earning them the attention of the driver.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Yes, pardon us,” he responded coolly, but his glare on the girl said otherwise.

“Sorry! I wasn’t thinking straight! I thought we were at the mall already.” Obviously, that was a lie. She badly wanted to escape her current predicament, and it was the only way she could think of.

“Be more attentive when you are traveling. You could have died.”

“Yes, Sir!

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

The incident had temporarily changed the conversation. However, she knew the topic was bound to return to the unanswered question; so when it did, she could not stop herself from cringing on the inside. My goodness! I blame my parents for giving birth to me without my consent!

Okay, she was just being stupid.

“I only want to know if it was you.” He leaned on his seat and waited for her answer.

She was letting the fancy music inside the restaurant fill in the silence between them. As a straight-forward man, he never liked probing for answers; therefore, the action only made him narrow his eyes at her.

“Do you know you are suspected of theft?”

Alright, she really needed to talk.

“What?” she gasped.

“An important document has gone missing,” he continued as he scrutinized her expression, “and we are performing an investigation on all employees that left the company from the day the document was last seen till the day it was found to be missing. It is best if you cooperate, Ms. Hannah.”

“Wha—what does the notes have to do with this matter?” 

“They were borderline suspicious. Also, upon further investigation, the date the note was first received was in the same month the cameras were placed in a loop, so did you or did you not write those notes?”

“I did but I….”

I was meaning to give those to Seven, but I didn’t know he lied about being in charge of the coffee—wait a second! Camera? Loop? A secret agent gathering data inside C&R?

Puzzle pieces clicked together.

“I honestly have no idea about the document you are talking about, but I did write those… notes.” Shit, what do I say? SEVEN! As if on cue, a familiar red head entered her peripheral vision. 

With a single huge gulp from her glass of water, she swiftly stood up and excused herself.

Seven thought it was like a scene from a movie, where a lovely lady would grab a man’s shirt and lead him into a secluded place for some romance—except he was slammed too roughly against the wall.

“Hey! Ow! I’m a sadist not a masochist!” he whined. His hand went to rub the back of his sore head.

“Seven, what the heck did you do?” she demanded, her fingers tightly tangled on his jacket. “Now, C&R is suspecting me of theft—what the heck did you do?”

He thought he heard a demon growl at the end of her rant. “Wait, wait! Explain to me what—”

“I was attaching notes on one of the cups on the tray that you were supposed to be serving because I wanted to at least make you happy and—”

“Aww, you really did tha—”

“Hush! And I had been doing it for months but it turned out I was actually sending it to Jumin Han and I have been sending it on the same month you placed the camera on loop and that was the same month you entered C&R—”

“Wait! Was the cheap kitty stamp on his table from you? You gave it to him?”

“That was supposed to be for you!” Her high-pitched voice cracked from her hopeless desperation.

Seven’s scandalized gasp made a few heads exiting the restroom turn to them with cautious glances. “That thief!” he snapped, his head whipping towards the wall where Jumin’s seat would be.

Hannah sighed and dropped her hands to her sides. She looked at him with teary eyes; her lips quivered to express her anxiety. This stirred a heavy feeling inside his chest, for the least he wanted to do was make his best friend cry. 

“Seven, pleeaase take this seriously,” she begged him.

“Okay, okay!” he whispered; distress was evident in his voice. “Don’t cry! Just!” He cupped her face and squeezed her damp cheeks together. “Shhh… don’t cry. I’ll tell you what to do.”

As promised, he gave her a plan. It was not an intricate one; in fact, it was simple enough to be realistic and easily remembered. She thought it was a perfect lie.

With a peck on her forehead, he twirled her like a princess in a royal ball then gave her back a light push. 

“Now, go!”

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

I didn’t realize how huge this restaurant is. She walked with her vision focused on the black locks of Jumin’s hair from afar. It’s embarrassing but I hope it works.

“It happens to him almost everyday. I’m sure this will be believable, but expect to lose whatever friendship you developed with him. He is known to hate those kinds of people.” Seven lectured, raising one finger in the air as she eagerly nodded at him.

“Sounds fair,” she mumbled to herself before settling herself back in her seat.

Jumin gave her a look she could not fathom. “Are you well?”

“Yes, I just needed to compose myself… because you see,” she stammered as she bashfully tucked her hair behind her ear. “Being told that I’m a suspect is alarming, but I was being truthful when I said I did not take anything from the C&R. You are free to inspect me, Mr. Han.”

He remained still.

“A-And! I sent you those letters and notes, because… I was,” she took a deep breath before continuing, “I was hoping to… be… your… ro-romantic… interest.” She felt like she was choking the words out, and she could literally feel her neck disappearing from how much her head pushed back into her shoulders.

Ehmehgersh. Kill me.

She could not find the courage to meet his stare.

Why is he taking so long to speak?

Reluctantly, she lifted her face a little to check what he was doing…

...and he was peering at her.

“I didn’t—”

“Jumin.”

She was taken aback by his sudden word. “I’m sorry… what?” 

“Just call me ‘Jumin’.”

It must have been the effect of stress and paranoia, but she thought she saw a serene smile grace his lips.

However, his next words confirmed it.

“I would like to properly court you, Hannah.”

0-0-0-0

Hope you guys liked this chapter! And have a rare gif of Juju after crashing his car

[nyxxon]

Photo Booth (Bakugou Katsuki)

(A/N: I lowkey have no idea how these work :] ... So yeah. "Life of a shut-in." Also the end sucked. I'm so bad at short stories, lol.)

(Somewhat touchy-feely not much)

Walking around the mall wasn't something the ash blonde really wanted to do, especially on his day off. Bakugou would much prefer to be home right now doing nothing given how his week had been so chaotic with barely any rest.

     However, you had insisted on him joining you today going to the mall for God knows what the night before. Honestly, he hadn't been listening to all you wanted to do nor really cared as he had just gotten home and wanted to just rest... But he surely wasn't going to ask you to repeat it, so he just agreed not wanting to really go back and forth with your most likely continuous urging that you tended to do for him to agree sooner or later...

     Anyways, he had figured out soon enough what you had 'planned' when you both had arrived... It just being that you wanted to walk around and spend time with him and actually never really had a plan in the first place. It'd be a lie of it didn't tick him off just a little bit but he could also see where you were coming from.

     You both had extremely different schedules. Yours being a bit more lighter than his, allowing you more days off as well as you always came home at a decent time. His... Well... That one should be obvious at this point. It was rare for you both to have days off together or any at all in all honesty with his extensive schedule... So it was to no surprise you'd want to spend the day with him when you both had finally gotten the same day off... But of all the things you had to choose the damn mall. It seemed a bit teenish but then again, you both weren't that far from your guys' teenage years anyway.

     Why not just stay home and... Relax? Though... He knew you weren't really the type to want to spend your days in the house even if your own workweek had been exhausting. Taking a quick glance at you who appeared to be a bit occupied with window shopping while your hand was lightly squeezing his jacket sleeve, Bakugou furrowed his brows and blew air from his nose while you both walked together silently before looking to the other side.

