#whenever he gets too stressed and paranoid he calls me to a neutral place. i wouldnt go to the fancy places he likes

[selamat-linting]

y/n reader fantasies are a little embarrassing. i admit it. but, my fantasy of becoming tony montana's personal enemy that he always beats up by hand but never kill despite us being opposites in ideology and career is different i swear!!!

[hitnran]

OBSESSIVE EX (gender neutral! reader)

how they deal with you having an obsessive ex

includes: ran, rindou

CW: obsessive behavior, cursing, stalking (ran), phone harassment (rindou), the haitani brothers lowkey kinda scary here (not to the reader) 💀 but i’m just trying to make it fit within their character

— RAN HAITANI

Getting into a relationship with someone like Ran, half of the charismatic brother duo that ruled Roppongi, almost means guaranteed safety wherever you go. His title itself is one that is feared when murmured. Whenever you two leave, he always has an eye and a hand on you. Ran knows well that even if he is feared, he can also be challenged and the last thing he wants is for you to get involved — you would make an easy target for his enemies.

You two were out together on a stroll around the city. Although there was nothing neither of you needed, Ran’s favorite thing is showing you off. Sometimes you start to feel similar to his younger brother, thinking that you’re just a shadow and only known as ‘Ran’s partner.’ But Ran’s intentions were opposite. He wanted everyone to know that it was him that belonged to you and it is him that people would have to deal with if you were ever tested.

As you two are walking, Ran noticed your eyes consistently checking itself to the side. He took note of that and eventually brushed it off since you stopped. But then he noticed that you were being especially keen and scanning the whole area.

“Are you okay, love?” Ran slightly hunches down, getting your attention as your face turns his way. He lightly smiles at you. “Did you see something you liked?”

You swallowed down hard. You could’ve sworn you saw a familiar face, but after trying to scan the area numerous times for the past few minutes, you thought it was just you being paranoid. The last thing you wanted was to worry Ran and cause a scene.

“I’m okay,” You shook your head, returning a light smile. You grabbed on his arm, this time a little tighter. “Let’s turn into this corner.”

Ran knows when you’re lying. He knew something made you uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to force you to tell him. Instead, he’ll make it his own problem too and deal with it himself.

This area was his territory and everyone knew it. It was almost as if Roppongi, a city known for liveliness, calmed down ever so slightly if one or both of the brothers were out. Everyone’s gaze wound be kept low and their conversations would go mute as they walk by.

At that moment, Ran could feel a pair of eyes staring your way. He won’t make it obvious though.

“Love,” Ran called out to you. You looked up his direction and he placed a hand against your lower back. “Rindou’s gonna throw a fit if I don’t bring back food for him. How about you go into the restaurant and order first while I call him and ask what he wants?”

You felt at ease hearing that you two were finally going to be in somewhere indoors, but it made you nervous that he would be separated from you for just a little while.

“Don’t wanna bring something back he won’t like and have him complain,” Ran lightly laughed, trying to ease your clear discomfort. He placed a hand over your head. Taking out his phone to add to his act. “I’ll be quick.”

After some hesitation, you gave in. It was a public space after all, so it shouldn’t have been anything to worry too much about. He watched as you entered the place before turning around, sending chills to the person who had been following you two around this whole time.

“Would be a shame if I left them alone for too long, wouldn’t it?” Ran gave off a sinister grin, slowly walking towards the person. “Wouldn’t want anyone to take them away…especially someone like you.”

Ran knew who this person was. He was an obsessive ex of yours that just would not leave you alone and accept the separation despite it being years passed. He gulped hard, nervously stepping back, not thinking that he would get caught.

“You were so bold to even follow us in the first place, why so shy now?” Ran smirked, hiking up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “This is the first time you’ve heard of me or something? I should introduce myself to you well and hard then.”

Almost ten minutes had passed since you’ve been waiting for Ran. You sat patiently and waited. Your best guess as to what’s taking him so long revolves around Rindou. Maybe he was complaining about how he wanted food from a different place or being picky about menu opinions. Just as you were about to raise yourself from your seat to check up on Ran, you saw him enter.

“Did I make you wait too long?” Ran appeared, seating himself in front of you. The worse case scenario you had in mind was that he got into a fight, but in front of you, he looked just as how you last saw him. “You know how Rindou is.”