     Hearing the noise, you glanced up at the male as a frown made way to your lips. You had wanted to make this little 'date' a bit fun, but it seemed you weren't doing a good job. Everything you had suggested in doing so⁠ far and had done on your end in hopes to perhaps earn a laugh from him (of course failing)—⁠from poking fun at things, copying unrealistic poses, the arcade with one of his favorite games, eating at one of the restaurants in the food court, etc... —had just been acknowledged by a simple grunt from the male as he just went along with whatever you said or did while not really bothering to bat an eye nor mention how childish you were being on occasions.

     It was obvious he didn't want to be here and was only doing so in a reluctant way for you. Sighing silently, you began to mindlessly look around for at least something that could perhaps bring some fun to the both of you, your eyes soon landing on a photo booth in the corner that a couple was just leaving while laughing a smiling together.

     This caused you to stop which also made him stop with a questioning look, no doubt about to ask what the hell you were doing just randomly stopping in the middle of the mall though probably already assuming you had seen someplace you wanted to enter.

     "Why'd you stop?"

      "Can we, uh..." You began to tug on his jacket sleeve repeatedly while pointing over at the booth, "... Can we do that..?"

     Furrowing his brows, Bakugou looked over to where your gaze was on and finger was pointing to soon landing on the photo booth in the corner a decent ways away, "... That? Are you fucking serious?"

     You gave him pleading eyes, "... Oh, please, Katsuki?"

     God, he was a sucker when you made that face which he'd of course never admit to. He sighed, "... Whatever."

     This instantly made a smile come to your face as you began to drag the reluctant ash blonde along with you, only both stopping once you had reached the booth and entered it. You had never been in one before in all honesty but had heard how 'cool' and fun they were.

     Eyes practically sparkling, you examined the entirety of it while taking in the cool design theme it had. It was larger than you expected from what the outside looked like though that, of course, wasn't a problem.

     Bakugou frowned as he, himself, examined the booth. He wasn't a big fan of getting his pictures taken but if it'd at least make you happy, he'd suffer for a little bit... But only for you... Besides, these things usually went by quick anyway, only taking about three to five photos in one go... So no big deal... As well as for relatively cheap prices and the photo quality is usually at least decent.

     "I'll pay for it."

     Though before you could the ash blonde had beat you to it, swiping his card, "... I fucking got it."

     Shrugging, you placed your card back in your bag and looked at the screen that showed you both on it with a thirty-second timer⁠ for the first photo take—⁠allowing you to get situated for the start, etc...—though the other three would only be about fifteen to ten seconds long, your eyes sparkling.

     Once the timer had gone down to about three seconds you pressed yourself against your boyfriend's side and made a peace sign as well as giving the monitor a closed-eyed smiled while he just looked to the side having no interest in posing and the photo with it soon taking it. This made you puff out your cheeks when you opened your eyes taking notice to the photo.

     Tugging on his jacket sleeve, you glared up at him while he turned to look at you with a raised brow, "... At least look at the front and maybe... Smile? Just once?"

     You both just stared at each other for a moment having forgotten all about the photo that was about to be taken though are snapped from it when you hear the almost silent click causing you to look at the screen with the far from nice looking photo with an even harsher glare while the ash blonde just simply mumbled a 'heh' as he crossed his arms with a small smirk, no doubt finding slight amusement in the photo.

     Bakugou may have said he'd do this but he didn't agree to fully cooperate with it. He was pretty sure him just agreeing would do just fine. With that thought, he was right yet also wrong. You were glad he agreed though also wanted at least one cute photo and perhaps hoped this would have been fun for him as well.

     With two photos practically wasted, it left you with two more though you were unsure of a cute pose you both could do that the ash blonde would actually agree on that'd be worth saving and keeping in your wallet or something. Glancing at the timmer, you had about a good ten seconds and two more photos left to figure out something fast...

     Looking over now at Bakugou, you try to quickly come up with something when suddenly an idea that'd (to you) be kind of cute... Deciding to go for it, you sat up a bit while placing one of your legs on the bench⁠ before patting the male's shoulder in hopes you'd gain his attention.

     "What?" He raised a brow as he turned though furrowed them at your new position, "... What the fuck are you do–"

     Though before he could even finish his sentence, you cut him off by pressing your lips to his own and closing your eyes while also wrapping your arms around him right before the photo timer hit zero while his widened in shock having not expected you to do something like this. Once you knew the photo had taken, you pulled away with a triumphant smirk and glanced over at the photo that had been taken while the male just looked at you still slightly in shock though he quickly smirked himself

     "So you fucking want to play that game, huh?"

     You dropped the smirk and looked back at him with a tilt of your head, "... What do yo-Whaa, Katsuki..!" Before you could even finish, you were pushed down on your back taking in the new view of the photo booth's ceiling and him hovering above you, "... W-What are you doing..." You glanced to the side, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

     "... We still have one picture... And... And we're in public."

     Glancing at the screen, Bakugou's smirk widened, "... Exactly." Once he said that, he instantly bent down and roughly placed his lips on yours as one of his hands trailed your sides while your eyes widened a bit and you let out a small gasp.

     Though it didn't last too long but it was just enough before he pulled away. You were panting a bit as you somewhat hazily looked up at him completely forgetting about the photo booth at this point while he just continued to smirk down at you; however, he soon glanced to the side and looked at the screen, "... Fucking perfect."

     This snapped you out of your little daze as you, too, glanced at the screen, your eyes widening as you jolted up a bit to see the photo. Your face instantly flushed, "... Whaaa!"

     Bakugou quickly got up to take the four photos that had just printed out, you soon composing yourself the best you could as you stood up as well and followed him out of the booth and back out into the mall that seemed to not be as busy anymore as it had been a few minutes earlier.

     "We're not keeping that last one."

     "Hmm..." Bakugou looked at you with the same smirk, "... Then we're not keeping the shitty third one either."

     Your eyes widened and your mouth slightly went agape, "But..!" Shrugging, he placed his hand where it looked like he was about to rip both of the last photos though you instantly placed your own hands on top of his stopping him from doing so, "... Wait!"

     Damn you really wanted that photo... However, the last one was far from one you'd wanted to have held on to given the vibe it was giving off. Biting your lip, you looked to the side while the blush on your cheeks was darkening as you let your hands fall, "... F-Fine. Just don't rip the third one!"

     "Heh. Alright."

     "Let's just go home." You grumbled as you gripped his arm to get him going as he just blew air out of his nose in amusement.

     Once you both had exited the mall and had made it to the parking lot to get in your guys' car, Bakugou, who had since regained his normal expression, pulled the photo out to look at the last photo again while the smirk he had only minutes ago came back, "... You got to admit though, it's a damn nice photo."

     You just groaned while mumbling a 'shut up' as you hit his arm weakly and pressed your face into his it to hide your bright red face causing his smirk to widen as he just let silence overtake the both of you as the two of you continued on towards where the car was parked.

     Ok... Maybe, in the end, Bakugou did have a little bit of fun with you. More than he thought he'd have...

[queertazsecretsanta]

A gift for @dykeyfangs from @motherfuckingmagicbrian!

I loved writing this, and I’m a sucker for happy endings. Happy Candlenights!

Summary

It’s winter in Kepler. Snow is on the ground and people spend most of their time in hearth warmed homes. But smoke isn’t the only thing in the air. The Amnesty Lodge residents are getting ready for a wedding. A little set up to the happiest day of Aubrey and Dani’s lives.