Your chest became relaxed and you gave a small smile, shaking your head, “What did he want from here?”

“I didn’t even listen to what he said,” Ran teased, opening up his menu and leaning back against the chair. You felt his legs sandwich your calves from beneath the table. “He can order it himself. All my money is going to you today.”

And that was how Ran liked it. Although Ran wanted everyone to know that he belonged to you, he knew how important it was for others to know that you belonged to him too. The image of the face of your ex is burned so clearly into his brain — face all bloodied up, mauled almost, as he failed to even whisper for forgiveness.

“I think there’s only one way I’m gonna let you outta here alive,” Ran kicked his body down with force, hearing something shift in his jaw. He couldn’t give half a damn about it. “Do you know what that is?”

Your ex was visibly beaten and weak now, barely able to even blink or properly form a sentence. Though, with his adam’s apple slightly moving from fear, Ran took it as a response.

Grabbing him by his hair upward, Ran bent down, looking straight at him, “You’re gonna leave them alone and never show your goddamn face again. If it wasn’t fucked already before, it sure is now. I promise you I’ll know if you’re even barely visible or a mile away, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Ran thought it was so disgusting how someone like you could ever have your time wasted on someone low like this ex of yours. Even if Ran saw him and his brother above everyone else, he always put you above him.

“Maybe even after this, I’ll send one of my men to go and beat the shit out of you every day so you could suffer for as long as you’ve tried to bother Y/N.”

— RINDOU HAITANI

Rindou can’t even remember what it took for you two to even reach this state of your guys relationship. He convinced himself that it was Ran, his older brother who wouldn’t shut up about how he was going to take you if Rindou didn’t make a move.

It genuinely surprises himself even whenever he looks your way, observing every detail and soaking in the idea that you are someone he can call his.

You two were watching a movie, or rather, supposed to. Rindou was too focused on side-eyeing you every now and then. You caught him a few times, but he would brush it off with comments like “this movie is boring” or “I’m just checking to see if you fell asleep.”

He would snap himself out of a trance after hearing your phone ring beside you. You eyed it once, looking at the caller ID and ignoring it. It wasn’t enough to cause Rindou to worry - it’s not his problem if you just didn’t wanna answer a call, it was your guys’ time anyway.

But then it rang once more again. Your ringtone dragged itself out halfway through before Rindou slightly raised his hand from your hip, pointing to the phone on the side of the couch.

“You not gonna answer that?” He asked.

You shook your head, eyes focused on the TV, “It’s fine. It’s an unknown caller ID.”

Rindou shrugged, ignoring it once again, but after a few more calls and your phone receiving back to back text messages, it was starting to irk him. He was close to just grabbing your phone and answering the call himself, but you were quick to act before him, just shutting it off.

“It must be spam or something,” You sighed, sitting back down.

“Yeah, well whatever it is, good thing you shut that damn thing off. That shit was annoying,” Rindou sighed, curling his arms around you again. “Let’s change the movie too or something. This one is boring.”

One thing about dating Rindou is that he seems uninterested in absolutely everything he does. Although you avoid thinking like that when it comes to your relationship with him, you always remind yourself that Rindou is someone who deeply cares for you. He shows it very differently compared to others, but you know.

He can recall a memory from a few weeks ago where you kept getting calls in the middle of your guys’ date. It annoyed him, but not as much as it annoyed you. You’ve pressed the red decline button at least five times now, stressing over it and spilling out everything about your previous ex.

At the end of your rant, Rindou grabbed your phone, picking up the call and saying words as simple as “leave them alone.” It was so simple, but for the next few weeks, it was silent. You finally thought you were free of harassment thanks to your boyfriend, but recently, they’ve been coming back as unknown caller IDs and more frequent than before.

Halfway through the movie, Rindou felt your body become more loose and relaxed beneath him. Your breath became slower and more steady. You had fallen asleep. He thought it was ironic to have someone as angelic as you in the arms of someone like him - a gang member always involving himself in trouble, even just for fun.

He stared at your phone just a reach away and then back at you. The last thing Rindou wanted was for you to be uncomfortable, or really, anything that isn’t where you aren’t happy.