Aubrey

“Alright now Aubrey just calm down.”

Aubrey was pacing barefoot in the snow. She danced a small flame between her fingers and watched as her crystal breath caught the warm light. 

“How’d you even know I was out here?”

She looked up at Mama, also dressed in pajamas, but with the good sense to be wearing a warm leather duster and boots, leaning on a carved wooden cane. 

“Aubrey, honey, you’re glowing like a Christmas tree and there’s a trail of melted snow in the shape of foot prints all the way from the lodge. You ain’t exactly conspicuous. Now, wanna tell me what’s the fuss?”

“Oh you know, tomorrow is supposed to be the happiest day of my life and I’m afraid I’m going to mess everything up. How are you?” She chuckled awkwardly at the end, but her voice was tense.

Mama guffawed, almost doubling over. 

“Aubrey Little, savior of two worlds, done in by a little pre-wedding jitters?”

“It’s not funny!” She threw her hands in the air and paced faster. “What if I get cold feet? I could leave and not come back, how could I do that to Dani? I love her.”

Mama clamped a hand down on Aubrey’s shoulder, rooting her in place. 

“Aubrey, look at me. The only cold feet you’ve got are the ones pacing shoeless in the snow. Tell me, are you actually thinking about up and leaving?”

“No! I would never-“

“Then what are you worried about?”

She stopped fidgeting for a moment, looking up at Mama. 

“I……I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like if I’m this happy, something will go wrong.”

“And if it does?”

“What?”

“And what if something goes wrong? What if out of nowhere aliens invade, what will you do?”

She stuttered for a second. “Well I guess, we did it last time. We can handle it and kick ass.”

“You hear that Aubrey, We, even under pressure you’re not thinking about yourself. I have full confidence that even if the world was ending again, you’d be right there by her side. You’re not one to run away in the of danger. You really think you’d chicken out on a wedding?”

Aubrey stood in stunned silence. And then all the worry and tension drained out of her. She laughed in relief and it was like the cold actually caught up with her. She rubbed her hands together and shivered. 

“I think you’re right. Even when the world was ending all I thought about was her. Can you believe I get to marry her?”

“I can.” Mama took off her coat and wrapped it around Aubrey, then gently cuffed her face with one hand. “What I can’t believe is you standing out here playing at Frosty the Snowman. Now let’s get inside. I need my beauty rest if I’m to be walking Dani down that aisle tomorrow.”

Aubrey, engulfed in Mama’s jacket, opens her arms for a hug, and Mama pulls her to her chest. 

“Thanks Mama.”

“I love you Aubrey. Dani too. And I’m so happy for you both. Come on.”

And together they headed inside.

Wedding Prep

“Larry, Curly, Moe, do you three know what you’re doing?”

“Who?” Jake looked up in confusion, he was sitting on the floor, folding cloth napkins into little rabbits for the reception. 

“Never mind, it’s a reference. Besides the point. Are y’all ready?” Mama sighed and looked at the half set up room. 

She had tasked Jake, Barclay, and a tag-along Stern with turning the Amnesty Lodge parlor into a wedding venue. So far they’ve managed to align all the couches and dining chairs into a bisected audience. At the moment Jake was sitting on the carpet, Barclay was on a ladder stringing lights and a flower garland in the rafters, and Stern was acting as spotter. And then Barclay looked sheepishly down from the ladder. 

“Well, about that…”

“Barclay so help me if the next words outta your mouth ain’t ‘Everything is perfectly fine and this wedding will go off without a hitch.’ I’ll push you off the ladder myself.”

“Everything is perfectly fine and this wedding will go off without a hitch. But, I may have forgotten to become a wedding officiant.”

“If my hair wasn’t already gray already it would turn so for the stress you cause me. How did you forget to become a wedding officiant?” Mama pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand.

“Alright now Mama, hear me out.”

“I’m a listening.”

“I just got so wrapped up in preparing for the Sylvan ceremony I kinda forgot about the Earth one. So I am technically ready for a wedding, just uhh, not this one.”

“Barclay are you telling me that we have no one to make the marriage official in legal terms? Ya’know here in Kepler, on Earth, where Aubrey’s from? Where we currently are?”

“Oh if you just need a justice of the peace or something I can just step in for the pesky signing of the certificate and verifying witnesses and such.” Stern piped up cheerily from the bottom of the ladder. He looked a little out of place without the suit and badge, but amazingly comfortable is a sweater and button up.

“What’s that now Joseph?” Mama was incredulous to say the least.

“Yeah I can legally marry people. Wouldn’t be my first time either. Besides the point really. Barclay can do all the ‘I do’s’ and the speech and all, and I step in for a bit of paperwork and the whole thing can carry on, tidy and such.” He smiled in a very sure of himself manner.

“Dare I ask why this is a thing you can do?”

“Why didn’t I know you could do this?” Barclay was mock betrayed atop the ladder

“Oh well, it started with an undercover mission-”

“Actually nope, not important. Don’t wanna know. Just make sure nothing else goes wrong ya hear me. I gotta go check with the caterer make sure they ain’t putting bacon in the collards. Don’t burn this place down.” Mama finished her thought with a tap of her cane on the ground and left the room.

“Should we tell her about the flowers?” Jake looked up at Barclay and Stern, who answered together.

“NO!”

“I was just asking.”

Dani

“Are you ready darlin?”

Mama knocked on the door frame with her cane. Her casual duster and jeans traded for a deep green suit, but the sturdy hiking boots stayed the same. Her hair was down in two neat braids framing her face. Dani was fidgeting in front of a full length mirror. She was in a loose white jumpsuit that left her arms bare. The legs were embroidered with a shimmery orange thread and a vine blooming with flowers climbed up to the bodice. Her hair was braided back with small pink flowers. Up her arms were gold cuffs and bracelets. She’s fiddling with her rings. One on each hand. She was slipping them on and off and watching herself change in the mirror. Only one actually did something though, her disguise making her look human. Hiding her bright eyes and sharp teeth. The other was more of a change to be. 

Aubrey proposed with a toy ring she got out of a gachapon machine in the mall. Dani was distracted by some toys in the pet shop window, trying to keep Dr Harris Bonkers from escaping her arms to wreck havoc. They were back in Kepler for a few days visiting Mama and Duck and wanted to spend some time goofing off. And then Aubrey tapped her on the leg. She was down on one knee struggling to pop open the little capsule. 

“Hold on, give me a second. Guess I should have opened it before I made you turn around.” The cap came off with a triumphant pop and clattered to the floor. She pulled out a cheap ring with a red fake gem flower. “Ok well I was hoping for the heart shaped one but this will work. Dani would you make me the happiest person to ever save not one, but two whole worlds? Please.”

Dani started giggling. 

“Don’t laugh at me!” But Aubrey was laughing too. 

Dr Harris Bonkers slipped on to the floor and stood watching them. Dani knelt down to Aubrey both shaking with laughter. 

“Of course I’ll marry you. You’re my home.”

Dani was holding both rings in the palm of her hand. After a moment she slipped the engagement ring back on her finger. She gently placed the other ring down on the desk in front of her. 

“Mama, I’ve never been more ready in my life.”