When you woke up, the TV was shut off and you felt a blanket drape over your body. You realized you had fallen asleep from earlier, but you were expecting to find your boyfriend with you as well. That was when the door swung open and you were greeted with Rindou.

“Rindou?” You slowly let out, still adjusting from waking up. “I didn’t know you left.”

He raised a bag up midway in the air, it’s a bag from a bakery you often bought from, “You kept murmuring about it in your sleep. Didn’t want you to wake up all grumpy.”

“I don’t wake up grumpy!” You protested, watching as he took his seat next to you and unpacking all of your favorites.

“Yeah, okay,” Rindou joked. He listened to you puffing out before wrapping yourself around his arm.

“Thank you though,” You murmured out of embarrassment - maybe he was half right.

“It’s nothing,” He replied, softening his face into a grin. “Must’ve been hungry though if it got you talking in your sleep and drooling on my arm.”

You didn’t even know about half of the things he does for you, but he didn’t mind it, because if you were happy, then that was all that mattered.

It made Rindou feel guilty to turn on your phone and look through it. It wasn’t something that he ever felt the need to do - he trusted you and it felt wrong if you weren’t aware that he was using it. Though, at this time, he felt like it was for the better.

While you were silently sleeping, he browsed through your texts. It’s that same person - your ex back again to bother you. Rindou scoffed, making sure it wasn’t loud enough to wake you up, but he was angry. He clicked his tongue whilst composing a message.

Rindou knew you would never be so stupid as to meet up with someone like this, especially not after already experiencing it once. It was a good thing that it was just Rindou posing as you though. How delighted your ex felt to have finally received a response to you - ‘Let’s meet up here.’

Rindou thought it was so pathetic. This guy had no idea what he looked like, let alone that you even had a boyfriend. So when Rindou’s immediate reaction upon seeing him was to throw a punch, he was shocked.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Your ex cried out, trying his best to dodge his attacks but failing in between his words and attempts.

“Me?!” Rindou snapped, pushing him to the ground and twisting his arms. “Speak for yourself.”

The man beneath him screamed in pain, “I-I’ll call the cops on you and have you arrested!”

“Yeah? You think they’ll give me less time if I tell them I was just trying to teach a creep a lesson?” Rindou pulled back on his arms a little harder, tendons and muscles stretching themselves out of place.

“T-The hell are you talking about?!” He stuttered out.

“Don’t bitch around. Might end yourself up in there if you keep this act of yours up - I’ve been once before,” Rindou smirked, pulling back more and more on his arms. “It was fine for me. My big bro and I even got some respect while in there, so what’s gonna happen when they hear about your name from me? You’re fresh meat to them.”

“W-Who even are you?!”

Rindou scoffed, “The same guy who warned you once to leave Y/N alone. I should’ve honestly went to find you myself personally and beat the shit out of you, but I hate wasting my time.”

Your boyfriend let the man go. If his arms weren’t all bent out of place and dislocated, he’d be crawling away by now. It was a sight that Rindou would laugh at. Upon seeing that his phone had fallen out of his pocket, the same phone used to consistently harass you, Rindou stomped down hard, breaking it into bits and pieces.

“Don’t waste my time again. Next time you do, call the cops, I promise you I won’t care if they catch me killing you,” Rindou turned his back around.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] Also on AO3.

Chapter 3: Martin

Martin waits until everyone leaves the Archives that night. Then he waits a bit longer, just to be certain they’re gone. Then he wastes a little more time telling himself not to be stupid.

Then he sighs, pockets torch and corkscrew, and ventures into the Archives to find himself.

It’s surprisingly easy. His double, or alter ego, or future self, or…whatever the right term is for him, is waiting for him in one of the reading nooks, seated in a comfortable armchair, hands folded around a mug of tea. He turns his head as Martin approaches and smiles, a tired sort of smile. “Still here, then. How’d he take it?”

Martin eyes the other (it’s easier to think of him that way for now). He seems relaxed, mostly, but there’s a kind of tension to him, like he’s waiting for another shoe to drop. And his hands—Martin probably wouldn’t notice if his own hadn’t done the same earlier—are trembling, ever so faintly. He’s either tired or stressed or scared, or some combination of the three. Martin suddenly feels bad for adding to that, in whatever way he did.

“How’d he take it when you told him?” he parries, taking a cautious seat in the armchair across from the other. He notices another mug of tea sitting on the small table between them. “Is that for me?”

“Thought we could both use some. It’s that peppermint-chamomile blend nobody admits they drink, so it shouldn’t keep you up all night.”

Martin picks up the cup, feeling its warmth soak into his palms. Just the smell is calming, sort of. “You didn’t answer my first question.”

“He…smiled,” the other says slowly. “I was a bit worried about him, to be honest. Thought he’d gone off his rocker. But…well, he was a bit paranoid at the time. Things were—it was bad. Not as bad as it got later, but still…bad. He’d gotten convinced one of us might have been trying to kill him, or might have killed Gertrude Robinson—long story why he believed that, I really can’t tell you just yet—and then he found part of a letter I’d written to Mum in the document storage room, after I’d moved back out, talking about not wanting the others to find out the truth. Combined with the fact that he’d just finished reading a statement from Trevor Herbert—you know, the vampire hunter? Apparently he didn’t actually die after giving his first one—and he sort of overreacted. Then I told him the only thing I’d been lying about was my job history, and he could relax. Said he was honestly rather relieved.”

Martin nearly chokes on the sip of tea he’s just taken. Setting it down on the table, he takes a moment to clear his throat, then says in as neutral a voice as he can, “He said the same thing to me. At the end. He wasn’t…mad or anything. Just told me to ask for help if I need it. And then he had me spend the rest of the day on filing. Wants me to look for statements that…might help with the current situation?”

He’s not sure why that comes out as a question. The other gives a thoughtful hum. “There are a few out there. Jane Prentiss made a statement in…let me think, 2014? It’s been a while since I listened to it. And I honestly don’t know exactly where it is in here.”

“Yeah, things are pretty out of order. Jon can’t figure out why Gertrude just shoved things wherever.”

“Ah—that’s a—”

“Don’t tell me. It’s a long story,” Martin says, a bit sourly.

“I know, you’re getting tired of hearing that,” the other says, sounding apologetic. “It really is, though. And…this isn’t the best place or time to tell it.”

“Why not?” Martin knows he sounds like a petulant toddler, but he feels like he’s being treated like one. “What’s the big deal?”

“I’m—waiting for someone else. Once they get here, we’ll tell you—all of you—but really, this is…they explain it better than I do. And they know how to keep you all safe once you know it. I don’t. There’s only so much I can tell you without putting you at risk, and frankly putting our whole plan to save the world in jeopardy. And I’m sorry, I know how much you hate feeling like you’re being…brushed off or kept in the dark or whatever, but I’m not doing this for fun. For right now, just know that Gertrude had her reasons, and they were…I’m not going to say they were valid, because I’m not sure it would have made a difference if she had organized the Archives properly, but I’m not sure they didn’t at least slow things down a bit.” The other takes a deep breath. “We’ll tell you everything as soon as we can. Promise.”

“When is…this someone else supposed to get here?” Martin asks. The speech took a bit of the wind out of him, actually.

“Soon, I hope. We’re…relying on someone else for transportation, shall we say, and we were warned it would be unreliable. Problem is, I don’t know if we came through at the same time but in different places, or if we’ll come through in the same place but at different times.”

“And you don’t have a way of communicating with one another?”

The other hesitates again. “Not…really. They can find me, though. In theory, anyway. They always could before. And if they can’t, well, we both know the plan, and it involves the Archives, so they’ll be heading this way anyway. I just…don’t know for sure.”

Martin bites his lip. “Is it—look, what if you came through the same place at different times, but they got here first? Would they have…”

“They’d have found me by now. I’d bump into them trawling through the Archives after you’re supposed to be sleeping.” A familiar dimple winks in the other’s cheek as he smiles, if only for a second. “Trust me. I know it’s hard to believe, but they wouldn’t have just…left me. Wherever they are, if they’ve come through somewhere else, they’re looking for me.”