“I’m glad to hear.” She smiled from the doorway. “Care to lend your ear for a second? I got something you may wanna hear.”

“Of course, what is it?”

Mama walked over to the bed and took a moment to sit down the patted the spot next to her. Dani sat down lightly and Mama gently held her hands. 

“I have known you for as long you’ve been here in Kepler. And it has been a pleasure. A pleasure to know you and to watch who you’ve become here. You’ve always been a dear around the lodge, offering to clean or cook for Barclay. Not only that but you were here helping every new Sylph refugee who crossed through the archway. Do you remember when Jake crossed over? You couldn’t have been here more than two months and there you were, chomping at the bit to get him settled. Hell, you were the one to introduce him to the Hornets and that Hollis kid. And now you’re back on Sylvain helping folks over there. What I’m getting at is that you are a truly wonderful person. Who you are, right now, in every aspect, is truly one of the best folks around. I want you to know this. And I want you to be happy as you are.” Mama held Dani’s face in her hands, wiping a tear away with her thumb. “Save those tears for the wedding, alright?”

Dani nodded and wiped another tear away.

“I love you Mama.”

“I love you too Dani.”

“Are you ready?”

“I’ve never been more ready in my life, Dani.”

Wedding Bells

Amnesty lodge didn’t look like a whole new place, but it was still magical. A garland of lights and flowers was strung from the rafters. All the chairs and couches were lined up with an aisle between them and they were packed. All the lodge residents who stayed were there, and a few who came back just for the wedding, like Vincent and Alexandra. The Hornets were wearing what could only be presumed as their best, unripped jeans and the occasional button up shirt. Hollis was chastising Keith with a hat they had clearly just snatched from his head. Juno and Minerva were both dressed in ranger uniform, either because they collectively deemed it wedding attire or they were fresh off the plane. Thacker was talking to Sheriff Owens, Kirby and company, using a walking stick to emphasize a story wildly, going right through Deputy Dewey. Stern, Jake, and Barclay were in different stages of formal dress. Stern overdressed in a tuxedo, and Jake pulling at a bow tie. Barclay looked nice in a blazer and tie, with a not so classy bigfoot pattern on it. 

And then in walked Aubrey. She was wearing a short, poofy, and sleeveless white dress, fishnets, and always combat boots. Her dress had the same orange flowers embroidered up the skirt and bodice as Dani’s jumpsuit. And hanging from her neck, as solid as a memory, was the Flamebright pendant. Sylvain wasn’t the only one with her walking down the aisle, Duck had an arm linked through hers. He, at least, was wearing a suit. When they reached the altar he gave her hand a quick pat. A little reassurance, but also to squash a flame staring on her bouquet. Even before Dani walked in Aubrey had tears in her eyes. And then Mama was walking Dani down the aisle, and Dani too had tears in her eyes. As soon as they were settled there was a rapid pat pat pat of little feet down the aisle, as Dr Harris Bonkers ran in as ring bearer. Now they were ready.

It is sunrise at amnesty lodge. Light spills over the Monongahela forest. Somewhere in the woods, the remains of an archway remembers moon light. Snow catches the fresh snow and it’s almost like the world is on fire. But for now, it is safe. Inside the lodge there is a wedding going on, and a town, no, a family is celebrating.

“We are gathered here today…”

[lightthewayofficial]

Chapter One: Atticus

The Parish family have been in the service of the Klaus Foundation since 1853. Queen Victoria and King Albert, both partial to a Christmas celebration, had countless serving staff to make their holiday as spectacular as possible, William Parish being amongst them. Bill had shown a particularly commendable demonstration of seasonal good-will when he’d saved Queen Vicky from being set alight by one of the Christmas tree candles. Saving the British Monarchy from being burned alive was very much considered in line with the Christmas spirit, and he was thus knighted by the reigning Santa Clause (at the time, this was Georg Klaus II). 

Parish continued to serve the British Royal Family into his old age. Whilst his children did not receive work within the palace, they were offered a coveted place at the Klaus dinner table and an invite to the Boxing Day Ball every year. After Bill’s daughter, Molly, managed to quickly avert a Christmas pudding related crisis- rather too much brandy, rather a lot of bushy beard in proximity of the pudding’s flame- it made sense for Georg II to employ the Parishes permanently. The Klaus Foundations’ fire-putter-outers. Today, the most recent generation of Parishes has recently hung up his fire hose, though, disappointingly, he didn’t get much of an opportunity to use it. 

His son, Atticus Parish, is currently stepping off the District Line at High Street Kensington to meet his girlfriend, Saskia Harper-Smith. He is ready for a cigarette after a long day of photocopying, and he’s absolutely bloody starving, because a Pret-a-Manger crayfish salad may be delicious but it certainly isn’t filling.

I am that man. Enough of the pretentious third person- I am Atticus Parish. And if I have to spend one more day at that Advertising company, I may just start tearing the photocopy machine apart bit by bit, and throw all the pieces across the office. I feel like I could easily revert back to my caveman days if I slip, even just a little. One more ‘are you busy, Atticus? Could I trouble you to print 300 of these flyers?’ and I’ll be a monkey flinging poo at the zoo enclosure window. 

Usually, the Christmas spirit is enough to pick me right back up. These past few weeks, I’ve seen Kensington High Street putting up its lights, colouring its shop windows with stockings and wrapping paper, litter the streets with after-school and after-work shoppers. It’s nice. I can smell cinnamon when I walk past Starbucks. I can wrap my scarf closer around my neck and sink into that seasonal feeling that usually has butterflies fluttering in my belly. Typically, I’m that person who’s sickeningly festive and starts playing Michael Buble in October. 

What can I say? It runs in my family. 

But there’s something different this year. And the year before that. And before that. Really, it’s since I left University. It’s like, whatever little switch that I have in my brain that automatically flicks on when 1st December rolls by has gone faulty. The fuse has tripped and I can’t turn it back on. These past few years I’ve been fumbling in the boiler room cupboard searching for the bloody thing with a little torch, and I just can’t find it. 

Actually, I don’t think that feeling is just reserved for my missing Christmas Spirit. This disorientation has been a general feeling for a while. Sometimes, it seems like every single twenty-something year old feels the same. 

An ambulance screams down the High Street. Boys in their school uniforms trapse out of Sports Direct, unable to afford any of the shoes they’ve had their eyes on all year. I turn left and step in a puddle that smells suspiciously of beer and piss. That’s just the fragrance of London. 

I put in the keycode for Saskia’s apartment building, opposite the Indian Restaurant that I always have to go to to pick up the food because Saskia’s called shotgun. I take the steps one by one, very slowly, and I open the flat door with my key. 

Saskia is home. This is unusual. She sits on the dogleg sofa with her tight-clad feet tucked under her bum. She extends a cigarette towards me before I even get to ask her how her day was. 

I take the cigarette. She’s staring at the page of her book. “How was your day?” I manage to ask. 

“Oh,” she sighs, in the way that says, oh, you know. Shit as usual. “Wine’s open on the counter.” “Brilliant.” I see the bottle of Campo Vecchio open on the black, marble top counter. I walk past Saskia’s abandoned Leboutins, towards the bedroom. 

I leave the door open behind me as I remove a suitcase from our shared wardrobe and begin to throw in random pairs of underwear. 

I hear movement on the sofa.

“What are you doing?” she asks, as if she already knows. 

“I’m going to The North Pole,” I reply, a bit giddily. 

“Don’t be daft.” I can smell her cigarette smoke, and it reminds me that I haven’t lit mine. I take a lighter from my jacket pocket and light the cigarette dangling between my chapped lips.  “You haven’t told them you’re coming.”

I pause, pyjama bottoms in hand. “That’s true. I haven’t been back in about fifteen years. It’d be rude to turn up unannounced, wouldn’t it?” “It’s less that,” Saskia calls casually. “I’m sure they’ll be slobbering all over a Parish, back in the good old NP. It’s more that you might not have a job waiting for you there.” My packing slows as I begin to fold my pyjamas carefully. I tap my cigarette on the closest mug; the ash was very close to burning a small hole through my tartan PJs. 

“Ever sensible. What would I do without you, Sas.” “Well, you’d better start thinking up the answer to that fast. Pole’s a long way away, sweet.”

I come to a stop then. Slowly turning around, I measure the view of my girlfriend, sat in her minimalist living room with smoke drifting around her straightened, dark-brown hair. She’s still burrowed in her book. 

“I’m sorry, Sas.”

That makes her put down her book, looking at me over the back of the sofa with a frown. “What on Earth are you apologising for, Atticus? You and I both know we don’t love each other that way.” At this point, Saskia’s blunt delivery shouldn’t come as a shock. It does, even now, even after knowing her for five years. “I know. I mean. We’ve spoken about it. But that doesn’t make it less rubbish that I’m up and leaving.”

She turns back to her book. 

“I’d rather you’d go if it’s your gut instinct, Attie. Your gut’s always been a good guide.”

“Only when you need help choosing from the takeaway menu.” She doesn’t laugh. I laugh to myself a little, though. 

“What made you decide this now?” she continues. “You could pop back to your apartment and get some proper clothes. You haven’t left an awful lot here.” “It just struck me as I was walking through High Street Ken.” “Ah. The horrible commercial aspect of it all?” I’m on hands and knees, rummaging under Saskia’s bed. She has some of those amazing vacuum pack things with a few of my winter jumpers in. I pull one of the packs out and it’s rock hard, like a sachet of compressed cocoa powder. 

“Sort of,” I say, voice coming out strained as I try and open the vacuum nozzle. “It’s just-” I pop the nozzle open, and it wheezes like an air mattress. “All the stuff in the news. The horrible political situation. Ice caps melting.” “Mmm.” “And what people need most is hope, a light to guide them, and instead it’s iPhones and Build-a-Bears.” “I like iPhones.” “And I like Build-a-Bears,” I continue, opening the vacuum bag and finding my warmest Edinburgh Woolen Mill knitted item. I have a fair few. “I’m not diminishing the power of a good present, of those little gestures. Of those things in life that make you happy. But the world is just so much more complex than our parents ever made it out to be, and now-”

There’s a thud from the apartment upstairs. The neighbours’ toddler has just started walking, and she keeps bumping into things. The comes a shrill cry as she registers that she’s fallen over. 

“Now,” I continue, “even when there’s good intentions behind it, even when these material things are helpful or fun or good, or whatever, it’s hard to forget that it’s probably been made in some sweatshop. Or that the company that came up with it isn’t paying any taxes- or it’s burning down the Amazon Rainforest. Or that one action figure is wrapped up in layers of pointless plastic packaging.”

A deep breath. And then I fold a second jumper and put it in the suitcase.

“Oh. Sorry- mind if I steal your suitcase, Sas?” “No. Has all of this only just occurred to you? And when did you become such a pessimist, Atticus Parish? I’ve never known you to talk like this, and quite frankly it’s terrifying.” I’m searching through my shirts. Why don’t I own any turtlenecks? “I know, it really is terrifying.” “Does this mean that you’re officially pursuing the Parish family business at Klaus Foundation, then?” “I suppose it does.” I zip up the suitcase.

“I’m.” There’s a pause, and I hear here close her book whilst I’m zipping. “I’m happy for you, Atticus. It’s always mattered to you, spreading hope and joy and all those sorts of things. Much more of a natural at Christmas spirit than me.” I’ve forgotten my toothbrush. My voice echoes in the bathroom as I say, “How would you know? You could be a natural. You’re a Smith who’s never wielded a blacksmith’s hammer before. Have you ever wielded a hammer, Saskia Harper-Smith?”

“No, and I daresay I never will.”

I pull the heavy suitcase off the bed- I packed too many shoes, but never mind- and I suddenly catch my reflection in the full-length mirror. Red curls getting too long, nose still red from the cold outside. Looking more energetic than I have in a long time- which is only, really, the sort of thing you notice when you’ve been particularly sluggish for a long time. Suddenly, I feel like I don’t have the time to stop and think about all of this. 

The sound of the suitcase rolling on the polished concrete floor is horribly loud. Saskia is standing, cigarette put out, only halfway finished. Her large eyes look suddenly larger and more childlike than they ever have before. 

“Look after yourself, thank you,” she demands.

“Of course, darling.” I bring her into a hug. She doesn’t typically like them, but I do, and she acquiesces today. I feel her skinny hand pat me awkwardly between the shoulder blades. 

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” I mumble into the material of her cardigan. 

There’s barely a beat’s hesitation before she replies, “Yes you do.”

✨✨✨✨

It’s been a very long time since I’ve been on the boat to Håperg. 

This close to Christmas, it’s frankly irresponsible that I’m on this boat close to the darkest, coldest time of the year- and it’s remarkably lucky that these kind people have offered to take me. But here I am, and here they are, and I’ve done my best to offer them some of my tea from my flask as a thank you but they just smile and shake their heads politely. 

Seagulls screech overhead. I’m always amazed by how far-out seagulls fly- I don’t know enough about their eating habits to understand what they’re doing here. They’re probably thinking the same of me. The water occasionally splashes over the side, though the current isn’t that bad. It’s the ice that’s the problem, and I can’t shake off that unsettling feeling that we’ll just be the miniature version of The Titanic and end up sinking out here. When I came out here as a child, I didn’t really think about my own mortality so much. Now, I’m looking around and all I see is the receding shoreline of Spitsbergen and the sun failing to reach the horizon, that weak, pinkish glow dusting the clouds. It’s a bit terrifying.  

It’s perfect here.

I remember how much I loved it the first time, when I was six; the second time when I was ten. My lasting memory of both visits is the taste of chocolate and the cold scraping up my lungs. I loved it here, I loved seeing where my father came to work four months of the year. I won’t ever fully understand why he tried to put me off it, and I won’t understand how he almost succeeded. 

I close my eyes and breath in, and let the gentle rock of the boat silence my thoughts. The old engine roars and the seagulls continue to sing. I watch the ripples in the water, the pink and the stars reflected in the mirror sea-surface. 

It takes a good couple more hours for the boat to moor. The ocean is eerily still, the wind whistling in a high-pitched shriek. It picks up the ice in the air and whisks it around. It’s pitch-black out here now, as it will be for the next few months of the year. And this would be a frightening place, if not for the glittering lights of Håperg in the distance. Like fallen stars on the horizon. It’s just as welcoming as I remember it, an atmosphere of comfort and safety that could almost make you forget how unbelievably cold it is. And how many days it’s taken to get this far from London. 