Martin tries not to be skeptical, but he can’t help but think that whoever this someone else is, they must be someone he hasn’t met yet. Even Tim or Sasha, if they came back in time with him to fix something, would immediately apply themselves to solving the problem rather than waste time worrying about where he might be. Unless something changes drastically between now and whenever his counterpart came back—you know, besides the end of the world—he very much doubts they ever would. He wants to ask when he meets this person, but decides against it. The fact that his counterpart has changed the timeline means that now he might not meet that person, and that’s a bit of a depressing thought. That saving the world might come at the cost of Martin being that important to someone.

It’s worth it, but it’s still a bit depressing.

“Would they have looked for you before?” The question slips out before he can stop it, and he wants to bite his tongue in half, then decides, to hell with it. He might as well press on. “Before the end of the world, I mean.”

“Not only would they,” the other says, quietly but with steel in his voice, “but they did. They found out I was heading into a dangerous situation and practically moved heaven and earth to find me and bring me back safely. Almost literally. So when I say I know they’re coming, I know. I’m more certain of that than I’ve ever been of anything else in my life.”

“And you’re not…worried about them?”

“Constantly. Just like I’m sure they worry about me. But I know they won’t give up on me, any more than I’ll ever give up on them. They’ll find me.”

“Why don’t you go find them?” Martin asks. If whatever plan they have involves them needing to be together…

The other shakes his head slowly. “If they’re going to come out at the same place but not the same time, I’ll just be wasting time I could be using to lay the groundwork here. And if they’re already on the way from wherever they ended up…what if we miss one another? I’m not adding to their worries more than I have to.”

Martin desperately wants to change the subject now. He can hear the strain in the other’s voice, but more than that, he hears the undercurrent of real, genuine love. He and…whoever else is coming back…have a deep bond, nigh-unshakable, and Martin wants that, longs for it. And it kills him knowing that he’s likely not going to get it. He’s sure he’ll never meet this person now.

“So,” he says finally. “Until they get here…what can you tell me?”

The other takes a slow, thoughtful sip of his tea. “I can tell you that you’re in danger.”

“But you said—”

“Oh, not from the worms. Not really. It’s the Archives. The Institute.”

The other pauses. For a long moment there’s no sound but the usual noises of an old building settling for the evening and the gentle susurration of the climate control system. Martin sips at the tea, feels the herbs curl gently into his stomach, and wonders how much anxiety is going to surge past the soothing mint and chamomile as soon as his older counterpart starts talking again. That the Institute is creepy isn’t really news to him, but dangerous?

“There are…forces in this world you know nothing about,” the other says at last. “Powerful beings. They thrive on fear. They are fear. And one of them was behind the founding of the Institute.”

“And it’ll—do what? Hurt me? Control me?”

“Not…really? Not on purpose, anyway. It’s fond of you.”

Martin supposes that makes sense. A being that thrives on fear? He must be a veritable feast. Especially right now. It’s probably fond of him the way a glutton might be fond of a smorgasbord, or at least a cheeseboard if anxiety doesn’t quite have the same level of sustenance as fear. For a wild moment, he considers asking, then decides in favor of listening silently to the other continue.

“But these beings have…I don’t even really know what to call them. Servants? Worshipers? Devotees? We used to call some of them avatars, but that’s not really accurate. There are people who come under their power, willingly or unwillingly, and some of them get powers from these things. They don’t lose their free will, for the most part. They still have a degree of autonomy under their powers, although they can be punished, sometimes pretty severely, for doing something too contrary to what their…entity wants, or needs. But…well. There’s at least one person under the—being that founded the Institute’s thrall that doesn’t care if you get hurt or not. Right now, anyway.”

“Right now,” Martin repeats. “And later?”

“Hopefully, you’ll never have to find out what he can do if he does want to hurt you.”

The pain in the other’s voice is palpable, and he looks…lost. Martin’s blood runs cold as he considers the possible interpretations of that. Logically, a fear being that wants to hurt you would make you more afraid, right? But possibly give you a valid reason for that fear, so that you’d be irrationally afraid of seemingly innocuous things later. Like in the Carlos Vittery statement, when he accidentally killed a spider and then fell into the egg sac and was swarmed by them and…

“Hang on,” Martin blurts. “Is there—does one of these fear beings have to do with spiders?”

“Ah—yes, actually. Not the one that runs the Institute, though.”