The two men who’ve brought me here from Spitsbergen busy themselves with docking safely. One of them takes my suitcase, completely ignoring my inarticulate complaints- complaints that are essentially just me waving my hands about uselessly. The other hums something tunelessly to himself, unknotting some rope and, amazingly, pulling away his fur-lined hood. These men are made of stronger stuff than me. 

The step from the boat to the ice is high. The ice is slippery. I wobble in my descent and make a bit of a tit of myself, but that’s to be expected. 

“First time, yes?” The man with my suitcase asks. I feel terrible, I had asked for his name, but he didn’t give it and I’m too awkward to ask again. 

“Yes. Wait, no, sorry. This is my third time. But, the first in a very long time. I came as a child.” Through the flickering whisps of fur, I see the wincing expression of a young man. “Good. You remember the cold.” “Oh yes, hard to forget,” I call out over the wind. 

We walk for a minute or two through the snow- no idea where- and I learn that his name is Jakob. He learns my name. He asks whether I’m expected at Klaus Lodge, and I say no. His jovial laugh makes me wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. How incredibly presumptuous I’ve been, just turning up like this. 

Jakob comes to a stop by a shed and some parked sleds. The poor sod still has Saskia’s bright pink suitcase in his hand as he whistles loudly with the other, thumb and forefinger in his mouth. At first, I have no idea what he’s trying to summon. It’s dark and the flakes of ice in the air make it hard to see anything except for Håperg’s distant lights. But then, I see them. They bound over and I can hear their excited yelps. 

“Huskies!” I cry like a boy.

My new friend laughs. “You like dogs, I hope.” “I love them.”

I watch them run over, though I have no idea where from. There’s eight of them, and the front two are grinning with their tongues hanging out and breath blooming in clouds. There’s snow spraying around them like they’re jumping in puddles. And honestly, I haven’t felt such childlike joy in years. 

They crash to halt and run circles around us, yelping in excited, high-pitched cries as they jump up at Jakob. He pays them no attention, walking soberly towards the sled and expecting them to follow, which they do. They’ve been trained well, even if huskies tend to be a little bit bonkers. That much I remember. One of the front runners is wagging his tail so hard the whole back half of his body is swinging from side to side. 

“Blåbær will take you there.”

I run my gloved fingers through the frontrunner’s fur. He turns to nip playfully at me, perhaps also a bit defensively, before sniffing my hand and rubbing his face on my shoes. “I take it you’re Blåbær,” I call out to the dog over the roar of the wind. 

“He is best.”

I couldn’t agree more. 

Jakob loads me and my silly suitcase onto the sled so that we’re lying down in front of the handle and reigns. It makes me feel like a piece of luggage. And then I watch him hook up all the huskies, standing diligently in line and occasionally chattering to each other. And then I feel him take his stand at the helm. 

And then we’re off, and I get just the smallest amount of whiplash from the sudden start. I also get a faceful of snow from the huskies’ paws. It’s in my eye, which hurts a lot, and it melts in my mouth, too. I cling onto the suitcase. The mountains start to take shape through the flurry. I look up- the stars are watching our journey to Håperg. And- my God. The Northern Lights. They’re doing a Mexican wave above our heads in greens and yellows and blues, like an 80s synth dream. 

Something about it all has my heart radiating, making ripples of rightness through my chest. It has taken me too long to come here. 

At least I’m here now.

[diningpageantry]