“Christ, is that why Jon’s so averse to spiders? He ran into that being once? Did it hurt him? Is it still after him?”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” The other holds out a hand, palm outward. “Short answers? Yes, yes, not exactly, and sort of. There’s a lot going on there. But that’s why I told you last night to keep an eye out for spiders. They invariably mean something is messing with him. Again.”

Martin exhales heavily. He likes spiders, always has, stemming back to his grandfather reading him Charlotte’s Web every afternoon for two weeks when he was in bed with the chicken pox. A lot of the things he loves—spiders, poetry, cherry preserves, Highland cattle—are things he discovered, or more accurately was given, at his grandfather’s knee. His mother’s father, with whom Martin had spent more time than either of his parents even before his father walked out on them, the man who taught Martin everything from his parents’ native Polish to knitting, who walked with a cane but never showed any difficulty keeping up with his only grandson. Who never told him not to be afraid, but always showed him how to fight back against his fears. His grandfather loved him—is probably the last person who really loved him, if Martin’s being honest—and he still misses him sorely. He’s never admitted to Jon that’s why he gets so defensive about spiders, but now he wonders what Jon would say if he did.

“Did you ever tell him?” he asks, then clarifies when the other gives him an odd look. “Why you like spiders so much. About Granddad and all.”

“A little. Not about the spiders, though. By the time we were close enough to talk about that sort of thing, I understood a little better why he didn’t like them and we avoided the subject if we could.”

Martin wants to ask how long that took, but decides against it. He doesn’t want to force things if it won’t happen that quickly for him, and he also doesn’t want to hold back from trying if he hears that it’s “supposed” to be a while. Let things happen at their own pace, he supposes. That’s all he really can do.

“Hypothetically speaking,” he says slowly, “and not to change the subject, but…how long do you have to stop the world from ending?”

The other puffs out his cheeks and exhales. “Couple years? But it’s…we’re trying to slow the prep work, so to speak. We’re hoping we can stop it altogether. Might only be able to delay the inevitable, but we have to try.”

“Even though you survived the world ending?”

“Especially because we survived the world ending.”

“Did we all survive it?” Martin asks. “Tim? Sasha? Jon?”

There’s a long silence before the other replies, “Everyone who was alive when the world ended continued to be alive after. It’s just that a lot of them wished they weren’t.”

Martin really, really wishes he didn’t ask. And even though he’s burning to know whether any of them regretted being alive past the end of the world, he decides to table that question…for now. The other looks like he’s in real pain, and Martin wouldn’t make that worse even if it wasn’t his own face he’s seeing that look on. Which is still really weird to contemplate.

“So what can I do?” he asks instead.

“I told you. Keep—”

“Keep Jon safe, I know. That’s—you should know you don’t have to actually tell me to do that, really. But I mean…other than that. What can I do to help you?”

The other pauses. He tilts his head slightly to one side, like he’s listening to something Martin can’t hear, or like he’s studying him, or maybe just like he’s thinking. Finally, he says, “Where are you hiding the fire extinguishers?”

“Everywhere I can.” Martin wonders that the other doesn’t know that, if he was, well, him.

“No, I know that. It’s just…I don’t have my bearings anymore. The Archives…I haven’t been down here in, well, a long time. I don’t remember where everything is off the top of my head. And trying to find things without—” The other stops. “I’m trying not to be seen by any of you, really. Obviously I’m failing, but I’m trying. It’s hard to move around without…making noise or drawing attention. Harder than it used to be, anyway.”

“Oh.” Martin should have guessed that. He thinks for a minute. “I’ll grab you a couple, if you want. Then you can put them somewhere you’ll remember. I’d give you this one, but…”

The other smiles. “Thank you. I do appreciate that. But if you’re asking what you can do to help with the plan…well, you really can help best by keeping Jon safe.”

“Are you going to ever tell me what the plan is?”

“Eventually. When it’s not just me. It’s—it’s going to take some work. Not as easy as we’d like it to be, and…well, there’s a bit of an additional difficulty now. I don’t know how long it’s going to take us to be ready, or able, to do what needs doing. But we were always planning to bring you all in.”

Martin is bursting with questions, but he tries to tamp it down and be patient. “In that case…want me to fill you in on what we’re working on? Will that help?”

The other’s smile is broad and wistful. “Absolutely. Let’s hear it.”

[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.