Classrooms

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/47113153

Chapter 11/13 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 2305

Chapter Summary: The secrecy of Simon and Baz's relationship gets taken down a peg, and surprisingly, it's voluntary.

~~~~~~~~~~

I take the steps slowly, counting each little splinter cracking through the wooden steps as I climb upwards.

The English department is on the top floor. It’s usually quite hot, as Baz complains, and when it’s windy, you hear a bit of a whistle by the windows as they tremble along.

It’s a rarity that I get to make the trip up here. As the days close onto the spring break, I find myself more than often cooped up in my tiny broom-closet of a workspace, trying frantically to gather admissions information--approvals, rejections, waitlists, ecetera ecetera. I can feel myself going slightly more off kilter with each records email I send off, and at times, I feel myself regretting the decision to stay at this job for God knows how much longer.

The days that I get to visit Baz before nighttime, though, are the days that I feel reassured in never leaving, so long as I’ve got him to see.

Days like today. Like when a teacher down the hall from his room asked for a referral letter form. They’re days where I can slip into his room and spend a few, fleeting seconds in his presence.

It’s starting to feel like a game. How long can we snog in secrecy before someone pops their head in and outs us to everyone else.

So far, we’re fine.

Mostly.

There was one time I was giving him a quick kiss by the loo when someone turned a corner and shocked us, but I think it may have looked like I was going in to sock him rather than snog him. Which, given our history, wouldn’t be too shocking.

But his classroom is safe.

And warm.

And bright.

I can see the sunshine it through the window as I knock on the heavy oak door, hearing his voice hum a sharp “Come in”, figuring I’m some random unexpected company (and he’s never quite the biggest fan of unexpected).

Regardless, his face switched from a bitter scowl to a soft, almost smile as I step through the threshold and grin over at his desk. “Just… popping in. Figured company would do you well.”

I still myself as he stands, swiftly stepping over and closing the door behind us before subtly dropping a hand to my waist. “Didn’t know you were coming,” he says, voice treading on sweet as we step out of the hallway’s line of sight, pressed up against a wall. I raise myself up, pecking his lips once.

“Thought I’d surprise you,” I murmur, watching his eyes fall shut as I kiss him again.

He relaxes, shoulders dropping slightly as I raise my hands up to hold them. I feel his hands ease and snake around my hips, nudging me closer. “Mmm. And for who should I thank for dragging you up here?”

I shrug. “Mr. Elsecs needed something printed, and you know he’s shit with technology,” I drop my mouth to his jaw, planting kisses along his skin. “Plus, my little hellhole was getting boring.”

His skin vibrates as he chuckles, and I smile against it. “You know, you can bring your laptop up and camp out here if you don’t feel like sitting in that frankly concerning room. I’m sure it breaks six health code violations with the moldy patch on your ceiling--”

I cut him short, pressing our lips together and dragging back quickly. “As lovely as it sounds, I’m not really sure if that’s the best idea.”

“What, Davy will stick his nose in it, will he?”

“What? No!”

“Then what’s the issue?”

I pause, words catching in my throat. It’s much more complicated than that. For me, it isn’t a quick shift--for me to slip out of my room during closed office hours and sit in a recognizable space for longer than a quick visit, hoping nobody pries the door open and god forbid I’m holding my boyfriend’s hand.

This is different than staying up here. This is a quick peck and a hello--that is like signing my own warrant.

The idea of outing ourselves by just cohabiting a space without reason is jarring enough to make me want to cry.

“I’m not ready yet,” I mumble, letting my hands drop. They smooth over his shirt, pressing the hanging fabric over his long torso and watching it fold at my fingertips. He let me pick the colour this morning. It’s dark blue-ish green, like his eyes.

His face falters, then stiffens. “It isn’t coming out--”

“We both know it practically is.” My voice goes stern, wavering slightly as I fixate on his top button. “I know it isn’t saying anything, but…”

“But it’s easing into it,” he finishes. His hands are still weighing against me, suddenly feeling like they’re pulling me down. I squirm, listening to him speak. “I know. I know it is. Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“I--”

“Because nobody will say anything,” he whispers. I feel his left hand raise, then settle around my jaw. “I doubt there’ll be much of an issue with it being public, and even then, nobody will have the bollocks to say shit. They’re all too stuffed and old fashioned to say anything to our faces.”

My eyes fall shut, his voice melting and swirling into my line of thought and making me drunk on his words briefly before I snap back, nudging myself away from him and standing upright. “I don’t want to come out because I’m not ready,” I say, eyes pushing back open and looking at him dead on. “I don’t--I’m not--fuck.”

“Simon…”

“Don’t.” I exhale. “Don’t say my name all proper and expect that I’ve got myself all patched up and peachy.”

“Then what do you want, Snow?”

“Time,” I shrug, then look at our feet. “Reasurrance. Fucking hell, I don’t even have a support network. Penny doesn’t even know.”

He purses his lips, and I feel everything going on through his head, and right now, it doesn’t feel too sweet.

Because I know what he’s been through. I know he’s been out since before he even knew how to drive a car, and he’s been doing this his whole life. The whole “Out and proud” shit. Looking people in the eyes and telling them he’s queer without a moment’s hesitation. Without the worry of their response, because he’s worked it up enough for it not to matter.

But for me, it matters.

It matters a whole fucking lot.

And I know he knows that, but he doesn’t really know. He hasn’t felt the sudden, jarring shift when he thought he had shit worked out and suddenly, bam! You’re snogging a bloke and liking it and fucking hell, it’s overwhelming.

“It’s overwhelming,” I whisper, trying to step back into his space. He hesitates, hands up and ghosting over my sides, but not resting. “I don’t know how to bring myself to just… say it.”

“Do you want to say it?” he asks, sounding so, so simple. “Do you want to tell Bunce?”

“Of course I do.” My voice drops, brushing down to the point where it’s nearly silent as my gaze follows to my own hands and wrists. I should just grab Baz’s. “She’s the first person that should know, you know? She’s the sort of person who’d be good to tell…”

His head nods, and we’re close enough for his hair to brush into my face. I instinctively reach up, tucking it behind his ears as his brows quirk.  “Then tell her,” he murmurs. “It’ll make it easier.”

“Will it?”

“Yes,” he says pointedly. “Makes it a little less for you to complain about, then.”

I huff, and he smiles.

“I tease because I care,” he adds.

“Then fuck off and stop caring.”

“Never,” he says, and it feels like he means it, so I seal it with a kiss.

Then pull myself back a minute or so later, exhaling as I check my phone. Dinner starts in about half an hour.

Maybe he’s right (like he happens to be, sometimes). (Usually.) (Much more often than I’ll ever admit.) I should just tell her--waltz right into her room, swing the doors open, and say “Penny, I like blokes!”

“I need to do something before dinner,” I say softly, watching him follow my gaze onto my mobile’s screen. I raise my head back up, and he follows. “See you down there?”

His mouth pushes into an almost smile, chest deflating slowly. “Stare at each other across the room. Got it.”

I shift, then shrug. “Do you want to eat at home tonight, then?”

He thinks briefly as his hand rubs my arm, watching me slip my phone back into my pocket. “When’s the last time either of us went shopping?”

I think. “Last Wednesday...?”

“Exactly.” He pecks my cheek. “The fridge is practically barren.”

I find myself smiling. He likes kissing this one mole right there--I think it gets more love than my mouth, sometimes. “Fine. We can go shopping, then cook at home?”

“You’re a dangerous hungry shopper, Snow.”

“Well you’re being difficult.”

He stares back, raising a brow as if to emphasize that he’s right before I sigh.

“Oh fuck you. Fine. Compromise--I’ll grab a bite to eat at the dining room, and I’ll meet you back in the room so we can shop. Deal?”

“Deal.” He pushes himself off the wall, adjusting the tuck of his shirt so it’s nice and flat.

He lets me peck his lips before heading back to his desk, settling in to wrap up for the day. I steal a last look before stepping out of the room and sighing under my breath.

Penny’s room is on the other side of the hall and a few doors down, right next to the water fountains. Outside the door hangs a petition for a “Gender Studies” course, asking for signatures. It makes me a bit sad, given she’s had it up for weeks and only has about five or six signatures, but it’s the thought that counts.

I stand there for a moment, looking over the door handle, then into her classroom. Her decorations are astronomically different than Baz’s--comfortable. Plush couch in the back for relaxing, posters, soft fairy lights decorating the walls. Mostly what you expect for a mid-twenties woman, but I suspect the majority of the straight teenage boys passing through this room think it’s tacky.

I inhale slowly, then knock, hearing her chair swivel and the clack of her flats on the floor before the door is thrown open. She looks up at me curiously, and I feel the wave of pre-fear hit me. Fucking hell--she’s just Penny. “Hey,” I manage out.

“Hey,” she says back, opening her door further. “What’s wrong, Si?”

I step past her, exhaling slowly and studying the patterns on her carpet. “Nothing’s wrong, exactly.”

She circles around, raising her brows at me before looking around. “Do you wanna sit…?”

“I think I’m fine,” I shrug, finally looking at her right on. I don’t really know what I’m going to say. I hadn’t really planned out much beyond getting here and…

Nope, that’s it.

This. Where we are now.

So I guess this is the part I say it. I just push it out, as gracefully as I can.

“Simon--”

“I’m into blokes,” I say quickly, shocking myself a bit. It spills out faster than it does in my head, making me suck in a breath afterwards and wait for it to settle as she blinks up, then breaks into a smile.

Then laughs, leaving me a bit confused.

“What--”

“That’s what you have to say?” she giggles. “Jesus, Simon, you looked like you had just heard there’s a bounty out for your bloody head when you’d knocked.”

“I… well…”

She calms a bit, a smile still across her face as she goes to let me finish. Instead, I just shift, struggling to find my voice.

“It isn’t just that, really,” I get quieter, swallowing. “It’s… it’s just that… well… you see…”

“What? Do you fancy Mr. Bitch, or something?”

Ah. Shit.

I laugh, and it comes out more awkward than I’d originally intended. Her face drops immediately.

“Holy--” she stops herself, blinking. “You fancy him?”

“A bit more than fancy,” I say quietly. “He--we…”

She stops me, snorting. “Are you two…?”

I nod slowly, eyes closing as I exhale. I shouldn’t have told her--it was dumb of me to think I could just pull a full 180 and assume she might respond a bit more cheerfully than this. I was dumb. So fucking dumb--

“How did--I mean. Fuck. Are you happy? Is he at least nice when you’re--”

“What?!” I blink, looking up. “No, yeah. He is. Surprisingly, I guess. He’s, uh. He’s different when it’s just him and I, and… yeah. No. I’m happy. Really bloody happy.”

I feel myself blushing, watching her stare over me like I’m spewing some alien shit before she grabs my hand, squeezing it once.

“You can blink once if you’re saying this under gunpoint,” she whispers in what sounds like it’s a joke. I think.

I laugh at it regardless, starting to smile as it eases off. Okay. Not a terrible reaction. “I’m not. Penny, I actually like him.”

“Promise?”

I’m grinning as I nod. “Look, I can prove it. Come over later tonight. We’re making dinner at our place after we shop, and I’ll tell him you’re stopping in.”

She eyes me up curiously, and for a second I think that if she could do the eyebrow thing Baz does, then she’d be doing it right now. “Alright,” she says slowly, nodding. “Okay. Yes. Will do.”

I grin, then squeeze her hand back. “Trust me,” I say softly. “He’s still a little bitch sometimes, but a decent bloke to be around.”

“If you say so...”

[kamimuse]

Too many things to ponder

The lighting of his study was dimly lit as usual, the wick of candles burning down to their base before sputtering out into a thin stream of smoke. Candles were easily replaced of course, a new stick usually placed right over where the old one had been. It had been like this for a few days now. The trove of tomes Hisao and Neugdae brought back from Thavnair were half rifled through. Hisao didn’t have time to actually read through them, but he had been skimming through and transcribed the Thavnarian script to the more common written word into a new grimoire he was crafting for himself. He’d only been transcribing the spells he thought would be beneficial and necessary. It was a good distraction, even if he wasn’t sure half of what he was doing was useful currently, but it beat the strange silence and mix of emotions he’d been feeling over the past week.

He had spent his time pouring over texts and journals about dimensional travel, alternate dimensions and any research involving planar travel. Nothing he found was useful, though his talk with Vindi had been insightful. It had given him ideas to play with and things to research, but these topics were the kind that got scholars and researchers laughed out of their field. There wasn’t enough printed and readily available information out there. Perhaps he just needed to stop formulating plans. Maybe he needed to do something already.

Between his private conversations, the attack in the hall, dealing with the aftermath of that said attack, and then Araijah showing up on his doorstep frightened out of his mind; The old man was starting to feel overwhelmed. His body was physically worn down due to his mental state. He was grateful that Araijah and Neugdae were there for him, as the pair of spirited youth had give him a much needed reprieve from all the stress, by fussing over the Hingan with their doting concerns for his well being. He couldn’t keep running on the same track. Things needed to change soon.

He was temporarily ripped from his thoughts and his transcribing task at hand when he felt a low thrum of energy from beneath his feet. He knew where that was coming from. Slowly he turned to look toward the bookshelf behind him near the stained glass window, his senses starting to slip almost as if someone had tied a rope around him and was starting to pull. That overwhelming sensation pulled right down that secret passage and into the lower basement chamber. This had been happening more and more lately, despite the wards he had in place- which he checked on religiously. Among the many other’s he had to deal with, it had been a distraction he didn’t dare bring up.

Knock, Knock.

The Raen jumped in his seat when the knock came, startling him out of his wits and pulling him back to reality. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily when the door slid open. Whether he was prepared to accept visitors or not, in stepped the slender female Raen who had been staying with him. The purple haired woman leaned in the sliding doorway as she watched her brother for a moment, her tail swaying from side to side. Hisao had already turned back to his work at hand, pushing all other thoughts aside while she stood there in silence. It was an odd tension between them. Yui was one of the few who still talked to him within their immediate family, but it didn’t mean their relationship wasn’t strained. Somehow, he had a feeling he knew what she wanted to discuss, and it was a conversation he still wasn’t entirely ready for.

“Yes?” He asked finally, finding her silence more irritating than anything else. It made him nervous.

“I have been here for over a week now. I need to get back to Kugane, the holiday is coming up and it’s my busiest season. I have work to do. Have you made a decision on what you want to do?” She was forward, and straight to the point.

“I will not be requiring your services yet. I’m still not certain on what to do.” He said quietly.  He set the quill pen down onto a small rectangular pen holder while watching the red ink dribble from the metal tip across the porcelain surface. Poetic that he would be using red ink in transcribing Thavnarian blood magic.

Clearly the small woman didn’t like his answer and she frowned quite hard at the back of the old man’s head. Striding over to lean against his desk as she peered down at him, folding her arms over her chest- yes her displeasure with her older brother was quite well known with her body language alone.

“You’ve been miserable. You’ve had more mood swings since I’ve been here in a week than you’ve ever felt in your entire life. You need to make a choice.” She scolded.

“I’m looking for alternative solutions.” Hisao explained.

Yui rolled her eyes. She was frustrated, clearly. While her stay in the Shroud had been an entertaining one, she was getting restless. She couldn’t wait on Hisao to hem and haw over this forever. So she walked around his chair to the other side of his desk and opened a drawer. Hisao immediately felt violated as the young woman began rifling through his things and he simply growled.

“What are you doing?”

She produced a handful of loose blank parchment and then promptly grabbed his quill from his desk, spinning and marching off into the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder.

“I’m just going to write you the rituals. I can’t sit here and wait for you to make a decision.” She sighed, sitting down at the table as she began scribbling out ritualistic instructions she knew off the top of her head. She ought to know them, she performed them quite often for her clientele back in the east. “I do know other rituals, but they require some really heavy-handed spell components. Ones you may not want to even bother with. Regardless- I’ll write them down anyways so you can pick and choose what is convenient for you.“

Brows knit together as the older Raen stood in the doorway leading into the kitchen, staring after her with quiet fury. There were other things he could have done? Why didn’t she tell him from the beginning? A quiet fury began to build in the older man as he took deep breaths, trying not to explode on the woman as he strode over to the table where she sat, watching her transcribe on stolen parchments.

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” He asked firmly.

“Because it’s a lot of work!” she gestured with a huff.

“I didn’t ask for the simplest and easiest solution. I’m looking for the best solution, regardless of the amount of ritual work it takes. How dare you-“

“They all come with sacrifices, Hisao.”

The older Hingan eventually fell silent and sighed heavily. He couldn’t argue with Yui, and she was right- she needed to go home. He only wished she could stay longer- perhaps for another week. If she could write him the rituals, then he could easily perform them on his own or with assistance. He really didn’t need her there in the end, he just needed the spells.

“When are you heading back?” He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as he moved to slump in a chair across from her at the table. “I was thinking of leaving tonight, head to Thanalan and do some shopping before hopping an airship to Limsa Lominsa. Probably stay there for a day or so then head out in two days.” She cast a glance to her brother thoughtfully.

Hisao reflected on her words for a moment before turning and heading back into the study silently, sinking down into the chair at his desk. Leaning heavily to one side, chin in the palm of his hand, the Raen stared off to the flickering burning candles just to the left of him. Fire was hypnotizing at times, but it allowed him to think while he stared into the brilliance of that light. Too many things to think about. Too many thoughts to process, too many emotions of despair not his own. Even when his own were mixed into the lot, it was like throwing gasoline onto the fire. Then there were the random influxes of pleasure, sadness, rage, and self-doubt. Yui was right. He couldn’t sit on this any longer. He was miserable.

Casting his gold eyes away, he peered at a new fresh leather-bound journal he’d purchased the other day. His conversation with Vindi had given him much to think about. The pages still blank and unused, he had yet to start compiling a list of memories into written form.

Depending on the other rituals Yui presented him with, perhaps he wouldn’t need to.